Bemusement broke through the darkness and nudged Ami awake. She opened her eyes slowly, the faint thump-thump-thumping in her head pounding out a warning to take it slow. Slow was good. Slow gave her enough time to get her bearings and right herself with the world again.
For a few heartbeats there was nothing. No memory, just blankness. Then Ami remembered that she couldn't remember anything. And no one else could remember anything. Then she remembered the voice and the pain. Ami squeezed her eyes shut and suppressed a moan at the phantom pain the memory called up until she pushed it away. Her mind groped for anything after the pain, but nothing came to her.
(Blacked out,) Ami thought. Opening her eyes again, she took in her surroundings. She lie on her side on a bed. Ami thought it was her room – the room where she found her passport – but she couldn't be certain. That memory wasn't ingrained yet. The American man, Scott – his name floated across the void of not-memories – sat on the edge of the bed about a foot from her. He was the source of the bemusement.
Ami didn't have to shift her head far to see why. A silver marble danced and floated through the air in front of his face. It was on the tip of her tongue to comment about the fun he was having when the marble held position and after a moment – it glowed and filled the room with a soft buzzing hum.
Scott's surprise joined hers. The marble dropped into his upturned palm.
Ami licked her lips and swallowed to clear the odd coppery, metallica taste in her mouth. She pushed up on her elbow and tested her stability. When her skull did not crack in two, but the headache continued at its same steady, annoying but not incapacitating throbbing, she managed to grin, "Neat trick, that. Can you do it again?"
A part of her realized that she should be alarmed by that display, but it was dwarfed by the part that was honestly fascinated.
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timeasmymeasure
[Ami] Waking Up
Date: 2007-02-22 02:28 pm (UTC)For a few heartbeats there was nothing. No memory, just blankness. Then Ami remembered that she couldn't remember anything. And no one else could remember anything. Then she remembered the voice and the pain. Ami squeezed her eyes shut and suppressed a moan at the phantom pain the memory called up until she pushed it away. Her mind groped for anything after the pain, but nothing came to her.
(Blacked out,) Ami thought. Opening her eyes again, she took in her surroundings. She lie on her side on a bed. Ami thought it was her room – the room where she found her passport – but she couldn't be certain. That memory wasn't ingrained yet. The American man, Scott – his name floated across the void of not-memories – sat on the edge of the bed about a foot from her. He was the source of the bemusement.
Ami didn't have to shift her head far to see why. A silver marble danced and floated through the air in front of his face. It was on the tip of her tongue to comment about the fun he was having when the marble held position and after a moment – it glowed and filled the room with a soft buzzing hum.
Scott's surprise joined hers. The marble dropped into his upturned palm.
Ami licked her lips and swallowed to clear the odd coppery, metallica taste in her mouth. She pushed up on her elbow and tested her stability. When her skull did not crack in two, but the headache continued at its same steady, annoying but not incapacitating throbbing, she managed to grin, "Neat trick, that. Can you do it again?"
A part of her realized that she should be alarmed by that display, but it was dwarfed by the part that was honestly fascinated.