The Meme Maid (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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bakerstreet2015-02-24 07:41 am
meme_maid) wrote in bakerstreet2015-02-24 07:41 am
On You Doorstep
On Your Doorstep
They ended up on your doorstep, quite literally. Bloody, possibly. Bruised, most definitely, though the wounds may be mental. You probably don't know them from Adam, yet you couldn't find it in you to turn them away - whether they wanted you to or not. So you opened up your home, just for a little while.
But it's getting to be more than a little while. Both of you are finding a comfort zone, because you didn't simply open up your home. Admit it or don't, but you've opened up your heart all the same.
Their's is slowly following, if its reluctant at all.
1. Comment with your character, preferences, & what role you'd like to play.
2. Tag others.
3. Thread
LEAHCEPTION
It is but a small, thin thing that should not be as it is. That should not be at all.
But here she is.]
NEVER ENOUGH LEAH
gentlydeftly lifts the Leah That Was into her arms, her heel knocking the door shut as they return inside. Sitting primly on the couch (Ikol's couch technically but like the drama queen he is, he can deal with the existential fallout later when he finds two of her there), long pale fingers brush stray black locks from the child's face, neatening her clips.It's worrying and she doesn't know what to say; we don't sleep is on the tip of her tongue. Hesitating a moment longer, she tells herself not to be such a coward. ]
Open your eyes.
[ So she makes it a demand, an instruction when she speaks, but not an unkind one. ]
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But the warmth of your arms and the faint impression of your touch -sensations, all of them, brief enough for them to vanish before her brain can actually work its way around them- are a close enough thing.
So she stirrs, reacting to a voice that is both strange and familiar, eyes opening and adjusting to the everything that is replacing the nothingness that was promised.]
Where...?
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She would like to twist their head right off. ]
We are in the House of Ikol, he who usurps and murders, Liar To Liesmith. For the time being, we are safe. [ After a moment's pause, she amends, ] Manhattan of New York, Midgard.
[ Having a crisis of self is all very well but that's no excuse to be sloppy with all the facts. ]
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And then there was a boy.]
One without a past can have no lasting future before her.
[She stands like in a trance, the words of the woman (woman! not a girl but a woman!) wearing her face-and-not-her-face (a fair face, not so different to her la--) crushed by the uncertainty now taking her (an unpleasant sensation, for she is Leah, and she does not frighten)]
This is a mistake.
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She remains seated as the girl rises, still of a height with her. ]
If there is a mistake then it will be put to rights. [ More than comforting the girl, she craves justice and to be avenged. Justice for herself, for the betrayer who is now dead, and now this small one who is (she knows on an internal level) the owner of valiant courage in the face of gross wrongness.
I was Mistress Hela's handmaiden, none of this was meant for me. I hate him. ]
Everything has a past, even if it is just thought and borrowed memories. Will you talk with me about what you remember? Perhaps we might help one another.
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If only I could be as certain. [But she isn't. And the woman cuts at a heart she never was quite sure to possess with her very presence. Will she be allowed to grow up as well? Is this why she exists again? She never thought it possible, to grow. She never needed to bother with such thoughts.
(The boy wanted to)
She straightens her back.]
You have a past now. I do not care to exists long enough to have one as well [Liar.] I should not even be, as it is. I was assimilated by our Mistress. The debt was paid, Loki--
[Is not here now. And she is--
The girl pales. Her face gives out nothing.]
The House of Ikol, you said.
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Quiet for a moment, there passes the thought of explaining exactly how Ikol has made himself real, but it all seems so convoluted and stupid that it simplifies itself on her tongue almost automatically. ]
Loki killed Loki.
[ Waiting to see what the girl asks next, the gravity of even just that much is given a grace period (seconds, no more, we never cared) to sink in. Are you sure the magpie isn't a figment of your imagination? Evidently, no. Ikol's existence has always been one of Loki's great and only truths, and now the proof of it stands at 6'4", traipsing somewhere around the cosmos like the manchild he is. ]
I sent him away for a while.
[ In a manner of speaking. ]
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[But you did.
You did, she did.
She cared.
It was bothersome and inconvenient and a foolish, foolish thing to do but he was a fool and he was always there and always talking and moving and sharing a million things and one she did not cared to learn.
She wishes she could have hold his hand, in the end.]
You are with him.
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A frown pinches her brow, shoulders tensing. ]
I am not. It isn't wise to leave him to his own devices, as you well know. I have ... issues to see through with him, that is all. I understand him even less now than I did before.
Come, let's eat his food.
[ It gives them something to do, at least, as she leads the way to the kitchen. Throwing out everything the Leahs consider distasteful in his fridge also sounds mildly satisfying. That, and the symbolism of eating ought to strengthen the girl no matter what is put before her on a plate, especially given the mysterious nature of her arrival. ]
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[Even now less than I did before, she says, and what a sad lie it is the one she has chosen to believe. For there was nothing to understand. The bird was not the boy just as the boy was never the man.
And that will not change, no matter what body or face the wretched bird wears now.
But will I forget it too? She watches the woman with a pale face and a straight back and follows her around the tiny apartment for there is no reason not to. She is Leah, and she knows her lies. She is Leah, and she understands.
She is Leah. But she is not her.]
My throat is dry.
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[ Staying at Loki's side is always like playing at stepping-stones, never knowing which one will prove false and let you down. This, Leah understands very well, prepared for the endless tricks that an adult version of her own brilliant (because admittedly, he had his moments between all the moronic ones
not that they will ever be admitted) BFF can rustle up. It will probably all end in fire. Everything burns when Loki is being himself, for better or worse.My throat is dry, says the girl, a memory of My throat itches reminding the woman that there is no Hela to give her a similar feeling anymore, not from anything worse than her own volition. What is a handmaiden when she isn't, instead more autonomous and angry and proud than ever? Hmph. Free to chase Loki off with her sheer presence for a few hours, to begin with.
She uses up the carton of milkshake in the fridge, pouring it into two tall glasses and squirting copious amounts of canned cream on top. Complete with a straw, one of these is handed to the girl under pensive green eyes. ]
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[She recalls her cave and the time spent there.]
Besides terrified, of course.
[And happy. He was happy, too. The more annoyed she felt, the happier he seemed to be. And now he's gone. Only she remains.
She takes her milkshake, and sips.]
Is he very handsome? I assume your present age matches his.
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[ Which isn't a lie but it isn't not. Sorting out what she feels toward him beyond smacking him upside the head is going to take a while, so until then she will assume every right to coast on whatever Midgardian goods he's acquired. Including his apartment and food. And maybe his money, he can buy everything she wants this time around. No more caves.
Swiping a fleck of cream off her lips, a shrug lives in her flat tone. ]
He grew into his forehead and now wears a shortened helm of horns. Also, he grew taller.
[ Which is all she's willing to say about his looks. ]
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[She swings her legs a little, a bit more at ease now than she was before.] His one true nightmare.
[He grew taller. She tries to picture the boy from her memories with a taller, fuller body. Thinks of Daimon with a more lean frame, a smiling face. A shirt. It is harder than she would like to admit.
So she stops.]
Taller than us?
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Glancing around for what she seeks, she takes the iPad from the kitchen table and turns it on, sliding it over the table to show his face, height, and body. I hate him, I do. But then the Loki she knew always did, at least, appear to look comely. ]
He has a Pad of I and many selfies, as usual.
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(Ikol, not Loki. The smile is wrong.)
(But still. She gets it)]
He is Loki, after all. [She returns it after a second (or two), folding her hands neatly folded over the table.] So what else is there? Have you been back to Hel?
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He is and he isn't, continuing to impress that he is Ikol. [ If he's going to be rude enough to keep up with the pretense of the magpie from his head, then she'll drive the point home with a knife by using the name until he finally tires of it and sees sense. An idiot, as always. She shakes her head. ]
Much has changed. [ I was re-written then offered new life, but never here. Not again to be so young in this age. ] I am a story within a story, these days. Our Mistress has not called me home to Hel, she may be displeased.
[ As a passenger inside the duplicate of a thought, of Loki's reality-warping thoughts moreover, she isn't sure Hela will be pleased to see her. Not like this, outside of her Mistress's original plan. ]
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She knows why they do it. And it's enough.]
A story about a girl. And now they both exist, together. But to what end, I wonder? [And why is she here, in front of her. Why did the story grew up to be the things she did not let herself long for. Why does she exists again, to know this. And why, oh why has their Mistress not called her back?
She feels tired.]
But no matter. There is time yet to find the answers to these questions, and our Mistress... [Whole and safe and strong.] She should not be alone. Mighty as he is, Tyr does not know her as we do. He is not enough.
We are her Leah. She is as ours as we are hers. She would never stay displeased for long.
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The inquiry is unspoken, blinked over from equally green eyes. She's tired too, tired of LokiLokiLoki and being bound and loose all at the same time. It's exasperating, exhausting, demeaning ... The glass in her hand cracks down the side. Easing her grip, Leah calmly places it in the sink and lays the same palm gently on her younger self's shoulder. ]
She will call you back once again, I'm sure of it. I am accustomed to a forsaken existence yet you needn't be. Hel remains your home.
WELP. WRONG ACCOUNT
[Equally green eyes and a face that it is as yours as is hers. And questions. So many questions. Questions and answers she's not sure yet of how to get, even less of if she even wants them.
At the very least, the hurt of the woman in front of her is real enough. So is the warmth of her hand.]
... Are you?
aha, no prob!
[ Having had a long, long time to be getting on with thinking about what he might have done, she's none the closer to knowing. That rankles. ]
Am I —? [ Questioning the girl, wondering if she doesn't believe that Leah truly is forsaken as stated. Just in case the shock is too great, she nods and patiently reiterates. ] I have no home, currently.
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Questions, questions.]
Enough.
[She stands up, as tall as she ever was, ever will be. There is a hardness in her face, a fierce resolution sweeping away her doubts. For a time will surely come when she'll have all the answers she now wants, but now it is not the time for that.]
I grow tired of lamentations. You are Leah, you will not be forsaken. You are not. [Her grasp is not gentle, but it is not cruel. A tiny, cold hand taking hold of her own.]
You have yourself. You cannot be forsaken by what you never wanted or needed. This is the only truth that rules us: You are Leah, and you need only Leah. I am with you now.
[She lets go, pale and cold and furious.]
And we will have our revenge.
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Leah takes care of Leah?
[ That's a new one for the history books. Tilting her head, she nods once simply, growing solemn. ]
He will beg us both for forgiveness until he withers back into his old body. His heart will be dust for us to walk through, for I swore that as long as I had one in my chest it would hate him. It's fitting he should know the open wound he caused.
[ Crouching down to put them of a height, her green eyes meet the girl's, feminine and painted, with a subtler matching hardness alight in the depths there that was cemented during her exile. ]
I am with you, so patience. Calm.
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[Although she may long for their mistress still. But ths is important, and she thinks— surely it is not a weakness of her to find comfort in this closeness. It is only Leah, after all. It can be allowed.
Warmth and sweet nothings.
The girl does not smile, but her fury softens. A promise by herself, for herself. If such a thing can't be trusted, then they are truly, completely lost.]
Then you will hate him. You will hate him and I will cut him open for you to claim your prize after taking what is mine.
[She does not pout. It would be beneath her to do so.]
And I am calm. Refrain from talking to me as if I were a child.
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