27 June 10 - 10:20Dreams- Doppelganger
I often have very vivid dreams. They often make good stories. Here is last night's venture, laid out as I recall it. I'm sure you can agree it would work into a 'proper' story very well. I often used these sorts of things for my creative writing class back in high school.Gathering Thoughts:
called 'lurk' or 'fade', a doppelganger species
tall, thin, blue/grey toned skin instead of tan, or brown, or yellow as human skins are
hair stiff, manelike, could be flat or formed into dreadlocks easily.
ear bones on the sides of the head that meant ears pointed down, not sideways as humans. ears also more symmetrical due to this.
I was called clink or something else small and starting with C. Chase?. Clink is because I actually have money. Lots of it.
..and the authorities called me phoenix, codename. Could never be sure I was actually gone, faked my own death three times already. usual physical appearance was pale, pale skin and orange/red hair in dreadlocks to bottoms of ears. amazing what humans don't notice in details if it doesn't make sense.
Into the Story:
Was with another one, looking for a rumor of one who was rumored to be new, a daughter of someone, a full-bred throwback. We can breed with humans, but the line does not carry through. Samantha? Amaranth? Amalthea? It is hard to bring names through the veil. Place like Hot Topic in the mall, we both entered the door and took up appearances that would not alarm the mortals. Not that it's difficult near a store like that. We always appear as ourselves to each other, though the spell can be seen if you look. She was there, not knowing anything of us. We smiled on our way through.
phuble? lurge?
Was with Queen? some other name, seeking Nestor? also wrong name.. U sound in front, like a common word but with a B in the middle, making two syllables. Our names are always descriptive, as the species is not good at remembering them. Call it a factor for living so long. We feed off emotions. Not just bad ones, but it keeps us returning to humans time and again. We can survive a long time without, but we are true monsters- that is, we need to feed to use any supernatural abilities.
Such as, having heard there was a car sale that ended when the store closed that day, two of us (Queen?) were determined to get to the car lot by 6pm. This is difficult when you get up at 5. We got into the mall with minutes to spare, the dealership was on the top floor. Most Lurks don't have a lot of cash, and we have to get around town just as much as anyone else, so finding a deal on a car is important. Also, my companion was raising two mortal children she'd adopted from their mother, who was missing, having been a longstanding roommate of hers. The kids were somewhere around eight and two years old. Cute things with brown skin, the older one darker than the younger. I wondered if their mother was lurk-blooded, since I seemed to remember that the older boy was lighter when he was his sister's age.
So we were staring up at the dealership through the atrium from the bottom floor. Balconies all the way up, but of course there's no stairs or escalator or even elevator (though I distrust them in dreams) nearby. Not that will let us get to the top in time, even with superhuman speed. As a side note, the little goth store mentioned earlier was on the ground floor to our left, and around a small jog of the building. The dealership did have a sign out, a big long pennant, but it would not hold our weight. Next to it, within twenty feet which is close for a mall, was a big round air ventilation duct from some work they were doing to the suite next to the car lot. Cleaning some carpets, likely. It also hung down just below the edge of the second floor.
She was up it first, monster style, by which I mean climbing like a four-legged spider after a leap that would make and passersby think they couldn't possibly have seen us. I followed. It's much easier on brick walls than on flexible cloth tubing, but avoiding monster hunts (and the local police) is important sometimes. The local PD had even called in special agents into our area, and made them part of the normal force.
We got to the top and melded through the top of the tube onto the landing. It's another trick we have, that most don't use often as it takes skill and energy. I'm better at it than anyone else. Rushing to the dealership with perhaps a minute left, maybe five- I mentioned that our sense of time is fluid- we appeared to the dealer/owner as a pair of nearly-desperate, out-of-breath girls, about college age. She asked if we were too late for the sales deal? I kept my mouth shut not to break the illusion, as my disguise had been hastily done and needed time to settle. He let us in, and closed the doors behind us to discourage any other customers. It seemed he'd been about to close them early, seeing no one there before. Strange for a car salesman, but this was the top floor of a mall- I'd guess he used the roof parking as his lot, making mall employees park in the normal parking lot next door.
He let us into the showroom, which showed that he'd made a number of good sales that day, and hadn't had a chance to replace all the models. Only two, in fact, were visible, with a couple of cars that were obviously trade-ins waiting to be restored. He did classic rebuilds and kit cars, mainly. He asked what we were looking for, and cautioned us that the sale was limited to cars he had on hand, thogu hsome were still 'outside'. I looked around and said, well, that's good, as I wanted a car now.. at a low price, as I really couldn't afford anything too extravagant. She was looking at some of the muscle cars. I was looking at a little orange boat-looking car, a two-seater with a cream colored convertible top that was down. I don't know much about cars, but I thought it odd that the back and the front were the same height, that of the dashboard, and nearly flat with the ground. I asked about it and he gave me some of its features, I mentioned at some of them how I didn't really need said feature.. including the convertible top, I could take the car, but a simpler model would do better for me, there was more there than I needed or could really pay for, but while I was asking, what was the price?
I followed him all over the shop while we bantered, me in my role as poor college student, he as a dealer, Queenie asking the occasional question about the high-end vehicles, but not letting him stray from my negotiations. I knew whatever she bought, it would have to be in payments. Especially with the kids.
I eventually got a number from him, his first actual figure. He said he could let it go for $6995. It was old, and used, and in decent physical shape, but not really a popular car even when it was new- all points in my favor. I didn't know if he was trying to milk me or not, but I knew he expected some haggling. Wow. What a car. I smiled and said, "Can I write you a check?". He was taken aback. I said, yes, I've been leading you on. He groaned and shook his head, I said I'd leave it on the desk over there, as I could hear somewhere the sound of police sirens. I was very wary of them by that point in time.
The sound didn't necessarily come from the immediate vicinity, either. There was an observer at the station, and we can pass some messages telepathically between each other if we know the recipient. Thus, I knew that units had been sent out, probably after me, and in this direction (as I knew what direction they left the station, and what direction the mall was from there). I told my companion not to wait too long, told the dealer I was sure he'd give her a good price, in a tone that said he'd better, and left a check on the desk for $7300, to cover tax and title, which we hadn't gotten to discussing. I took the keys (small dealerships can be trusting when you're sure you have the funds) and took the car over to the lift, which went down to an exit on the ground floor. I left.
I don't really know why they were after me. I've been in the wrong place at the wrong time too many times, I guess, and my stories never hold water. You try living through different eras, between different worlds, sometimes disappearing from one and reappearing in another a number of years later, then try to tell the authorities where you were yesterday. No really, try it. Before you have a chance to ask or even discreetly notice the date.
For instance, before I went with the Stranger (which is a name of the lurk I was with at the start of this narrative) to look into the rumor of a new member, heaven help her 'cause it doesn't to most of them, before that I was in a small cowboy restaurant. I can't tell you where the restaurant is, 'cause I don't know. It's on a street with other shops, in a dusty place, and set like an old diner with booths along one length and a bar with stools along the other. There's a back room behind the bar where the kitchen is. Neon lights for beer signs are hung on the mirror above the lined up bottles of their wares, hard liquor on top and middle shelves, bottled brews on the bottom, and taps near the bar and next to the register. The whole place is maybe forty feet long. I've never been outside- I arrived in the process of walking through the door. Because of our dark nature, we call it 'walking through shadows'.
Well, the first time I was there, all I had was a single drink, of which I'd had maybe half, when I was called away on some business. I left via the shadows, and forgot to pay, which was a good thing since I'd also forgotten my wallet.
I was there again later, after finding the girl, with a couple of friends. One of them was mortal, one wasn't. We'd just revealed Nestor from her corporate tower, made her re-acknowledge us as her species, she'd turned in all her stock and changed her name to Crest. The hair thing again- hers had initially been flat and black, nearly plastered to her skull in a business cut. She even had the little black suit jacket and pencil skirt combo going. VP of something. It was a victory of sorts, so we were celebrating.
Some time in all of the hubbub, a cop had shown up and made it to the upper office floors, perhaps they were responding to a security call. The alarm had been turned off, the floor we were on had been trashed by something, I don't recall what but it was probably an amazonian spirit that somebody summoned. Not one of us; there are more monsters hiding in corporate structures than people realize. The cop was a small woman, about 5'4" meaning she came up to my chest perhaps, with curly brown hair, in a combat vest. She had a gun pointed at me, as my companion and I were the closest to her. She was also on the edge of panic. I was trying to talk her down. This, from a species that feeds on emotions- but no matter. Fear is dangerous to encourage. It's useful to know the true emotional state of everyone around, but not as much as you might think, since you can't necessarily tell why they feel that way.
So the two of us wanted to leave, down the stairwell she just came up, and she didn't want to let us go, as potential suspects. Nestor, with some more VIPs, surrounded by a couple bodyguards and in a relatively undamaged section of the office, gave the confirmation to let us go, then left via another route, hustled by the guards. I could hear helicopters above the roof. I told the cop we needed to go. She said not to advance or she'd shoot. I raised an eyebrow and took a step closer. She shot me, in the shoulder. I paused. My companion took a step closer, but he paused as she retrained her gun. I twitched, and she was back on me in an instant, me being the closer target. I wasn't bleeding or anything- usually the worst damage a bullet does is the pain of being shot, and a hole in our clothes if we're not in traditional 'spook' robes. Her eyes grew wide, and she shot me again, several times, a nice cluster in the left side of my chest, if a bit wide due to her fear. I tried to get her to stop, but she wasn't listening over the sound of gunfire, and her aim started tracing across my chest as I failed to react with blood, pain, or falling down. Most lurks can't take as many hits as I can; not as close together as she was firing. As I am basically an embodied avatar when I dream, I have a higher resistance to damage than most, though some specific things can hurt me that don't affect normal people, and I have a dickens of a time moving against aetherial winds when they blow through the dream planes, no matter what form I'm in, as I have no actual physical matter to restrain me.
So my friend is getting both concerned and impressed when she hits my heart, nearly through the center, in the right side of my chest. I blink, try not to stagger. A shot through the center will kill one of us/them. It's just hard to find if you're expecting human physiology. The pain was not as intense as the sensation of nearly whiting out, which to me usually means they've found something that can hurt me, or banish me for a while. I looked again at her gun. It had a little green light above the barrel, that flickered every time she took a shot. I realized that I should have been able to see the bullets leave the gun -lurks have supernatural speed on occasion, and can see things that fast, of course- but I hadn't seen a single shell. The gun was new-looking, advanced, I realized it had been shooting kinetic force and nothing else. Not something I wanted the cops to have, as spiritual force is affected more by something nonphysical. She saw me stumble, and shot at the other one. At the same time, a smoking hole appeared in her own chest, and she crumpled. My companion was in classic gunman pose, standing sideways, one arm out, with a smoking gun. Long, black clothes hanging undisturbed except for a rip in the left shoulder.
Back to the bar- The barman recognized me when he came to deliver our drink orders; his wife had taken our requests. He naturally got a little upset to find out I was back. I countered that it had been an emergency, and unintentional. He declared that he wasn't going to give us a thing until I paid him, up front. I tried to sooth him as I reached out into my pocket to find the bag of gold coins I'd pocketed earlier. I found the small, purple bag and drew it out, shaking it gently to solidify its clinking. Perhaps where I got my name. I placed it on the table to attempt to pacify him with a show that I had coin. Like most disguises, it took some time to manifest solidly, though its appearance was good. He was unconvinced, so I removed it and teased out a small handful of the coins to give him, placing the bag back in my long coat pocket. He held his hand out as I held mine for him to take something it concealed. He gasped as the coins became visible, and I got up, leaving the rest to their meal. Unlike fairy gold, when I do my tricks they are more likely to stick around if I do not. I bade the rest of the people there- a couple more friends had entered since we were seated- to have a good time without me, as I recalled something I had to do.
And finally, what I did after driving off with the new/used car.
I wound up downtown, in the district with old buildings of carved yellow stone. The police station was in the area. Since all the cars had gone out, I might have a chance to figure out what was going on, without getting shot or questioned. Ah, what hopes we have. I'd been pursued through the shadows before, I should have realized they had a couple of canny bloodhounds on my case.
The reason we're called Fades as well as Lurks, is that in bright light, we can literally 'fade' from view, walking nearly invisibly through crowded areas. No one walks into us, so if the crowds are very thick, we can be tracked that way. It's also harder to do in the dark, as it involves some sort of mental inversion of the light that strikes us; instead of light reflecting, the dark is reflected. Something like that. In brightest light, we are no more than a shimmer, but in standard lighting we are effectively invisible. With a bit more mental strain, we can cover audible channels, and if we are aware of other sensor types around, those as well. So I wandered into the cop station with relative impunity. There was a lady at a counter in case anyone wandered in off the street for some reason. I went past her and into the back. There were a number of walls and doors I had to meld through, as I did not want to alert any security cameras that someone was present. I found no one and nothing to answer my suspicions, though I heard quite a bit over a police radio in the break room. The units were being called back to the station, slowly. Time for me to go.
I headed to the back lot where the exit to the police car garage was. Unfortunately for me, two Agents were in that room, and my foot caught coming through the mostly-glass door. It left only a whisper ad the fabric of my grey cloak came through, but Smith was on to it. We call all Agents Smith, unless we have reason to learn their true names, or call them something else. The Smith that heard me was a middle-aged white man. His partner was large and black. I knew that one, or I read it from his mind, because when the white smith said, "did you hear that?", my concentration slipped just enough to let my mind be sensed. And the black man had the gift of mind-sense. He was Rudy, or Randolph, or Robert, or Rudolph, but not actually a reindeer name. He leaned forwards in his chair and tried to Look at me, but I had my cloak drawn tight across my body and my mind by that point. I could see the garage through the door on the other side of the room. I could see the street outside through the wall of one-way glass they had been observing it from, behind their desk. "There's something there", Rudy Smith says to his companion as he searches for me. "Don't know what, but it hasn't left yet."
"Good", says the other, lifting up a large, fancy, shiny, gun-looking weapon from the floor near his desk. "Try to keep it busy while I prep the energy field." That really did not sound good. Why are they always after me?
Just in time, I see a seafoam-green classic car pull up to the front of the building. There's a baby in the back, and driving it is a Lurk in the guise of a young woman. It's Queenie. We haven't seen the other kid in a long time, he's been missing but of course we can't go to the police. She's been looking for him. She honks the horn in front of the police station, in the taxi zone. I take a chance, and dive through the glass, adjusting my appearance and the angle of my approach to make it seem that I've just come out of the front doors. I hear Rudy swear as I meld through the barrier, but I've had a short rest at this point and manage it seamlessly. I wave, and open her passenger side door, just as the other kid comes up from the far side and opens the driver side passenger door. He sees me and freezes. Queenie tries to talk him down, but he doesn't even give us a chance. He bolts into the station. I hadn't been able to get a word out, either. All I got was the jumble of emotions that was his take on things- I realized he thought we Lurks were responsible for killing his mother, and he thought we were trying to cover it up. He wanted nothing to do with us. I got in before the scramble could be called, and we took off, driving at legal speeds so as not to attract attention. We hit the freeway at the same time as another car, identical to the one we were in, drove up the on ramp with us.
It was a big, four-lane highway, with a central cement divider and four lanes the other way on the far side. Overpasses were common, as can be found in the hearts of many large cities. I thought I recognized the driver of the other car. Helicopters were coming up ahead of us, aiming weapons at us. Some trick of the lighting occured, and I was in the other car, as she careened off a curve of the highway into the water below. It was deep, and the car filled quickly. I reached out to the woman, and transferred some of my powers, a thing we rarely do because it leaves us almost as weak as a mortal, but with our other inherent weaknesses as well. It's a temporary transfer, but still.. would you risk it?
Molly. It was Molly. The kids' mother. I saw the dark of my powers fasten to the light spark of her soul, and she drew breath even as I did, the two of us melding through the sinking car and heading up to the surface. Breathing water is like a continuous melding, less taxing than solid surfaces, but don't forget it is water and not air! Most of us can do it naturally, and Molly had no problem picking it up, not with three-quarters of my own power to show her how!. As a true mortal, I knew she could answer questions of the police without difficulty. With two children to support and nothing solid on her record, she would be given the benefit of the doubt for shady encounters, and be safe. My powers would eventually fade out and hopefully cause no lasting effects. I left.
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