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crossing_lostrp2006-08-09 08:16 am
starborn-scribe.livejournal.com) wrote in crossing_lostrp2006-08-09 08:16 am
[Scott] Day 18 (night): Psychics Anonymous (tag Sam, open)
Night fell on the impromptu and nearly silent camp. Most everyone in the overland group sat or lie near the campfire, exhausted from the long march. The exceptions were Dean and Molly, who'd taken first watch, and Sam, who sat at the edge of the firelight whittling a piece of wood.
Now that the Doctor was deep into his healing trance, Scott was more than ready to turn in for the night. There was one last thing to do before he could. He strode over to Sam. "Hey," he said quietly, prompting the gangly kid to look up. "Do you still want to talk?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah, if you're up to it."
Scott smiled mirthlessly as he sank to the ground a short distance away. "I look that bad, huh?" Sam shrugged, and Scott chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes." He nodded at Sam's geometric carving. "That's pretty cool. What is it?"
Sam frowned at the half-carved wood for a moment before answering. "The Key of Solomon." Scott shook his head, puzzled. "A protective symbol."
"Protection from... demons?" Sam nodded solemnly. Scott studied the straight lines crisscrossing the circle Sam had carved. "I didn't think demons existed before coming here," Scott added quietly.
Sam deepened one of the lines with the tip of his knife. "Demons, and lots of other things."
"Great," Scott muttered, thinking of what Mara had been through. (If Sam and Dean hunt these things like they claim, at least someone's fighting back.) The thought was somewhat heartening. "You said you're psychic," Scott stated, keeping his voice down. "Is that why you and your brother hunt demons?"
Sam barked a laugh, of all things. "No. Well, sort of." Scott raised an eyebrow skeptically. "It's a long story," Sam said with a sigh. He continued in a near whisper. "Something's happening to me. Started earlier this year. I have dreams... nightmares... that come true. I never know what I'm going to see when I close my eyes. I try to sleep for only an hour or two at a time to avoid them, but I can't. Now I dream when I'm awake. Premonitions, visions, I guess. Complete with skull-splitting headaches. They'll get Dean and me killed if it keeps up like this." The young man looked positively miserable.
Scott opened his shields a bit to push reassurance to the kid. Sam sat a little straighter. "You're sure it's something psychic?" Sam frowned defensively. "You and your brother mentioned magic before, and again, since coming here, I know that magic exists, too."
"It's a psychic thing. Missouri and the damned demon said so."
Scott blinked, puzzled. "Missouri?"
Sam nodded. "She's a psychic. Helped my family." The young man was quiet for a few moments. Fear pushed aside some of his bitterness and resignation. "Max was psychic, too. Like me, 'cept better at telekinesis."
"You're precognitive and telekinetic?"
Sam's mirthless half-smile returned. "I guess. I've only done it -- moved stuff -- once. Didn't know what I was doing. I had to get to Dean before Max killed him."
Scott stared at Sam, horrified. "Max *was* psychic? He died?"
Sam nodded. "He was psychotic. Not sure if it was from abuse or being psychic." He finally looked up from the carving and met Scott's eyes. "You're psychic and sane. Am I gonna lose it?"
Now that the Doctor was deep into his healing trance, Scott was more than ready to turn in for the night. There was one last thing to do before he could. He strode over to Sam. "Hey," he said quietly, prompting the gangly kid to look up. "Do you still want to talk?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah, if you're up to it."
Scott smiled mirthlessly as he sank to the ground a short distance away. "I look that bad, huh?" Sam shrugged, and Scott chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes." He nodded at Sam's geometric carving. "That's pretty cool. What is it?"
Sam frowned at the half-carved wood for a moment before answering. "The Key of Solomon." Scott shook his head, puzzled. "A protective symbol."
"Protection from... demons?" Sam nodded solemnly. Scott studied the straight lines crisscrossing the circle Sam had carved. "I didn't think demons existed before coming here," Scott added quietly.
Sam deepened one of the lines with the tip of his knife. "Demons, and lots of other things."
"Great," Scott muttered, thinking of what Mara had been through. (If Sam and Dean hunt these things like they claim, at least someone's fighting back.) The thought was somewhat heartening. "You said you're psychic," Scott stated, keeping his voice down. "Is that why you and your brother hunt demons?"
Sam barked a laugh, of all things. "No. Well, sort of." Scott raised an eyebrow skeptically. "It's a long story," Sam said with a sigh. He continued in a near whisper. "Something's happening to me. Started earlier this year. I have dreams... nightmares... that come true. I never know what I'm going to see when I close my eyes. I try to sleep for only an hour or two at a time to avoid them, but I can't. Now I dream when I'm awake. Premonitions, visions, I guess. Complete with skull-splitting headaches. They'll get Dean and me killed if it keeps up like this." The young man looked positively miserable.
Scott opened his shields a bit to push reassurance to the kid. Sam sat a little straighter. "You're sure it's something psychic?" Sam frowned defensively. "You and your brother mentioned magic before, and again, since coming here, I know that magic exists, too."
"It's a psychic thing. Missouri and the damned demon said so."
Scott blinked, puzzled. "Missouri?"
Sam nodded. "She's a psychic. Helped my family." The young man was quiet for a few moments. Fear pushed aside some of his bitterness and resignation. "Max was psychic, too. Like me, 'cept better at telekinesis."
"You're precognitive and telekinetic?"
Sam's mirthless half-smile returned. "I guess. I've only done it -- moved stuff -- once. Didn't know what I was doing. I had to get to Dean before Max killed him."
Scott stared at Sam, horrified. "Max *was* psychic? He died?"
Sam nodded. "He was psychotic. Not sure if it was from abuse or being psychic." He finally looked up from the carving and met Scott's eyes. "You're psychic and sane. Am I gonna lose it?"
[Molly] Little girl lost
So she had taken to the trees, like May. But while Molly had flawless balance and the reflexes and flexability of an acrobat, May far outstripped her in stanima, strength and the ability to leap much further than Molly ever could.
Once again she felt useless.
She was also tired. The energy she gave Scott, and now she was so thankful she had, had made it seem like she'd been hiking longer than she had.
She had volunteered for first watch because once she slept, she wasn't going to be very good until they were up and moving again. She was too pooped to even pull the 'you don't see me' glamorie over her.
She did some long stretches in her tree perch, to keep her muscles from cramping after all day of pushing them. Her senses were alert, and she kept her eyes and ears pen. Once the stretches were done she pushed for range of motion. Laying belly down on the limb she archerd her back, pulling her legs up, over her own body. The stretch of muscle burned, but it was a good burn. She strained as she bent her knees, forming a C shape with her chest pressed to the limb, her toes pointed to her head.
Holding the pose for a few moments she began another series of acrobatic stretches and contortionist movements, working muscles not used during the hike. The movements keeping her awake and alert.
Below Sam and Scott were speaking. She could see the lights on the metal disk sitting on the Doctor's wound. The blue lights traced counterclockwise and a green glow eminated from beneath it.
The man hadn't been kidding. He was not breathing. He lay still as death, and had even taken on a bluish grey tinge before the dark had descended.
Hey, if he was going to get frosty maybe they could pile their water around him and have it nice and cold in the morning. She gave herself a mental slap for that line of thought.
[Molly] Turning in and rotating
She ate some smoked deer strips and a bruised apple before downing most of a bottle of water.
Scott was still sitting next to the Doctor.
"It's kinda freaky." She commented as she touched the alien's forehead, intending to check hiis temperature.
He wasn't frosty, but he was damn cold. The lack of breathing and temperature would definately make someone think he was dead. Maybe he was. How were they to know until he did or didn't wake up in the morning.
She took the man's leather jacket and ruined knit shirt and cut the shirt, getting a clean spot. "He rarely takes this damn thing off, no matter the temperature."
She used the remainder of her water to wet the shirt and began wiping the blood off the leather.
"This isn't any leather I know. Why am I not suprised? But the lining may stain." She finished her small contribution and stuck her finger through the front hole in the shoulder. "Can't fix this here and now though."
She folded the jacket back up and moved closer to the main group that were sleeping on the cold ground. She lay down on the dry leaves and used her arm as a pillow before falling into an exhausted sleep.
ooc: laughter