Reality Crisis

During the attack, Peter had been rounding the natives who couldn't defend themselves together, shielding them with his power as he tried to keep track of everything. Things had happened so suddenly, there was no way he could have stopped the first set of trucks. They vanished into the same opening that the snow dinosaurs had come from, and were gone the moment they passed through the boundary.

Once things had begun to calm, and more medics than he were coming in to assist the wounded, Peter had time to inquire about those who were lost. His heart sank lower with each name, but one in particular had him raising his defenses, closing off any connection to Evey.

Aidan.

He had to tell her. But how?

Peter walked in a half-aware daze, pushing himself to Evey by intuition only. He always knew where she was, with their connection, the same way he always knew where Leeloo was. He found her soon enough. Without a word, he strode towards her, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and held on. Slowly, he lifted the hard shields he had brought down, grief and compassion and support sliding from him, into her.

I'm so sorry, Evey.

With the words came a depth of emotion, genuine sorrow, and the memory of those vehicles what were swallowed. And the name attached.

By the time Leeloo headed back toward the Chosen building, Eric was nowhere to be seen. She hadn't found anyone who needed her; thankfully, the attack on the dragon had gone better than they could have hoped for. No one was hurt -- no one at all, at least, not from Eric's assault on the dragon tonight. Even he was well. She smiled brightly at the remembrance of him, covered head to toe in dragon muck, stinking horribly -- but alive, alive, though by rights he shouldn't have been.

The remembrance of his hand on her face, just before he ran into the Chosen building, came back again to her, then, and she stopped smiling. They were close. They were very close. She loved Eric. But something about that motion felt...

She was standing at the window that was always left open, staring out into the settlement, when the door opened. She turned around, her troubled expression fading back into a brilliant smile -- and then dimming again, when she saw Evey and Peter... and the state of Peter.

Leeloo went straight to the door, and as she looked at Evey, her hands were already settling on Peter's waist. In answer, the Brit only gave Leeloo a surprisingly tender smile, mouthed "Feed him," then stepped backward into the corridor and closed the door.

That left Peter. She looked at him instead, smoothing her fingers over and over against his sides.

Running into Fred had slowed her down, but not by much. She fought through the panic in the street, the panic in her head (his head, his head), and followed that tugging. It was not a map or a visual, but a drawing she couldn't put into words. She just knew. Knew.

Outside die Festung, she pushed through the last copse of trees and found Peter gripping his head. She was there in a second, gently touching his shoulder as she came up along side him.

"Hey," she said, out loud to distinguish her voice from the ones in his mind, the ones bleeding over into her own thoughts. "Hey, I'm here. I'm here. Let me help."

"Tanto tempo fa,
Un uccello fatale di nome,
Chromaggia,
Incrociò in volo la freccia di un,
Arciere,
Lungo le coste di lava,
Per anni, pensando di essere,
Inseguita,
Scappò dalla freccia, "

The words left her lips like a breath of air as she sang into the stillness, eyes closed. Mag tilted her head, chin lifted so that her face was pointed at the sky. She stood in the middle of the cemetery, the only place that reminded her of her home, in both a way she hated and needed. It was the only place she found comfort, solace and peace despite what the cemetery really meant. For a woman who lived in a city built on the dead, she took comfort in the stillness. These people would never know Repo, they would never fall victim to being robbed of whatever essence it was that had a hand in making Zydrate, and they had never heard her sing this song.

The final song.

Her song.

Slowly, Mag opened her eyes and tilted her face so that instead of the sky she beheld all of the headstones that surrounded her. They were meaningless but beautiful, things in a world not her own.

She had chosen the graveyard for her song so as not to disturb anyone around her as she practiced. Singing was what she was born to do, and without it she felt void. But her aria was painful, reminding her of the bondage to the corporation she had lived through since she was nineteen.

Had she access to a calendar she would've noticed that she had missed her latest birthday. She would be forty two this year, and was now, though she didn't realize it or feel it. Age meant nothing in a world like this, and she would be alright with never knowing that she had to grow a year older, a year closer to death and another year more that she was stealing from the hand of Time. She wasnt aware, either, how very close to death she had come before arriving here, and perhaps that was a good thing. Maybe if she had known about her escaped fate she would've taken more care to see her life be more fulfilling. As it was, Mag was content with her life and despite the trials of this world she enjoyed her time more now than she had before she came here.

But it was hard to let go.

"Chromaggia, Chromaggia,
Perché non affronti il pericolo?
La freccia era legata all'ala,
E lei volva per liberarsene,

Tirando la freccia,
Altri son ferriti per mia colpa,
Mia colpa,

Giú! Verso la bocca del diavolo!
La sua freccia, I miei occhi."

As she reached the climax of the aria, Mag smiled. She wondered to herself what Rotti would've thought of the change of ending she had planned to sing at the opera that night. She had planned on allowing the whole world to see her take her own eyes as an attempt at her own freedom. She was aware of the consequences of her betrayal, but she had been willing to take the risk. Now....now she was glad she hadnt.

Emitting a sigh, Mag left the song unfinished. It needed no ending. Not yet.

Just like she needed no ending. Not yet.

She licked over her lips and moved to sit down on the ground for a moment, her eyes shimmering with memory as she pressed her back against the crumbling statue of a sobbing angel. She stretched her legs out before herself, and her hands fell to her lap as she settled.

Peter felt like a new man. Refreshed, revived, reborn. He had incredible friends, he knew, friends that were standing by him at one of the worst points in his life. And a woman he loved who was learning in her own way how to love him in return.

After a long morning in bed, followed by an afternoon of sleep, Peter had shared dinner with his beloved Leeloo. She had to go out for the evening, he understood - it was her way of being the protector she was. Like his long hours at the hospital.

After she had gone, Peter made his way through the building to Evey's door. She probably knew what had gone on before he closed their mental link (and after; she was smart), but she still deserved an apology for how he had left that morning. He knocked at the door, amused at the ordinariness of it.

It'd been nearly a week since the earthquake. The city was slowly standing up again, dusting itself off, and getting back to work. In the most damaged part of the city, there was still a lot of cleanup to do. That's where Leeloo stayed, hidden under dirt and dark locks and bruises, working side by side with the citizens of die Festung. She was fairly certain none of them had guessed that she had recently been a resident of the Chosen building. After all, that was the first building to be restored, after the hospital, and everyone assumed that the precious Chosen returned to where they were expected to live.

Leeloo remained in the abandoned house she'd picked out from deep within the worst of the damage. It'd served her well. The water was still running, and the doors still closed and locked. She didn't sleep much, but when she did, no one troubled her in this house -- not even when she woke up with dry and aching throat and knew she'd been screaming. It could be that she was too far away from others to have disturbed them. It could be that it wasn't so strange a thing to hear at night, in these parts. Either way, she was grateful for it.

And there was Eric.

Every night at the same time, she'd venture out into the darkness and find him. First, it was on the wall. The next night, he was waiting for her just inside the wall, so she didn't have to climb again. They walked through the city, talking in low voices about a great many things. She'd grown to trust the strange no-longer-a-man, and it helped that he wasn't human, not anymore. She liked his special bird, too. She liked seeing the world with eyes that weren't hers. When she didn't understand the core of what he was saying, he showed her in a way she didn't know was possible.

Leeloo thought she'd learned a great many things about humanity. Eric showed her she'd only touched on the surface -- then showed her what was underneath. She'd started smiling again, during their night wanderings.

After a long day clearly debris, Leeloo came home with her skin full of blossoming bruises and tiny cuts, and put herself in the bath. She'd nearly fallen asleep in the tepid water. The sleeplessness was catching up with her. But after the water'd gone cold, she got herself up and started dressing. There were a few hours yet before the stars were right and she could go find Eric again.

Running a hand through dark, wet hair, Leeloo walked into the main room of the house. There came a deep groan from somewhere behind her. She looked over her shoulder, frowned, and turned around. There was just enough time to register the sight -- a folding of the ceiling, a crack that ripped over her head and then split -- and then nothing.

He'd looked at the apartment, once he knew Leeloo had vacated it. Gone inside to see the mess of books, mugs, and varied kitchenware he'd given her. Some were practical, some just amusing, and a few important for how he'd taught her. The books were scattered, some stuffed with bookmarks, one or two with something wedged into them to mark the page.

The sheets on the bed were rumpled and unmade. He could remember the last time they lay there, Leeloo curled against his chest, his arm draped around her, fingers running through her hair. He could still smell the delicate scent of her skin.

Her clothing was gone. She'd left all the rest behind.

He left, quickly as he came. There was work to do. Peter spend the next several hours at the hospital, working, healing, tending to patients, conferring with doctors, doing anything and everything to keep his mind off of that empty apartment, the pieces of the life he'd tried to build.

He worked until he was exhausted. Until he didn't know where to place his feet, until he couldn't think straight. He was sent home. Home? Peter shook his head. No home. Not anymore.

He ended up at her door. Leaned his head on the door and lifted it, dropped it, 'knocking' three times. And when the door opened, he looked at the brunette, his eyes red and raw. "She's gone," he said. "She left. Can... can I sleep on the couch? Until the smell goes away?"

After escaping from Evey with the timely arrival of Aidan, Peter went back to Carlos' room. It had been nearly half a day, what with the forced sleep Peter had gone through. He didn't think Carlos was going to be happy about him not having the collar on anymore, but there wasn't anything Peter could do about it. It wasn't as though he could have stopped Aidan from removing it, what with Peter being dead at the time.

Which was something he really didn't want to tell Carlos. Yeah, sorry, the vampire ripped it off my neck after he tore my throat out didn't seem like something that would go over well.

At least he didn't have to explain right away. Carlos was sleeping.

Peter crept to the edge of the bed. He had to fix things. That's why he had his powers back now. And once Carlos was well, he could help get a new cuff. Hell, even another collar. Peter wouldn't argue with that.

He placed a hand over the wizard's, and began to concentrate. Peter's hand began to glow with a soft golden light, that began to sink quickly into the wounded man.

( ---------- )

It was several hours before Peter woke. He felt normal again, his abilities had once again settled into his brain. The room had been cleaned, though Peter himself was still covered in blood. He muttered under his breath and got up from the cot. He looked at the bed, where Evey was still laid out. He had to fix things. Aidan was right. But he didn't want Evey waking up to see Peter like this.

A shower and a change of clothes in the hospital locker room later, Peter came back into the room. He shut the door behind him again - he needed as little interruption as possible. If he could fix this (and he sincerely hoped he could), it would take all the focus he could muster.

It was over an hour. Replacing the link was the only way to fix things right now, but he could remove it more carefully once it was finished. The healing it took was incredibly complex, combined with telepathic use he'd never tried before. When it was over, he laid his head on their joined hands, needing a minute to catch his breath before going on to remove the link.

The doctors and nurses were working on Carlos. He would be fine, they told him. He was stable, they'd gotten some blood into him. Peter wanted to go find the bags of his own blood he'd held on the side for Aidan, but realized he wouldn't be able to get to them without his powers. He'd hidden them away too well.

And no way was Harry going to remove the damn collar from his neck once he knew what Peter had done to Carlos. So the only option was to wait until Carlos was well enough to do that himself.

If he ever thought it should happen.

The nurses had told him about Evey. Idiopathic catatonic state. She was breathing, her automatic nervous system was working, but apart from that? Nothing. No responses whatsoever.

Peter wasn't sure who had brought him to her room. He didn't remember anything but the black haze of despair as he saw the consequences of his rage was laid out in that bed, another room of white sheets and sterile personality. Two friends, two dear friends, that had paid the price of trying to help him. He didn't know which nurse it had been to give him a sedative when he'd broken a windowpane, trying to tear through his skin and avenge them.

He'd woken up hours later, his wrists bandaged, to see grating over the window and all sharp or breakable items carefully removed from the room. He'd been laid out on a cot, covered in blankets, still in the same room where Evey lie, still and warm and vacant. He dragged a chair to her side, wrapped his hand over hers, and waited until the sedatives took him back to sleep once more, his head resting on one arm, still holding onto her.

Carlos was concerned when he left Evey and Mag. He didn't want to leave either woman, but he needed to see what he could do to trigger Peter's bracelet remotely to shut down his powers. If it didn't work, the fallout would be ugly and he didn't want either of them in there. And since Evey had a mental link with Peter, he really didn't want to risk her tipping him off.

He still didn't understand why the two had a mental link at all because there were a lot of reasons that that was a bad idea. And last he'd checked, Evey was hung up on some vampire. Had she moved on so quickly?

He certainly thought that under ordinary circumstances, Peter was a better choice than a vampire. But right now? Well, Carlos still didn't understand what had happened or how his friend could pull a complete 180 like this. The betrayal stung, but now wasn't the time for that.

Carlos picked through the wreckage of the Chosen building and managed to wrest a few supplies from his apartment. They would have to do.

Afterward, he made his way outside of the wall. It was best to not risk bringing vengeance inside the already half-destroyed town. Once he'd walked far enough away from die Festung, he started the spell to trigger the bracelet and shut down Peter's powers.

( Read more... )

Bane was busy helping the people of Sanctuary after the quakes. They were lucky that they had Erik around, and they were lucky for Bane, as well. Even with all that luck, there were still individuals that needed assistance. So he was doing his part.

It was during this work that he came across the fissure in the ground that was pouring out a strange gas. It didn't seem to have an odor, at least not something that he could detect through his mask. Still, he was wary of it. This wasn't exactly a normal place, and the gasses that might have come out of the Earth that he'd known may not even be present on this planet. He'd seen strange animals that shouldn't exist, met extraordinary people. There was nothing to say that the elements on whatever would have passed as the periodic table here would be the ones he knew.

After watching somebody stumble through it and come out unharmed, Bane put it out of his mind and went about his business. Only vaguely recognizing when he started to feel different.

Soon enough, however, he was walking out of the gates of Sanctuary, in search of something that wasn't quite so depressing. All those people, fighting for their lives. Living in shacks and having to suffer. It was too much for him to take.

Bane walked through the forest, delighting in the sounds and the sights that he found there. Picking bundles of flowers and laying them in the crook of his arm. Happier now that he wasn't in the midst of those others. He smiled at a small bird - something that looked remarkably like a hummingbird, but somehow different - as it fluttered by in front of him, hovering for a moment by the blooms and then swooping off again.

Without realizing it, Bane eventually broke through the edge of the trees and found himself looking out on the ruins that lay between New Troy and die Festung. The sight saddened him.

(Backdated to about 5PM the day after the quake)

Somewhere around noon, she'd finally allowed herself some rest, confident in the knowledge that Mags and others had tended to the children, the wounded were organized to receive aid as needed, and enough food and supplies had been recovered for at least a day. She was also pleased that her best friend and his anchor were curled up sleeping in relative privacy behind the hospital. Curled in a less-trafficked corner of the makeshift camp in front of the hospital, Evey hadn't expected to sleep so long. The ground was hard, but she was exhausted mentally and physically.

Five hours later, she woke from coughing. There was a strange odor in the air, and the buzz around the camp was... strange. A distinct sense of unease settled over her, then, and as she pulled on her dusty t-shirt over the cami she'd been wearing, she could make out snippets of conversation.

" -- never cared about all that before? Why are you acting like --"
"....be damned if I let them take one more thing from our kids..."
"--couldn't ever save us from this..."
"-- a hole in the wall the size of a building! SOMETHING got in --"

Evey edged out of the shelter she'd been sleeping in and saw the disarray with a whole new set of eyes. It felt hopeless. There was so much work to do, and so few resources... She curled her arms around her, coughed again, then fanned the air in front of her. It made things a little better, but not by much.

She felt like she should be trying to do something, here -- put her hand in where it could help -- but where was someone supposed to start when the problem was so deep? She wandered around the edges of the camp, looking for anyone familiar and seeing no one. Her thoughts went to Peter, then. She knew he wasn't here, knew without even having to look.

"Where are you?" she asked, bewildered. Why wasn't he here?

(5 hours after this)


Living with Peter in die Festung had changed her in small ways. One was in how she slept. When he first gave her his bed, she slept in it as if she were still in the sarcophagus where she'd waited for her 5,000-year awakening. Then, as the comfort of a mattress unwound her bit by bit, she ended up sprawling haphazardly across the expanse of the bed, frequently making a disaster of the pillows and blankets in the process. Finally, since the night she first coaxed him to stay with her, Leeloo slept curled up on her side, face against his chest. Sometimes she twined a leg between his, sometimes she draped an arm over his waist, but always, always anchored herself to him in some way. It was comforting, and it made her feel safe, and she never felt alone. This way, she also knew when the nightmares came. Although she didn't always succeed in waking him before the screaming, she could still be right there to catch him.

And so today, Leeloo woke with one arm curled on his chest, pillowing her head, with the other arm wrapped around his side. She was warm, if somewhat sore from sleeping on blanket-covered ground. Behind the hospital, she could hear the sounds of the cityborn milling through the makeshift camp at the front of the building. The sun had reached its zenith and was sinking on the other side of the roof. Shade stretched past the tent she'd made for them. Peter's chest rose and fell steadily.

Without knowing if he were awake or not, she very carefully began disentangling herself. She wouldn't leave until he was awake, but there was surely so much to do to help die Festung get back on its feet again. She wanted to begin.

[takes place a few hours after this.]

Peter still wasn't certain how Evey had convinced him to take a break, to stop hovering and go spend some time with Leeloo. He wasn't sure how that happened, but here he was, walking in a haze of exhaustion, looking for the one woman he so desperately needed right now.

He found her outside. Still shifting through wreckage, still rallying stragglers to safety. Still gathering supplies where she could find them in the rubble. Selfless, the eternal protector. The perfect woman.

"Leeloo?" he called once he was in range of her. He reached for her, and stumbled.

Backdated all the way back to right after this thread.

One moment, covered in blood, cloaked in night, counting heartbeats thrumming too fast; the next, flooded with the hallway light just outside her flat in die Festung. A sense of the surreal descended, then, driven by the sudden shift from the ruins outside New Troy to the simple civility of the building she'd lived in for months. The threadbare carpet, the dents in the walls, the acrid and artificial light -- the familiar, made strange with absence. Evey was grateful for the arm around her shoulders.

The worst part of the sudden teleportation was watching Aidan disappear in front of her. Instead of his tall figure, she was staring at... the door to her flat. The absence ached. Evey hadn't expected to ache, and she warred with herself to keep from asking Peter to turn around, to bring her back to Aidan again. It was not rational. It halted her, in ways fear never did, made her stagger when she should have marched through the next simple task in front of her. Get inside. Her keys were buried in her duffel bag. She dug through it after a second of murmuring to the hero who just saved her, "Just a second, just..."

She got the door open, then she got herself inside, then she reached through the doorway and tugged Peter in with her. The desire to hold onto him for a long, long time was only stifled by the reality that she was still a blood-coated disaster. So she wavered for a second, before shoving the thought away. Irrational.

"I'm rather filthy," she said, instead. "But I..." What? What, Evey? Her hands opened and closed at her sides. "Please," she finally said. "Will you stay a little?" What rhymes with 'Evey'? Needy, needy. She winced at the floor.

It'd become a strange sort of routine to sit on the floor against the wall her studio flat shared with Aidan's one-bedroom next door. Months ago, the rattling of the wall would tell her that he was in, and that he was struggling. Now, it was always quiet -- all the better for her to wrestle with the question she still couldn't answer for herself: Why hadn't she called Peter in the wilds? What was it that kept her from making reasonable decisions? And how could she avoid such foolishness in the future?

Peter was an ever-present force in her head, now, but he was letting her work this question out for herself. When she nudged a thought or perspective his way, he seemed to make only the mildest of judgments on it -- as if he knew something, but wanted her to work it out for herself. It was maddening.

When the shaking started, her heart leaped -- not out of fear, but out of a wholly irrational excitement. She knew Aidan wasn't in the next room, but for the first moment, she imagined...

And the second second, she was getting to her feet. Earthquake? It must be. Her duffel bag from her journey had been re-packed one night after she returned from finding Aidan. In it were supplies she'd found useful. Now, her thought was to add a few more pieces of clothing that would serve as makeshift bandages or just extra warmth for someone who needed it. She grabbed another pair of shoes - well-worn sandals - and threw them in before another hard shaking knocked her sprawling across her bed.

Without thinking about it, she knew that Peter was occupied at the hospital -- but wordless urging pushed her up again. He wanted her out, he wanted her safe. Evey wanted that too, and her mouth went twistingly wry as she lurched against the wall and used it for support. The front door was surprisingly far away. She'd made it to the couch just as a familiar person walked right through the wall beside her front door.

"What th--!" Another hard tremor sent her careening against the couch she'd just passed. This was ridiculous!

Aidan couldn't say exactly why he was in the ruins. Eric had not told him to be. Ever since he'd helped to destroy the wendigo, though, he'd felt the need to come back out. Perhaps he was looking to be a hero again, save somebody again, make sure that the citizens of New Troy didn't have anything more to worry about. This was the lie that he told himself. The reality, and he knew it, deep down he knew it, was that he was looking for Dean. He wanted to know if his friend was his friend again. He wanted to know if he could return to die Festung and start the process of rebuilding what he had broken.

If not Dean, then maybe he would see Sam. He could ask the taller Winchester about his brother, find out how he felt now. If the saving had done anything to lessen the anger that Dean felt about the betrayal. If maybe Dean were relaxing a bit more on his kill-on-sight stance, or if it had just been that day. If saving Sam had bought Aidan just that one day of peace and familiarity.

They were hunters. They couldn't stay in the city to kill off the things that they didn't want to see in this world. They would have to venture out. Aidan just hoped that they wouldn't be venturing out for him, specifically. He didn't think that Sam would do anything to help. He didn't think that Sam would even accompany Dean on a task like that. He didn't seem to want to, and Fred wouldn't want him to, either. That didn't mean that Dean wouldn't. He knew that. It made his heart ache to know, but lying to himself might just end up with one of them dead.

Out in the ruins, he could escape. He could run. He didn't have to risk Pam or Eric, or even John, seeing the confrontation and aiming to kill Dean because he'd attacked not only another vampire, but somebody they'd given their protection to. In the ruins, Dean would remain safe past his expressed anger. It would make Aidan sad to know that was how his friend still felt, it would crush him to see the backslide into the hurt and determination that had mixed in Dean that day in his apartment. But at least then, he would know.

He heard the sound of a pack of wild dogs, not having any fear of them for himself, just noting where they were so that he wouldn't have to deal with them. He didn't think there was anybody else out here. Not now. As much as he hoped to turn a corner and run into Dean again, Aidan didn't think that was going to happen today.

Chiseling stone was a difficult task with the best of tools. Leeloo had a blunt, flat-head screwdriver and a large rock. Plunked down against the side of a gutted grocery store with all its windows shattered, Leeloo carefully worked in the bleary afternoon sun, tongue stuck between her teeth in concentration. Her hands were dusty, dry, and cracking, but she didn't notice. She'd made a hole down the length of the brick she held -- perhaps halfway through it now. It was the labor of a full 8 hours of effort. Vaguely, she recognized that she was hungry, she was thirsty -- but her concentration couldn't be broken by these things.

As she tipped out the latest bit of stone crumbles and dust, the sky finally made good with its threat and opened up, throwing down massive amounts of rain. Dismayed, Leeloo tilted her head up into the storm and shouted something in the divine language. The sky was not impressed.

Huffing, she grabbed her tools and the object of her labor, then beat it for the nearest sound shelter -- an overhang in front of a place that served very greasy, very bland food. It even smelled greasy. Leeloo set herself down again on the cracked concrete and began chiseling again. Her stomach growled angrily and she scowled, placing the tip of the screw driver into the hole she made in the brick. A pair of toes appeared in her peripheral, and she paused to glance up. Squinted.

Escorting foragers was not easy work. This time, she'd almost called for Castiel. In the end, they all got back behind the wall safely -- all five of them and their precious new supplies as well. No, it wasn’t easy work at all. But... the discomfort of her body’s new collection of scratches, bruises, strained muscles, and one long, jagged slash down her right arm -– that was an easy price. Winter was lean and times were desperate, but tonight, the people of die Festung weren't so desperate as they were this morning. It had been a good day, a good night.

Gone were the nights when she neatly set herself between sheets. Leeloo unlocked the door of apartment 801 around 4:00 a.m., stepped out of the shower at 4:23, and then promptly dropped into bed, having only just pulled on a pair of pants. The shirt... well, she'd gotten her right arm into it. The other stayed pinned against her body when she crashed. These nights, she fell into the bed with hardly any care. Most mornings, she woke tucked into bed anyway, every trace of the night before erased from her skin.

Her dreams had just begun to sift through her mind - spinning constellations, humming metal in the sky, a friendly voice filtering through an environmental suit - when her eyes snapped open. Always a light sleeper, she naturally ignored those sounds that were common in the apartment... but in the early morning now, something wrong tugged her into alert consciousness. With as little noise as she could manage, Leeloo rolled out of bed and dropped onto her toes. Her heart beat quickly, and her breath came in short, controlled sips. Crouching, she stayed in the shadow, avoiding the faint motes of light coming from the starlight through the window. Listened. Listened.