Room 326, Early Monday Morning
Even in her sleep she recognized the feeling -- the brush of another mind against hers, followed by the hard push of a deep scan. Her brow furrowed in confusion. Where was she? Who was trying to -- ?
She sat bolt upright in the bed and the lamp went flying simultaneously. It crashed against the door and shattered even before her darkened eyes focused on the form at the foot of her bed.
"Impressive trick," came the familiar male voice. "I'm willing to bet that's not in your record, either."
Lyta glared at him. Clad in the usual PsiCorps black, he would have been difficult to see by the naked eye, save the pale skin and copper badge on his chest. But even without seeing him, she could sense him: The man who had hunted her -- hounded her -- and killed the man she loved. The man whom she had tried to kill and failed.
Alfred Bester.
"You should know; you wrote it," she retorted. "Follow me here to add footnotes?"
"Now Lyta, is that any way to treat a guest?" He smiled genially. "Why, we're practically family."
Her eyes narrowed. She wanted nothing more than to wipe that taunting grin from his lips; to pick apart his puny mind, synapse by synapse. "You were never my family. Not the Corps, and especially not you."
Still smiling, he clasped his hands behind his back and rounded the edge of the bed. "But rogue or not, you were still one of my telepaths. You all were."
Anger soared within her and she felt herself reaching out for something -- anything -- to throw. The first thing her mind settled on was the desk chair. She'd never lifted anything so heavy before, and the strain was too much. Her head whipped with the effort...and the chair splintered against the far wall.
When she opened her eyes again, he was gone. His voice, however, lingered: "The Corps is Mother; the Corps is Father. Remember that, Lyta."
And then there was no sound, save the patter of rain against the darkened window.
[OOC: Neighbors on the 3d floor are more than welcome to notice the bump in the night. Any interaction, however, should be SP'ed as mun is crashing. Again.]
She sat bolt upright in the bed and the lamp went flying simultaneously. It crashed against the door and shattered even before her darkened eyes focused on the form at the foot of her bed.
"Impressive trick," came the familiar male voice. "I'm willing to bet that's not in your record, either."
Lyta glared at him. Clad in the usual PsiCorps black, he would have been difficult to see by the naked eye, save the pale skin and copper badge on his chest. But even without seeing him, she could sense him: The man who had hunted her -- hounded her -- and killed the man she loved. The man whom she had tried to kill and failed.
Alfred Bester.
"You should know; you wrote it," she retorted. "Follow me here to add footnotes?"
"Now Lyta, is that any way to treat a guest?" He smiled genially. "Why, we're practically family."
Her eyes narrowed. She wanted nothing more than to wipe that taunting grin from his lips; to pick apart his puny mind, synapse by synapse. "You were never my family. Not the Corps, and especially not you."
Still smiling, he clasped his hands behind his back and rounded the edge of the bed. "But rogue or not, you were still one of my telepaths. You all were."
Anger soared within her and she felt herself reaching out for something -- anything -- to throw. The first thing her mind settled on was the desk chair. She'd never lifted anything so heavy before, and the strain was too much. Her head whipped with the effort...and the chair splintered against the far wall.
When she opened her eyes again, he was gone. His voice, however, lingered: "The Corps is Mother; the Corps is Father. Remember that, Lyta."
And then there was no sound, save the patter of rain against the darkened window.
[OOC: Neighbors on the 3d floor are more than welcome to notice the bump in the night. Any interaction, however, should be SP'ed as mun is crashing. Again.]