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Allana Solo ([info]sanguinesolo) wrote in [info]wariscoming,
@ 2012-08-06 21:54:00

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Entry tags:allana solo, clark kent/superman

WHO: Allana Solo and Clark Kent
WHAT: So a Jedi and Superman walk into a cage... (it's actually a pretty bad joke :/ )
WHERE: Train car at Dark's Carnival
WHEN: Tuesday evening (8/6)
RATING: TBD
STATUS: In progress

The train car was always dark, came of being windowless, but it had been a long time since a beam of light had pierced through the gaps between the wooden slats to temporarily illuminate the dust motes in the air around her, so Allana guessed it must have been evening. That was easy enough to deduce. Evening of what day was the problem she was having, things had begun to run together since her last foiled escape attempt (yesterday? The day before?) when they had finally seemed to reach their quota of chase scenes, grown tired of knocking her out and hauling her back, and had stuffed her into the cage she was currently inhabiting. She knew there had been an earthquake sometime in the past day, a rumble of earth that had her bolting upright and twining her fingers through the chainlink bars of her cage as she scanned the Force for some sign of Kon, some clue as to whether that had anything to do with him, and, if so, whether the rumbling was a symptom of his anger or of him hitting the ground somewhere, unable to catch himself before impact. There was no way to find out, however, and so after a long handful of moments spent pacing and peering into the darkness of the train car, willing the door to open, she’d curled up on the floor in the far corner of the cage, wrapped her tattered wolf costume around herself, and gone back to trying to heal her bruises.

Though she didn’t get the impression that they were specifically out to hurt her, the other attractions in Dark’s carnival hadn’t shied away from using violence in their efforts to foil her last few escape attempts, and it had taken Allana a long time to accept the limits of her eight-year-old body. She was relatively sure that she’d sprained her own wrist during her second dash towards the fun house where she thought Ariel was being kept, and she’d fought long past what was reasonable when they’d taken her lightsaber, launching herself off the ground and straight at the face of the man who was clutching it, so that it shouldn’t have been a surprise when he’d swung out with it. If she’d still been eighteen she could have dodged the blow, but her reflexes were clumsy now, her muscles not fully formed, and she’d taken the strike with the handle of her own weapon straight across the left side of her face. Two days later, her eye was no longer swollen shut, but she knew it probably wasn’t a pretty picture, a mottled mural of vibrantly bruised skin and old blood that twinged constant reminders at her.

The injuries wouldn’t have been a problem in and of themselves, except that her ability to control the Force seemed to be degrading, as if her brain, at eight, wasn’t capable of maintaining the discipline it would be trained to in the future. Or maybe, she thought now, as she huddled in the furthest corner of the cage from the door, I’m just losing it. Maybe I’m not even capable of wielding it any more. It was a thread of anxiety, but it was just a thread in a larger fabric, in the mass of fear that had slowly descended over her, that had built along with what she could sense of her father’s darkness, with her inability to help Ariel, with the whispers she heard from the shadows, and the things that the others used to say when they would climb into the train car to rattle the bars of her cage, call to her like she really was some kind of animal. “Getting ready for the public,” they’d called it, and they’d told her she was as feral as they’d dressed her, they’d told her she wasn’t any better than a wolf, and that she was a danger. They hadn’t been back in a long time, she’d thought she heard them coming a few times, but there were always scuffles outside the door, laughs and yelps of pain that might have sounded familiar, and then nothing. She should have cared more about that, but this body got tired so quickly and she was hurt and frustrated and scared, more scared than she had been in a long time, since the last time she’d been this age, and it was all she could do not to slide into that fear and let it envelop her, let it turn into anger, then hate, and then turn her into what she’d always been anyway, what she was always going to…

The creak of the door to the train car sliding open cut her spiraling thoughts mercifully short, and Allana shifted so that she was sitting up and peered warily into the gloom.

“Hello?” she called tentatively, hoping it wasn’t her fellow attractions, back to their old games as randomly as they had left them. She thought she registered something familiar in the presence of whoever was entering the car, but she couldn’t be completely sure.



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[info]ex_savior698
2012-08-11 07:58 am UTC (link)
His strength had faded, his speed was gone, he couldn't see through a wall if it begged him to, nor could he put any notable distance between himself and the ground unless he decided to jump. And even then, the effort didn't take him very far. His powers had been sapped away, only making a notable return whenever Clark found himself being put on display for whatever twisted fantasy Mr. Dark had pieced together for his carnival.

Clark could have lived with being powerless. This wasn't the first time someone had found a way to take his abilities away and, as much as he hated to admit it, it probably wasn't going to be the last time either. That was okay. Figuring out how to get his powers back usually wasn't a terribly difficult thing to do. It was the invisible leash that Dark had fastened around his neck - the one that Clark couldn't pry off no matter how hard he tried - that really irritated him. Clark could roam the carnival, but he couldn't leave it. Every time he made way for the exit, his feet planted themselves firmly on the ground and refused to march the way he wanted them to. Dark, somehow, had managed to get into Clark's head. He was manipulating him, probably with magic, and there was absolutely nothing that Clark could do about it.

Eventually, between attempting to escape over a dozen times and snooping around in all the wrong places, a few members of the carnival crew cornered him. Clark put in a pretty good fight for someone who didn't have any super powers to support him, but he simply wasn't a match for the handful of Dark's cronies that had decided he was turning into more trouble than he was worth. They put him down, then they dragged him back to one of the train cars and tossed him into one of the cages.

As soon as he hit the ground, Clark scrambled to his feet and tried to shove his way back out the door. He was rewarded with a kick to the stomach for the attempt, which dropped him to his knees long enough for the door to slam shut before he could try to make another move. It didn't matter. Not really. Clark knew that, like this, he wasn't a match for the group of men that had hauled him here. With a growl of frustration, Clark put a hand to his side and flopped back against the door. He didn't look so well himself. Dark hair was matted to his forehead by a thin layer of fresh blood, dirt streaked his rumpled clothes, and the shadows around his eyes made it very clear that he hadn't slept in an extremely long while. Exhaustion, twinged with bursts of pain from his carnival crew encounter, creeped through every corner of his body, begging Clark to close his eyes. He'd rest. Just a little while. Then, maybe, he'd find a way out, or...

Hello?

Clark straightened up. He wasn't alone. With a grunt, he grabbed at one of the bars that lined his cage and pulled himself upward. In the dark, Clark hadn't noticed anyone else trapped inside of the train car. There had been a few odd shapes here and there - shapes that he had assumed belonged to various pieces of equipment - but Clark hadn't given them much thought. Now, though...

He squinted carefully, searching for the person who had spoken.

"Who's there?" Clark inquired, voice tired and hoarse.

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[info]sanguinesolo
2012-08-11 08:44 pm UTC (link)
In the first few moments, Allana didn’t recognize the man who had been thrown into the cage with her and she pressed herself back, deeper into the shadows, and observed his struggle with his captors warily. It had taken her a few days, but she’d learned to feel vulnerability, learned a consciousness of exactly how weak she was like this, how incapable of taking this man on if he didn’t turn out to be friendly. She’d called out while he was still outside the cage, not knowing that they intended to actually shove him in here with her, but once she was cornered enough of her bravado faded that she wasn’t sure whether that had been the best idea.

Then he straightened up, stepped into the light a bit, and spoke with a familiar, if heavily strained, voice and Allana gave up her pretense at hiding, half-stumbling out of the shadows and into a faint bit of light from between the slats of train car. “Clark?” she asked, her voice somewhere between shocked and concerned at seeing someone who was usually as close as you could come to invulnerable looking about as beat up as…well as she felt. “It’s Allana,” she said, realizing that he probably had no idea who the eight-year-old calling his name actually was, unless her family had figured out what had happened and had told the others that the girl posting on the boards (the one post she’d managed before they’d taken her phone) was her.

She stepped forward further and tilted her head back to look up (and up and up) at Clark, tilting her head to the side so that she was considering him out of the eye that wasn’t bruised so that her vision still blurred and the skin still twinged when she tried to squint it against the blurring. “Kriff,” she said quietly, “How bad is it? Do you need…I’d heal you but I can’t…the Force is going. I can still feel it I guess. I just can’t…” she trailed off and shook her head slightly. She almost apologized, but bit it back at the last second, realizing that her voice would have come out choked and shaky. She’d forgotten that it was harder to hold on to your emotions when you were younger, even if it was only physically younger, when your body got tired faster and hurt more and you didn’t feel entirely in control of your own limbs. When she’d actually been eight, she’d been a solemn, self-possessed child, but she wasn’t that girl right now, was her older self trapped in a useless, vulnerable prison and it wasn’t helping the fear of the carnival that was like something alive and skittering, clawing at her from the inside.

After a couple deep breaths she pulled the furry jacket of her costume tighter around her. She’d find out from Clark in a moment if Kon was at the carnival, if he’d seen Ariel, if her family was all right, if her father had started to push too far against his delicate hold on the light side. For now, however, she needed a second to regroup, to process any information she might get. She tried out a small smile and tugged slightly on the furry jacket they’d wrapped her in, raising an eyebrow tentatively at Clark, “Do you think this is karma for making fun of your costume?” she asked, proud of keeping her voice steady, “because if so, I’m really sorry.”

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