Who: Genevieve & Maryanne Where: Mitchell’s pub What: Plot stuff When: After waking up Rating: Low? Open: They wish… Status: Unfinished
Sunshine hit Gen’s face and she stretched. A moan escaped her lips as she turned around and reached out with her hand feeling for her lover. She found a source of warmth close by and drew herself closer to him. Gen had always believed that she could very well make her way through life on her own. But this was much better. Waking up next to a warm body. Only that it was very clear, very quickly that this was not the body of her lover. Out of instinct, Gen ripped open her eyes. There was the potential that the station had just turned John into a female version of himself… but years of fear did not let Gen’s mind wander there.
Fear grew into panic as she saw that she was not in a station apartment any longer. It looked like one of the houses she had grown up around. And next to her… next to her lay Maryanne.
Well that was a rude awakening. She was used to a lithe little woman cuddling with her in their sleep. What she wasn’t used to was the screeching in her sensitive ears. It had her hands clamping over the offended appendages, as she slowly sat up. A noise of frustration rumbling in her chest.
“Gah, stop. Fuck Gen.” Maryanne drawled in that slow deep south accent.
Of course she knew who the young mage was. She didn’t poke too often in John’s life, but she did like to leave him a hot meal more than once a week. And she knew that scent enough to know who it was that was doing the screaming.
“Maryanne, just look. Look outside… this is not the station…” She was starting to climb out of bed and hurry over to the window. Outside… it looked familiar. It looked far too familiar. Empty streets and those buildings… Gen could not deal with those buildings.
“This is the island. We are back on the island…” Fear spread through her. The island had never been a good omen. This was a place of horror and nightmares. At least her nightmares.
Maryanne gave her head a shake trying to ease the ringing in her ears, before she slowly eased out of the bed. Since her children were all getting older, she got into more of a habit of going to bed clothed. Thank god for that. So she was in a black camisole and black shorts, much like what she wore when she went out for a shape shifted run.
“Alright don’t panic, or if you’ve got to, give yourself up to the freak out for the count of five, and send it packing.” She was just managing not to herself. They were in Mitchell’s. And her children weren’t close enough for her to catch their scents. “Because we’ve got to figure out just what’s going on, and we can’t do that if either one of us is flipping out.”
She looked around the room, a room she knew well, from her self destructive days after Daryl’s death. She was fairly certain she’d taken Big Mac’s virginity in this room. Their phones caught her eye. A quick touch of the screen and she was able to tell which was which. Her phone had a picture of her ten little gremlins on the lock screen. “Here. This is yours.” Something familiar might help ease her a little.
She took the phone from Maryanne’s hand. Nervous fingers started turning the screen. There was something else that was wrong. She had not noticed it at first. It had not happened for such a long time. But now that she was aware of it, it was unsettling.
“I can’t feel them. Rachel. Lucy. They are gone from my mind.” Her voice was shakey. Her eyes full of fear. “This has to be him, Maryanne. What if he isn’t dead?” Despair shook every word and she looked at the other woman as if she were her lifeline. This could not be happening again. They had been past this. She could not go back to this fear.
“Yeah, I can’t catch the scent of my kids.” But this couldn’t be him. She’d seen what had been left. Knew he was dead. But so had she. “This stinks, but it’s not enough to be like him. If it was him, come back, we’d be in a whole world of hurt, beyond not being with our loved ones.” But she had to admit she didn’t know what this was. She hadn’t been pushed out of her bed since they’d got there, and before that it was tricks the train would play. And she didn’t like it then either.
Maryanne held her breath and checked the contacts list. What she saw was more than a little confusing. “Well, nobody has gone home, but more than half of the station is greyed out.” She didn’t know what to think about that. AJ… she couldn’t contact her, but Clint she could. “John’s not.” She glanced up at the youthful witch. Maybe that might calm her down. “If it’s Him, we have a lot more heavy hitters than we had when we fought him the first time. But I don’t think it is.”
Gen immediately glanced over at the list, forgetting she had a phone of her own. “But we’ve also lost a lot. Izzy and Tony - they had been crucial.” But there were a lot more than them. So many had gone since then and many of them had been powerful. “And some don’t seem to be here.” She could not help it. When it came to the island, she was pessimistic by default. She took in the names on the list. What did it mean if they were black or if they were grey? Both John and her Mum were black but was that a good thing? Being stuck here had never been a good thing.
“I don’t have my wand,” the realisation came quickly and with horror. She had to rely on what she remembered from John’s magic. Her parents’ was not an option.
“I know who we lost.” Her voice was flat. More than Izzy and Tony. Way more. “But as I said Gen if you need to freak out do it now and get it done and over with. Because you are of no use if you’re in panic mode all the time.” It was the cold honest truth. Panicking would get them nowhere. They didn’t have time for nice. If this really was Him, and Maryanne had her doubts, they had to figure out something and fast, because just being shipped off to Mitchell’s for a Pint wasn’t the only thing in His plans.
She moved over to the door and gave it a yank. When it didn’t open she pulled harder. “Shit.” She didn’t remember the rooms ever being locked. “Does the window open?”
It did not matter if she was of use or not, it had never made any difference. He had always played these games and he had always won them. This was him all over again and that meant that he had escaped death. Genevieve's thoughts started to spiral only to be interrupted by Maryanne moments later.
"Uhm," she said as she turned around and began to work on the window. She could open the latch but the window itself did not move. At first, she thought it was just stuck. But even a few heavy yanks did not result in progress. "Nothing. This is not normal."