Drabble Meme results 3/5
This is a continuation of an earlier story, Connection. Both were written for kaylashay81 .
The shell remembered Wesley talking about his cousin, a boy in a place called Stanford. A place that writhed with the stink of humanity. Young ones with dreams that smelled like the flowers that she crushed under her feet as she walked. Older ones, the ones worshipped as teachers, stunk of rotten dreams.
The vessel remembered places like this Stanford. Her own place of flowers had too quickly turned rotten, leaving her almost as much of a shell as the body was now. Only Fred had been locked inside her own mind.
Until Wesley.
Now Illyria stood amongst the stinking humanity, waiting for a boy she had never met. Out of feelings for Wesley. She was infected with their stink, with their love and feelings. It made her want to retch.
A line ran from her torso, unseen by any eyes but her own. A visual representation of the infection. It ran to a building on the campus. Her connection to Wesley. To someone with his blood.
She did not understand this desire to let others know of Wesley's death. Another sign of her infection?
Sam stepped out of the Poli-Sci building and his eyes drawn to a commotion off to the side. A group of guys stood around a much smaller woman, eyes practically worshipful as they peppered her with questions. She ignored them, her own eyes scanning the students streaming from their classes.
Her eyes found his and she strode away from the men, intent on him. He stopped, letting the flow of students continue around him. Something about the woman...
"Samuel Winchester?"
He had a sudden need to reach for the knife he had not carried in years. Her voice was cold, her eyes colder.
"You are he, do not bother to deny it. I can feel the truth radiating off of you. I am --" She cut off and her expression shifted. Her cold eyes closed for a moment, and when she opened them again they were softer, sadder.
"I'm Fred. Well, actually, Winifred. I'm a friend of Wesley's."
Sam relaxed, responding to the change in demeanor, the hint of Texas that had appeared in her voice, softening the tones. "The girlfriend, right? He's talked about you. Is he OK? I tried to contact him last month, during the LA riots, but didn't get an answer."
"No, I'm afraid he's not. He... I'm sorry, but during the riots, he was trying to help someone. He was always trying to help someone. And he, he didn't make it."
Sam felt a stab of pain through his middle. He'd grown away from his cousin, the two of them busy with their own lives, their own concerns. News of his death was still upsetting, though.
"Tha--" He cleared his throat and tried again. "Thank you, for coming and telling me. I appreciate it."
He considered asking her to lunch, asking for whatever details she might have. But her demeanor shifted again and Sam wanted to reach for a knife again. She gave him a regal nod and turned with almost military precision, parting the crowd of men who vied for her attention, ignoring them all.
Sam watched her go, feeling oddly like he should be grateful that he still have his head attached to his body.
The shell remembered Wesley talking about his cousin, a boy in a place called Stanford. A place that writhed with the stink of humanity. Young ones with dreams that smelled like the flowers that she crushed under her feet as she walked. Older ones, the ones worshipped as teachers, stunk of rotten dreams.
The vessel remembered places like this Stanford. Her own place of flowers had too quickly turned rotten, leaving her almost as much of a shell as the body was now. Only Fred had been locked inside her own mind.
Until Wesley.
Now Illyria stood amongst the stinking humanity, waiting for a boy she had never met. Out of feelings for Wesley. She was infected with their stink, with their love and feelings. It made her want to retch.
A line ran from her torso, unseen by any eyes but her own. A visual representation of the infection. It ran to a building on the campus. Her connection to Wesley. To someone with his blood.
She did not understand this desire to let others know of Wesley's death. Another sign of her infection?
Sam stepped out of the Poli-Sci building and his eyes drawn to a commotion off to the side. A group of guys stood around a much smaller woman, eyes practically worshipful as they peppered her with questions. She ignored them, her own eyes scanning the students streaming from their classes.
Her eyes found his and she strode away from the men, intent on him. He stopped, letting the flow of students continue around him. Something about the woman...
"Samuel Winchester?"
He had a sudden need to reach for the knife he had not carried in years. Her voice was cold, her eyes colder.
"You are he, do not bother to deny it. I can feel the truth radiating off of you. I am --" She cut off and her expression shifted. Her cold eyes closed for a moment, and when she opened them again they were softer, sadder.
"I'm Fred. Well, actually, Winifred. I'm a friend of Wesley's."
Sam relaxed, responding to the change in demeanor, the hint of Texas that had appeared in her voice, softening the tones. "The girlfriend, right? He's talked about you. Is he OK? I tried to contact him last month, during the LA riots, but didn't get an answer."
"No, I'm afraid he's not. He... I'm sorry, but during the riots, he was trying to help someone. He was always trying to help someone. And he, he didn't make it."
Sam felt a stab of pain through his middle. He'd grown away from his cousin, the two of them busy with their own lives, their own concerns. News of his death was still upsetting, though.
"Tha--" He cleared his throat and tried again. "Thank you, for coming and telling me. I appreciate it."
He considered asking her to lunch, asking for whatever details she might have. But her demeanor shifted again and Sam wanted to reach for a knife again. She gave him a regal nod and turned with almost military precision, parting the crowd of men who vied for her attention, ignoring them all.
Sam watched her go, feeling oddly like he should be grateful that he still have his head attached to his body.