Glimmers of a Dream

[Thalia]

Jon was very old-fashioned, and it made her nostalgic for something she couldn’t quite grasp enough to give shape or form in her mind. She glanced up at the sky. It was an odd thought, that his body in the waking world was out there somewhere in an aeroplane. Headed to Moscow. That tapped recognition on the inside of her skull, dull but insistent. A recent memory? An old one?

Moscow.

Moscow.

The Waking World?

Her eyes, face still tilted upwards, had half closed as she struggled clumsily to piece information together, but once again she was easily distracted by a stray thought. Now they opened and regarded Jon curiously, alight with this new tangent. I could be anywhere in the world. Anywhere. Probably not Alaska, though.

The simple question – and it was simple – nonetheless felt infinitely vast. It was like fanning through a book but only catching brief glimpses of each page, and with only the vaguest notion of where it all began and ended. Even her name was lost in the blur, but her identity was all of it. She couldn’t exist here without that sense of purpose; it just was, even if it thrust her out of sync with the norm, and every instinct urged her to step wisely around the things she didn’t understand. A river that burst its banks could not then be contained, and the damage was irrevocable.

But at the same time she responded intuitively to Jon’s earnestness, and wanted to offer something. How to explain without sounding crazy though? Or creating more questions that had no answers; or at least answers she was not wholly convinced it was wise to chase. For a moment she glanced at the wolfbrother, sobre. But whatever quiet contemplations caught her, they were brief. She smiled at Jon, waggling gloveless fingers once again splattered with colourful paint.

"I was painting," she reminded him. "Where’d you find me?" She remembered the canvases and paint, of course; she remembered everything following the moments her memories sieved away and left her reborn in this Spirit World. Before that, though. Shadows of shadows. But Jon had already cast light on dim recesses she’d never have thought to explore on her own, and maybe he’d elucidate something useful that she just couldn’t see.

[Jon Little Bird]

Jon looked at Nimeda as she waggled her fingers at him -- splotches of red and blue and ochre decorating them -- she'd made the paint appear again on purpose, and perhaps just to tease him, Jon was certain of that.

And if that was the point of her actions there, it worked.

Jon glanced at Bear. Perhaps the wolves who'd been watching her knew of where she came from? His friend shrugged. Well, a lot of help that was. All right, if Jon was going to have to point out the obvious, he might as well do so in the only way he knew how: stating it outright.

"You were painting in an art studio in the Moscow University," he said. "I wonder, does this have any connection you remember to who you are in the waking world?"

Jon took a breath. Why not go for broke while he was at it. "Perhaps I might see you some day in Moscow. And you can waggle your painted fingers at me there as well."

[Thalia]

The university. A faint trickle of images contextualised the word, like shining a torch in a pitch black room. Or cupping your hands over a grubby window to squint at the hazy shapes within. Mountains of books, the scent of old parchment and an archaic sense of bottomless fascination. A girl with a furrowed brow, wrestling unsuccessfully with a concentration span beating like birds wings, desperate to be free of the cage. It must be a familiar place for the memories to come so easily; assuming she had actually managed to latch on to the right recollections. No paint, though. No sketchbooks. And that doesn’t make sense. Not that dreams even had to make sense, but the art was important somehow, and she didn’t think it had anything to do with the university. She hadn’t even recognised the art studio she had been in.

“A student, maybe? Past or present, I’m not sure.” She rubbed her face, frowning – not so much from frustration as the effort it took to dredge up even that much. It made her so tired. And it wasn’t even particularly helpful; Jon probably could have worked out as much just from knowing the location in which he’d found her and what she had been doing at the time. “Not of Art, though. I’m not sure why—” For a second she pulled her hands away to stare at the dried flecks of paint caked into the swirls of her fingerprints and under her nails, but the more she looked, the more any sense of meaning slipped from her grasp and other memories trickled in to fill the gaps. The moment of clarity - and she considered it clarity, even if by anyone else’s standards it really wasn’t – muddied and her focus lapsed. Her arms swung down, unaffected by the defeat.

She laughed, eyes crinkled with genuine mirth. “Sure, if you can find me!” He’d mentioned the waking world twice now, but she didn’t connect the dots, not even from his levelling intake of breath. Lacking memories, were they even the same person? Or maybe she would remember all this when she woke; maybe she could find him. She honestly didn’t know. And since there was nothing she could do about it she resolved not to worry; fate was what it was. “I don’t know if I’ll remember… this, when I wake up. But, if I do, then I’ll go to the university?” She shrugged at the sketchy shape of a plan, then offered a grin and her hand to shake on the deal.

[Jon Little Bird]

Jon chuckled, and smiled back at Nimeda. "It's a deal," he replied, taking her hand in a friendly shake. Her touch was soft and assuring, even as it amplified the strength of her presence in his mind. It was not unlike feeling he'd been gently clutched in the palm of a giant. He should have felt much more uneasy than he did.

"If you remember that much, you may remember enough to inquire at the school of law for a Jon Little Bird. They will know how to reach me. If we don't find each other there, Bear and I will keep an eye out in the Spirit World."

Bear nodded as well to that sentiment, turning to Jon and flashing a wink in his direction.

Jon let go of her hand. He probably needed to wake soon -- and with that a touch of remorse flitted across his eyes. Shakespeare was half right, parting wasn't exactly sweet sorrow. Bittersweet, maybe. Jon might not ever see her again. It was entirely possible she would forget everything about this encounter, and even if she was in Moscow she'd be one in several million to find.

"I fear I must wake soon," he said to her. "If there's anything -- anything -- I can do before I go, you need only ask."

[Thalia]

“Little Bird, Little Bird. Jon Little Bird.” She murmured it mostly to herself, wondering if the repeated sound of those four syllables might somehow leave a footprint in her memories if she really willed it to. She wasn’t sure she was capable of planning where in the dream world she’d materialise when she next woke here, or even if she’d recognise her surroundings, but she did know she’d return. She always did. In any case, she was not prone to worry over the whims of fate. Things were changing; old things were waking – her gaze flickered momentarily to Bear – and out of the hundreds, thousands, millions of souls who drifted in and out of this place, she had met Jon. Simple, uncomplicated faith prompted her to believe they’d probably run into each other again. And time runs in circles.

She laughed at the earnest offer; not unkindly, but amused all the same. Formality edged his kindness; the sort of chivalrousness she was quite sure didn’t fit into this era at all, unless she was confused as to which era this was. Maybe? No, no; she didn’t think so. But there was something about Jon – not just his charming manner – which both diluted and stirred up old memory. Have we met before? They’d established they hadn’t, but the question still circled like the answer was unsatisfactory. “I’m okay. And you should get some real rest.” Yes, she had been listening to his warnings; else she had known it already. If he was going concern himself with her welfare, she felt perfectly entitled to do the same. The warmth of her smile was undiminished, and if she noted his reluctance there was no indication. Goodbye was nothing sentimental to her; beginnings and endings were essential to… well, life. And anyway, she didn't think this was an ending.

[Jon Little Bird]

Jon smiled in return, feeling the inklings of a blush beneath Nimeda's warm smile sent his direction. He gave her one more nod at her advice to get rest, though that wasn't likely. He never could sleep well on a plane.

He turned and offered a hand to Bear, who instead slapped him on the back again and gripped him in a hug. "Until you dream again, my friend,"
the man said. I'll keep you informed."


Jon met the man's golden eyes and nodded. It was something he'd asked the man to do previously, find out about what the Native tribes were doing about the Sickness -- there seemed to be increasing reports of it among their peoples, though at Jon's insistence through the influence he held in the CNA they had managed to keep it quiet and find ways to keep the individuals inflicted safe and secret, away from prying eyes of the world.

He took a breath and spared one last look at Nimeda -- could he find her again? Well, if she needed any further assistance, Bear would be certain to help her find her way out of here if she needed it. And Bear would keep him aware of her resurfacing in the Spirit World.

Jon stepped out of the Spirit World and back into his own body. His eyes opened and he was greeted with the whine of jet engines and dim cabin lights. The sudden thump-thump of wheels deploying alerted Jon that the plane was ready to land. He looked out the window and saw unfamiliar glittering lights of a strange city skyline enshrouded in darkness.

Moscow. Heart of the CCD and the very beast he'd been summoned to fight. On the morrow he had a lawsuit to file to start the fight. But something told him there was much more hiding in there behind the bright lights and the news headlines for him to find.

Nimeda. I know you're out there somewhere. He would find her.

[Jon Little Bird]

NPC: Bear

Bear said goodbye to Jon and watched him vanish. He heard the wolves calling out to him in his mind, bombarding him with...feelings and sensations. He couldn't quite make them out, but he knew they centered on Nimeda. She, or whatever she represented, was something old. Something they...Bear wasn't sure if it was distrust or curiosity, or perhaps fear? There wasn't much that could scare a wolf.

Bear kept a smile on his face as he regarded Nimeda. "I fear it is time for me to depart as well. Like Jon said, you may call out for me any time you wish. I'm glad Jon brought you to meet me."
That was true in more ways than one. Lost and needing help like Jon had first thought? Not that one. She might be without memory, but she was certainly not lost. Jon, you are so naive...you've chosen a fine one here.
Polite and reserved though Jon might be, still Bear hadn't been oblivious to the clues in the way Jon had looked at her and spoken to her.

Bear continued to look at her as he felt a moment of awkward silence descend upon the two of them, alone. Bear couldn't shake the feeling she knew things that Bear suspected, but thlat neither had told Jon. Surely he should say something.

"Don't hurt my friend,"
he finally said. With that, he changed into his wolf form and bounded off into the Arctic wilderness.

[Thalia]

She’d been staring at the space Jon had vanished, thinking things through while the memories were still fresh – wondering just how quickly she was apt to forget – when Bear spoke. The reverie snapped; she recalled she was not alone, and as her gaze turned to the wolfbrother it was accompanied by an apologetic grin. “Me too.” Her tone was cheerful, genuine, and any subtext unheeded. At least, she didn’t start to feel the creep of discomfort until the silence stretched under that discerning gold gaze. What she couldn’t distinguish was whether it was his towering presence and the sobriety of his stare that pressed down on her so, or the stir of memories he caused like intersecting ripples. Looking into his eyes reminded her of wolves, and remembering them made her skin itch like they watched across the frozen tundra. They had a right to watch. They had a right to be cautious.

Cautious? Unease swept clear her mirth. Her smile faded to contemplation, brows tilted with the worry of a scolded child. Had she done something wrong? Why did she feel such a sting of accountability? For a moment it looked like she might crumble - as if she were perhaps afraid, though nothing of her presence flickered, nor did any article of clothing shift. She was solid. The emotion confused her, as did how sudden wariness snuck into her amiability now that Jon was gone. Bear was a friend, simple and uncomplicated. She was still battling those internal conflicts when he spoke again. Don’t hurt my friend. It was probably only the innate protectiveness of a wolfbrother, but it felt like a bullet. Worse, he left her with the wound of those words ringing in her head. They haunted her ‘til she woke.

She wouldn’t. Would she?

[Jon Little Bird]

NPC: Noah Crow's Eye

Noah watched from his vantage point as the three became two, and then one...and then none. Each off to wake in their respective beds, or from wherever they'd taken the step into the Spirit World.

How amusing that it never dawned on them that a fourth was at the party. Not that they would have realized it. They never bothered to look up -- and if they had, they'd not have seen a thing. It was a laughably simple matter to conceal oneself in this place. Jon's attempts to avoid him -- Noah recognized them for what they were -- were as naive as they were futile. Jon didn't even know how much he didn't know yet.

That last thought sent a fit of laughter rolling throughout the aged Cherokee's spirit body. Bear had at least demonstrated an inkling of understanding about the mysterious woman, but Jon was obviously still as clueless as the day Noah had brought him home. He had spoken from a position of knowledge, but he didn't even know who he was, let alone what was to come. Although the future could always be a bit uncertain. From this meeting Noah had witnessed, he could see the lines of if branching out as possible futures, like following a river in reverse into its tributaries. Which one would the single droplet of water end up in? And where, should the opportunity present itself, should one give it a little nudge?

What was, what will be, may be what is, today. But what was the meaning of what "is?" Noah's eyes unconsciously flitted to his forearm. He never bore his tattoo in this place. It was a thing he wished he was rid of in the waking world, a reminder that he'd ever been affiliated with them, even if it was just to get answers. Noah doubted any of them still living today knew he'd ever existed -- he'd taken steps to ensure his erasure from their memory. Their methods disgusted him, and their mission was as misguided as it was hopeless. What must be, would be. There was no stopping it. Perhaps that was why he kept the mark around in the waking world -- a memory of what it meant to embark on a fool's errand.

What must be, will be. But -- if one person had the chance to make the best possible future, the actual future, wouldn't he be wrong to not make the attempt?

Of the many ways Noah could have answered himself, the one that came to him enveloped him again in loud, cackling laughter that echoed across the frozen landscape and rang in his ears until he stepped back into the waking world.