Elektra...
Feb. 23rd, 2005 01:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
athersgeoIf this is coming out slowly, that's mostly because I'm trying to pace myself - I need to rewatch the film to get some of the action sequences figured out and I can't do that until early April!
Dream To Me
The scene was always the same. It was a bedroom, all done in delicate shades of pink and decorated with flowers. A woman's bedroom. For the life of her, Elektra couldn't place it; she was sure, each time, that she'd remember, but each time the dream came her memory failed her, and she was left going through the motions once again.
She realised that she was seeing the room through a barely-open door, so stepping forwards, she pushed into the room. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the windows. A blinding light was streaming in, obscured only by thin, white curtains, which were flapping in the breeze. The window was open. Perhaps she should close it; surely she shouldn't leave it open like that. Anyone could come in through it.
But, as she stepped forwards, she realised that there was already someone in the room, lying on the bed. Instinctively, she turned to look. The woman on the bed looked just like her.
"Mommy?" she whispered, noting that the woman seemed to be asleep and feeling torn between not wanting her to wake and desperately needing to know the truth.
A hissing sound drew her attention from the woman on the bed.
A dark shadow stood between her and the open window. Details hidden thanks to the light, she couldn't make out who the shadow was, but for just a moment, she saw it. A monster. A real, live monster. And she knew it had taken her mother's life.
Elektra woke, bathed in sweat and trembling. The dream came every night, and every night she woke the same way. Every night since Stick had meddled and brought her back. Part of her wondered whether this was some kind of spiritual revenge for Stick's defiance of natural order; most of her wondered if this was some kind of suppressed memory. From what her father had told her of her mother's death, she hadn't even been in the house that day; she'd been at a summer camp. She didn't remember. For all she knew, she might have been the one who found the body.
The supposition, at the time, was that her mother had died of a heart attack. Nikolas Natchios had always insisted it had been murder. The dream… Well, Elektra wasn't entirely sure what the dream was suggesting, or whether she should even believe it. She would have liked to ask Stick, but she hadn't seen him since he'd kicked her out. Point of fact, she wasn't even sure she'd know where to find him.
The trembling slowed as her body finally recovering from the adrenal surge the dream had brought about and she sat up. Looking around, she realised one benefit of the massive windows. The moonlight streaming in made the place seem almost as bright as if it were daytime. Climbing out of bed, she quietly padded across to the blindless window and stared out.
The lake looked beautiful under the silvery light; so peaceful and calm. Elektra could only wish she could find the same level of peace.
Perhaps the month here would help her?
She snorted. And perhaps it wouldn't. Perhaps all it would be was an extended training kick – but that would be almost as good. It wasn't as if her skills were getting rusty, but it also wouldn't hurt for her to sharpen them. Thirteen year olds shouldn't be able to sneak up on her.
She snorted again. What was the deal with that kid anyway? When she'd first started working for McCabe, she would have eaten the child for breakfast and spat out the bits. When did she get so soft that she actually bantered with the kid? She doubted Abby's parents would be too delighted to know their daughter was trying to hang out with a trained assassin.
Come to think of it, the trained assassin wasn't too delighted with it either – and yet, and Elektra snorted once more, she couldn't seem to say no. At least, she could, but so far, Abby seemed to come up with counter arguments or selective hearing or was just plain oblivious…or all of the above.
She slowly shook her head.
Maybe it was time to call the shrink and find a nice, secure, padded room.
A fleeting smile crossed Elektra's face at that prospect. Oh, that would be a good conversation, she mused, gazing unseeingly at the lake, trying to tell the guy that I really, honest to whatever deity he believes in died and some old shaman brought me back to life. She shook her head. They'd lock her up in that padded room and throw away the key.
Besides, Stick wasn't a shaman.
She didn't think, at any rate.
Movement caught her eye, bringing her back to the here and now. It looked as if she wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep. Further along the coast of the island, on the promontory, she could see Abby's father moving around on the veranda of their house. It looked as if he was pacing.
"That'll never cure insomnia," Elektra murmured. "I should know."
He suddenly stopped, his head cocked, listening to something, presumably a sound from inside his house. Whatever the sound was, Elektra couldn't hear it where she was. She guessed it was either Abby or, more likely, her mom suggesting that he come in and lie down. Elektra could almost picture the domestic sort of scene. A moment later and the tableaux was destroyed as he turned and ran into the house, not even bothering to shut the door behind him.
Clearly not responding to the pleas of the little woman, then.
Idly, Elektra wondered what had happened.
She stayed, unconsciously watching over the open door, making sure nothing untoward went into the house – yet not quite knowing what she would do if something did – for several hours, only finally moving when Abby's dad reappeared, briefly, to shut the door.
What had happened?
And just why did she even care?
Shaking her head, Elektra turned back to her bed and lay down once more, but sleep was a long time in returning.
The scene was always the same. It was a bedroom, all done in delicate shades of pink and decorated with flowers. A woman's bedroom. For the life of her, Elektra couldn't place it; she was sure, each time, that she'd remember, but each time the dream came her memory failed her, and she was left going through the motions once again.
She realised that she was seeing the room through a barely-open door, so stepping forwards, she pushed into the room. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the windows. A blinding light was streaming in, obscured only by thin, white curtains, which were flapping in the breeze. The window was open. Perhaps she should close it; surely she shouldn't leave it open like that. Anyone could come in through it.
But, as she stepped forwards, she realised that there was already someone in the room, lying on the bed. Instinctively, she turned to look. The woman on the bed looked just like her.
"Mommy?" she whispered, noting that the woman seemed to be asleep and feeling torn between not wanting her to wake and desperately needing to know the truth.
A hissing sound drew her attention from the woman on the bed.
A dark shadow stood between her and the open window. Details hidden thanks to the light, she couldn't make out who the shadow was, but for just a moment, she saw it. A monster. A real, live monster. And she knew it had taken her mother's life.
Elektra woke, bathed in sweat and trembling. The dream came every night, and every night she woke the same way. Every night since Stick had meddled and brought her back. Part of her wondered whether this was some kind of spiritual revenge for Stick's defiance of natural order; most of her wondered if this was some kind of suppressed memory. From what her father had told her of her mother's death, she hadn't even been in the house that day; she'd been at a summer camp. She didn't remember. For all she knew, she might have been the one who found the body.
The supposition, at the time, was that her mother had died of a heart attack. Nikolas Natchios had always insisted it had been murder. The dream… Well, Elektra wasn't entirely sure what the dream was suggesting, or whether she should even believe it. She would have liked to ask Stick, but she hadn't seen him since he'd kicked her out. Point of fact, she wasn't even sure she'd know where to find him.
The trembling slowed as her body finally recovering from the adrenal surge the dream had brought about and she sat up. Looking around, she realised one benefit of the massive windows. The moonlight streaming in made the place seem almost as bright as if it were daytime. Climbing out of bed, she quietly padded across to the blindless window and stared out.
The lake looked beautiful under the silvery light; so peaceful and calm. Elektra could only wish she could find the same level of peace.
Perhaps the month here would help her?
She snorted. And perhaps it wouldn't. Perhaps all it would be was an extended training kick – but that would be almost as good. It wasn't as if her skills were getting rusty, but it also wouldn't hurt for her to sharpen them. Thirteen year olds shouldn't be able to sneak up on her.
She snorted again. What was the deal with that kid anyway? When she'd first started working for McCabe, she would have eaten the child for breakfast and spat out the bits. When did she get so soft that she actually bantered with the kid? She doubted Abby's parents would be too delighted to know their daughter was trying to hang out with a trained assassin.
Come to think of it, the trained assassin wasn't too delighted with it either – and yet, and Elektra snorted once more, she couldn't seem to say no. At least, she could, but so far, Abby seemed to come up with counter arguments or selective hearing or was just plain oblivious…or all of the above.
She slowly shook her head.
Maybe it was time to call the shrink and find a nice, secure, padded room.
A fleeting smile crossed Elektra's face at that prospect. Oh, that would be a good conversation, she mused, gazing unseeingly at the lake, trying to tell the guy that I really, honest to whatever deity he believes in died and some old shaman brought me back to life. She shook her head. They'd lock her up in that padded room and throw away the key.
Besides, Stick wasn't a shaman.
She didn't think, at any rate.
Movement caught her eye, bringing her back to the here and now. It looked as if she wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep. Further along the coast of the island, on the promontory, she could see Abby's father moving around on the veranda of their house. It looked as if he was pacing.
"That'll never cure insomnia," Elektra murmured. "I should know."
He suddenly stopped, his head cocked, listening to something, presumably a sound from inside his house. Whatever the sound was, Elektra couldn't hear it where she was. She guessed it was either Abby or, more likely, her mom suggesting that he come in and lie down. Elektra could almost picture the domestic sort of scene. A moment later and the tableaux was destroyed as he turned and ran into the house, not even bothering to shut the door behind him.
Clearly not responding to the pleas of the little woman, then.
Idly, Elektra wondered what had happened.
She stayed, unconsciously watching over the open door, making sure nothing untoward went into the house – yet not quite knowing what she would do if something did – for several hours, only finally moving when Abby's dad reappeared, briefly, to shut the door.
What had happened?
And just why did she even care?
Shaking her head, Elektra turned back to her bed and lay down once more, but sleep was a long time in returning.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 04:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 07:12 pm (UTC)