Siobhan Nolan (ars_memoriae) wrote in savingthegames, @ 2014-08-21 11:17:00 |
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As a superhuman well into two decades of being in control of her powers, and as someone who paid frequent attention to any news that came out about her kind, Siobhan believed that she was fairly open-minded about superhuman capabilities. Redefining limits and possibilities happened all the time. There was always something new to learn and discover every day. There was that. But then there was realizing that one’s memories had been almost completely overwritten and that reality itself had shifted to reflect this false, fairytale-like life. Far from a pleasant revelation to wake up to, really. She’d spent most of yesterday, her first day back “awake,” avoiding Sam. Or trying to. She felt as guilty as hell the instant she’d poked her head out of the bedroom that morning, still trying to figure out what was going on, and he’d been there just outside of the door to check on her. Ask her if she needed anything, if she felt up to breakfast with the kids. In his eyes, she knew that Sam could tell that something was off as confusion warred with the exhaustion in her face. The differences in his appearance weren’t many, but they were plenty striking to Siobhan. She still remembered vividly the man she encountered in the alley, the man of the slumped shoulders, gruff voice, and bleak-rimmed eyes. Even when she had seen Sam at the gala, he didn’t look so nearly as transformed then as he did now: dressed in his uniform, clean-shaven, spine steeled with confidence, eyes clear and bright with a very different emotion as he looked at her. It made her blush despite herself. Luckily, the fatigue she clearly could not feign worked to her advantage. For the rest of the day, Siobhan had tried as gently as she could to keep her distance, the lingering weakness and head-pain from the migraine acting as a mixed blessing. The hours passed by slowly. She was unusually quiet and reserved, no easy banter exchanged or casual chatter made. She didn’t engage with the children much either. It couldn’t be helped; she needed the time and space to recover and to process her original memories, as well as to reconcile what had gone on with the false ones. But by Thursday afternoon, Siobhan knew that she could no longer put off what needed to happen next. She showered, brushed her hair, washed her face, and picked out clothes that were deliberately less colorful and more demure and modest. With one last stern look at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she declared herself as prepared as she could be. That it was time. Once again, Siobhan descended the stairs and went looking for Sam in the living room. |