§ sarah, storms are brewin' in her eyes. (nopoweroverme) wrote in parabolical, @ 2009-09-27 22:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | gabriel petrelli (future plot), sarah petrelli (née williams) |
WHO: Sarah Petrelli, Gabriel Petrelli
WHERE: Hyperion; outside/inside
WHEN: Wednesday, September 27, 2006; 8 p.m.
WHAT: Gabe arrives and throws his already shaken mother for another loop.
RATING: TBD
STATUS: thread; in-progress!
It wasn't the Apocalypse and it wasn't people being taken away, so the sudden influx of people from the future already had its positive points. Added to those positives was the novelty and pleasure of seeing all these children who were parts of people she knew. But it wasn't without its pain and fear and foreshadowing of evil yet to come, as had been proven by the Xander from a horrible future and the future she'd heard told firsthand, in person, by Anya and Lauren. Two possible futures, two timelines full of things that Sarah had foolishly believed might not ever happen here, for all that horrible things did often happen. Ultimately, she had chickened out of asking for a full disclosure, at least for now. It was enough – more than enough, almost too much – to know the important details and to be certain that this future had to be averted. She hadn't been ready yet to ask for the names and deaths of all of the dead she would have known, and hadn't had the heart to press Anya for the information after all she had lived through. But she'd needed fresh air and a chance to breath through the worst of the low-level nausea that had been with her since hearing of the slaughter of the Slayers. That was why she'd retreated out the front entrance to the small walled garden that separated the front of the hotel from the sidewalk and street. It was quiet and peaceful here, without being the emptiness of being on the roof. Roof brooding Petrelli-style was reserved for undisturbed wallowing. Sarah wasn't looking to be left entirely alone, only to have a chance to collect herself before setting to work on Plan: Save The Future. Or futures, plural. One minute, the garden was empty and the next... it wasn't. It wasn't the sight of someone; it was the sense. Once again, it was that hum-like, itchy sense of magic to magic that had happened with Anya, but this time it was different. Last year, when she'd first received her magic, she wouldn't have been able to tell magic user from human. As she'd trained and expanded herself, she'd learned to let the magic become a sense to recognize other magic. Now, she was, if not great, at least decent at knowing familiar magics like Anya's or Lavender's from unfamiliar magics. But this was too familiar. She thought of magic sense as like calling to like; this was same calling to same. ...If her future self was here to warn about another tragedy-filled future, she would scream. Steeling herself for the confrontation, she moved across the garden to one of the small alcoves in the wall, expecting to see herself – perhaps even unchanged appearance-wise, even if it had been years – move out of the alcove. Instead it was a boy, maybe Toby's age or a year or two younger, with dark hair and huge green eyes. Even then, the answer to her unasked question was just out of reach. |