Who: Thalia (and a touch of Mania). Open to anybody in the vicinity. Where: Outside CNN's studios at the Time Warner Center. When: Wednesday, around midday.
Thalia crept back into work on Monday with her hand freshly-bandaged and her bruises -- fading now, yet still stark against her fair skin -- concealed underneath a layer of foundation. There were questions, of course; Thalia had been bracing herself for those. You couldn't play hooky for a week and a bit without raising some eyebrows, especially if you arrived back so obviously the worse for wear -- and no amount of make-up was going to hide the swathe of gauze binding her injured hand.
But after all, it wasn't really a lie to say there had been a family emergency. When their eyes lingered on her hand, silently questioning, she'd managed a wry chuckle. Picked a fight with the wrong set of stairs, she'd explained. It was stupid. Yeah, she was okay. Really. Nothing broken, y'know, unless you were counting her pride, ha ha...
She didn't know how many people she was convincing. She hid behind fragile laughter, but the quips felt sour in her mouth and Thalia couldn't help but feel like everybody knew it. She was trying, really she was -- but each time a light flickered or a cloud passed over the sun, she was reminded anew that the Darkness was still there, only seconds away, and then her breath would freeze in her throat and the dread would rise up again... how could they not have seen it, too?
She just had to keep moving. Had to keep doing stuff. She was okay when she didn't have time to think about how she so very wasn't.
So when she happened to pass by an intern about to head out on a coffee-and-donuts run, Thalia was all too eager to take the job off the kid's hands. It was mindless, but at least she knew she couldn't fuck it up. (Besides which, offerings of sugary and caffeinated substances were a sure way of ingratiating oneself with the other writers, and after managing to freak the hell out of Ralphie's ferret with her frantic round of pacing this morning, she could do with mustering up some goodwill.) She kept her eyes down as she crossed into the mall, concentrating on each footstep.
What she didn't see, hidden amongst the crowds, was the raggedy woman who watched through the window with sparkling eyes as Thalia placed her order. Stepping out of the store with her arms laden, she didn't see the small figure peel away to trail along behind, a grinning shadow. She didn't see the flicker of violently red hair, or the terrifying clarity of purpose in her pursuer's gaze.
Then Mania flashed a Cheshire grin, and Thalia didn't see anything at all.
Coffee splattered across the ground. Heads turned, with varying expressions of surprise and annoyance, in the direction of the offender. The redhead was already gone -- returned, perhaps, to the shadows that were her home -- and their eyes found only a young woman with a mop of curly hair, and a face white with sudden horror.
"Miss?" somebody ventured; a man with grey flecks in his hair and concern in his eyes. "Miss, are you okay?" A tentative hand touched her shoulder--
--grabbing, pulling her deeper into the black that had swallowed up her world, that called her name in rasping whispers -- back, oh gods, it was back and they'd found her they'd found her and she could feel the scaled hand's grasp, feel the claws break her skin--
With a strangled shriek, Thalia lashed out with her good arm, striking blindly through a darkness only she knew, her fist connecting with the (scaly night-beast, cold and mocking) good Samaritan's chest.
"Hey--!" But Thalia saw nothing, heard nothing at all except the hissing voices of the Darkness as it rushed to claim her.