(no subject)

[river_meimei]

The statue has teeth but it's stone, the one in front of her is frozen in an impossible slavering lunge but she knows there could be more right behind her and she knows this one can move even though it can't, it couldn't but it has, and she only has two eyes and she can't break stone, and she shrieks--

--and her eyes close, just for an instant--

(and in her ears a great rushing like wind and water)

The choked remnant of her cry is a pitifully small squawk in the damp unfamiliar night.

She's huddled in the shadowed corner of a stone wall, hands clutching her head in hopeless defense.

Behind her, sloping walls rise into crenellations and turrets. It's a castle: small, sturdy, and apparently abandoned.

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[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

Ahead of her is a thick tangle of forest, with a path winding off into it. Off to her left, the same path slopes sharply down towards a small glimmering lake.

A flag flutters from the highest tower of the little castle, too dark against the setting sun to make out its colors.

[river_meimei]

There are no angels.

Nothing but stone (that doesn't move -- against her feet, her hunched back, one questing hand, it doesn't move) and grass and fading light, and the muffled confusion of scattered voices in the distance.

River rises slowly, breathing hard. Her back is set to the wall, and she stares around her.

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

A squirrel is browsing along the base of the castle wall in a businesslike way. It raises head and forepaws to look at her, sniffs in her direction, drops back to all fours and comes closer.

The intent look in its black bead eyes as it sits up again conveys a general impression of Are you gonna eat that?

[river_meimei]

It takes River a long minute to notice the squirrel's presence.

When she does, her face softens -- but only for a moment before she casts another wary, wild-eyed glance at the surrounding parkland.

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

"He won't hurt you."

The speaker is a young man, smiling in friendly amusement as he approaches down the sloping path. He's carrying a wooden stick nearly as tall as he is, and wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

"I think he's just after that bread you dropped."

[river_meimei]

"I didn't--"

River's shoulders are to the wall, half grounding and half defensive.

"Didn't drop," she says, low, and her eyes flick to him.

"I. I'm not supposed to be here."

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

His smile fades into puzzled concern. "Are you lost? Were you with the tour group that was in there before?"

He waves a hand up at the castle.

[river_meimei]

River sucks in a deep breath -- trying for control, and failing.

"No," she says, enunciating too precisely, as if she's having to work for every word. Her voice is tight.

"The angels wore masks. Can-toi, can-tah -- they hide their teeth and they change when you're looking."

"I fell."

Her eyes meet his again. With the low precision of desperation, "I don't. Know where. I am."

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

The concern is -- not gone precisely, but heavily overshadowed by distaste and fear. The young man's starting to back away.

"Uh, you ... I should probably get a park ranger or someone. To help you."

His sneaker catches on a lip of rock, and he nearly stumbles.

"I'll be right back," he gabbles, and turns to hurry off.

[river_meimei]

River's hands clench into fists.

"No rutting help," she snaps -- too low for him to hear, perhaps, hurrying away as he is -- and her eyes glitter with angry tears.

He's out of sight. One moment, two, and then she flings herself away from the wall and half-runs down the rocky hill, hair flying and face pale and wild.

Behind her, the squirrel advances happily on the forgotten bread roll.

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

The path under her feet is paved in concrete.

Across the pond is a board fence, another paved path, and a wide sprawling meadow lined with trees. The meadow's thronged with people: throwing balls or discs for dogs to run after, pushing strollers, walking in groups, walking alone.

And beyond the trees rise the silhouettes of skyscrapers, painted a dozen different shades of rose and gold by the sunset.

Welcome to Central Park, River Tam.

[river_meimei]

People everywhere.

People and a skyline.

There's grass under her, things change and she's not sure -- she gets confused. She is confused.

Pressing her back to a tree, River stares at the cheerful melee, and watches, and listens.

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

A woman walking by with seven dogs of varying sizes gives her a mildly curious glance, and moves on.

Not far away, sitting on a rock next to the path, a prematurely balding young man is playing a set of pan-pipes, watched by a smiling man and a solemn two-year-old girl.

[river_meimei]

River closes her eyes.

One breath. Two.

There's a young girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen, sitting with a book a few yards away. River pushes slowly off the tree, and heads towards her.

"Hi," she says. She's trying, trying hard; it shows a little.

"This is New York?" It treads the border between question and statement. On Earth, she doesn't quite say.

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

The girl looks up at her, raising her eyebrows.

"Um, yeah," she says warily.

[river_meimei]

"I'm lost."

River swallows; her gaze darts down to the girl's book, and the air beside.

"I need to find -- it's a corner."

"Forty-sixth and Second. I don't know the path."

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

The girl looks a little uneasy.

"Uh -- okay, um, you want to get out of the Park on the east side, then, that way --" She points, vaguely, in a direction that's closer to southeast than east. "And from there you can probably catch a bus downtown?"

[river_meimei]

River nods, just a little too jerkily.

"Thank you," she says carefully, and turns away.

Her steps hurry as she goes.

(She had to ask. She's adrift.

But there are ears in the shadows.)

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

The paths out of the park twist and curve unexpectedly; it's nearly impossible to go in a straight line here.

Finally the paths divide to go right and left around a vast white building, and spill out onto the sidewalk beside the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

[river_meimei]

River's eyes flick constantly from one thing to another: the buildings, the shadows of tree and rock, the empty air and the people.

Southeast, the girl pointed. The skyline has a shape; she remembers. Remembers more than people think.

(The hazy heat of August is just the same as before.)

She sets out at a fast walk, slipping lithely between pedestrians.

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

Eighty-first street to Forty-sixth; almost two miles. Easily over two miles, factoring in the longer blocks between the avenues.

At Sixtieth street the vast park to her right comes to an end, to be replaced by an open plaza, backed by a tall building and flanked by a gilded statue of a horse and rider and a high circular fountain. The streets ahead are lined with expensive shops, and starting to be more crowded.

[river_meimei]

It's a cross-section of life here: homeless beggars, high-class executives, a trio of girls on violins and an old man playing a whining warbling saw, joggers and skaters, families out with dogs.

River has no Earth money. No bus pass, no map, no guide. Southeast, following the skyline or an internal compass: she walks, and she runs.

There's desperation in her tight-backed hurry, in her wild darting eyes, in the way her breath comes fast and her hands twist and twitch at her sides and in her hair. Passersby veer away from her half-consciously, with glances of faint pity or disgust or nothing at all; she ignores them, arms tightening now and then around her torso, and jogs frantically on.

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

The expensive shops eventually taper off, yielding to high-rise residence and office buildings, punctuated by tiny restaurants and newsstands and drugstores.

She's nearly there.

[river_meimei]

This is familiar scenery now, seen only once but graven in the memory. Many of the signs are different, but the buildings and streets and intersections are the same.

Except it's wrong, deeply and chillingly. There's no singing in the air, no subvocal calling of love and always and yes -- nothing but silence and concrete.

These are ordinary city streets.

River's almost running by now, and if her breath is coming fast and harsh it's not from the exertion.

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

There is a tall black building, on the corner up ahead.

And there is a little park across the street from it, with a fountain and a statue of a turtle.

And that's all.