Visions and Revisions ("Hindsight" entry)
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who_contestTitle: Visions and Revisions
Rating: PG-13 for non-explicit references to slavery/abuse of a minor, some disturbing imagery.
Genre: General/Angst
Characters: Anahson, Anah, Ashildr/Mayor Me
Word count: 1040
Spoilers: Prequel (of sorts) to Face the Raven
Summary: On her first night in London, Anahson sees more than she can understand.
On Trap Street, news of their arrival travelled fast.
Their first visitor, a Shamboni almost bent double with age, tapped on the door that same evening. Anah had set out a chair in the front room and banished Anahson into the sleeping quarters - though the last gesture was more for her own peace of mind than for their guest's. The dividing wall had been nailed together at speed, and there were openings in the wood the size of a human fist. Anahson only needed to stand on the bed for a passable view.
Her mother, both mouths taut with pity, was kneeling beside the intruder as though he were a long-lost friend. The Lurkworms made his grey skin look sickly, and the dark veins in his forehead throbbed as he spoke. Anahson could pinpoint the moment when that pulse would stop, looming at the end of his timeline.
"I don't expect to hear they survived, you understand. It's no use being naive. But perhaps, if you could tell me what happened after I left- fill in the gaps, so to speak..."
That was the first difference they noticed between life in the camp and elsewhere. In every other place Anahson had been, people were forever seeking an advantage. They assumed that time was on their side, and flew into a rage when it betrayed them. Almost nobody on Trap Street wanted to know what the future held. They feared hoping for too much, and preferred the relative security of hindsight.
After the old Shamboni had gone, her mother fell asleep where she sat. Anahson cut a loose tunic for herself out of an old blanket and eased the door off its latch. In the last half-hour the crowds had dispersed. Three vendors, their shop fronts closed for the night, were locked in an argument over prices. A Krillitane hanging upside-down in the opposite doorway threw them all a filthy look. Stepping over the threshold, Anahson craned her neck for a glimpse of the sky. The stars here looked smaller than she had ever known them, their patterns so unfamiliar as to be nonsensical. She felt abandoned and then liberated, almost in the same breath. This sky and this air were hers as much as they were anyone's, and there was nobody left to begrudge her them.
She started to run. Not away, not to escape- just for the thrill of moving unimpeded. Her shoes were flimsy, made for desert worlds light years away, and each cobblestone sent a jolt up her spine. The telepathic field tugged at the edges of her vision, blurring the street's futures together. Strangers' voices called out to her as she passed- angry or fearful, delighted or cajoling. Crowds gathered and vanished in the blink of an eye; new buildings sprang up, crumbled and became dust. Down one alleyway a bird shrieked, and a woman died screaming. The next instant she was gone.
By the time she reached the last building in its row, Anahson's exuberance had given way to fear. Her legs shook as though she had run for days. A thousand potential moments had crowded in on her at once, until the uproar threatened to drown out every other thought. Only the stars overhead and the stones directly under her feet remained fixed in her mind. She let herself fold at the knees, pressing her face against the side of the house in a bid to escape the lamplight.
"Fine night to be out."
At first, the voice seemed to be another illusion. Then a human outline detached itself from the entrance to the street. Her jacket from earlier in the day had been discarded for a velvet cloak, its hood thrown back. The outer curve of the Shade's mark was just visible across her collarbone. "Does Anah know you're here alone?"
Her future stretched on so far that Anahson had to look away. To meet her eye directly was to gaze upon the end of everything. "Of course, Madame Mayor. I can do nothing without my mother's knowledge."
Though the Mayor's expression did not soften, exactly, some of the tension behind it uncoiled. "In any case, she'll be missing you by now. We can go together." The hand offered was as slight as a girl's. Anahson, who had never touched a human of her own free will, expected the hold to be rough, and was pleasantly taken aback. The houses stopped their thrashing and lay in crooked lines once more. Relief swept in, followed by an exhaustion so complete that she staggered. The impossibly young hands took her weight at once.
"Steady. Some people need a while to adjust to the Lurkworms. A good imagination or a sensitivity to psychic powers can interfere." A brief smile, which Anahson was in no state to catch. "Almost as if the Worm can't tell what's expectation and what's just...dreaming."
The Janus had no word for "dreaming". That was why their enemies considered them useful prophets: their minds were adapted for probability, not fantasy. Deception, like physical violence, went against basic instinct. Instincts, however, could be overridden. Anahson had realised that the day her mother got her hands on a slave driver's cudgel.
She slid her focus past the timelines knotting themselves around the Mayor, and tried only to see her in the present moment. There was concern there, and something close to dread. They were almost back at the house, walking with their arms entwined. Walking faster, too, so that their feet made an ugly sound on the stonework.
At the threshold, Anahson felt the hold on her elbow tighten. She knew then, with a clarity that cut through all weariness, that she should go in alone.
"Thank you for your help, ma'am. I'll say goodnight now."
A moment elapsed before the Mayor released her. It seemed longer. They studied each other, half-furtively, like children caught at some illicit game.
"You must let me see you both tomorrow. The early days can be difficult, and lying low doesn't help as much you might think."
I can learn deception, Anahson thought. Just as Mum learnt violence. Here is the best practitioner I'll ever meet. She shivered, though the night was warm, and forced her mouth into a smile.
Rating: PG-13 for non-explicit references to slavery/abuse of a minor, some disturbing imagery.
Genre: General/Angst
Characters: Anahson, Anah, Ashildr/Mayor Me
Word count: 1040
Spoilers: Prequel (of sorts) to Face the Raven
Summary: On her first night in London, Anahson sees more than she can understand.
On Trap Street, news of their arrival travelled fast.
Their first visitor, a Shamboni almost bent double with age, tapped on the door that same evening. Anah had set out a chair in the front room and banished Anahson into the sleeping quarters - though the last gesture was more for her own peace of mind than for their guest's. The dividing wall had been nailed together at speed, and there were openings in the wood the size of a human fist. Anahson only needed to stand on the bed for a passable view.
Her mother, both mouths taut with pity, was kneeling beside the intruder as though he were a long-lost friend. The Lurkworms made his grey skin look sickly, and the dark veins in his forehead throbbed as he spoke. Anahson could pinpoint the moment when that pulse would stop, looming at the end of his timeline.
"I don't expect to hear they survived, you understand. It's no use being naive. But perhaps, if you could tell me what happened after I left- fill in the gaps, so to speak..."
That was the first difference they noticed between life in the camp and elsewhere. In every other place Anahson had been, people were forever seeking an advantage. They assumed that time was on their side, and flew into a rage when it betrayed them. Almost nobody on Trap Street wanted to know what the future held. They feared hoping for too much, and preferred the relative security of hindsight.
After the old Shamboni had gone, her mother fell asleep where she sat. Anahson cut a loose tunic for herself out of an old blanket and eased the door off its latch. In the last half-hour the crowds had dispersed. Three vendors, their shop fronts closed for the night, were locked in an argument over prices. A Krillitane hanging upside-down in the opposite doorway threw them all a filthy look. Stepping over the threshold, Anahson craned her neck for a glimpse of the sky. The stars here looked smaller than she had ever known them, their patterns so unfamiliar as to be nonsensical. She felt abandoned and then liberated, almost in the same breath. This sky and this air were hers as much as they were anyone's, and there was nobody left to begrudge her them.
She started to run. Not away, not to escape- just for the thrill of moving unimpeded. Her shoes were flimsy, made for desert worlds light years away, and each cobblestone sent a jolt up her spine. The telepathic field tugged at the edges of her vision, blurring the street's futures together. Strangers' voices called out to her as she passed- angry or fearful, delighted or cajoling. Crowds gathered and vanished in the blink of an eye; new buildings sprang up, crumbled and became dust. Down one alleyway a bird shrieked, and a woman died screaming. The next instant she was gone.
By the time she reached the last building in its row, Anahson's exuberance had given way to fear. Her legs shook as though she had run for days. A thousand potential moments had crowded in on her at once, until the uproar threatened to drown out every other thought. Only the stars overhead and the stones directly under her feet remained fixed in her mind. She let herself fold at the knees, pressing her face against the side of the house in a bid to escape the lamplight.
"Fine night to be out."
At first, the voice seemed to be another illusion. Then a human outline detached itself from the entrance to the street. Her jacket from earlier in the day had been discarded for a velvet cloak, its hood thrown back. The outer curve of the Shade's mark was just visible across her collarbone. "Does Anah know you're here alone?"
Her future stretched on so far that Anahson had to look away. To meet her eye directly was to gaze upon the end of everything. "Of course, Madame Mayor. I can do nothing without my mother's knowledge."
Though the Mayor's expression did not soften, exactly, some of the tension behind it uncoiled. "In any case, she'll be missing you by now. We can go together." The hand offered was as slight as a girl's. Anahson, who had never touched a human of her own free will, expected the hold to be rough, and was pleasantly taken aback. The houses stopped their thrashing and lay in crooked lines once more. Relief swept in, followed by an exhaustion so complete that she staggered. The impossibly young hands took her weight at once.
"Steady. Some people need a while to adjust to the Lurkworms. A good imagination or a sensitivity to psychic powers can interfere." A brief smile, which Anahson was in no state to catch. "Almost as if the Worm can't tell what's expectation and what's just...dreaming."
The Janus had no word for "dreaming". That was why their enemies considered them useful prophets: their minds were adapted for probability, not fantasy. Deception, like physical violence, went against basic instinct. Instincts, however, could be overridden. Anahson had realised that the day her mother got her hands on a slave driver's cudgel.
She slid her focus past the timelines knotting themselves around the Mayor, and tried only to see her in the present moment. There was concern there, and something close to dread. They were almost back at the house, walking with their arms entwined. Walking faster, too, so that their feet made an ugly sound on the stonework.
At the threshold, Anahson felt the hold on her elbow tighten. She knew then, with a clarity that cut through all weariness, that she should go in alone.
"Thank you for your help, ma'am. I'll say goodnight now."
A moment elapsed before the Mayor released her. It seemed longer. They studied each other, half-furtively, like children caught at some illicit game.
"You must let me see you both tomorrow. The early days can be difficult, and lying low doesn't help as much you might think."
I can learn deception, Anahson thought. Just as Mum learnt violence. Here is the best practitioner I'll ever meet. She shivered, though the night was warm, and forced her mouth into a smile.
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Date: 2016-04-28 03:53 am (UTC)Cheers for a great fic!
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