versusnurture | first ♢ voice

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first ♢ voice

[Abigail's voice quavers, as though she's uncertain of the connection, like someone making their first long-distance call. She starts out firm and then peters out into uncertainty, the tail end of her first sentence almost a question.]

My name is Abigail . . . Hobbs.

I'm not sure how I got here, but I'm here now. [A pause; who to ask for?] I'm looking for Dr. Alana Bloom. She's tall with dark hair. She was supposed to check in with me this morning, but instead I'm here.

Are there - [And here she inserts a little more tremor than necessary into her voice, because she doesn't know what else to do right now - ] Are there letters home? That kind of thing? How does this work? Because I need to talk to my dad.

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[She wonders if she was put closest to Zero on purpose, but doesn't voice the concern. It seems a little paranoid - not that that means it's invalid.]

[She follows him to the elevator.]

I went to the deck. Just briefly. It's pretty. But weird that that's the only open space.

IT is not. Among the warden access areas-- the pub, the CTS, and others-- there is also the CES. A wild space, half-magical. It creates relatively safe places to be, and enjoy sun and sky.

Have you seen it?

Not yet. I'd like to, though.

I've never been anywhere with - magic before.

I can take you there.

[ And will; down the hall, to the elevator, and up. ]

Thank you.

[She walks just beside and behind him, memorizing the hallways; once they're in the elevator, she looks down at her hands, as though shy.]

So . . . how long have you been here?

Six, seven months or so.

[ Yes. Very much like Sansa. How much the comparison runs deep-- he cannot say. He does not know she donned the mockingbird's cloak, but by the end, he knew something was up. ]

[ Perhaps the same with Abigail Hobbs. ]

Do you know why you are here?

I think I know. But I'm not sure.

[She takes a deep breath, like she's steeling herself.]

I killed someone. I think that must be why.

[ He is the least shocked. ]

It is not uncommon. But fear not, you are in good company. And here, the dead do not stay dead at all. It costs a toll-- pain and weakness-- but the dead do not... stay dead.

[The dead do not stay dead.]

[She isn't supposed to be scared of that? It's terrifying. There are too many dead people she'd die to see alive again, and not in the good way. Eight girls who looked like her. The boy she killed. The man who put blood on her hands in the first place.]

[Her expression remains placid as a lake.]

That's not much of a toll. Death is supposed to be the toll.

We are in a place between worlds, between death and life. So the dead do not stay dead. You are here to win your life back-- to be set upon a safer, wiser path.

So, Gods willing, even you will not stay dead.

Are all wardens wise?

[This seems pretty unlikely to her, Tyrion.]

The better question is do the wisdom that a warden provides match with the inmate's need? My wisdom may not be what you need. But another might have it.

[ The elevator dings; he gsetures for her to come with him. ]

[She follows obediently, only not quite obediently. She thinks he can probably see it now, or the edges of it. He pays very close attention. So she tightens her step and looks up at him with piercing curiosity, to make herself look younger.]

What are you wisest about, then?

That is an excellent question, isn't it?

[ He leads her onward, away from the elevator, across deck, to the domed CES; this he opens with his signet ring, a lion's head in gold. A meadow, probably somewhere in the Tyrell lands, he thinks, dotted with wildflowers. ]

[ But he closes the door once she sees it, and then taps his ring to the lock. ]

Now you open the door. The lands it shows you will be yours. From your world.

[It's pretty - almost pretty enough to offset her annoyance at having her excellent question dodged. The opportunity to see her own home, or at least the land around it, is both tempting and terrifying. For the most part, she doesn't want to go home.]

[But she opens the door anyway, to a field, wind-swept and weathered. There are no flowers, but there are the beginnings of them. It'd be late March, early April maybe.]

[She steps inside without another word.]

[ He follows after her, steps careful. He does not know if this place is dangerous. He doubted so, but it never hurts to be cautious. ]

A lovely country. Where are we? Do you know?

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first ♢ voice

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