(Log) Vialle's Escape from the Mirrors [Mirror 3]
Note: several months old.
Brand flips his trumps out, finds the one he wants.
Brand says, "Hello. Gather the shard, bring it here."
Brand says, "Deirdre is going to bring her out."
Brand says, "Bring Martin too, if you want him here."
Martin appears suddenly, grasping Brand's hand.
Random appears suddenly, grasping Brand's hand.
Brand says, "Welcome to my lab."
Martin appears, clasping Random's hand. He lets it go quickly and briefly looks around. "Prince Brand.." He offers a smooth bow this time.
Random looks like he's exchanged one set of scruffy clothing for another set of scruffy clothing, but in an improvement over the previous, he no longer looks like the victim of a million vicious rats. He still has all the marks of his month-long sleep-is-for-the-weak campaign, though. He clutches a shard of mirror in one hand. His gaze sweeps around the room, taking it in quickly. "Interesting digs."
Deirdre holds her hand out for the mirror, a little imperiously. "Random. If you please."
Brand wanders over to a chair, pushes a stack of papers off of it onto the floor, and sits.
Martin studies Deirdre, but he says nothing. He stands by Random looking much less scruffy but not much more impressive.
Random frowns at Deirdre. Like a child not sure whether or not to give up his favorite battered teddy bear for a promised repair, he holds the shard protectively and eyes Deirdre distrustfully. "Uh, what do you plan to do with it?" he asks.
Deirdre snaps her fingers, and the sound is like a whipcrack. "Do you want my help or not?"
Martin nudges Random, "I think she can help."
Random says stubbornly, "Servalle thought he could help, too, and I experienced the night of flying mirror knives and creepy lived-through past as a result of it. Might have been damned lucky not to have shattered this mirror, or lost it in the mess. I want to know what you're going to do, sister. You can spare me the esoteric details if you want, huh?"
Deirdre's hand is still outstretched. "Step from here, to there. I won't need to take it with me. Brand can attest to the truth of what I say. I can go where the Pattern alone will not take us."
Random inches the shard towards Deirdre's hand, so it eventually touches the tips of her fingers. "You are going to need to elaborate on that trick sometime, sister." It's drawn a raised brow of curiosity from him. "But that's good enough for me, right now."
Martin exhales visibly, but he is clearly a little worried. He hangs back and watches grimly. He looks like someone who is bracing for the worst to happen and ready to deal with it if need be. "Please be careful." he requests of the Princess.
Deirdre turns a cool, blue gaze on Martin. "I do not anticipate this being difficult." A touch of arrogance, and her expression could easily belong to Eric or Corwin.
Brand rubs at his temple, as if he has a bit of a headache.
Deirdre closes her fingers on the mirror shard, and looks down into it. She holds it so the others can see the view, should they wish to.
Random shifts his gaze to Brand, the query in his eyes an obvious do-you-have-any-clue-what-she's-about.
Brand notes Random's gaze, and says, "It's the best chance we have."
Martin nods to Deirdre, satisfied. He swallows and folds his arms as he nods, "Everything else hasn't worked."
Scene shown in the mirror:
It is the Grand Hall of Rebma where Royal events are staged. Just now, a bride and groom, recognizable as Vialle and Random, are walking through the doorway. There are people there, already dancing. The room is lit much more brightly than usual, and many mirrors reflect the light and the dancers. There is a small figure in a mini skirt sitting in a chair looking like a wallflower.
Deirdre passes back the mirror, then says, "Trust me. I know what I'm doing." She removes her jacket, and then pushes back her sleeves a little. A touch of the showman, as she repeats her earlier action. Tendons standing out on her pale hands, she tears a hole in the fabric of reality, leaking light and a buzzing white noise into the room, then steps through it. As yet, there is no sign of Deirdre in the mirror's image. She has vanished, but not reappeared.
The tear heals seamlessly behind Deirdre.
Brand puts both hands on his temples now.
Random stares.
Random turns, after a good hard look at the empty spot where Deirdre was, to Brand. "What the hell was that?" he asks.
Brand says, "A door to nowhere."
Deirdre's image appears in the mirror, walking from the left, toward Vialle.
Brand's eyes lock onto this, in the mirror. "I hope she knows there are two."
There are two Vialle's in the mirror. One is a bride whose groom doesn't look exactly thrilled. The other is the mini-skirted one who can apparently see. She's not wearing her glasses at the moment, though they're on the chair beside her. She hasn't seen Deirdre yet, but she's looking boredly around the room.
Random holds up the mirror so the other two can also get a good look at it. He stares at the scene with a kind of horrified fascination, like he's watching a movie and he knows that the character who's just walked into the scene is about to be jumped by the guy in the hockey mask with the knife. "Man," he says. "Where was I when the mystic goodies were getting handed out?" A little bit of nervous babble.
Martin's eyes focus on the mirror intently as he tries to figure out what Deirdre is doing exactly. "I'm sure she does, Servalle talked to her." He glances at Random and smirks faintly, "Do you really want me to answer that?"
The Deirdre in the mirror walks swiftly toward the bridal Vialle, reaching out one hand toward her. It seems she has not yet seen the bored, mini-skirted version.
"Not that one!" shouts Random at the mirror, giving it a little shake to emphasize his point.
Brand says, "That WOULD be troubling."
Random blathers anxiously, "I always like two but I think it would be sort of weird."
The bride doesn't look bored, but you couldn't exactly say she's Radiant, but this isn't a problem since the groom looks disgruntled. The bride Vialle doesn't seem to see Deirdre at all, or hear her in anyway. But the mini-skirt Vialle does, she stands up, calling across to Deirdre, though of course, nothing can be heard.
Deirdre's image whirls, and her mouth moves. Ladies who say such words have been listening to the stable hands. Or perhaps to Llewella in extremity. She threads her way through oblivious guests.
Nearby, Deirdre swears. "Vialle! They cannot hear us?"
Random says uneasily, like he's suddenly remembered something, "Deirdre must have been there. What happens if she runs into herself?"
Brand says, "It doesn't appear that anyone who belongs there can see her."
Martin glances at Random, "I don't think anything will happen. They won't see her, right?" he looks at Brand for confirmation.
Brand nods to Martin.
Random tings a finger at the edge of the shard. "Hope not, then."
Nearby, Vialle calls, "Deirdre," and walks through the dancers toward her, "No they cannot. But I'm glad to see you." Literally see.
In the mirror Vialle walks through the crowd of dancers to greet Deirdre. It appears she's able to see her just fine, and says something earnestly.
Martin lays a hand on his father's shoulder, comforting. "It'll work. It has to."
Two Deirdres come within a hands breath of colliding, as Future Deirdre reaches Vialle. One dressed in wedding reception finery, silvery grey to avoid her usual black. There is a ripple across the mirror, as their sleeves brush, then another.
Brand leans forward and squints at the ripple.
Nearby, Deirdre says, with a sudden start, "We have to go. Quickly. Something's changed."
In the ripple of the mirror Vialle reaches her hands toward Deirdre. It's hard to see her expression but it doesn't look calm. It looks surprised.
Random grips the mirror with both hands, and spits out several phrases of colorful obscenity.
The ripples bounce from the sides of the mirror refracting over the surface of the shard and making it very difficult to see what's happening. But what can be seen is a multiplication of dancers, brides, grooms, not to mention Vialle and Deirdre.
The image of Deirdre works quickly. No showmanship, just a onehanded jerk as if yanking down the stubborn zipper of the universe. Her other hand holds tight to Vialle, and her mouth moves quickly, suggesting a hasty explanation. Light spills out. It seems that a second, and then a third, and then a fourth Deirdre perform the same action. More and more light leaks into the mirror's image.
Nearby, Deirdre says, "We'll step into nothingness. Hold tight to me. If I lose you here I don't know what could happen. Do not let go of my hand."
Random says, presumably to Brand, "You're the sorceror! Do something!"
Nearby, Vialle says, "I won't let go. I promise." Though she rarely sounds afraid, she seems apprehsnive now. Uncertain.
Martin sighs visibly and watches Deirdre carefully. "She's got Vialle now. Can you see what's holding her there?" He asks Brand.
A multiplicity of Deirdres, holding an array of apprehensive Vialles step into light, and the rift heals seamlessly behind them.
Brand says, "I'm concentrating," and then more words spill from his mouth. Unearthly sounds that sound as if they should be coming from the mouth of a dragon.
The rippling of the mirror's surface starts to have crests. Yes, the mirror has waves that might be able to break. Exactly the same way waves break when they surf toward a shoreline.
A buzzing noise starts, and light comes down in a line in the lab. It looks like the beginning of a rift into the between, but time passes. Seconds. Longer. The line does not become a tear.
Brand presses one hand to his forehead. He looks pale. His hand reaches out. More strange words come. Commanding. Imploring.
RPG: Brand studies a Trump.
You feel a gentle pressure in your mind. Someone is trying to reach you via your Trump.
You accept the Trump contact from Brand.
The image of Brand rasps, "Come."
Brand rasps, "Come."
Martin grips Random's shoulder in clear excitement.
To the image of Brand, Deirdre is surrounded by static and light. The pressure of maintaining contact in this place is horrendous, like holding onto a red hot bar with your mind. She grasps your hand.
Brand says, "Now close that thing before it makes my head explode."
Deirdre tumbles through, holding Vialle with her, and the rift is gone, but slowly, much more slowly than before. Like mercury coalescing, not water behind a stone.
Vialle arrives just after Deirdre. There's some hot wind blowing her long dark hair. But once in the room, it ends. She's holding Deirdre's hand with two of hers.
Random can only stare, stunned silent by the apparitions.
Brand's hand drops from Deirdre's, and he slumps in his chair, looking exhausted.
Vialle had looked around the room when she first came through, but she lets go of Deirdre so that one of her hands can cover her eyes.
Martin is the only one apparently with any energy, "Vialle! Is it really you?" He cries out, stepping forward.
Deirdre releases Vialle's hand and collapses slowly onto her knees, then props herself on her hands, taking great heaving breaths like a swimmer who has been underwater. Sweat is rolling down her face.
Vialle turns in the direction of Martin's voice. Her voice is a little rough as if from disuse, "Martin? Deirdre? Was that Brand?" She sounds uncertain now.
Brand says, "Yes. Random is also here."
Vialle says, "Random?"
Random says weakly, "Hi." He steps forward, uncertainly. He reaches out a hand, unseen.
Deirdre manages, after a few more breaths, to look up at Brand from where she kneels. "Thank you."
Brand murmurs, "Welcome."
Vialle's hand reaches out to try and find something to hold onto. Because she steps toard Random's voice she finds his hand. "Random. We're not in Rebma are we?" Worried.
Martin steps back to give Vialle and Random some space. He smiles in relief and gives Deirdre a 'you are the coolest aunt in the world' look.
Random grips Vialle's hand in a combination of reassurance and relief. "No," he says. Then, in a rush, "We're in some laboratory of Brand's. I'm not sure where but I think in shadow someplace. Are you all right?"
Vialle says, "Thank you Deirdre."
Vialle says, "Thank you Brand."
Brand says, "Shadow, yes. And, of course."
Martin says Vialle, "Hello, Vialle.its Martin."
Vialle keeps hold of Random's hand. Here, she is blind. Perhaps shaken.
Vialle's smile is tremulous, "Martin. You're here too."
Deirdre reclaims her jacket, and reaches into the pocket with a shaking hand, withdrawing her Trumps. "Next time I leave without these, you all have permission to slap me." She selects the one with the picture of Amber on it, then looks toward Random and says, a little acidly, "Consider when I am gone, brother, why the daughters of Oberon are always dismissed so easily."
Random seems hesitant, strangely enough, but his voice is calm and steady. "We've all been looking for you. Would you like to go home?"
Random glances at Deirdre and says tersely, "Thanks. We'll talk later, huh?"
Vialle says, "You've all been looking for me," as if touched. Her free hand to her chest, as if touched. "I don't know what to say. I'm so relieved. I thought I'd never escape." A nod in Random's direction. "Yes."
Deirdre looks at her Trump then. Something about her posture suggesting it is merely pride that prompts her departure, before her strength fails her completely.