ext_12572: (Daisy Serious)
[identity profile] sinanju.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] crossing_lostrp
Who: Daisy Adair (in Damon's body)
When: Immediately following A Mother's Touch
Where: The beach (Camp Crash)
Invited: Beach dwellers
Status: Complete


Daisy had tried not to laugh. She really, really had.

It wasn't funny! she told herself. But--come on, of course it was. That obnoxious, sexist bastard reduced (in his mind, at least) to a mere woman. A slip of a woman at that. A new mother with breasts full of milk and a hungry infant in his arms.

The island had been a font of inconvenience, discomfort and weirdness since they crashed here. But this once it seemed to have dispensed some justice. Just maybe Detective Inspector Gene Hunt would learn a little something from this incident.

Daisy had laughed--and instantly felt the murderous rage that rolled off of Hunt like a slap in the face. Claire's face had twisted in a very unattractive scowl and she'd stared daggers at Daisy. "Don't you laugh at me, you bastard!" Claire had roared, not remembering--or perhaps not caring--that it was Daisy, not Damon laughing.

Aaron stopped nursing to voice his fear and alarm at the hostility suddenly radiating off his mother. As he'd screamed his displeasure, Damon had turned to glare over his shoulder at Daisy--and seeing her own face glaring at her was weirdly disquieting.

"You're. Not. Helping," Damon had said. The unspoken thought, If you aren't going to help, get out. came through loud and clear.

The laughter had died away abruptly. The stew of terror, humiliation, rage, and disdain from the three other occupants of the room was tangible. It was oppressive, stifling. Daisy had desperately wanted to escape it. She wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else--


--and suddenly Daisy was standing in loose sand, blinking tear-filled eyes as the after image of the early morning sun hung in her field of vision. She raised one hand to shield her eyes from the brilliance of the sun.

A stiff breeze filled with the smell of the sea blew in her face, stirring the hair on head--and on her arms and legs. Daisy shivered at the alien feel of it. She heard the crash of the surf, and the screech of gulls overhead.

(I'm on the beach,) Daisy thought dully. She looked around, knowing before she turned her head that she'd see the makeshift shelters and debris of the survivors' camp all around her. She thought she ought to be shocked by this turn of events but she just didn't have it in her.

Surprise fatigue Blaise had called it once. (Good name for it,) Daisy thought. So Damon could...vanish and reappear somewhere else? (What a useful talent,) Daisy thought. (It would make Reaping so much more convenient--)

"Damon? Is that you?"

Daisy turned. Hurley stood behind her. Something about his posture was off. "No, I'm Daisy. Daisy Adair. You're not Hurley. Who are you?"

Hurley smiled as if pleased. "Very good. I'm Sue. Sue Cullen."
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July 2007

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