(Untitled)

[byweavinglives]

[The camera is expertly handled this time, and it shows the Garage. Saya is currently dressed to nines in expensive couture, as usual, despite the fact that she's working on cars. She has her head under the hood of a car, her hands inside doing something unseen. The camera pans away from her for a moment.]

The Garage is an immaculate place;

Comments

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

[implemented]

[ Since his arrival in the City (or, rearrival, as it were), Nigel has taken to moving about the warehouse in his spare time to familiarize himself with spaces he can no longer recall. The building itself has proven to be something of a puzzle in and of itself; not because its hallways and doors are perplexing, but because Nigel knows that they hold secrets. His secrets are locked away in a room that Saya had given him the key to for Christmas (steel operating tables, a drain in the floor, and so much white tile that wipes down to brilliantly clean whenever there's a mess made). Rosella, he imagines, keeps so secrets -- at least not ones worth pursuing; her secrets are probably defined by things like manners and appropriateness. Not danger, not the knife's edge between life and death, the way Nigel's are; the way he images Saya's are too.

So he searches when he is alone in the house. He searches until he finds something.

And today is to be his day of days. ]

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

[signoftheviolin]

[The fifth floor of the warehouse is much larger than Saya's sylie, but even then, her sylie is enormous - large enough for something the size of an SUV to move around comfortably in, a nest half the size of a football field, filled with webs that look like they're made with steel cables, only white, almost translucent.

There are, with meticulous care, cocoons hanging from webbing, large enough to hold grown men. If Nigel inspects them, he might be able to make out features, blurred and unspecific, like the suggestion of people. There is no dust, no blood anywhere.]

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

[implemented]

[ His first reaction is to stop and hold perfectly still, as if unwilling to disturb what it is he's just found (and what he's just found is, without a doubt, Saya's secret). A thought occurs to him, sluggish and deeply buried in the thick mud that is his slowly-returning memories of this place: a scar that runs down the length of a woman's spine, a brown recluse. The violin spider. ] Oh Saya, [ he says, his voice a hushed whisper. ] What an utter monster you are.

[ (Nigel's second reaction is to smile.)

He makes it a point not to touch anything at first, looking first for signs of human artifact. Furniture, clothing, personal items -- nevermind the shadows of men strung up in the rafters. ]

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

[signoftheviolin]

[There is nothing that suggests a human might ever come here, not at first - no furniture, no clothing. But closer inspection shows, in the corner of the vast room, a small tidy box, almost the exact color of the wall.

The box has an open lid, and inside are clothes, carefully folded, clothes that do not belong to Saya and never would.

There is an eerie stillness to the room as well, and a soft smell, almost stale but not quite. It's the smell of her webbing, the protein strands of the old webbing shedding a little in the parts she has to break down still.]

action;

[orangetoughguy]

[Oh shit, son. Orange rolls out from under another car to stare at the downed fashionista mechanic. No it's not the way she's dressed that surprises him. Saya never teeters or totters on her precious heels.]

....

[Get up, Newendyke. He rolls off his rolling panel to scramble to his feet.] Saya? [Where's that grunt?] Eames!

action;

[byweavinglives]

[Wherever the grunt is, Saya's not too concerned about it. Instead she looks up at he nameless employee, her legs still tucked under her body, and she reaches for the errant heel and misses.]

I broke my shoe.

action;

[orangetoughguy]

[Whoa. That's not like her at all either. Orange (his mechanic clothing actually doesn't even bear a name) reaches out to steady Saya on the ground.]

Keep cool. Who are you and what day is it?

[They teach that in police academy too mmkay. Orange puts his hands on Saya's shoulders to gently keep her in place.]

action;

[byweavinglives]

[She looks at the heel like it's defying her very will by refusing to be in the spot her brain tells her it is, but she doesn't go for it again. Instead she pauses and thinks about it.]

Satya Daphne Wallace. Wea-

[Wait, she's not supposed to say that part, right? She recognizes her employee, but suddenly she wonders, isn't he a shifter? What kind of shifter is he? He always has that damned bird with him, the one that stares at her like it's going to eat her. Is he Corax?]

Do you have an auspice?

[She pauses again, suddenly unsure about that question.]

It's May.

[cold_dry_pieces]

What was that?

[byweavinglives]

I hit my head.

[cold_dry_pieces]

On what?

[byweavinglives]

[This part takes a moment]

The hood of a car.