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Apr. 18th, 2011 11:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pterosaurAbove's fingers were just too big to touch the crystal through the wires around it. She stared at it in frustration for a time, knowing she should give it to someone who could make use of it. Sell it, maybe.
It wasn't like she wanted to know, anyway. It wouldn't do her any good.
She picked the thing up with the tip of her beak, and paused. ...Why not. She tipped her long head back and opened her beak a fraction at a time, so the crystal in its cage slipped down gradually. Her tongue was stiffer, less flexible and sensitive than a humans', but it was pointed, and eventually she felt that tip go through the gaps in the wires and -
Above couldn't see. Somehow, this didn't provoke the lethargy that usually came over her whenever it was dark.
She was wading through cool running water, feeling it tug at her, hearing it splash. She was going up an incline and the water was getting shallower. Besides her was someone else, huge and bipedal, doing the same. She was full. Her right wing-arm ached, forcing her to limp.
Some ways away, she could hear a rendition of ‘Men In Black’ playing while two kids whooped and thumped and danced. They sounded like Canadayce and Betram. Above didn’t remember anything about them, other than the little she’d picked up in that memory the radios had broadcast, but they sounded like they were having fun. Canadayce was telling Bertram to thump that tail. There was a faint tremor in the ground when he did.
< Bertram’s got your key chain. It’s wrapped around a couple of his spikes. I thought you might want it, > the boy coming out of the water with her said. The boy with low growls under his voice - Mike, yes. < Kept meaning to mention it to you. >
< That’s okay. Thanks, > Above said. She sounded a little distant to her own ears. It felt like she was looking at the sky.
Her fingers and toes squelched in mud, drier the farther she went, and then she was on hard land, dipping her head down to pick at her wet extremities. She heard herself say, < I’m curious. Remember the first time we went fishing? I could see something bothering you. > She hesitated for a moment. < It was something to do with back home, right? >
< Ja____, I- > He cut himself off. The strained quality of his voice went weirdly with the guttural sounds under his words. The sound had been clear, the boy's voice had cut out, for most of that name. Her name.
< I mean, it stays with me. Here you are, Mike Peterfsky, for heaven’s sake, you’ve got what anyone who isn’t you would probably consider a perfect life, and that world back there was crushing you. Just like it was crushing all the rest of us. That’s the truth, isn’t it? >
She heard him sigh weakly, felt a luff of hot air across her crest. < Yeah. But some of it... some of it I brought on myself. See, there’s this thing that Sean... he’s... You know Lowell? >
< I’ve seen him around. He’s on the team? >
< Yeah. He’s not as big or strong or fast as some of us, but Coach keeps him on the team because he just tries so hard, he gives everything he has... He’s got heart. But the team doesn’t see him like that. Sean doesn’t see him like that. > Mike trailed off, agonized. < ...I shouldn’t talk about this. >
After a moment, she said, < ...Okay. I don’t need to know the gory details. There’s nothing you can do right now, anyway. >
They were quiet for a bit, while Canadayce and Bertram partied on, oblivious.
< Look. You were right. Sort of, > Mike said. < But that doesn’t mean things can’t change. Look at us. We’re changing history. >
< Are we? >
< Mr. London said if we were hearing his message, then we’d already made sure that his future never came to pass. >
< Oh, yeah? If that future never happens, how could he have sent the message? The Mr. London who’s seen us in comas for sixty years would never have existed. >
Stricken, he said, < I don’t - >
Above shook her head. < Forget it. I woke up feeling really negative. > After a moment, she added, < Don’t lose any sleep about that. I’m sure there’s some loophole, some time paradox or something. Maybe sixty years after you get back, Bertram will be sitting there with Mr. London, telling him what message to send. Anything’s possible. >
< Yeah... > He sounded distracted.
Above felt her head tilt. < Wait a minute. You’re not that worried about what I said, are you? You’re thinking about Moriarty. >
< That obvious, huh? >
< Yep. >
< I know what Coach Garibaldi would tell me. It’s mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it don’t matter. > He chuckled to himself. There was a soft peal of thunder, and then cold, stinging rain started to come down. The party on shore ended quickly, with yelps and protests. < We’d better find somewhere to wait this out. >
Now that the music had stopped she heard a roaring sound, soft at first, not something made by any living being’s throat. She felt her long head turning towards the river, felt herself stiffen. Fear rose in her.
< What’s the matter? > Mike asked.
She cried out softly, inarticulately. The roaring was building far too quickly.
Somewhere behind her, Bertram wailed, < Flash flood! > His voice faded. Her sight returned.
She was splashed in glittery pink paint, and there were glittery beads around her neck.
< Damn it, > Above muttered at no one, and for a brief, terrifying moment she wished she could wrap her arms around herself. Then she shook her head viciously, and threw herself into flight.
It wasn't like she wanted to know, anyway. It wouldn't do her any good.
She picked the thing up with the tip of her beak, and paused. ...Why not. She tipped her long head back and opened her beak a fraction at a time, so the crystal in its cage slipped down gradually. Her tongue was stiffer, less flexible and sensitive than a humans', but it was pointed, and eventually she felt that tip go through the gaps in the wires and -
Above couldn't see. Somehow, this didn't provoke the lethargy that usually came over her whenever it was dark.
She was wading through cool running water, feeling it tug at her, hearing it splash. She was going up an incline and the water was getting shallower. Besides her was someone else, huge and bipedal, doing the same. She was full. Her right wing-arm ached, forcing her to limp.
Some ways away, she could hear a rendition of ‘Men In Black’ playing while two kids whooped and thumped and danced. They sounded like Canadayce and Betram. Above didn’t remember anything about them, other than the little she’d picked up in that memory the radios had broadcast, but they sounded like they were having fun. Canadayce was telling Bertram to thump that tail. There was a faint tremor in the ground when he did.
< Bertram’s got your key chain. It’s wrapped around a couple of his spikes. I thought you might want it, > the boy coming out of the water with her said. The boy with low growls under his voice - Mike, yes. < Kept meaning to mention it to you. >
< That’s okay. Thanks, > Above said. She sounded a little distant to her own ears. It felt like she was looking at the sky.
Her fingers and toes squelched in mud, drier the farther she went, and then she was on hard land, dipping her head down to pick at her wet extremities. She heard herself say, < I’m curious. Remember the first time we went fishing? I could see something bothering you. > She hesitated for a moment. < It was something to do with back home, right? >
< Ja____, I- > He cut himself off. The strained quality of his voice went weirdly with the guttural sounds under his words. The sound had been clear, the boy's voice had cut out, for most of that name. Her name.
< I mean, it stays with me. Here you are, Mike Peterfsky, for heaven’s sake, you’ve got what anyone who isn’t you would probably consider a perfect life, and that world back there was crushing you. Just like it was crushing all the rest of us. That’s the truth, isn’t it? >
She heard him sigh weakly, felt a luff of hot air across her crest. < Yeah. But some of it... some of it I brought on myself. See, there’s this thing that Sean... he’s... You know Lowell? >
< I’ve seen him around. He’s on the team? >
< Yeah. He’s not as big or strong or fast as some of us, but Coach keeps him on the team because he just tries so hard, he gives everything he has... He’s got heart. But the team doesn’t see him like that. Sean doesn’t see him like that. > Mike trailed off, agonized. < ...I shouldn’t talk about this. >
After a moment, she said, < ...Okay. I don’t need to know the gory details. There’s nothing you can do right now, anyway. >
They were quiet for a bit, while Canadayce and Bertram partied on, oblivious.
< Look. You were right. Sort of, > Mike said. < But that doesn’t mean things can’t change. Look at us. We’re changing history. >
< Are we? >
< Mr. London said if we were hearing his message, then we’d already made sure that his future never came to pass. >
< Oh, yeah? If that future never happens, how could he have sent the message? The Mr. London who’s seen us in comas for sixty years would never have existed. >
Stricken, he said, < I don’t - >
Above shook her head. < Forget it. I woke up feeling really negative. > After a moment, she added, < Don’t lose any sleep about that. I’m sure there’s some loophole, some time paradox or something. Maybe sixty years after you get back, Bertram will be sitting there with Mr. London, telling him what message to send. Anything’s possible. >
< Yeah... > He sounded distracted.
Above felt her head tilt. < Wait a minute. You’re not that worried about what I said, are you? You’re thinking about Moriarty. >
< That obvious, huh? >
< Yep. >
< I know what Coach Garibaldi would tell me. It’s mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it don’t matter. > He chuckled to himself. There was a soft peal of thunder, and then cold, stinging rain started to come down. The party on shore ended quickly, with yelps and protests. < We’d better find somewhere to wait this out. >
Now that the music had stopped she heard a roaring sound, soft at first, not something made by any living being’s throat. She felt her long head turning towards the river, felt herself stiffen. Fear rose in her.
< What’s the matter? > Mike asked.
She cried out softly, inarticulately. The roaring was building far too quickly.
Somewhere behind her, Bertram wailed, < Flash flood! > His voice faded. Her sight returned.
She was splashed in glittery pink paint, and there were glittery beads around her neck.
< Damn it, > Above muttered at no one, and for a brief, terrifying moment she wished she could wrap her arms around herself. Then she shook her head viciously, and threw herself into flight.