meadowlarklogs

Entry tags:

(open)

WHO: Hama Sun
WHERE: Safehouse
WHEN: Mid-March
WHAT: Catchall
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Potentially discussions of cult stuff, including loss of autonomy and brainwashing.

Safehouse

[ The safehouse isn't that bad, Hama's decided. It's crowded, sure, and there isn't a whole lot of privacy, but she's got a whole bed to herself and plenty of hot water to wash her hair. And there's food, lots of food, all the food she could ever want in the world. It's pretty good in the safehouse, on balance, and it's totally cool she hasn't left in two weeks. For sure.

It's just. New Amsterdam is so loud and sometimes Hama feels like the sidewalk is going to start cracking around her and really, the whole kidnapping thing wasn't so good. So she'd rather just. Avoid that part. So far as she can tell, nobody's gotten kidnapped straight out of the safehouse.

So really, that's just common sense.

She can be found wandering around at all hours writing digital notes, trying to bother anyone and everyone when they come for breakfast - first by offering them tea and then, when they're distracted, pouncing with the questions - and in the wee hours of the morning, practicing with a switchblade.

She's definitely not going stir crazy. Why would you ever think that? ]

Dream

[ There is a cave carved into a mountain, a fire burning at the entrance, and a much younger Hama crouched down and staring out at the rain. In this place, and this time, she's around ten years old. The rain is coming down so hard it's impossible to see more than ten feet beyond the cave. Thunder booms in the distance and Hama flinches.

She's holding a knife, but she doesn't know how to do anything else except hold it and wait, turning it over and over again in her hands. All nervous energy. ]

They're going to come back.

[ She glances up, still clutching the knife. She's dressed in ratty clothes, a too-big coat secured to her with a length of rope for a belt, and her hair is wild, curls flying in every direction. She's alone. There are three packs by her side and a careful observer might notice a dark pattern splattered across the wall behind her, the distinctive pattern of arterial blood, but there are no adults to be found. Not for miles. ]

Mama promised.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Marta is having tea when Hama comes around again and starts peppering her with questions. She'd been lost in her own thoughts, looking over medical textbooks that she'll need for her new job, and totally missed whatever it was that Hama just asked her.

She feels a little foolish, but there's no getting around it without being incredibly rude. ]

What did you ask? Sorry, I was...distracted.

That's all right, [ Hama assures her, bouncing in her heels a little. ] I was asking about the government systems of your home. Do your leaders following a theocratic system? Or perhaps democratic?

[ Don't mind her. She's taking notes on everything. ]

Uh...

[ Marta blinks, frowning a little. ]

A lot of places are democratic. There are some monarchies of different flavors. There's not one worldwide system?

And the system in your home?

[ Hama scoots a little closer. Tell. Her. Everything. ]

What do you make of it?

There's a saying - absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Most people affected by laws have no way to change them, no matter what the political landscape. [ Marta shakes her head. ] I live in a place with a democratic voting system, that is used and abused by those in power in a way that means they keep it. It's not perfect by any means.

I see.

[ She knows vaguely about the history of democracy and its shortcomings. Like with many political systems, there are many. It was never tried on the Char. There were the warlords and then, one day, there was her mother. And now everyone follows her mother to a better world. ]

What would you change, if you had the power to?

[ Marta pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth and thinks about it. ]

People should be able to find out just what their politicians have and haven't done without needing a degree to understand it. Also, the people should have better access to the legal system, instead it's only accessible to the rich and lawyers with a lot of time on their hands.

You would give them greater access.

[ A reasonable thing, in Hama's opinion. Leaders and the systems they establish ought to be designed for the people, and their well being. But of course that assumes that the leaders who take power are the ones honorable enough to hold it. ]

Do you think that's possible without first dismantling the core systems?

If it were up to me, yes.

[ But it's not, and it's not going to be, so she shrugs after that statement. ]

Probably not. The core systems are racist to begin with, not to mention a host of other problems.

I see.

[ So there's nothing to be done but to dismantle them and start fresh from the ashes. Hama makes a note of that, nodding to herself. Of course there's no way for the Dread Mother and her followers to come and do that, or at least no practical way, but it makes for a good thought exercise. A game of what-if. ]

And would you say others agree with this view?

Other people here or other people back home where I'm from?

[ That's...kind of an important distinction, in Marta's mind. She's had to wrap her head around a lot, lately, and considering that she has to presume that these questions aren't just for the love of learning. ]

The thing to consider, in any case, is that completely dismantling a government or a system of power means that some people are going to get hurt. Some people are going to die. And not necessarily those that are on the front lines trying to change things. The poor, the young, the elderly and the disabled are all usually in a bit of a fraught place anyway, and without even the smallest safety net...it would be a disaster.

[ a ten year old with a knife is a familiar sight for cassian, unfortunately. at least he thinks she's about ten; the girl is hunched over and vaguely familiar. he takes in the sight of the cave, the supplies, the blood, the almost wild look in her eyes as she sits there nervously. ]

[ there is an adult here now, and he squats down to get more eye level with her. he always liked it when people did that with him when he was smaller. his voice is calm, and any concern he has is completely hidden away. he'll address more of it later, but first he needs to make sure she's not going to stab him, wants her to know he's here to help. ]

Did they say when?

[ Hama hunches over herself, clutching the knife, but she doesn't bolt for either the shadows deeper inside the cave or out into the rain. She's not supposed to talk to strange men. But this one hasn't tried to grab her or yell at her to get lost, so that's better.

Besides. Where would she run? There's nowhere to go. ]

Soon. Really soon.

[ She glances out at the rain. In the distance, she thinks she can hear the boom of gunfire. But maybe that's her imagination. ]

You should be nice to me. They won't hurt you, if you're nice to me.

[ It's not much of a threat. Kol and her mama are out on a raid. And the stranger looks healthy, well fed. She can't tell if he has a weapon or not, but most people do. Can't assume otherwise. If he wants to hurt her, there's not much she can do about that except try to hide, or convince him not to. ]

[ he is watching and taking in the way she moves, reacts. her expression, her tone, the fidgety, anxious way she handles the knife in uncertain hands. his instinct is to tell her how to use it, and how sad is that for aiding a child? but it's what adults did for him. ]

[ he makes sure, at least, to keep his own hands very still and in her line of sight. ]

I do not want to be mean to you. I just want to make sure you are okay. Are you hurt? [ there's a lot of blood behind her, and he doesn't think it's hers, but it's a way to steer the conversation. ]

[ The knife belonged to Kol, who took it out of his coat before he left and pressed it into Hama's hands without a word. But that wasn't too surprising, really. Kol rarely speaks, but that's okay. He lets Hama ride on his shoulders and play with his hair, and he's nice to her. She wishes Kol was here now. He's big and tall, and Hama could hide behind him.

There's nothing here but the fire, and the stranger.

She shivers. ]

I'm hungry.

[ She probably shouldn't have said that, even if it's true. There wasn't any food left in the packs. Mama and Kol might bring some back after the raid, if they're lucky. She lifts her head a little, watching the stranger. ]

Do you have any food?

[ cassian gets the sense the shiver is not simply from the cold. ]

Is it okay if I check my pockets? [ it's strange to talk to her like a harried veteran instead of a child, but - but he's been there. sudden movements can be startling, reaching for unseen weapons. his jackets always have pockets, he always tries to shove some kind of snack in one of them, just in case - even a simple fruit bar, unobtrusive. he wonders if this dream version of himself had the same foresight. ] I might have some kind of rations leftover.

[ He asks permission. Hama peers up at him uncertainly. No one asks her for permission. Not even Kol.

She nods just once, clutching the knife. She's never stabbed anyone before, but she's seen Kol and her mama do it plenty of times. Sometimes she watches Kol while he's practicing and mimes the gestures, trying to copy him. One day she wants to be as big and strong as Kol, so she can protect her mama like he does. Of course, Kol wouldn't have let the stranger get close to the fire. Kol would have done—

Well. Kol would have done something. ]

What's your name?

[ If he has a name, then maybe he's not a bad person and Kol won't kill him. ]

[ he is still very carefully watching her, even if he doesn't make it obvious, keeping his expression lighter, more curious than concerned. she's suspicious of his question, which tells him she's not very used to the nature of it. ]

Cassian. [ only after he gives his name does he stick one hand into his pocket, digging around, and maybe it's the dream magic, but there's a blueberry fig bar tucked in. he pulls it out, offering it out to her open handed. ]

It is blueberry flavored.

Cassian.

[ Not a name she recognizes, though that isn't really surprising. She doesn't know many people. Most days it's only Kol and her mama, but soon they'l have lots of friends. A big family united in a single purpose. Mama says so.

She inches forward, one hand outstretched and the other clutching the knife. Then she snatches the bar and retreats back closer to the fire. ]

My name is Hama.

[ She keeps an wary eye on him as she unravels the bar with great care and then takes a small bite. ]

[ aha. hama, he remembers her from the safehouse. it explains the sense of familiarity. when she reaches to take out the food, it's quick with hunger, and cassian keeps himself very still until she settles back in with it. ]

Nice to meet you. I am afraid I am not sure how I get here. Have I intruded on your house?

[ he's being very purposeful with his word choices, as usual. house opens up a few different ways for her to reply. ]

We don't have a house.

[ The food is good and after the first tentative bite, she devours it almost so quickly she chokes. She knows what blueberries are, though she's never seen the places where they're grown, and she finds she likes the taste. She wishes there was more.

She keeps back, examining the wrapper carefully in case she missed some crumbs. ]

Maybe when Mama comes back. She said...

[ She glances at Cassian, suddenly suspicious. ]

She said we're going to have new friends and they'll let us stay there.

House is a figurative phrase. It does not necessarily mean a building.

[ there were long periods of his life where his house was just... a cave like this, or blankets under the stars. people can live anywhere. ]

[ she regards him with suspicion, which isn't very surprising. ]

Is that something you want too? These new friends?

[ It's easy to find Hama, and not just because she matches her selfie. Maine first spots her in the morning as she questions someone trying to eat breakfast. He doesn't approach. Doesn't want to interrupt. Just makes a mental note of it and resolves to swing by later.

And he does, although it takes a few days. Maine's schedule is a bit odd: he doesn't eat at ordinary times, and he dislikes being in the safehouse for any reason other than sleep. But eventually, their schedules align, and he finds himself being offered tea by Hama. ]

Sure. [ Grunted out in a voice so deep it sounds more like a growl. He tips his head slightly to one side. ] You're Hama?

[ It's a question to verify what name she'd like him to use rather than one to verify her identity. ]

[ Wow, he's tall. Towers right over her. Towers over everyone she's ever met. Hama blinks at the question, then immediately brightens and holds the tea up. She's put plenty of honey in it. ]

Yes! Yes, I'm Hama.

[ She bounces a little on her heels. ]

I'm afraid I don't know your name, sir.

[ Right, he hadn't given his name. Hadn't sent a picture of himself or provided a description, either. Another person might realize that was likely rather rude, but it doesn't occur to Maine.

He takes the offered cup with gloved hands and steps back slightly. An instinctive desire for personal space rather than a polite attempt to stop looming so much, but the end result is the same. ]

Thanks. Name's Jónsson.

[ He's better at giving that name. No longer says it stiffly. Still getting used to responding to it, though. ]

We spoke. Different universes. Surgeries.

[ Jónsson. Not a name she recognizes. Hama takes a moment to run it through the neural network, looking up the origin.

Icelandic. Son of Jón. Cool.

She grins at him. ]

Is that your surname or your given name?

[ Some people prefer going by their surnames, she's found. A symbol of allegiance, or sometimes a military habit. ]

I remember you. Hi. I wasn't sure you'd come find me after all, but I'm glad you did.

[ That's a question he's not been asked before. Not just with this name, but with any other. Maine blinks, a bit surprised, then answers: ]

Surname.

[ He doesn't provide "August," his chosen first name. It doesn't cross his mind. He hasn't gone by a given name since he was a child. ]

Been busy. [ Not a lie. ] You?

I see. Thank you for telling me. Names are important.

[ He reminds her a bit of Kol, which bodes well. She misses Kol. He rarely spoke at all, even when she pestered him, but he was always there, solid and strong; a steadying presence in her life.

She shrugs at the question, bouncing on her heels. She's been trying to stay busy, but it's hard without a job or a lot of friends. But that's okay. She'll make it work. ]

Ah....I guess. It's. It's an adjustment, I think?

[ She nods, more to herself than Jónsson. An adjustment. That's all. ]

Have you found a place to stay? I've heard the apartments are nice, though they're expensive.

Edited 2020-04-07 02:16 (UTC)

[ Names are indeed important. Important enough that Maine is keeping his to himself. "Jónsson" was carefully chosen as well: it's a thinly veiled insult to this universe, and that makes him feel better about using it.

As for finding a place to stay? He's interested in moving out of the safehouse, sure, but he doesn't have that kind of money yet. (And that's been an adjustment in its own right.) ]

Looking around. Saving up.

[ Hama seems to have plenty of energy. How well did she handle being stuck in the safehouse for days? ]

This city much like your home?

Not at all.

[ She bounces on her heels again, clasping her hands in front of her as a reminder to keep still and not get into Jónsson's personal space. She has trouble with that sometimes, forgetting that other people have preferences about distances when she just wants to get in close and clock their micro expressions. ]

It wasn't safe to go outside back home. We had Turtles—moving compounds. They're, ah...like tanks? No one went outside unless they had no choice. So this is different!

[ Very different. She liked it at first, but now it makes her anxious. There's no control. Anything could happen out in the open air. ]

[ Maine raises his eyebrows, immediately curious about the Turtles. Were they only for defense? Or were they weapons in their own right? Why wasn't it safe for Hama to go outside?

It's too much for him to ask at once, of course. He takes a moment to sip his tea, letting the questions swirl and settle in his mind. Choosing how he wants to phrase what he finally picks.

Over a year away from Project Freelancer, and Maine still finds the freedom to ask questions a bit of a novelty. ]

Why wasn't it safe?

The storms.

[ Hama shifts a little, suddenly uneasy even though there's no reason to be. There were storms in New Rio and there have been storms here, in New Amsterdam, and not a single person died. So there's really no reason to be irrational about the whole thing.

She clears her throat. Right! Share information, be logical. Otherwise he might think she's twitchy and scared of her shadow and really, what would be the point of that? ]

I did the research. On this planet, in this atmosphere, lightning strikes carry an average force of 30,000 amperes. Easily dealt with. But on the Char, ah...it's probably six times that. And there are a lot of storms.

[ It helps to think of it in terms of science. The cold facts. ]

It was designed that way. Or at least it was taken advantage of. The atmosphere isn't conducive for interplanetary travel. Ships can drop in, but they can't take off again. Perfect for a prison, see?

[ That sounds like a hell of a planet. Maine is about to ask why anyone would settle there, momentarily forgetting that not every universe has the luxury of space travel. But then she says "prison," and something from their previous conversation clicks into place.

"We were all descendants of men and women who were called evil…"

Right. Prison. Exile. ]

Shit. [ A comment on the storms more than anything. ] Exiled there, right?

My grandparents were.

[ Or so she's been told. Hama never met them and her mother doesn't like to talk about what came before. Hama used to wonder about what her grandparents did that was so bad, so evil, that they got tossed all the way down to the Char to die. Did they murder someone? Did they stage a coup? Or were they just the wrong type of people? There's no way of knowing, not without asking her mother, and Shayla is the Dread Mother, and she above all others is allowed her secrets.

Hama shrugs. It's in the past. The future is brighter. ]

It's not like here at all. But I've done all sorts of research. I know the history of lots of planets. But...

[ Well. She shifts from foot to foot. ]

It's a little weird. Being outside. The sky is so...big.

Edited 2020-04-12 23:18 (UTC)

[ Maine hums a little, acknowledging her words as he takes another sip of his tea. (It's good tea. The honey's a nice touch.) He's used to skies both big and small. Used to seeing nothing but black and stars out of portholes, too. Maybe what Hama's dealing with is a little like feeling sunlight on bare skin after months spent in armor.

Or maybe he's totally off track. Empathy's never been his strong suit. ]

Nice at night. Can see stars. Better outside cities.

[ The last words are said with a slight downward twist of his lip; he doesn't like the interference caused by city lights. ]

[In truth, Clarke doesn't mean to take this long to check in on Hama after their first conversation. It's just that life, especially as she's designed it for herself, hasn't left her a lot of room for time. Having Murphy here (albeit temporarily) was a full-time job, what with the amount of verbal sparring that was happening. It's actually his disappearance that refocuses her somewhat. She can do a lot, but without her connections to the other Displaced, who is she?

At times, Clarke has lost sight of that. Funny, considering her business that she's running, but that gets in the way.

She shows up one day with a small tote bag of things for Hama. All basic essentials: snacks (albeit healthier, easier on the stomach), a water bottle (so she can have one on her at all times), and a brimmed hat. None of these are particularly special, but they're meant to help, especially now that it's getting nicer outside.

When she spots her, she waves a hand and motions for her to come over.]

I grabbed you a few things. I figure you'll be headed out of here soon. [Though she's younger than most, and Clarke doesn't know if she has anyone to help put her up in this world. That's another thing she hopes to find out.]

Clarke! Hi!

[ Hama's found she likes Clarke, largely because Clarke took the time to sit down and answer all of Hama's questions without brushing any of them off when she first arrived. It's important to get all of the details right, otherwise you start to make assumptions that aren't right and then what are you going to do?

She bounces on her heels, accepting the the bag with a grin. Presents! ]

Thank you! That was really nice.

[ Though Hama isn't planning on going anywhere soon. Maybe she should? Her smile fades a little. ]

Ah...are we not allowed to stay here after a certain point? No one told me that.

[Frankly, Hama reminds her a lot of some of the softer, kinder delinquents who hit the ground with her early on. Not all of them had seriously delinquent pasts. Some of them were just trying to get by despite some mistakes they made.

(Unsurprisingly, "some of them" didn't live for very long.)

It makes it easier for her to think of Hama at a time like this—and to find time to think of Hama.

She shakes her head.] You know? I don't know. I assumed you'd be looking for a way out. Most people do after a while.

[But then, most people don't have difficult lives like theirs.]

I did, at first. But, well...

[ She shifts from foot to foot, clutching at the bag. ]

Well, it's nice in here. And I don't think anybody got kidnapped from here last time. So! Maybe I'll just stay here.

[Kidnapped. It's such a specific word, such a specific thing to avoid, that Clarke can't help but furrow her eyebrows at the mention. That means that Hama's lost someone.

It's never easy, regardless of whether they're new to this world or been here for a while.

Even your closest companions can slip from your fingers one day and never return.]

I'm sorry about that. That that happened to you. [She doesn't offer more yet, but she's now very glad that she brought something for Hama today.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(open)

safe house;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

dream.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

safehouse;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

safehouse

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject