crossing_lostrp | [Mara] Day 10 ST morning: Flying Lessons (tag open)

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[Mara] Day 10 ST morning: Flying Lessons (tag open)

Nightmares again. Mara had woken on a crackly rough-woven hammock to dawnlight and tears on her cheeks. Alex had been chasing her through an old church, a sad look on his leonine face, his priest's cassock collarless now, giving him the look of an executioner. "I'm sorry. I can't get the sins out unless you bleed to death."

No more sleeping, then.

She got up and Orrie, a warm lump against her belly now slipping into the dip of the hammock, gave a small doggie yawn and went right back to sleep. The ghost was standing like a sentinel at one corner of the makeshift shelter. "Good morning," she whispered to it softly. It didn't react.

Almost nobody was up. Mara was hurting from the dream; even rubbing her newly-smoothed arms, which was her new ritual of self-reassurance, didn't cut the pain much.

But the tide was out now, and almost nobody awake; plenty of time and acres of damp canvas to work with.

The sand-painting was basically a low, sculpted relief, like a frieze; she let her hands pick the subject. An ancient-looking, six-legged beast with an eagle's head and some kind of language-like markings in a motto underneath him. Mosaic-patterns from a mosque ceiling. A sleeping dragon. It took hours, and she still couldn't get Alex's expression out of her head.

Orrie was still napping, having worn her fuzzy little self out yesterday greeting /everyone/. Mara couldn't sink into her emotions to comfort herself or she'd be right back asleep. Sighing, she looked around for Vincent. He was probably in his tent with Walt. No, no....

A faint cry overhead caught her attention, and she spied a gull floating past looking for breakfast. Was it too far away? Deciding what to listen to of all the noise around her was one of the few tricks Mara had managed with some frequency. The simple emotions of animals cut through her own confusion better than almost anything.

She didn't so much reach out to the gull as focus in on it. Letting herself feel its simple hunger, its excitement at a particularly fun snatch of fish-head from a rival, its gloating swoop away....

And then--she gasped, because she felt the lift of the wind beneath her arms, saw the beach and then the ocean flowing away beneath her--and suddenly realized that there was more to this experience than just /relief/.

She stiffened, and stood there like a statue, staring up at the bird while she swooped and circled inside of herself. She was barely aware of her body, or how long she was standing there. Orrie woke up finally and came over, sniffed her, whined, and sat down to wait.

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Chris was unable to sleep thanks to his mind racing on how to get off the island. He finally gave up and stretched, waking up early.

He saw another early riser, one of their newest arrivals. He stopped to watch her, not quite willing to deal with a human being yet. Then he looked down at the sculpture.

She had the talent of an artist, though he wasn't sure what she meant. Maybe he should ask.

He cleared his throat, hoping not to alarm her, and waited for her to respond.

Mara stood like she was completely entranced...and not entirely in a healthy way. There was a look of strained longing on her face, and she was staring up into the sky like she wanted to lift off and float into the clouds. Her eyes were wide open, dilated, and vacant.

In her mind she was stretching her wings over miles of water, floating along in the early-morning sun just for the hell of it, belly full. Seagulls don't have nightmares, they don't get lonely or depressed. It was a strange, thrilling rest of sorts.

She hadn completely lost track of time.

Chris moved forward after a few moments, since he was getting no response. Alarmed by the look in her eyes and face, and knowing there was no magic going on, he shook her gently.

If something had been happening, something good, he'd apologize later.

She was flying on white wings and remembering her favorite poem from Yeats. It was the one that brought her to tears nowadays--but they weren't bad tears.
(Come away oh human child)
She could see fish swimming under the water.
(To the waters and the wild)
And she thought that gliding was a little like falling sideways.
(For the world's more full of weeping)
And she knew this was impossible, but it was also the first time since this whole horrible thing started--maybe since the demon had torn into her--she was away from her body and her pain and the world and at something vaguely resembling peace.
(Than you can understand)

/Can I stay up here? Please? I'm really not very good at the whole people thing./

Someone was shaking her out of it, like shaking her out of a dream. Gentle concern...why? /No, please, wait, I want to stay./ But they were persistent, and finally she blinked slowly and started coming out of the trance.

Tears tracked down her face again for a moment. /Goodbye...I have to go now..../

She was aware suddenly that she was cold, stiff from standing in one position for a long time, and that her feet were sore. She gasped and staggered a little, almost collapsing. Orrie jumped up and started pawing at her legs delightedly.

/How long was I gone?/ she thought dizzily, trying to get her bearings before looking up at the person with her.

/People/ with her. The young dark-haired man next to her...and Charlie, hovering in the background for some reason...her head was in a fog, was that suspicion? Why?...peering at them.

Chris was relieve when the woman came out of her trance. He'd been worried, but it looked like she was okay for the moment. "You okay? I'm Chris."

He wondered if he should get her some soup. He also had some food from his drug-induced Orb through the island. He fished it out and silently offered it to her.

Mara blinked up at him owlishly. He had a faint flicker of light around him, like an aurora. Her doleful expression lifted to something more wistful.

"I was with a seagull," she said simply, being neither good at lies nor particularly interested in lying to someone trying, very obviously, to help her. "He flew away with me and we were having adventures." Her language was simple storybook stuff, and she seemed to mean it with her whole heart--but she was shy about it, barely meeting his eyes. "I didn't want to go back. But I think that was probably bad. Like when the faeries run off with you in old stories, but afterward you can't come back. They mean well too."

Charlie had walked within earshot. /Jesus Christ, she says and does the prettiest things, but they make no sense at all. What's wrong with her? Is she crazy? How the hell can a crazy girl be so fucking...Good God, but look at her. She's practically got "deflower me" tattooed across her sweet little forehead and here I am in such a state...damn it, one fix and I'd have all my charm back...what's that bloke doing with her anyway?/

"Charlie?" Mara said, looking suddenly worried. "Please stop upsetting yourself, whatever it is. You're gonna make yourself feel even sicker. Have you slept?"

Charlie sighed and raked a hand back through his hair. He couldn't look at her. "Nah, I can't sleep." /Sweetheart, you're half an inch from a shag regardless of my state if you keep talkin' on like that. Bet I'd sleep then./

Mara stiffened slightly, and looked a little unnerved and worried. Her eyes tracked from Charlie to Chris and back again.

/Damn. I spooked her somehow. What is he, her brother? They even look a little alike. Hope for his sake he's her brother, anyway./ "I'm...gonna go get some more water in me," he said, and shuffled off, casting occasional looks behind him that made Mara jump for some reason.

"He's sick," she explained to Chris quietly. "He's recovering, but it's a long hard road and he's so furious at having to walk it he's barely even himself." She sighed. "I understand. I had to do a lot of recovery myself the last few years."

Then she smiled a little. "Oh, I'm sorry." She held out a hand and took the bowl of soup. "Thank you. How long was I gone? My name is Mara."

"Don't know," Chris said honestly. "I wanted to ask you about what you'd made. You didn't respond to verbal prompts, so I shook you. At least five minutes."

He looked in the direction Charlie had gone. "Yeah, I kind of noticed he was in a bad mood." He'd had to be careful about befriending people, lest he be asked the dreaded "how did you get here" question, but Mara's picture disturbed him and he had to wonder if she was a Witch, or something else that would normally be protected by a Whitelighter. He might as well keep his skills in order until he could get out of there.

Knowing that he'd have to ease into that conversation, he looked at what she'd made. "You're a talented artist."

"I'm really sorry if I concerned you," she said, blushing lightly. "I...don't have my medication anymore. Acting normal is hard." She took a sip of the soup. "This is good. I...forget to eat a lot," she admitted, shrugging one shoulder. "Thank you."

She shook her head about Charlie. "I try so hard to be nice to him, because I know how hard it is to be in recovery. But he...makes me feel creepy sometimes." Sip. "Not-mock-turtle soup," she murmured.

"Thank you," she said again at the compliment. "I was...planning to write and illustrate children's books," she explained quietly as she looked at the relief. A few people had straggled over to look at it--including Hurley, who was bringing Charlie some kind of steamy tea and looking worried about him. "But now most of the things that come out of me don't make any sense to me. Except sometimes." Like sunflowers: a warning.

What was this one? The lettering around it looked like no language she had ever seen. She swallowed and moved to rub it out with her foot...but...what were the chances that anyone around here could read it anyway? And it really did complete the picture--a border around the six-legged beast.

"I'm going to run out of materials eventually. Then it'll just be sand paintings. I'm not sure what to do."

Chris shrugged. "Then do sand paintings. They might not last, but I know a lot of artists. You gotta keep drawing, painting, whatever you are inspired to do. He looked again. "Sure you're all right?"

Mara sighed a little. "Sand is monochrome," she said quietly. "It only comes in white and black and yellow and grey, and only one color to a beach." Maybe she could experiment with berry juices or something.

She took another sip of soup. "'All right' is relative, with me. But thank you for asking."

Her eyes tracked longingly back to a pair of seagulls dogfighting over the beach, and then she glanced at Chris awkwardly and fidgeted. They were Having A Conversation and she wasn't the best at that, especially with men. "Um," she mumbled, looking at her shoes.

"Hey," Chris said brightly. "Dyes!"

As Mara looked at him, he said, "Dyes used to be all-natural. So were paints. Plus, we're moving to *caves*. Plenty of canvas."

He wasn't good at lifting peoples' moods, but he felt good trying to cheer Mara up. At least make her look up from her shoes.

The caves comment got her attention. "In the earth...like our ancestors. I'll have to find red ochre and yellow clay. Chalk...it's not much of a range, but yes, it's better than sand...."

Or maybe painting mats with dyes. Or something.

She looked at him suddenly. "Thank you. You're up early...I think. Do you have trouble sleeping too?"

"Not until I got to this island," Chris said. He'd gone through a lot in his own life, the result being that he was a light sleeper. Nowadays, it seemed that he couldn't afford the luxury of a deep sleep. "At least I got some, though I'm glad I could be of help."

He paused. "Hey, I thought of something else. Isn't paper made of tree pulp?"

"It is, but I don't know how to make it," Mara admitted. "Still, thank you for your suggestions."

She peered out into the jungle, frowning a little. "I don't know why we're here. But it confuses me, because I keep dreaming that I would have died if I had reached Rome...."

"Rome?" Chris asked. "But wasn't the plane headed for Los Angeles?"

She might have been flying to Rome via Los Angeles - Chris didn't travel by air much, so he didn't know. But he let her answer the question.

Mara smiled. "I wasn't on your plane." At his confused look, she explained, "Faith and I were on a small charter plane that crashed in the foothills the same day as this crash. We were on our way to London, which puts us very much off course." She sighed. "I'm not surprised, though. This place is a trap for many."

"Rome, though?"

"I was hitching a ride as far as London. I didn't know how I was getting any further than that. But I had a....I had someone I cared about in Rome who needed me. He...I imagine he doesn't need me now, though."

Alex...she didn't know what had happened to him, but as crazy as it sounded...she had the feeling that he was no longer human.

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