It's a Graves thing (soundofwings) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-03-20 11:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | death |
Who: Iris
What: A return to Las Vegas (Narrative)
Where: *handwave* Las Vegas
When: Today
Warnings/Rating: No? Personality shift that comes without an alter switch?
Stepping back into the dry Las Vegas air was at once strange and settling. Time in California, close enough to the ocean that the moisture in the air had made her hair curl into waves, had been good (she hoped), but there was something familiar now about Las Vegas. And she felt the presence in the back of her mind settle as well. The two of them had needed time away after being flipped into each other's worlds, and for some reason that she couldn't explain but that had felt right at the time, Iris had gone to visit her family. The family that had raised her, not the family she'd so recently discovered. The family that didn't know what to do with her, not at any point in her life, but that always (somehow) helped to take care of her. She knew this visit hadn't been any easier for them than any other point in her life, but it ended in some sort of understanding, at least.
Spending time in Death's mind had forced Iris to deal with someone that was more than just competent (as Alfred had been). Actually being Death was something else entirely. Being responsible for the lives and deaths of so many had pulled her mind to the point of disintegration at times, but she had managed to cling to the threads of herself and keep herself from being lost entirely. And upon being forced back through the door into Las Vegas, she found her mind changed yet again. She couldn't tell if she was more or less broken, more or less pushed past the lines of sanity, but she had the strength to live on this side of the door. Maybe it was too much for her mind to deal with (Death, all those lives, the sheer expanse of knowledge and presence), but everything seemed sharper and more distinct now. She felt like less of a child.
The trip to her parents' home had established that even further. She had subtly insisted that they meet her as an adult, conversing with them in a way that left no doubt that she'd changed. Still their child (in a way), but not a child. She stayed in a guest room, not her childhood bedroom, and when they spoke it was regarding such topics as her family finances and future plans. Her words were frank and blunt most of the time, sometimes too much so, but she required that they meet her on her terms. She still curled up under the covers at night, shaking from uncertainty and the conviction that her world was about to shatter (that she was about to shatter), but in the light of day things made sense and she was able to pretend to be a whole person. The thought of interacting with people upon her return to Las Vegas still made her wish to escape through the door and let Death take care of things, but there was a new sense of responsibility to herself, small though it was. She needed to be on this side of the door. To force herself to stop escaping the way she had been for so long.
She had left California with her finances in order, enough to far exceed supporting herself for years to come. Enough to still give a few expensive gifts several times a year. All in her name, and only connected to the family's accounts as a failsafe if the numbers dropped too low. She didn't anticipate that they would. She had some small thoughts about how to fill her days, things that she would look into in the weeks to come, but for now she needed to decide where to go. She hadn't opened the journal during her time away, but she couldn't avoid it much longer.
There was a car and driver waiting for her as she stepped out, thanks to arrangements from her parents, and she handed over her small suitcase and slid into the back seat, the tremor in her hands hidden by the way she clasped them tightly in her lap. At the driver's question, she directed him to a hotel, the one where she had stayed briefly before moving in with Anton. She needed time and space to figure out what to do now that she was back. Her purse on the seat at her side, her fingers traced the edge of her journal. There were people she had to contact, but they would have to wait just a little while more.