ZincAboutIt

Vivica nodded at Nox, pleased that he seemed to finally understand her earlier panic. "It's safe for now," she whispered, pointing to her notes again. There was something important in them, though she couldn't quite recall what it was. "But we should move on soon. It's out there, you know. The fire. It's always out there, somewhere." Nox seemed more agitated, more nervous than before. Vivica looked at the place where he had placed his spike, and cocked her head a bit. She considered asking about it, but she didn't want to frighten Nox away. Sometimes her friends would disappear if she asked them too many questions. "Is there someplace safe you know about, somewhere we could go? We should keep moving. If we stay here, it will find us. We need to stay ahead of the smoke." She held out a hand for him, and Bennington looped around them both, his color shifting toward a slightly-lighter indigo. That was a good sign, and Vivica allowed herself a small smile. "It's lucky we found you again - wouldn't do to have you burned to a crisp, now would it?" @Voidus

Light danced over the stone grotto as Lita waited, her whole body tense and frozen. Her eyes never left the Stranger’s - she wasn’t sure if she could look away, now. Time felt odd here, pulled a bit at the edges, warped as if under pressure. Her hand stayed where it was, resting whisper-light against the back of the Stranger’s own. A small sliver of her mind was demanding that she think about what she was doing, that sliver that was still the young girl from Elendel who worked in her father’s parlor. The girl who had never held any power, because she was too weak to keep it. The Lita who listened, but could never demand. That girl had died in Elendel almost three years ago, now. Lita had killed her. And this terror, this self-doubt, was simply what remained of her ghost. She had to trust herself, trust that she knew what she was doing. The time for weakness was long-since past. Lita reached into herself and crushed the last vestiges of who she had been. They crumbled like ash, and something cold and wonderful settled around her in their place. Lita drew in the mantle of her ambition and held the gaze of a vicious, hungry god. 'Speak of this to no one. The work is greater than you know, and if you are to assist you must be absolutely unwavering or you will lose everything.' The words pressed into her mind with an almost physical weight, and Lita actually felt herself begin to burn Pewter in an attempt to hold up under the strain. She gritted her teeth at the demonstration of will, and part of her quailed at the knowledge that this was but a fraction of the power the Stranger could bring to bear against her mind. This was merely the brush of his palm fitted over her wrist; Lita did not want to know what it would feel like to be under the bootheel of his attention. She said nothing, not even sending a response through the Coin. Her agreement was implicit. Lita had no doubt that her life would be the least of what she would lose if he had even the smallest doubt about her “unwavering” loyalty. He stepped away, turning towards the water, and Lita let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. The pressure on her mind had eased, her thoughts her own again, and the last few minutes caught up with her in a rush of color and sound. The razor clarity that had pulsed through her moments before had begun to fracture again, all the pieces starting to fall away. She still held them, but many made no sense to her now. "But it is also undeniably dangerous, and so must be studied with caution and secrecy. You are to speak to no one of this, Denizen or otherwise." The water - he was speaking of the water. Lita felt it draw her forward even before she looked at it, whispering the promise of knowledge beyond anything she could imagine. She glanced to the side, where Laurelai stood similarly transfixed. The blue of the water reflected in the blue of her eyes, turning them into blazing slivers of glacial ice. Her face was set in an expression of deep, ravenous attention; Lita knew what she was feeling. She felt it too. "Now I offer you both an opportunity the likes of which you have never dreamed, and will never encounter again." The Stranger turned back to them, his eyes cold and heavy. "I am engaged in an experiment the likes of which the world has never seen. I offer you the chance to gain knowledge and power beyond your ken, and the opportunity to carve your mark in the annals of history. So what say you? Will you join me in the pursuit of knowledge, of secrets, of Science?" The Stranger’s words echoed in the close, cool dimness as he stood, silhouetted against the glowing blue curtain that was the Chapel of Rain. Lita felt her eyes slip from his figure to the water behind him, and there was a deep warring within her; all that hunger, all that want. Knowledge and power beyond her ken? It waited for her there, just beyond the edge of the pool. Lita’s body shook with the effort of standing still when every fragment of her soul burned with thirst. She ached to step beneath the water, sink to her knees and drown in it. The release of life, of will, of everything - there would be only the water, and the boundless depths of knowing all. What was existence but a fragile cage of bone and blood? Another limit to be shattered, another prison to escape. But something held her still, screaming against the mindless draw of the water. Her will, bloodied fingers clutching tattered reigns, jaw clenched, eyes fierce. This place held a power over her that twisted her into something crawling and helpless, a slave to her own hunger. There may have been knowledge waiting for her beneath the water, but power? What power was there in wasting away, so deeply subsumed in knowing that there was no way to use that knowledge? The fragments of her rational mind knew that if she stepped under that water again, she would never step out. She would be this creature forever, whimpering and kneeling before finally dissolving into nothing. Is that what you want? That little voice whispered, somehow cutting through the lure of the water. Power at your fingertips, and you give it up? Slowly, agonizingly, Lita forced her eyes away from the gently falling water and back to the Stranger. He knew the hunger within her, so deep and rending, but he bent his to his will. He wielded it like a tool, not the other way around. And the things he could show her, the secrets she could learn… She remembered him sitting at her little table, watching as golden script twisted itself across her walls and floor, hinting that she could crack reality itself and drink the truth of it like wine. If you know the world’s secret, you can do whatever you want. Lita drew herself up straight and felt a tiny smile curve up the side of her cheek. She was playing with fire, but it wouldn’t consume her. Not today, anyway. “I will,” she said, her voice stronger than she’d expected. Excited, even. It drove some of the blind yearning out of her mind, sharpened her focus. Lita looked to the side again, where Laurelai still stood. Laurelai. Voidus’s daughter. Her friend. Could she let her lose herself in the water, watch her abandon her reason and will and mind? Doom her to die in this place? Yes, she admitted. I could. If Laurelai chose to stay, Lita would not abandon her own course. She would follow the Stranger alone, if she had to. But that did not mean that she wanted to. Lita held out her hand to the other woman and looked across the distance between them - so small, yet so terribly vast. “Laurelai,” she whispered, some fear coloring her voice. Fear of losing her friend, and fear of losing herself. “Come with me.” @Voidus @Fatebreaker

Nox had finally begun to walk with her, and Vivica felt the smallest part of her relax. They were still moving too slow, far too slow, but this was better than nothing. "You're alive," he said. "We're alive and awake. No dreams to hurt us here." "Of course we're awake," Vivica snapped. The sounds of the fire's progress were growing slightly softer now. Perhaps, finally, she had managed to get ahead of it. She chewed on her lip, then glanced up at Bennington, who gave her a reproachful look. Vivica gave a short, sharp sigh and stuck her notepad out towards Nox. "Sorry," she said, then waved the notepad through the air again. "No one else will listen to me, Nox. Not Grey, not Sierra. But I know it's coming. The fire, it's out there. I can hear it eating through the stone, right now." Vivica spun, clutching at his coat. "Right this minute, it's looking for me! It all started when Sierra said... when she said..." She looked at the notepad in her hand, then held it out to Nox. They had stopped, but the sounds of the fire had grown still more distant. She could stop, for just a moment. Only a moment. If someone else could just see, just understand. "I took notes," she said quietly, hiccuping as her laughter subsided into soft, sporadic giggling instead. "It is important to take notes, always, when you're making discoveries. I had to take them, you see. I had to protect them from the fire." Vivica looked past Nox then, past anything. She was still breathing hard, and her heart was hammering in her chest, and she could still taste smoke in the air - but less so, now. She was being rude, and it wouldn't do to be rude in front of friends. Vivica began to run through her list, the list that someone had helped her make a long time ago, when she'd first gotten her bronze spike. The list was important. The list helped her remember who she was. She spoke aloud, though she did not intend it. 1. Who are you? "I am Vivica." 2. How old are you? "I am twenty-eight." 3. Where are you? "I am in -" Vivica ran one finger along the Alley wall and stuck it into her mouth for a moment "Alley 681-T." 4. Current hallucination count? "Current count is 113 apparitions." 5. What is your Department? "Research and Development." 6. How long has it been since you last slept? Vivica felt a small smile brush her lips. "It has been eleven years, six months, and eighteen days since I last slept." She blinked once, twice, three times, then looked back at Nox, hoping he would take the notepad. "The list is important," she said, as though that would answer any questions.

Vivica heard herself shriek as she collided with something, and immediately began shifting to get out of its grip. She had to get away, she had to run! Could no one else hear that sound? A hand had closed around her shoulder, and she felt her panic double, her haste reach a fever pitch she would have thought impossible only an hour ago. "Vivica?" The sound of her own name surprised her long enough for her to get a look at whoever was waylaying her progress. Her hand was halfway into her pocket for another spike when she caught sight of his face. Vivica blinked, then she clutched at the edges of his coat with renewed fervor. "Tell me you can hear it too, Nox," she whimpered. "The sound, the sound! It's right behind us, the fire! Tell me you can hear the fire!" It was moving fast, the whirlwind of flame. The black, choking smoke. Vivica looked up an Nox; he wasn't moving. Why wasn't he moving? She grabbed his hand, her other arm still clutching her notepad, and started dragging him down the Alley, deftly weaving her way around the odd tendrils that reached out for her hair or shoes. She was still giggling, a sickly, odd sound. "Dead, all dead," Vivica said, the words coming out slightly sing-song, as though she were remembering a nursery rhyme. "Dead, dead, dead. Everyone burned in the fire. Everyone but me. Not me. Never me." @Voidus

Vivica stared at her notepad, unblinking, while Sierra continued speaking with Grey. She read the words that she had scribbled there, in her own handwriting. 'Vivica - burnt at the edges.' She read them again. And again. She did not stop reading them, the phrase looping through her mind like a reel of film. There was something rising in the back of her throat; it felt like a scream. The sensation seemed familiar, something that she had done many times, and the reason was there, knocking at the door of her mind. She tired to ignore it, pushing another forkful of cinnamon roll into her mouth. Bennington began swimming in agitated loops. Vivica did not listen to the knocking in her mind, and began taking notes again, the diligent kind that she'd been taught in R&D. Her hand flew over the paper as she chewed, her eyes barely focused. Something was clouding her thoughts, something thick and dark. It was so hard to think through that knocking - more like a thundering, actually. It, too, seemed familiar. Her hand went to her pocket, sticky with sugar, and she withdrew a spike. She began flipping it in one hand, then catching it. One, two, three - on the fourth she fumbled it, her fingers clumsy and shaking. Vivica looked at her hand, cocking her head. The thundering sound had changed to a roar, a snapping, sucking wind that battered against her mind. She stood suddenly, backing away, knowing that she could not - must not - let it get in. Smoke continued to pour into her mind, hot and stinging. "Can't you hear it?" She whispered, clutching her notepad like a shield and staring at Grey and Sierra, who were still speaking. Didn't they know how close it was? The fire. It was right outside the door. Any moment now, and the roof would cave in. Any moment now, and she'd hear that whining sizzle that came from flesh burning like meat. Any moment now, and she'd be alone again. Alone, with the fire chewing through the walls, climbing over piles of charred wood, slipping in hot blood that scalded her feet like tar. Vivica backed up further, reaching behind her for the door handle, praying that it wasn't hot, begging that it would open. "Can't you hear it?!" She shouted, her whole body shaking now. Was she laughing? Behind her, the door swung open and she staggered out into the Alley beyond; the air looked clear here, but she could still hear it roaring. Vivica gave one last look at Grey and Sierra as Bennington bobbed above her shoulder, eyes concerned. Then, with a sound somewhere between a wail and a giggle, she Alleytraveled. She ran as she did, moving through Alleys at a reckless speed, barely giving any thought to where she was or who she might pass. The sound followed her, chewing through the walls, crackling in the floor boards. It was behind her, always right behind her. Vivica sprinted through an Alley entirely covered in blue and purple ice, slid through a place that looked like a mud cave, and even ducked through one or two of the imaginary Alleys. Always, always, it followed her. Vivica wasn't sure how long she had been running when she stumbled into a narrow alleyway of black stone and collapsed, her breath coming in ragged sobs, her palms torn from scrambling through jagged places. She still had her notepad, and she curled against the wall, clutching it, waiting for the fire. Vivica caught sight of the writing for the first time, the notes she had been taking back at the table, and gave a shuddering scream. Over and over, a litany written in her tight scrawl. Burnt at the edges. Burnt at the edges. Vivica. Vivica. Vivica. @Snipexe @Shard of Thought

Needs more char, And tentacles.

Steel and Shadow '...you're familiar like my mirror years ago...' Finally altered a few things, image is back!

It’s so cool @Sorana!!

For every Push there is a Pull. It's basic Allomancy. Thanks for the inspiration, @Invocation

Nerin looked back down at his leg, but couldn't make out any blood against his black trousers. It had to be worse than he made it seem though; his jaw was tight against whatever pain he was feeling. Do something, Nerin. She should help him back into the parlor, clean his wound and stitch it up before it turned nasty. But she did none of those things, unwilling to move her hand from the heat of his chest. It was cold up here on the roof - true night had fallen, and the mist hung thick around them, turning the Hollows into a shifting dream world. Lance was warm, and real, and here. "Can't have you dying," she said softly. "You still owe me a dance, after all. We wouldn't want you to go breaking your word." Her left hand had somehow ended up on his knee, though she couldn't recall directing it there. She stared up into his eyes, feeling drunk on the smell of pine and woodsmoke and wet, misty air. Her heart was so loud, surely he could hear it. This is ridiculous, the shrinking logical portion of her mind protested. Get up! "Well," Nerin whispered. "Let's get you taken care of, then." @Invocation

Nerin drew in a sharp breath when Lance took her hand - and promptly lost the ability to breathe at all when he guided it up under his shirt. His fingers were tight around her wrist and pressed against the back of her hand, sliding her palm up until she felt it there, a disc of icy cold nestled between two of his ribs. His skin felt white hot in comparison, and that heat traveled through her fingers and up her arm, a wave of warmth that made her shudder. He was speaking, and Nerin forced her mind to process the words. "I also tend to charge for this kind of experience. You're a lucky woman, Nerin." She very nearly nodded her head in agreement, her eyes flicking between his face and the taut expanse of skin visible where her hand had dragged up the hem of his shirt. Nerin caught herself just in time; it was getting quite difficult to think through the deafening sound of her heartbeat. "As I keep having to remind people," she said, amazed that her tongue still worked at all, "this isn't that kind of parlor." Nerin attempted to put some acid into the remark, but it came out as little more than a murmur. She stared up at his face, still half-concealed beneath the mask, his eyes keen and intense behind the purple lenses. He shifted his weight a little, bringing him even closer, and she caught a flicker of pain cross his face when he leaned onto his leg. She frowned, looking down, the fingertips of her right hand pressing into his skin a bit in reflex, as if to hold onto him. She looked back to his face, recalling Willet's head in the box on the porch. "You're hurt, aren't you?" @Invocation

Nerin shifted up a little, her mind a haze of curiosity and odd, jumbled emotions. She still kept her hand over the metal disc, as though her continued touch on it might prove its existence. "Can I - " She stopped speaking almost immediately, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. 'Can I see it?' Really, Nerin, just asking a man to take off his clothes and display some kind of morbid piercing at your whims? What is the matter with you? "I-I'm sorry," she stammered, looking up to realize that she was still inches from Lance's face. Harmony's bands, she was lucky that the mist was so cool, otherwise Nerin was sure her face would catch fire. "We should have a drink. I mean, we - I..." Nerin focused on the swirling pattern of the mask right between Lance's eyes, forcing herself to regain some kind of hold on her wits. She cleared her throat. "Perhaps you could join us for supper, and we can discuss what to do next. I imagine it would be rather novel for you to be properly invited into my parlor. Though you could always drop in through another window if you'd like. I wouldn't want you to get bored." You're still touching him, Nerin. She ignored the little voice, and put on her most charming smile. @Invocation

Nerin started when Lance abruptly grabbed her shoulders, mouth already half open to scream as she envisioned getting thrown off the roof. Instead, he pulled her close, and Nerin found her cheek pressed against his collarbone as he wrapped his arms around her. There was a moment of disoriented panic as her mind raced to catch up with her body, but she could already feel herself relaxing a little, her spine curving in to accommodate his arms, her neck tilting as she released some of the tension in her shoulders. Harmony, how long had it been since someone had held her? Lance was warm and solid, a place of reality and surety in the cool, misty night. He smelled clean and sharp, like a forest in autumn, like pine needles crushed underfoot. She would have expected something darker, more foreboding, like oud wood or black amber. But then again, there was much about Lance that was unexpected. It fit him; he, too, was a tall tree in a wild wind, watching the world from a great height. Nerin breathed deeply, and for a moment she felt truly safe in a way that she hadn't since she was a girl. She pushed her own calm outward, wishing to impart some of this gift back to the man before her, smoothing away sorrow and regret, hesitation and suspicion. Mist churned around her as she did so, making the roof feel like the only piece of existence left in a sea of grey and white. Her arms followed her body, and she moved slowly, her left arm snaking beneath his mistcoat and around til her hand reached his back, returning the hug. Her right hand slid up the front of Lance's waistcoat; she could hear his heartbeat, strong and even against her shoulder. Nerin wanted to feel it beneath her palm, feel something real, something alive -- Nerin felt her hand graze over something hard and circular, and she paused for a moment, a drop of tension returning. A pocketwatch? But no, there was no pocket on this side of his waistcoat, and this thing felt flush with his ribs, pushed up against them as though pasted on. Or hammered in. Nerin recalled, suddenly, Brillin's comments earlier that day about Koloss spikes. Pieces of metal that granted the bearer extra power. She traced its outline with two fingers, shocked at its size. Something like this should have killed him outright. "This is what found you, isn't it?" She whispered, not willing to break away just yet, still maintaining her Soothing for whatever it was worth. Nerin knew she ought to be afraid, but she was so tired of fear. @Invocation

Nerin bit her lip at the truth in Lance's words. Of course, selling that much aluminum would be insanity. Besides, she didn't even know if Jeb had owned the building - perhaps it belonged to some nobleman somewhere, and he was just leasing it. Another debt to pay, with money I don't have. She slid her two pins out of her hair, letting the dark strands fall over her face before raking them back with her fingers, trying to work through all the things she had to do, the people who were depending on her, the world that was steadily crumbling around her. "I know," she said finally, looking up at Lance, feeling as though this would probably be a decent time to begin crying - if she had any tears left. She did not. "Life is a game, and for a long time, I thought that I could hold my own. I knew what I was; I accepted my place in society. I thought that knowledge gave me power, gave me an edge." She snorted in derision, flicking a piece of gravel off the roof and watching it disappear into the mist. "I'm losing this game, Lance." Nerin could hear the frustration in her voice, some of the anger creeping back. "I was never even playing this game. I was just too insignificant to be noticed as a piece, until now. And when your gang wins, everything is going to go back to the way it was - except I'll have no money to pay your tithe, because who wants to visit a parlor where the previous owner was -" Nerin cut off, feeling a sudden wave of vertigo. She reached out a hand to steady herself, blinking at the dark fog that had crept into the edges of her vision. Breathe, Nerin. "I have no leverage, Mister Rapis," she said, voice tight, vision still cloudy and dark. "I'm just a whore's daughter with a little Brass. If I can't be useful to your people, what's to stop someone from coming back here and carving me into the floor?" @Invocation

Nerin laughed a quiet, bitter laugh. "Yes," she said. "Yes, there is." She sighed, then tucked her knees up under her chin, still sending out her little Soothing. "I should leave this place," she mused. "There's enough aluminum in the walls to get me a new life somewhere. New Seran, maybe. I always heard it was nice there." It was an empty dream, but she let it play through the mist for a bit all the same. She looked at Lance, still staring pensively across the way. Nerin rolled her eyes, then patted the roof beside her. "Keep a lady company, would you? It's tiresome to have a conversation across an alleyway. Besides, I've got a feeling you haven't paid for that balcony room over there." @Invocation

Nerin watched him for a moment, surprised when his face turned pensive, thoughtful. Tired. It was a far sight from his usual smirk, or the towering rage she'd seen him in once or twice before. The expression made him look more human, more real. Nerin sighed, then nodded. "Understood." The blood on her hands had dried, and was beginning to crack and flake. She knelt down near the edge of the roof and scrubbed her palms along the roofing tiles absently, still watching Lance. "You're not a Mistborn, are you?" She said softly. "You're something else. You found a way to have more than one Allomantic power." Nerin let the question hang in the air, still watching him, feeling the rage leak out of her body leaving only the cold behind. She stoked the brass fire within her, sending out a light Soothing towards Lance while knowing it wouldn't work. Still, she sent it. It was nice to feel something, even if it was only the metal burning within her stomach. @Invocation

Nerin turned at his voice, looking across the narrow alleyway and spotting him perched on a balcony. The mist churned like a river through the gap between the buildings, thick and grey. “So very generous of you,” she called, stepping closer to the edge of the roof and holding up her hands. The little dagger glittered wetly. “I inspected it myself.” She pulled the wooden sheath from her pocket and wiped the tiny blade on her skirt before sliding it back into place. Her fingers were beginning to feel uncomfortably sticky and cold; she ignored the sensation. ”Does this mean everything is done, then? Will anyone else be using this place as a battleground for your war? We paid for safety; is there anything more your people want from me?”

"Let me see," Nerin said, her hand reaching for the box before she could stop herself. She was surprised that her hand didn't shake, that her voice was still and quiet. Nerin gently lifted the lid, careful not to jostle anything or tear the soaking red carton, and looked down at the head in the box. Nerin had never met Willet, and so there was no shock of recognition as she stared at his empty eyes and open mouth. The air was heavy with the hot, coppery smell of blood; she was getting used to that smell now. She had half-expected to feel revulsion, perhaps even to vomit or faint at the sight of so much gore. Or maybe she had expected to feel joy, that hot, cruel happiness that savagely gloats at the downfall of one who has harmed you. Instead, Nerin felt only a tight, icy rage pool in her belly and begin moving outward. It spread a cold determination through her veins, galvanizing her toward action. That feeling was the biting wind, the deep freeze, the calculating and merciless frost of winter. Nerin said nothing, but reached up to slip one of the hairpin daggers from her hair and slide the blade from its little wooden sheath. The metal glittered in the low, misty lamplight, winking coldly up at her. Then, she drove the blade into one of Willet's dead, glassy eyes. Then the next. Again and again, she punctured the soft, vulnerable flesh with her little steel blade. She only stopped when she could no longer recognize him as a person at all, and she knelt there, breathing hard, her hands slick and scarlet. She stood, still clutching her little dagger, and felt moisture on her face - though whether blood or tears, she couldn't tell. "Attayl, Brillin," she spoke into the misty night, her voice still soft and even. "I believe the linens on my bed are already soaked in blood from yesterday. You can use them to carry this out to the back yard. It won't do to keep this out on the porch." Nerin took the key ring from her pocket and unlocked the front door, then the dead bolt, and pushed it open. "I think you're right about speaking to Lance again," she said, and some of the ice in her veins crept into her words. "And I have a feeling I know just where to find him." She moved through the darkened entryway, taking the stairs by memory and walking down the hallway towards the room at the end. Jeb's room. It had the easiest access up to the roof. Her hands left red smears on the doorknob and window latch, but she barely noticed as she climbed out into the misty night, one hand still holding her dagger, and stalked around a gable. "I know you're up here!" She called out. There was minimal wind tonight, but the mist still eddied around her in thick currents. She was still burning Brass at a low pace, though what she was trying to Soothe escaped her. "You wouldn't miss a chance to mock us some more, now would you?" @Sorana @Invocation @Ookla the Maybe-Existent

Nerin continued forward after a moment, curling her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. She knelt down to the side of the box, out of the way of any obvious blood pooling, and squinted at the writing on the side. "I can't see a bloody thing," she said under her breath, twisting to get out of the way of the meager light of the street lamp, which was simply diffusing in the mist. Nerin looked closer, and a glimmer of light reflected off the slope of a single letter scrawled in vivid - and familiar - red paint. 'M.' It was the letter M. Nerin felt her jaw tighten. "It's from Lance," she said, biting off the name as though hoping he might feel her teeth on it. I did ask for blood. "He's probably lurking somewhere, getting ready to have a nice laugh, the rusting weasel."

Nerin moved alongside Attayl, impressed by the woman's quiet step and surety. She could hear her own breath in the cool night air, and she forced herself to slow it down. As they neared the porch, Nerin could see the shape of the object resolve itself into a medium-sized box. Something had been scrawled onto the side - a letter, perhaps? Darkness pooled at the foot of the box, seeping up the sides. Nerin squinted, then stopped. "Attayl," she hissed, eyes locked on the familiar, wet shadow of blood that was leaking through the package. "It's... bleeding. Whatever's in there is bleeding. A lot." @Sorana

Vivica gently patted Sierra's arm. "You can keep eating while we talk," she said, demonstrating this fact by popping the last bit of roll into her mouth and pulling another one off the tray. As she cut into it, she considered Sierra's question. "Sometimes we look for a baseline," Vivica conceded. "But as I've never actually seen this effect before, I don't have a set of questions ready. Can you... perceive any new colors, perhaps? Do you see into my soul? Do you see Bennington?" This last question brought her to the edge of her seat; the excitement of someone else being able to meet her friend would be remarkable! @Shard of Thought

@kenod

Vivica speared a roll of her own with a fork and set it onto a plate, smiling as she set about cutting the soft, spiced dough with the side of her fork. ”You’re welcome!” She replied, pleased that Sierra seemed more inclined toward gratitude now. There really was nothing like cresting the brink of total mental annihilation to get you excited about the simple things. More people should stumble into the void of madness and agony, she decided. Then they wouldn’t take fun things like cinnamon rolls or coffee or eviscerating test subjects for granted. Vivica pulled her notepad back in front of her and switched her pen to her left hand as she continued to eat with her right. ”So,” she said, leaning forward a little to inspect the small blades that had replaced Sierra’s eyes. “Have you noticed anything new? Can you remember anything you saw during the experiment? I know it’s a little bit raw but the moments just following a procedure like this are critical. I barely remember anything from my spiking, for example, but apparently I said a great deal during the event. Didn’t I Bennington?” Bennington gave a loop, then wiggled his tentacles in the affirmative. Viv smiled at him fondly for a moment, then turned toward Grey. ”Do you want to monitor here at EHD, or should I take her back to R&D? We’ve got numbers on our side but if your interns are already working on those iridescent tears, perhaps she’s better suited here. Either way, it’s up to you.” She stuffed more cinnamon roll into her mouth and doodled something in the corner of her notepad while she chewed. It was round yet sharp, and impossibly dark. The sensation was familiar, like she’d drawn it before. Odd, she thought, smearing blood and icing across her cheek with the back of one hand. @Snipexe

Vivica noted down Grey's measurement, then went and gently touched Sierra's other shoulder as she stood. "It's marvelous," she whispered to Sierra, then giggled. "This is the best outcome I've seen in this experiment. And wait till you taste the Cinnamon Rolls. They are astounding! It's so lucky I found you out there - this is going to be wonderful. Once we get you into the lab and figure out what you can do. The transformation..." Vivica giggled again. "There is nothing you cannot do, Sierra, if you simply refuse to accept the limits. And," she added, "if you have enough sugar." Then they Alleytraveled; Sierra's reaction was about as expected. Vivica patted her on the back. "This is why we save the rolls for after the temporal shifting, eh?" In her mind, Vivica responded to Grey. This is the most fun I've had in weeks! The smell of cinnamon wafted down the Alley, and she smiled wider. She could have cried.