Hanna Cross + 19th Sighting + Dream Broadcast
[OOC: Cut for CRAZY length, dialogue, and grimdark! OH MY!]
[For the most part, Hanna has fairly mundane dreams. Shit about doing laundry or trying to find his pager in the couch cushions. If you’ve seen his broadcasts this week (few and far between and short though they have been), you’ve probably gotten a pretty good idea of exactly how he laces his shoes, what the thrift store near his office has on sale on Wednesdays, and which price-tag maker is the malfunctional one at his part-time job.
[But what you’ll see tonight is a little less mundane, and a little less real. In fact, it couldn’t possibly be real, because there’s Kenzi sitting in the lap of a tall, quiet man, but that living room definitely doesn’t fit in anywhere in the facility. There’s a blue dog running around the room, sniffing at shoes and pawing small circles in the brightly colors cushions. That’s Doc Worth-you guys know Doc Worth!-leaning against the darkwood bureau on the right side of the room, and that’s Mom standing in front of the French doors. She’s just smiling and nodding; her eyes aren’t visible behind her glasses, and nothing is visible through the windows of the door behind her.
[It’s a party! Hanna is talking, Veser is really talking. He keeps almost breaking things, and Hanna is beginning to suspect that the kid does this on purpose. The quiet man is just watching, occasionally sipping his beer and pulling Kenzi snug against his chest. There’s music coming from somewhere, and there are faces in and out (that aren’t really faces, just people on heads, who are these people anyway?).
Beers just aren’t meant for dogs! [Hanna is telling the dog, picking her up as he does so. She argues smugly from his arms, making her points with a bit of indignity.] Okay, you’re right, I can’t blame you!
[The dog is talking to someone else now.
[Worth grabs his arm, points to the upper corner of the room. Above the faceless heads, there’s a fire in the corner. The off-white walls are starting to crisp and brown as the yellow-red flame crawls down the seam of the wall. He’s not panicked quite yet.] We should move people out. [He tells Worth, but the good doctor doesn’t respond.
[He begins to clear people out, but there are too many to fit through the door, and they keep stopping to ask him questions and tell him stories. He can’t help but answer-but they are going to run out of time if he doesn’t get them all out. Fire lines the room, glowing in every apex of wall and wall or wall and ceiling.
[Hanna goes to Kenzi and the quiet man. Maybe they know how to help. But Kenzi just scowls a little and asks:] Did it come back?
We need to put out the fire. [Hanna tries to make his point, but they aren’t quite getting the urgency. The quiet man points to Mom at the French doors. She’s opening them to let the guests out.] Mom? No-hey, Mom? [He hurries over to close the doors, but it’s too late. They don’t open outside, though. He turns to look through.
[This is not a dream.
[The kitchen isn’t clean. White tiles and countertops are dirt- and mold-caked, dishes stacked haphazardly in the sink, windows open, leaves blowing in with a rain-wet wind-and there’s a kid shaking on the floor. Maybe sixteen, maybe seventeen. The tangled red hair is recognizable, but Hanna hasn’t ever been as thin as he was back then, and his glasses are missing, dark-circled eyes pinched shut. He holds a shitty little prepaid phone up to his ear. It’s practically impressed into his skull, but it’s still shaking with the violent tremors of his hands. He wheezes into it, high and shaking and terrified.] It came back-Bobby, B-Bobby it came back, you said-it wouldn’t come back, you said-oh god, it’s here in the house-
[The knives are rattling. They rattle hard enough to tremble out of the block. He yelps when they clatter to the floor. The drawers are opening and slamming shut. The blinds snap noisily against the windows. Something scrapes loud and long and ripping in the ceiling above, and the boy screams, crying and sobbing and gasping for help. The clawing only swells louder to drown him out.]
[Hanna rouses from the dream, burying his face in his pillow to quiet a cough. After a moment, he makes a pretty quiet hum and slumps off the mattress. Wanders to the closet, pulls on his sweater, then crawls back into his bed and covers his head with the blankets.
[It’s less awkward when he falls back asleep. It’s mundane again. The blue dog runs circles around his feet. She purrs up at him and starts to talk to him about wiring his shitty TV with surround sound.]
[For the most part, Hanna has fairly mundane dreams. Shit about doing laundry or trying to find his pager in the couch cushions. If you’ve seen his broadcasts this week (few and far between and short though they have been), you’ve probably gotten a pretty good idea of exactly how he laces his shoes, what the thrift store near his office has on sale on Wednesdays, and which price-tag maker is the malfunctional one at his part-time job.
[But what you’ll see tonight is a little less mundane, and a little less real. In fact, it couldn’t possibly be real, because there’s Kenzi sitting in the lap of a tall, quiet man, but that living room definitely doesn’t fit in anywhere in the facility. There’s a blue dog running around the room, sniffing at shoes and pawing small circles in the brightly colors cushions. That’s Doc Worth-you guys know Doc Worth!-leaning against the darkwood bureau on the right side of the room, and that’s Mom standing in front of the French doors. She’s just smiling and nodding; her eyes aren’t visible behind her glasses, and nothing is visible through the windows of the door behind her.
[It’s a party! Hanna is talking, Veser is really talking. He keeps almost breaking things, and Hanna is beginning to suspect that the kid does this on purpose. The quiet man is just watching, occasionally sipping his beer and pulling Kenzi snug against his chest. There’s music coming from somewhere, and there are faces in and out (that aren’t really faces, just people on heads, who are these people anyway?).
Beers just aren’t meant for dogs! [Hanna is telling the dog, picking her up as he does so. She argues smugly from his arms, making her points with a bit of indignity.] Okay, you’re right, I can’t blame you!
[The dog is talking to someone else now.
[Worth grabs his arm, points to the upper corner of the room. Above the faceless heads, there’s a fire in the corner. The off-white walls are starting to crisp and brown as the yellow-red flame crawls down the seam of the wall. He’s not panicked quite yet.] We should move people out. [He tells Worth, but the good doctor doesn’t respond.
[He begins to clear people out, but there are too many to fit through the door, and they keep stopping to ask him questions and tell him stories. He can’t help but answer-but they are going to run out of time if he doesn’t get them all out. Fire lines the room, glowing in every apex of wall and wall or wall and ceiling.
[Hanna goes to Kenzi and the quiet man. Maybe they know how to help. But Kenzi just scowls a little and asks:] Did it come back?
We need to put out the fire. [Hanna tries to make his point, but they aren’t quite getting the urgency. The quiet man points to Mom at the French doors. She’s opening them to let the guests out.] Mom? No-hey, Mom? [He hurries over to close the doors, but it’s too late. They don’t open outside, though. He turns to look through.
[This is not a dream.
[The kitchen isn’t clean. White tiles and countertops are dirt- and mold-caked, dishes stacked haphazardly in the sink, windows open, leaves blowing in with a rain-wet wind-and there’s a kid shaking on the floor. Maybe sixteen, maybe seventeen. The tangled red hair is recognizable, but Hanna hasn’t ever been as thin as he was back then, and his glasses are missing, dark-circled eyes pinched shut. He holds a shitty little prepaid phone up to his ear. It’s practically impressed into his skull, but it’s still shaking with the violent tremors of his hands. He wheezes into it, high and shaking and terrified.] It came back-Bobby, B-Bobby it came back, you said-it wouldn’t come back, you said-oh god, it’s here in the house-
[The knives are rattling. They rattle hard enough to tremble out of the block. He yelps when they clatter to the floor. The drawers are opening and slamming shut. The blinds snap noisily against the windows. Something scrapes loud and long and ripping in the ceiling above, and the boy screams, crying and sobbing and gasping for help. The clawing only swells louder to drown him out.]
[Hanna rouses from the dream, burying his face in his pillow to quiet a cough. After a moment, he makes a pretty quiet hum and slumps off the mattress. Wanders to the closet, pulls on his sweater, then crawls back into his bed and covers his head with the blankets.
[It’s less awkward when he falls back asleep. It’s mundane again. The blue dog runs circles around his feet. She purrs up at him and starts to talk to him about wiring his shitty TV with surround sound.]