2022-03-22 - Testing the Floodgates

Ava arrives a few minutes early, dressed not in her typical fashion, but rather like she's ready for a run. Or maybe for a fight. Workout pants and a zipped up sweater meant to be run in without getting overheated while still trapping in a body's warmth. There's even, gasp, sneakers. Her ankle is finally mended, just in time for whatever is about to go down today. Whatever happens, she just hopes she ready for it. War face. And war ponytail. It's high and swinging as she makes her way across the grass. "Hi you guys!" There's no war face for the child, of course. All there is is warmth and adoration. "You enjoying your time out of the hospital so far, Alice? I know your mom told me you were going to stop and get hot chocolate on the way here. Super exciting!"

And sometimes, the people of Gray Harbor don't go home at all.

Zara is no stranger to Alice. They have met plenty of times in the hospital, even though the doctor's usual hunting grounds is Emergency. Rugged up against the cold, Zara heads for the patient, waving to child and mother. "Hey, Alice. It's Doctor Thule, remember me? Though I've probably told you to call me Zara every time we've met" she smirks, a little nervous about the whole arrangement. The possible curing of the child - good. The discovery of her gifts not fully working combined with a visit from Them - not good. Not good at all.

"Sorry we couldn't organise more sunshine for you today. Well...warmer sunshine." A nod and a worried smile for Ava. An understanding between the old friends that things could get very serious very quickly. Hence being in the middle of nowhere.

"It's nice to be outside," pipes Alice. Like so many other children in similar situations, she has grown up fast; an old lady, in a child's body. Her lot in life has not been to run and play and obsess over cartoon ponies like other little girls. Very ill children often get described as saintly or wise beyond their few years; the truth of the matter is, Alice had to learn very early what really matters, and what's just the noise of everyday life.

Sunshine matters. Smiling matters. Happy time with mommy matters. Butterflies and skylarks matter. Those are the things that keep darkness at bay. Overhead, an early skylark sings its shrill musical call. A cynic might say it's just sitting up there yelling things like piss off, this field is mine, I own this place, fite me -- but as far as Alice is concerned, it's there to tell her that she gets to see another spring.

"How do you want to proceed?" Alice's mother asks, pensively. She's not sure what to think. She considers herself a rational woman, not one to believe in snake oil and faith healers. It's just that when your child is dying, suddenly the straws in the well start to look like they're worth reaching for.

"It is very nice to be outside," Ava agrees. "Being holed up in a hospital isn't very fun for you, I can imagine. I like that you have a chance to get outside and get some fresh air. That's important, too, I think." Her smile stays warm as she gazes at the little girl and hopes beyond hope, even though that pull in her stomach is telling her otherwise. Straightening, she glances to Zara, that understanding shining back, along with the worry.

"Well. We're going to have you turn back in that direction, towards the cars." Just in case, this way they don't have to pivot the wheelchair in case of an emergency. "Dr. Thule will take care of the rest. If you see both of our eyes go glassy I want you to start moving as fast as you can back towards the cars. If either of us say run, you run. If your instincts kick in, follow them." She reaches out to rest a hand on the mom's shoulder. "Like I said, we are standing with you in the hopes that this works as it should. As it always has. But if it doesn't, you two being safe is the most important thing."

"Soon you'll be going outside all the time" Zara assures Alice, immediately feeling guilty for potentially lying to the poor girl. "I've got no one to go camping with" she sighs. "Ava would go but she burns boiling water on the camp stove. Quite the feat. Not a good one, but impressive nonetheless." Time to stop babbling and get to work.

"If you don't mind, Alice, I'm going to just do a quick check-up, okay? I'll try and be quick so you don't get too cold." That explanation as much for the mother of the patient. "And hopefully my hands aren't too cold" Zara adds with a laugh. Once the wheelchair is positioned for the quick getaway, Zara crouches down next to Alice and removes her gloves. "Ready, Alice?"

"You can't burn boiling water," Alice giggles. This is routine for her; the quick check-up, the worried glances passing between the adults. She feels fine -- for her usual value of fine -- and she doesn't mind. "If you leave the pot on long enough, all the water goes away."

Her mother has the opening of coats without making it difficult for the wheelchair bound kid down pat. The glances she throws around are worried still; Alice's mother is uncertain what to believe, what to really think -- unsure whether to expect literal monsters, and in that case, who believes in literal monsters? And yet they say these doctors know things, and there's always been talk in town about people who know things. She remembers her own mother taking her to see an old Polish woman once, about a cough. The cough went away.

Ava reaches down to make sure that the wheelchair locks are not in place so that if it comes to a run, they can just move. "Make sure your car door is unlocked and you can just pick her up and get her in if you have to." Hopefully she won't have to. It's morbid, but she does work in a morgue. The mother's arm gets a little squeeze. "You're right about that, Alice," she tells her with a laugh. "But I would still find a way, somehow. That's how terrible a cook I am!"

A worried look is passed towards Zara, alert eyes ready on their surrounding area and then on Zara herself before she gives the woman the nod to go ahead. "Make sure I can see your eyes," she offers softly.

Okay. Zara can do this. Alice needs to be cured, regardless of the personal danger. "Don't let Ava give you any cake she baked herself" she mock-whispers to the patient while placing her hand on Alice's. "You'll be right back in the hospital" she smiles before concentrating on what she is doing. Zara hates using her gifts. Not because they can't do wonderful things but because they can bring about terrible things too. The questions. The investigations. The demands. Them.

If Ava needs to see her eyes, Zara will keep them open. Letting her healing power flow into Alice. "You're doing great" she smiles to the patient.

Several things seem to happen simultaneously -- or at least in a succession so rapid that they might as well have.

Alice smiles. The warmth that flows into her is a relief, an absence of pressure and pain. A chance to breathe out in a lifetime of constantly holding her breath, always feeling like the slightest bump or pressure might make her burst like a soap bubble. If nothing else comes of this -- at least she's had a brief, brief moment of feeling less like she might pop at any moment.

A peal of feminine laughter ripples around the field, and then turns to an exasperated note. Then it repeats, over again, like a sound clip looping.

Alice's mother reaches for her girl because whatever fresh hell this is, it's not part of the plan, and the plan said that anything strange means grab your kid and run.

A crescendo of music rises, and then -- shatters, like an entire orchestra decided to throw down their instruments all at once, and scramble for the fire exit.

And for a moment, the sky inverses -- a bright sun on a clear blue sky becomes a dark circle on a white field, like an old photo negative; a strong sensation of bleeding, like one reality superimposes on another for just a moment, a breath, a second frozen in time.

That laugh. It's been in her nightmares. On a loop. She hates it.

"Run."

The mom's instincts are good. She's already reaching for her daughter, that's very very good. It's a good thing they went over what to do in an emergency. Because this looks like a bad one. "Zara, we need to pull it's attention away from them," she suggests, already starting to bolt away from the ramp to give mom and daughter a chance to get out safely.

"What? No Post It note this time? She doesn't even get a warning? It wasn't even me this time! I thought you just had an issue with me!" Ava's eyes flicker towards Zara, chin jutting towards Alice and her mom, making sure they get out safely. And of course, this time? She got her cell phone recording so a few people can see for themselves. Assuming it doesn't erase itself. Here's hoping. "Come on. At least tell us why you're doing this? Or who you are. Something!"

And it was going so well. The healing was working. Working wonderfully. Until it all went fruit-shaped.

For a moment Zara thought Ava was the one laughing. Maybe the mother. Laughter of joy. Until it wasn't. She remembers what Ava said had happened to her and now it is happening to Zara too. Thanks, Ava!

As Alice and mother make a run for it, Zara nods in agreement with Ava about being a distraction. It's Nigeria all over again. Attract possibly deadly attention so the innocents can escape. "It obviously doesn't just have a problem with you, Ava" she points out. "You got a warning?" Now it's her turn to yell at the bleeding sky. "I'm trying to help a child! That is something intolerable to you?"

Don't sit up waiting for Alice and her mother. Alice's mother is running towards her car, child carried in her arms, clinging to her. Alice cries -- because she does not understand what's happening, and she too saw the Sun turn black. Later on, Alice is going to tell her usual paediatrician that she had a bad dream about the world being wrong, but her mummy saved her because that's what mummies do.

And back in the field, reality distorts. In the fashion of an old cathode-ray tube TV, it flickers in stripes and colour dissonance, as if several different here are trying to elbow in to the same place. It's a nausea-inducing feeling, a bit like lightning to the brain and the taste of peppermint, and anyone falling on their arse in the grass would surely be forgiven for not being quite sure what leg to stand on, and whether there is a planet to stand on.

Bodies floating in water, face down, and so many of them. The waves of the bay push them together until they look like shoals of dead porpoises. Then there are grave markers, old and withered, and again, so many.

Addington House, the facade of which is a familiar sight to anyone driving through town on a regular basis, but in black and white, and the people coming and going are dressed like they stepped out of some old, old silent movie. A funeral parade; a casket on a hearse pulled by black horses.

A door, closing.

And a woman's voice, laughing, and then lauging again, and then again, and then finally, "Haven't you done enough?"

"Yeah! Remember? I said, if you get pulled into a Dream and it says 'Denied' just stop there? Don't push any further. That's the warning. I didn't stop there, that's when the explosion happened. I guess this time it just decided to go full tilt right out of the gate."

Ava's attention is fully on the back of the field now. She's trying so hard to keep her feet, her composure, and her lunch all at one time. Being prepared for some kind of fuckery seems to have helped a little in that regard. Her feet are steady on the ground, nails digging into the palm as she keeps her eyes on the switching parade of black and white monstrous visions in front of her, waiting to see which of the realities is going to set it.

"Never. There's never enough," Ava says with a hiss.

"Haven't YOU done enough?"

Zara feels like she is in a Bergman movie - Ingmar, not Ingrid. This must be what the 60s felt like. The Addington House? That could be important, if Zara wasn't more concerned with the whole sensual assault by something incredibly selfish.

"It's a child! Can you ever do enough to help children? I never asked for this gift but to then say I can't use it just because...why? Why are you taking such offence? You're not one of Them. Who are you?" Zara seems to be coping with the sensory overload a little better than Ava. It must be all those things she sampled in Africa.

Eventually, programming seems to make up its mind which channel we're watching. The sky returns to a normal shade of blue, and the static 'snow' fades. The skylark, still hanging up there under the sky like a distant little dot, remains silent; maybe he saw this too, and maybe fite me sounded like a bad idea, even to him.

The air smells stale. Damp, even. Moldy.

Alice's mother's car is gone. She will get a speed ticket on her way back to town, and she will pay it with a smile because whatever happened back there, well, at least she's alive to pay it. She will never talk about this day again. In time, she will remember that she saw something terrible but she can't quite remember what. It was probably some drunk homeless guy threatening her and Alice. Homeless guys scare her. Yes. Must have been one of those.

In the field, though, two doctors take turns looking around and then at one another. And on the forehead of each sits a bright pink post-it note.

Upon one is written, in neat cursive, I told you, no.

On the other, in the same cursive, You have the right to file a complaint at City Hall.

The passive green flickers of energy that usually surround Ava are flickering with the tendrils of red that usually mean she's about to lose her mind. The post it note is peeled from her forehead with a rigid grip and she flips it around to look at it, lips thin. It takes all of her willpower not to crumple it up on the spot. But, it's important. So, don't do that. Instead, her head just sort of rocks back and she lets out a frustrated scream. It's not exactly something you can do in the town, itself, and it sounds like it's been building up for quite a little while.

"Why won't it show it's face so I can light it on fire??" Ava growls. "Or at least get some answers? It's acting like people's lives are just a fucking game."

Zara looks at the post-it notes with little humor and much annoyance. "Where is the appropriate office in City Hall!" she yells at the ether before looking to her compatriot in sticky foreheads. "Is this what happened the last time? I doubt it has a face...but we have clues to where it is." They do? She looks over where Alice and mother have long disappeared. "I hope I was able to help Alice before it happened. Hmm, do you think I'm now in the same boat as you? Unable to help people?" Her post-it note is folded and slipped into a pocket.

The screaming stops, but the frustration still runs deep. There's clearly so much anger on Ava's face as she scrubs it. "I didn't get quite so dramatic a show, but we were in an office and not a big, open field. So there wasn't as much space to work with." There's a pause. "Did you say City Hall?" She glances to sticky note and sighs. "It's not an office, it's a mail box," she explains. Not that that makes much more sense. "The fact that they're giving you any leeway at all it kind of astounding. But, I think this means that you were always in the same boat as me. We just didn't know it because we haven't been using these abilities."

"A mail box?" Zara replies before rolling her eyes. "Of course it is. Okay, I'll file a complaint to the mail box and see where that gets us. And all those visions it was showing us. Pretty sure I saw Addington House...and there was a funeral. That's worth investigating. Was there a flood here in the good old days? My local knowledge is not the best."

"There's another version of Gray-Harbor on the Other side, apparently. We're connected by a mail box in City Hall. The mail goes to one of Them who can rewrite reality. Just... literally... rewrite." Ava sighs and scrubs her face again. "I saw it to, along with all the bodies from the flood. The funeral. I'm going to Addington's open house soon. Maybe it'll have some answers there? I'll see what I can find. A lot of history tends to get re-written here, so it's hard to believe what you find in old papers and what not.

"I might come with you if I'm not busy" Zara muses. "Oh! Unless you already have a plus one or something. I don't want to get in the way of anything or...um..." Perhaps it is time to change the conversation. "Even though I barely use my gift, I don't want to be without it. I'm going to help sort this out." A snort of bemusement. "Oh, I know all about rewriting. I did work at the Asylum for a while."

"Conner is coming with me, but it's not anything like that. He's coming by to use his gifts to touch all the things to see if he can get a reading off of them. We're trying to get the Historical Society back on track since the old Historical Society all seem to have, er, gotten Lost." That doesn't bode well. "Addington House is where a lot of the collection is housed. I'm thinking we're going to get a lot of answers to a lot of our problems there. So yeah, you should definitely come," Ava insists.

There's a soft sigh before she glances back to where everything was just all black and white, and then back towards the cars. "Let's get the hell out of here," she murmurs before guiding the other doctor back along the ramp.