Puppetry
And more. I started this one before I wrote Return with no idea what was going on, but a vague feeling it might be part of something bigger. Return then used the same themes and kind of invalidated this a little. It only took a sentence to finish, thouhg, and it works in its own right, so I thought I'd share.
Title: Puppetry
Words: 942
Prompt: west
Summary: Someone's playing games. Late League era - c. 15000 AD
“Tiger. Tiger!”
She felt as if someone had just dropped a trinity grade space station on her ribs.
“Tiger!”
That voice was ringing alarm bells, too. That was not Ocelot.
She cracked her eyes open, and found herself staring up at a masked face. The mask was black, with the lines of eyes drawn on in blue and gold. The eyes behind the mask were pale, and heavy-lidded. Black hair fell down around a narrow, dark face, veiling them from the world.
Tiger swore, and sat up.
The world went spinning around her, and it was only the sharp-nailed grasp on her arms that stopped her from collapsing again.
“Sphinx!”
“Wake up, bimbo.”
“Go to hell,” Tiger muttered, and pushed her away. “Why are you in costume?”
“I woke up this way,” Sphinx snapped. “Did you do this?” She gestured grandly.
Tiger looked around. They were in a garden, below squat trees, their backs wind-bent. Willow branches trailed into a pool beside her, the water stirring around them. Beyond the pool was a low, grassed bank, and then a polished rail, at waist height. Beyond that, there was only sky.
It was familiar, but so many places were, after all these years. Then, as the memories slowly faded forward, her breath caught in her throat.
Impossible. The tower no longer stood.
She shoved to her feet, noticing as she did so that her hands were sheathed in rough black gloves. A few strides took her past the pool, and she curled her hands around the cool rail, looking down.
The city lay below her. The light was thin and new, morning light, though something niggled about that. The walkways were like lace, tangled around the towers, windows gleaming. She could see the blood-bright trails of rust in the walls of the tower, and the glossy-dark roads below them, binding the city together. Where the city ended, the sea spread to the horizon, steel-grey and restless.
The city. Her city.
“Atlantis,” she breathed.
“No,” Sphinx said flatly, coming to stand beside her. “It’s not. Not our Atlantis.”
Tiger took a breath, blinking back tears. Something pulled at her face, constricting her brows, and she lifted her hand.
She wore a mask.
“You always did look ridiculous in that thing.”
She hadn’t worn a mask in centuries.
“It’s my Atlantis,” she said.
“Sentimental imbecile. You’ve been to Old Terra recently. I know you have.”
She had. They’d docked Shadowhunter in the moon, and the whole crew had shuttled down to see the dinosaurs. They’d stayed in Atlantis, then.
That had been New Atlantis, the great tourist portal of the home planet. New Atlantis, which spanned oceans. New Atlantis, which had gradually grown beyond the streets she had known like the pounding of her own heart.
The city below her was not New Atlantis.
“Did you bring me here?” she asked softly. “Is this a game?”
“Not of my making,” Sphinx said, and leant forward, peering down. The wind caught her hair, so it billowed forward around her. Tiger felt the brush of her own hair on the same breeze, soft against her bare chin. Bemused, she watched it flare out, snow-and-honey. She hadn’t been in the mood for hair that long in fifty years.
“There’s no such thing as time travel,” she said. “I’ve tried to do the maths. It’s impossible.”
“We haven’t travelled in time,” Sphinx said. “It’s fake. Look!”
Tiger followed her gesture. In the west, the sun hung over the sea, yellow amongst the haze.
“It’s been getting lighter since I woke,” Sphinx said. “The sun does not rise in the west.”
Tiger stared at the golden reflections on the water, and the low shadows of the towers stretching out behind her. Slowly, all the homesickness she hadn’t realised she felt turned sour. She had been fooled, and worse, someone had used this against her. This city had been hers, to protect and serve.
“There’s no gulls,” she said, and was surprised how cool and controlled her voice sounded.
“No people, either. Even at dawn-”
“-the streets were busy,” Tiger finished. “No cyclists, no trams, nobody swinging the streets.”
“I can’t pick up a living creature within a ten kilometre radius.”
“The air smells wrong. No salt.”
The more she looked, the more fake it felt. This wasn’t even a real city.
She didn’t realise she’d said it aloud until Sphinx said, mouth twisted, “What is it, then?”
“A trap,” Tiger said. “What else can it be?”
“Ah, you people possess such clarity of thought. All or nothing.”
“Well, what do you think it is?”
Sphinx shook her hair back. “A trap.”
Bitch. “Even you don’t build them this complex.”
“Consistency is undervalued, I take it.”
The empty streets ran down to the sea. They should be humming with life, with the echoes of dreams and nightmares and conversation. She couldn’t even see ghosts in them.
“Nobody’s ever lived here,” she said. “It’s a model, nothing more. A lifesize model.”
“No,” Sphinx said. “We’re in costume.”
Tiger tilted her head at her. It was strange how fast it all came back, the gestures that replaced facial expressions and the feel of the costume snug around her.
“It’s a stage.”
Interesting. “We don’t seem to have been provided with a script.”
Sphinx tapped her fingers on the rail. Tiger watched the flicker of her hands in their wire-veined gloves, and felt lost again. This would not have happened in Old Atlantis.
“Puppets,” Sphinx said at last. “Not players.”
Tiger laughed scornfully. Sphinx turned her head towards her, chin dipping in startlement. Then she too began to laugh, soft and husky and cruel.
Title: Puppetry
Words: 942
Prompt: west
Summary: Someone's playing games. Late League era - c. 15000 AD
“Tiger. Tiger!”
She felt as if someone had just dropped a trinity grade space station on her ribs.
“Tiger!”
That voice was ringing alarm bells, too. That was not Ocelot.
She cracked her eyes open, and found herself staring up at a masked face. The mask was black, with the lines of eyes drawn on in blue and gold. The eyes behind the mask were pale, and heavy-lidded. Black hair fell down around a narrow, dark face, veiling them from the world.
Tiger swore, and sat up.
The world went spinning around her, and it was only the sharp-nailed grasp on her arms that stopped her from collapsing again.
“Sphinx!”
“Wake up, bimbo.”
“Go to hell,” Tiger muttered, and pushed her away. “Why are you in costume?”
“I woke up this way,” Sphinx snapped. “Did you do this?” She gestured grandly.
Tiger looked around. They were in a garden, below squat trees, their backs wind-bent. Willow branches trailed into a pool beside her, the water stirring around them. Beyond the pool was a low, grassed bank, and then a polished rail, at waist height. Beyond that, there was only sky.
It was familiar, but so many places were, after all these years. Then, as the memories slowly faded forward, her breath caught in her throat.
Impossible. The tower no longer stood.
She shoved to her feet, noticing as she did so that her hands were sheathed in rough black gloves. A few strides took her past the pool, and she curled her hands around the cool rail, looking down.
The city lay below her. The light was thin and new, morning light, though something niggled about that. The walkways were like lace, tangled around the towers, windows gleaming. She could see the blood-bright trails of rust in the walls of the tower, and the glossy-dark roads below them, binding the city together. Where the city ended, the sea spread to the horizon, steel-grey and restless.
The city. Her city.
“Atlantis,” she breathed.
“No,” Sphinx said flatly, coming to stand beside her. “It’s not. Not our Atlantis.”
Tiger took a breath, blinking back tears. Something pulled at her face, constricting her brows, and she lifted her hand.
She wore a mask.
“You always did look ridiculous in that thing.”
She hadn’t worn a mask in centuries.
“It’s my Atlantis,” she said.
“Sentimental imbecile. You’ve been to Old Terra recently. I know you have.”
She had. They’d docked Shadowhunter in the moon, and the whole crew had shuttled down to see the dinosaurs. They’d stayed in Atlantis, then.
That had been New Atlantis, the great tourist portal of the home planet. New Atlantis, which spanned oceans. New Atlantis, which had gradually grown beyond the streets she had known like the pounding of her own heart.
The city below her was not New Atlantis.
“Did you bring me here?” she asked softly. “Is this a game?”
“Not of my making,” Sphinx said, and leant forward, peering down. The wind caught her hair, so it billowed forward around her. Tiger felt the brush of her own hair on the same breeze, soft against her bare chin. Bemused, she watched it flare out, snow-and-honey. She hadn’t been in the mood for hair that long in fifty years.
“There’s no such thing as time travel,” she said. “I’ve tried to do the maths. It’s impossible.”
“We haven’t travelled in time,” Sphinx said. “It’s fake. Look!”
Tiger followed her gesture. In the west, the sun hung over the sea, yellow amongst the haze.
“It’s been getting lighter since I woke,” Sphinx said. “The sun does not rise in the west.”
Tiger stared at the golden reflections on the water, and the low shadows of the towers stretching out behind her. Slowly, all the homesickness she hadn’t realised she felt turned sour. She had been fooled, and worse, someone had used this against her. This city had been hers, to protect and serve.
“There’s no gulls,” she said, and was surprised how cool and controlled her voice sounded.
“No people, either. Even at dawn-”
“-the streets were busy,” Tiger finished. “No cyclists, no trams, nobody swinging the streets.”
“I can’t pick up a living creature within a ten kilometre radius.”
“The air smells wrong. No salt.”
The more she looked, the more fake it felt. This wasn’t even a real city.
She didn’t realise she’d said it aloud until Sphinx said, mouth twisted, “What is it, then?”
“A trap,” Tiger said. “What else can it be?”
“Ah, you people possess such clarity of thought. All or nothing.”
“Well, what do you think it is?”
Sphinx shook her hair back. “A trap.”
Bitch. “Even you don’t build them this complex.”
“Consistency is undervalued, I take it.”
The empty streets ran down to the sea. They should be humming with life, with the echoes of dreams and nightmares and conversation. She couldn’t even see ghosts in them.
“Nobody’s ever lived here,” she said. “It’s a model, nothing more. A lifesize model.”
“No,” Sphinx said. “We’re in costume.”
Tiger tilted her head at her. It was strange how fast it all came back, the gestures that replaced facial expressions and the feel of the costume snug around her.
“It’s a stage.”
Interesting. “We don’t seem to have been provided with a script.”
Sphinx tapped her fingers on the rail. Tiger watched the flicker of her hands in their wire-veined gloves, and felt lost again. This would not have happened in Old Atlantis.
“Puppets,” Sphinx said at last. “Not players.”
Tiger laughed scornfully. Sphinx turned her head towards her, chin dipping in startlement. Then she too began to laugh, soft and husky and cruel.