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Week One: Thursday Night
Who: Aimee and Miklos
What: A reunion
Where: Eventually Miklos' rooms, I assume
When: Thursday night, well after dark
For a good while after their invention, planes had fascinated Aimee immensely. She had studied them when they were only used for the military, and rode on them as often as possible while traveling when they were put into commercial use, but after so many flights the new had long worn off and the professor found herself sleeping off the hassle of packing up her belongings on the way back to the school. She'd taught there before, four years between 2000 and 2004, but her studies had led her away again on a sabbatical of indefinite length and she was only just returning, a few more books among her belongings, a few more studies published, and another few years passed in the incredibly quick way that they seemed to when one had forever to look forward to living.
The plane touched down and Aimee stepped out into the night, only a large suitcase and a computer bag accompanying her onto the tarmac. The rest of her things would be following within the week. In the cab, she managed to doze off again, and familiar dreams began to flit across her subconscious. Miklos, she knew instantly. She dreamt of him often, even now after so much time had passed since their parting. Almost a century. It had taken awhile but she had finally resigned herself to the painful truth--he must be dead. There was no other way she would not sense him. Now he was a fond memory, a constant pang of longing, and his image existed in dreams.
This was more vivid than most, an she awoke so suddenly with such an overwhelming feeling that she startled the cab driver with her exclamation. She hadn't felt this sensation of connection, this awareness of another's presence in so long that for a moment she doubted it. How else could their absence from one another's thoughts be explained if he had not been truly killed? Trembling slightly, she closed her eyes and tried to reawaken a communication line that had been long abandoned.
Miklos? she thought, loudly, desperately. Miklos, is that you I feel? She knew that often, even then, the message wouldn't always get through. But she could be truly damned by whatever higher power might or might not exist if she wasn't going to at least try.
The cab pulled up in front of the school and Aimee hurriedly directed the cab driver to "throw her bags somewhere inside, she didn't care," tipped him with a bill that was far too large, and half-ran into the familiar building, high heels clacking on the stone floor.
If he was here by some farfetched chance, where would he be? A moment's thought, and she made haste toward the professor's housing. He could hardly be a student with his age and experience. It was a long walk, too long, and the speed of her heartbeat and the desperation in each step, each breath, might have somehow traveled along to reach him through their blood tie.
What: A reunion
Where: Eventually Miklos' rooms, I assume
When: Thursday night, well after dark
For a good while after their invention, planes had fascinated Aimee immensely. She had studied them when they were only used for the military, and rode on them as often as possible while traveling when they were put into commercial use, but after so many flights the new had long worn off and the professor found herself sleeping off the hassle of packing up her belongings on the way back to the school. She'd taught there before, four years between 2000 and 2004, but her studies had led her away again on a sabbatical of indefinite length and she was only just returning, a few more books among her belongings, a few more studies published, and another few years passed in the incredibly quick way that they seemed to when one had forever to look forward to living.
The plane touched down and Aimee stepped out into the night, only a large suitcase and a computer bag accompanying her onto the tarmac. The rest of her things would be following within the week. In the cab, she managed to doze off again, and familiar dreams began to flit across her subconscious. Miklos, she knew instantly. She dreamt of him often, even now after so much time had passed since their parting. Almost a century. It had taken awhile but she had finally resigned herself to the painful truth--he must be dead. There was no other way she would not sense him. Now he was a fond memory, a constant pang of longing, and his image existed in dreams.
This was more vivid than most, an she awoke so suddenly with such an overwhelming feeling that she startled the cab driver with her exclamation. She hadn't felt this sensation of connection, this awareness of another's presence in so long that for a moment she doubted it. How else could their absence from one another's thoughts be explained if he had not been truly killed? Trembling slightly, she closed her eyes and tried to reawaken a communication line that had been long abandoned.
Miklos? she thought, loudly, desperately. Miklos, is that you I feel? She knew that often, even then, the message wouldn't always get through. But she could be truly damned by whatever higher power might or might not exist if she wasn't going to at least try.
The cab pulled up in front of the school and Aimee hurriedly directed the cab driver to "throw her bags somewhere inside, she didn't care," tipped him with a bill that was far too large, and half-ran into the familiar building, high heels clacking on the stone floor.
If he was here by some farfetched chance, where would he be? A moment's thought, and she made haste toward the professor's housing. He could hardly be a student with his age and experience. It was a long walk, too long, and the speed of her heartbeat and the desperation in each step, each breath, might have somehow traveled along to reach him through their blood tie.
