did you say your prayers?

[attitude]

You can live through anything, now. You'll survive if the world is turned inside out. And it will be. Sooner than you think.

There are days when sleep seems to be a shroud that slips over Faye in waves, occasionally clinging to her shoulders, eyelids heavy as lashes touch her cheeks. It's easy to sleep here. It grow still more so by the day, only the occasional interruption keeping her up at night, but her life has been a transient one ever since she woke up in that chamber, and so she's learned to cope with that long ago. People might disappear. People will, if patterns persist. But she'll survive through anything.

She always has.

A touch, cold like ice, brushes against her arm. Another, against her calf. A hand brushes away the sensation with an irritated flick, only to feel something hard knocking against her knuckles. Brow furrowing, Faye's hand turns, pressing harder still against a smooth, rounded surface, until glass jars against glass and her eyes fly open. Revealing butterflies in the sky.

The most beautiful butterflies in the world.

Her breath starts to shake as she glances down, gold darting between pearls of cerulean blue, marble after marble closing around her from all sides, scattered across the sandy beach, a sharp pain under her hand as she shoves herself to her knees.

"No. I need a knife, I need—"

Hands desperately grabbing through air, she tries to push them away, every one of the butterflies, until a face suddenly appears only yards away.

"Get back."


[ There are a thousand blue marbles scattered across the beach, most of them pooled by Faye's side, her 2012 NDPD. The butterflies mentioned in the narrative are not real; they're the result of nanomachines in her bloodstream. Faye thinks that the marbles are biological weapons as she once encountered in her world, but they're actually harmless, although she's very obviously panicked as a result. ]

Comments

[radical_cowgirl]

"Marbles!"

Edward scampered across the sand picking up the blue marbles one after another, occasionally tossing one up in the air. They looked familiar, but she couldn't place them and it didn't matter. Marbles were for playing. Playing what, she couldn't remember, but they were for playing.

[attitude]

"Edward, step back, they're—"

A breath caught in Faye's throat as she watched the girl shuffle over the shore, collecting the marbles until they threatened to slip through her nimble fingers. The only saving grace was the fact that Edward had been exposed to the vaccine before, she was immune. Heart still feeling as though it was thudding in her throat, Faye reached out for the girl's shoulder, trying to pull her straight.

"Don't you recognize these? Ed, they're not toys. They look exactly like Vincent's."

[radical_cowgirl]

"Ohhhhhh, Edward remembers." And she did, trying to find the Vincent-man, the man with the tattoo. Faye had hijacked the weather station, that had been fun. She also remembered the little blue balls now, filled with the bad things and she frowned.

"What is Faye-Faye doing with these? Where did they come from?"

[attitude]

Sometimes, Faye envied Edward's calm. Other times, she found herself completely baffled, enough that it slowed her response; this time, unfortunately, was the latter. Blinking in the girl's direction, Faye quickly shook her head, trying to rid herself of the intermittent glow that still passed through her vision, although not with half the strength that it had before.

"The island dropped them off, I'm guessing," Faye replies, quickly trying to gather as many as she can. "And who knows how many? All I know is that we need to start making that vaccine if we want to say any of these people."

[radical_cowgirl]

Edward looked around, trying to examine the marbles. "Did one break, Faye-Faye? Because if they didn't break the bad stuff can't get out." But Edward was starting to get a little worried. How could they make the cure? Spike had to steal it, Jet had to get all the old people to fly it up.

There aren't any planes here.

[notfaking_it]

It's strange that this is kind of getting familiar now, although of all the people she might have expected to see panicked, Faye isn't one of them. Still, she can't walk away. Couldn't walk away from Nina, couldn't walk away from Sawyer and she can't walk away now. It's part of getting attached to people, she thinks, which isn't something she has a problem with, it just isn't something she's expected to have happen so quickly.

"Faye," she says sharply, trying to get her to focus for even a moment. That way she can ask what's going on, why there are marbles all over the beach and, most importantly, why Faye's acting as if they're the end of the world. Someone's bound to step on them and take a pretty spectacular fall, but it isn't that bad. It isn't.

"Hey, come on," she says and her voice softens a little, but only slightly.

[attitude]

Faye's eyes squeezed shut, trying to ward off the wings fluttering across her vision, painfully beautiful even while shrouded in the darkness of her closed lids. The most beautiful sight she'd ever see, Vincent once claimed, and she can't help but think it true now, even as the sight of Lily's eyes, the furrow of her brow, breaks through in the space between one insect to the next.

Lily. No.

"Shit— Lily, no, you need to—" With a gulp for air, Faye's hands reach out for the other woman's shoulders, gripping tight as she shakes her head, heart pounding in her ears and throat alike. "They're not marbles, they're— virus, and you need the vaccine—"

Although they sink first in the sand, Faye's feet find purchase as she tugs both of them away from the spot.

[notfaking_it]

Lily lets Faye pull her along, even as she glances down at the spheres in the sand, trying to work out how they might be a virus. And if they are, how they have any hope of finding a vaccine. If one exists at all, she imagines it belongs to Faye's world, as the marbles do, and unless it's arrived here, too, Lily isn't sure they're going to have any luck with the Compound clinic.

"What are you talking about?" she asks, one hand lifting, covering Faye's on her shoulder. She squeezes lightly, still trying to get Faye to focus for just a moment. "They're just..."

They look just like marbles. There's nothing about them that makes Lily think they're a threat, not like she imagines a virus might look, especially not if it's weaponized, which sounds like it's the case from the way Faye is speaking. But then, she realizes, she has no idea what something like that might look like. Nothing to base it on, no experience. The only thing she knows in a situation like this is that she trusts Faye.

[attitude]

The light squeeze of a hand on her shoulder as Faye stumbling to a stop, none too graceful for the way that the comfort strikes her off-guard. Slowly, logic begins to weave its way in, making itself sharply known. She's watched people die from that virus. She's watched as they bled, as their throats constricted, as they found themselves gasping for air and finding none of it. Even with wings still stretching across her vision, sparking before dissolving away at intervals, Faye can see that Lily's still standing tall.

And unless she already has the vaccine running in her veins, that simply wouldn't be the case.

"You feel... okay?" Faye asks, voice barely above a whisper. "Nothing hurts? Nothing feels weird? I thought that it was—" Brow furrowing as her expression crumples, Faye glances over at the marbles. Maybe it's a trick. Maybe it's all just some type of sick, twisted trick.

[notfaking_it]

"I feel fine," Lily answers after doing a quick mental inventory of her body. Her muscles are sore, but it's an ache she's familiar with, nothing more than a reminder that she'd been in the studio the day before, that she'd pushed herself a little too hard, resulting in the pain in her foot. Beyond that, there's nothing out of the ordinary.

And she's never seen Faye like this. For the time being, that's more pressing than anything she might be feeling. If there's any reason to be genuinely afraid, it's probably too late, so she'll worry about it later.

"What about you?" she asks. "Nothing hurts?"

[victorofthe65th]

Finnick notices the marbles first, the tiny blue spheres nearly blanketing the beach shore.

He notices the girl half a second later, her violet hair shimmering in the sunlight as he approaches her carefully, drawn to her frantic movements. Trying to make sense of them.

But he stops short when she whirls around to face him, raises both hands palms out. "It's okay, I'm not trying to hurt you."

[attitude]

Any other day, and she'd see that the man in front of her is younger, leaner, and that the lines draw out smiles instead of frowns. His hair hangs differently. He carries himself with a different type of confidence. But as the air is littered with the dusting of golden wings, all that Faye can see is Sam, Sam, and the denouement she's brought upon all of them.

"No, that's not—"

She shakes her head, disoriented, the lights in her eyes all moving, almost cacophonous against the pounding of her heart in her ears, dizzying even as she squeezes her lids shut. "We need to get out of here. Sam, you need to run."

[victorofthe65th]

Frowning slightly, Finnick shakes his head. He keeps his hands where they are and takes another careful step toward her. This isn't the first time someone has mistaken him for this mysterious Sam, though Finnick has yet to meet the man himself.

"I'm not Sam," he says, careful to keep his tone quiet and even. "It's okay. Just let me help you; what do you need?"

[attitude]

It's not Sam. The sound of his voice is enough to show Faye that much, not quite as worn or deep, and certainly bearing a softer tone than she can remember Sam ever using with her. The two of them aren't especially close, in spite of Faye dating Dean— or perhaps that's the very reason for their inability to communicate easily, each making too concerted of an effort towards the other for Dean's sake.

"We need to get out of here," she insists, the back of her hand rubbing ineffectually against her eyes, hoping to brush the gold away. "Those marbles aren't safe; they carry this, this virus, and..." Breathing, Faye squints through the light.

"You don't feel strange?"

[victorofthe65th]

Well, that's a loaded question - Finnick isn't always sure how he feels at any given moment, especially lately. But whatever she's describing, whatever this virus is she's warning him about, he can't say he can detect it.

Shaking his head, Finnick again takes another step forward, his hands still out where she can see them. "I don't," he says before carefully reaching down to pick one up. It doesn't sting and isn't hot to the touch. The granules of sand sticking to it make its surface rough, but it seems otherwise harmless. "Should this be hurting me?"

[keepurshirtonlt]

"Hey, Porthos, come back here!"

It had only been a few day since the beagle had arrived and he was taking to the beach quite well. He'd been good so far for Trip...but he should have known that wouldn't last. The dog had run off down the beach and Trip had to run to catch up.

And what a sight he found when he caught up. Porthos was nosing a few of the blue marbles around in the sand, whinging softly, but staying out of the way. Which was a good thing since Trip only had eyes for Faye, who didn't quite seem all with it at the moment. "Faye? You 'lright?" He inched closer, not wanting to startle her.

[attitude]

Shit. She knew that voice. She knew it all too well. And hell if anyone deserved the kind of death that Vincent had dreamed up for mankind, but someone like Trip, who'd only ever been kind to Faye, no. She couldn't even fathom it, being responsible for someone getting hurt who'd been nothing but kind, tolerating every last of her whims.

"No," she gritted, waving her arm in his direction, trying to get him to turn the other way. Her gaze stuttered, unable to see properly through the flash of light and beat of wings.

"Trip, turn around, go the other way!"

[keepurshirtonlt]

Cocking his head, Trip kept walking forward, hands out as if to placate her. It was like she was seeing something he wasn't. "Now why would I wanna do that Faye? Looks like you need me a bit more then I need to get outta here..."

[attitude]

"Because I'm immune and my body can take it," she insisted with a hiss, and when Trip refused to stop heading in her direction, Faye took the initiative to step out in his— risking that amount of exposure by proximity to her seemed, to her, like the far superior option to letting him walk into a veritable sea of marbles, each with the potential to be deadly. The brilliant yellow of the butterflies continued to swim in her vision, but she pushed through, hands trying their best to find his shoulders. "Around, turn around."

Panic drained her arms of strength, and she took deep breaths to try and calm impossibly frayed nerves, but to no avail.

[keepurshirtonlt]

"Take what?" Trip asked as he his hands found her arms, steadying her as much as stopping her from pushing him away. "Ya tell me an' I'll turn around, 'lright?" He tried to keep his voice even, but he had never been very good in stressful situations that didn't involve an engine. But something was wrong and he wasn't leaving until he found out what. Or got Faye help.

[weary_head]

"Faye."

From a distance, it'd been as if she'd been sleeping in a puddle of deep, blue water, and the sight of her surrounded by marbles makes even less sense, now that Dean's close enough to see it.

He'd been hurrying, faster still to see the way she surged up and away upon waking, a call for a knife on her lips that makes his blood run cold. He doesn't understand, but he knows enough. She's afraid, frightened like he's never seen, and like hell is he staying away.

"Calm down," he says, both hands up and fingers spread wide in front of him. "It's okay, were you dreaming?"

[attitude]

No. No. Were it not for the way that her breath caught in her throat, panic cutting off all air and thoughts a jumbled mess, Faye might have screamed to push him in the other direction. Screamed, to scare him off. (But even in the haze of confusion, another voice sounds wryly from the corners of her mind, the one that always has doubts about a reality too content, and it tells her that screaming is the last thing that she wants to do now, because if anyone knows how to push past it, it'd be Dean.) Instead, her hands reach out even through the brilliant spill of gold across her vision, finding his shirt, trying to tug him in the other direction, even as she still feels the cool press of glass near her heel.

"They're here," she manages to rasp, glancing over her shoulder again, and it's blue, all blue, brighter than the ocean that stretches by their side. "It's Vincent's virus, you need to run, you need to get out of here."

She tries to bite down quick and sudden against her lip, intent on drawing blood. It'd worked for Vincent. He'd stopped the pounding in her throat, the spill of blood in her lungs. Kept her alive with that same blood. But there's too much at stake, and it weakens her— somehow, because he's the one she can't afford to lose, strength saps away, and futility sets upon her again.

[weary_head]

She shoves at him, and in his confusion Dean goes, but with his fingers wrapped around her wrist to tug her with him. "I'm not going anywhere without you," he says, and he doesn't know what the fuck is going on, but the fear in her eyes is enough to tell him it's serious.

"Faye, slow down." Even as he tries to pull them away from the marbles - it must be them, they don't belong here, what the hell do they mean - he thumbs at her lip, trying to smooth the imprint of her teeth away. "What's happening?"

[attitude]

"Virus. There's a virus, it's the one that Vincent released and it— it killed everyone and I need to make the vaccine—"

She tugs herself away from his hand, shaking her head, shoulders quivering and she hates this, she hates it, and she was never half as afraid when it was only her in that room. She's lived long enough, and against all manner of odds, and the world losing one girl won't make a difference.

"—and I don't know how—"

But there are families on this island, some of them she sees every single day when stumbling to the kitchen, head possibly pounding from oversleep or an extra glass of wine that does her no good, in retrospect.

"—I have it in my blood, I have the cure, we need to get a knife because I can't—"

Can't lose him, she thinks, shaking her head while her hands tighten around his collar. Were she thinking clearly, it wouldn't be an issue. Too many seconds have passed. He should be bleeding out. But he isn't, and the only thing that keeps her from realizing that is the way every second seems to stretch into eternity.

[weary_head]

"Then we'll get a knife," says Dean, face pressed hard against her throat. Her lips brush her skin, her pulse racing hard against even the barest touch, and it's everything he can do not to lash out, not to punch the nearest hard surface until it breaks.

"We'll get whatever you want, just talk to me." Grasping her wrists to hold them close against his chest, Dean pulls back. "How do you know there's a virus? What does it do?"