Post by Katpride on Feb 9, 2022 5:47:30 GMT
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A callused finger runs across a whiteboard, smudging dry-erase ink in a thoughtful line. Then, a flash of green light, and the room is empty.
Lark sometimes feels like their little wall of self-fulfilling prophecies is kind of like cheating their way around the timeline, and then they remember how short that timeline really is and suddenly it seems like just the right idea once more. They walk down the street with their hands in their pockets, a beanie pulled snug over their ears to ward off the wind.
They could be confused for any other pedestrian trudging along, at least until they split from the steady current of people and duck into a nearby alleyway. As they pass a homeless person sitting on the ground, they glance over and then away, digging through a pocket and dropping a couple hundred into their hands.
“Hey wait-”
But the time traveler is already gone, a few steps away and then consumed by green light and more thoroughly out of reach. They step out onto a familiar day, one they put off returning to for a while.
“Cassidy, you idiot,” they mumble, checking their phone as they loiter in the alleyway. Their phone doesn’t chime when the text is sent, but it did, back when this was now. It’s tricky, using technology as a time traveler. Sometimes they get the same text multiple times, sometimes it doesn’t go through at all. Sometimes they get a message that they won’t understand until a certain amount of time has passed and they’ve caught up to when it’s relevant.
The text appears as being from months ago, for them, sent from an unknown number. They click the phone screen off and peek out of their hiding place. The demons are gone - they made sure to return to a time after their powers had stabilized, lest they get ripped into atoms or something suitably dramatic like that.
So now there’s just the aftermath, and Lark, as usual, picking through the pieces. They step out from the shade of the alleyway as the building starts to fall, and between one moment and the next they’re beside Cassidy, holding tightly to his arm. He’s in no shape to stop them as they activate their powers and drag them both to the past, pulling him back to his present.
See, when you’re displaced from time, it’s like your body is put on pause. It’s like pausing a television show; the actors are all stuck mid-movement, breath caught, eyes never wavering, hands unmoving. Now imagine that, but one of them is still moving around, cracking jokes to a world where the laugh track has gone silent.
Maybe that metaphor has gone off the rails. Either way, his healing factor should kick in again once they’ve got him back to the proper place and time. They drop him at their apartment, because it’s easiest, because that’s when the current them of that time will be regardless.
Their past self is digging through the first aid kit, and they don’t look up at first as the other Lark arrives. “I can do this myself, I think, unless-”
Their words dry to dust as they finally glance up, seeing the person currently bleeding all over their living room carpet. The older Lark hides Cassidy’s face with a hand, because as dumb as he may be, it’s too soon for them to know the real extent of it all. “Spoilers. Now, pass me the kit when you’re done.”
There are some perks to their seniority, they suppose, as they’ve always been rather inclined to listen to Future Larks when they tell them to do something. The past Lark pulls out some bandages and retrieves an ice pack from the fridge, and then retreats to their room, leaving Lark and Cassidy alone in the living room.
“I suppose I’m partially to blame for all of this, but then again I’m not the one who went gallivanting around as a superhero when your healing was literally on pause,” they scold lightly, picking through the first aid kit and seeing what injuries need to be tended to first. They aren’t entirely sure if he’s even conscious, but their younger self can’t hear them and it’s nice to just talk sometimes. “Dumbass.”
Their hands and voice are steady, but they can’t quite hide a concerned frown. He’s really hurt. Maybe bringing him here wasn’t the best idea. “Think you need a hospital?”
A callused finger runs across a whiteboard, smudging dry-erase ink in a thoughtful line. Then, a flash of green light, and the room is empty.
Lark sometimes feels like their little wall of self-fulfilling prophecies is kind of like cheating their way around the timeline, and then they remember how short that timeline really is and suddenly it seems like just the right idea once more. They walk down the street with their hands in their pockets, a beanie pulled snug over their ears to ward off the wind.
They could be confused for any other pedestrian trudging along, at least until they split from the steady current of people and duck into a nearby alleyway. As they pass a homeless person sitting on the ground, they glance over and then away, digging through a pocket and dropping a couple hundred into their hands.
“Hey wait-”
But the time traveler is already gone, a few steps away and then consumed by green light and more thoroughly out of reach. They step out onto a familiar day, one they put off returning to for a while.
“Cassidy, you idiot,” they mumble, checking their phone as they loiter in the alleyway. Their phone doesn’t chime when the text is sent, but it did, back when this was now. It’s tricky, using technology as a time traveler. Sometimes they get the same text multiple times, sometimes it doesn’t go through at all. Sometimes they get a message that they won’t understand until a certain amount of time has passed and they’ve caught up to when it’s relevant.
The text appears as being from months ago, for them, sent from an unknown number. They click the phone screen off and peek out of their hiding place. The demons are gone - they made sure to return to a time after their powers had stabilized, lest they get ripped into atoms or something suitably dramatic like that.
So now there’s just the aftermath, and Lark, as usual, picking through the pieces. They step out from the shade of the alleyway as the building starts to fall, and between one moment and the next they’re beside Cassidy, holding tightly to his arm. He’s in no shape to stop them as they activate their powers and drag them both to the past, pulling him back to his present.
See, when you’re displaced from time, it’s like your body is put on pause. It’s like pausing a television show; the actors are all stuck mid-movement, breath caught, eyes never wavering, hands unmoving. Now imagine that, but one of them is still moving around, cracking jokes to a world where the laugh track has gone silent.
Maybe that metaphor has gone off the rails. Either way, his healing factor should kick in again once they’ve got him back to the proper place and time. They drop him at their apartment, because it’s easiest, because that’s when the current them of that time will be regardless.
Their past self is digging through the first aid kit, and they don’t look up at first as the other Lark arrives. “I can do this myself, I think, unless-”
Their words dry to dust as they finally glance up, seeing the person currently bleeding all over their living room carpet. The older Lark hides Cassidy’s face with a hand, because as dumb as he may be, it’s too soon for them to know the real extent of it all. “Spoilers. Now, pass me the kit when you’re done.”
There are some perks to their seniority, they suppose, as they’ve always been rather inclined to listen to Future Larks when they tell them to do something. The past Lark pulls out some bandages and retrieves an ice pack from the fridge, and then retreats to their room, leaving Lark and Cassidy alone in the living room.
“I suppose I’m partially to blame for all of this, but then again I’m not the one who went gallivanting around as a superhero when your healing was literally on pause,” they scold lightly, picking through the first aid kit and seeing what injuries need to be tended to first. They aren’t entirely sure if he’s even conscious, but their younger self can’t hear them and it’s nice to just talk sometimes. “Dumbass.”
Their hands and voice are steady, but they can’t quite hide a concerned frown. He’s really hurt. Maybe bringing him here wasn’t the best idea. “Think you need a hospital?”
