Room 326, Late Thursday/Early Friday, Before Sunrise
The e-mails she'd received from Veronica and Nadia said she needed to draw Bester out, to confront him and the underlying emotions the demon was feeding upon. Well, she was now prepared to do that... or at least as close as she was going to get.
Her mother, descendant in a long line of superstitious Irish women, would have been proud: The room had been thoroughly cleared, the windows closed completely, and the door sealed as best as she could manage. To make more room in the center, she had shoved the beds back against the opposite walls, and then drew a circle of protection around a specific spot with a mixture of rock salt and other ingredients. She took her place at the centerpoint of the circle. "All right you bastard," she muttered, "we're going to settle this once and for all."
And the guest of honor was right on time.
"Such language for a young lady," Bester said with a smirk as he appeared. His hands clasped behind his back, he took in the environment. "I see you've done a little redecorating while I've been gone."
"I thought you might like more room to pace."
The PsiCop chuckled. "Somehow I don't believe this little addition" -- he toed the white line, lips sneering in distaste -- "is for my benefit."
"It's not. But then, it's time I did something for myself for a change." Lyta set her jaw, and narrowed her eyes. They slowly clouded as she summoned up all of her abilities and strengths. She would need them in the coming moments.
"But isn't that what you did, trying to kill me? Trying to overthrow the Corps? It really wasn't about all telepaths," Bester said, circling her. "It was all about you. And Byron, of course."
A deep-seated hatred burned within her as memories of Byron's death -- a death at Bester's command -- surfaced. He had been the one person to change everything; he had shown her how to love and to trust, while giving her a path forward. His abrupt departure from her life had left a hole she had tried to fill without any luck. Instead, the anger had fed upon itself, and revenge became her goal.
When her voice emerged, it seemed distant, detached. "You're right," she admitted. "It was about revenge, and that was my fault. What I did was wrong -- no, how and why I did it was wrong, but it was still the right thing to do. The 'Mundanes' would never accept us as we were so long as there was a delineation between 'us' and 'them.' We had to be free to live our lives without registering, or being dragged away from our families, or even being forced to attend the Academy. Our abilities gave us a responsibility, but not the right to superiority or separation."
Bester regarded her with his head cocked to one side, eyes narrowed in appraisal. Lyta felt him push slightly against her barriers, but this time there was no getting through. "You've been thinking long and hard about this." There was no question from him this time.
"I have." She looked him directly in the eye, her own eyes fully dark now. "You have no power over me, Bester. Maybe when I was a P5; when the Vorlons took me in, altered me -- I passed your understanding. Hell, I've even passed my own. But that's my responsibility, not yours. I'm not one of your telepaths. I never was, and I never. will. be."
There, she said. The gauntlet has been laid. Her tone was both determined and menacing; a small part of her hoped that the apparition would take her challenge, that it would come down to a battle she would win. Another part of her knew that, until she did win, the negative energy would continue feeding the demon…and that the energy behind her abilities provided more than just a light snack.
"I was sent here for a second chance. I don't intend for you to take that away from me."
His tone was flat when he responded. "You're a telepath, Lyta; you'll always be one of mine." And then his eyes narrowed, and she felt the onslaught of his P12 abilities.
Or what should have been an onslaught. She watched as the ghost strained to pull together the power it had wielded only the day before, when he had been able to push past her weakened defenses and read her thoughts, trace her synapses with its awareness. Like a tennis ball against a solid object, however, his energy merely bounced off the barriers she had constructed around her mind and around herself.
Lyta narrowed her eyes, focusing her own powers on him with pin-point accuracy. Her mind strained under the effort. She knew in that instant that she had been right to try and kill him -- that in order for her to be free, she had to finish the job. She issued one command from her mind to his, hissing but clear: Die.
A darkness enveloped him and he struggled; it was to no avail. Slowly, his mind screaming, he disappeared into the aether.
For the first time all week, she truly felt alone. She hoped it would last, but until the demon itself had been bound, she couldn't be sure. For now, she decided she would simply enjoy the silence.
And hope she had the mess cleaned up by the time Alanna showed back up.
Her mother, descendant in a long line of superstitious Irish women, would have been proud: The room had been thoroughly cleared, the windows closed completely, and the door sealed as best as she could manage. To make more room in the center, she had shoved the beds back against the opposite walls, and then drew a circle of protection around a specific spot with a mixture of rock salt and other ingredients. She took her place at the centerpoint of the circle. "All right you bastard," she muttered, "we're going to settle this once and for all."
And the guest of honor was right on time.
"Such language for a young lady," Bester said with a smirk as he appeared. His hands clasped behind his back, he took in the environment. "I see you've done a little redecorating while I've been gone."
"I thought you might like more room to pace."
The PsiCop chuckled. "Somehow I don't believe this little addition" -- he toed the white line, lips sneering in distaste -- "is for my benefit."
"It's not. But then, it's time I did something for myself for a change." Lyta set her jaw, and narrowed her eyes. They slowly clouded as she summoned up all of her abilities and strengths. She would need them in the coming moments.
"But isn't that what you did, trying to kill me? Trying to overthrow the Corps? It really wasn't about all telepaths," Bester said, circling her. "It was all about you. And Byron, of course."
A deep-seated hatred burned within her as memories of Byron's death -- a death at Bester's command -- surfaced. He had been the one person to change everything; he had shown her how to love and to trust, while giving her a path forward. His abrupt departure from her life had left a hole she had tried to fill without any luck. Instead, the anger had fed upon itself, and revenge became her goal.
When her voice emerged, it seemed distant, detached. "You're right," she admitted. "It was about revenge, and that was my fault. What I did was wrong -- no, how and why I did it was wrong, but it was still the right thing to do. The 'Mundanes' would never accept us as we were so long as there was a delineation between 'us' and 'them.' We had to be free to live our lives without registering, or being dragged away from our families, or even being forced to attend the Academy. Our abilities gave us a responsibility, but not the right to superiority or separation."
Bester regarded her with his head cocked to one side, eyes narrowed in appraisal. Lyta felt him push slightly against her barriers, but this time there was no getting through. "You've been thinking long and hard about this." There was no question from him this time.
"I have." She looked him directly in the eye, her own eyes fully dark now. "You have no power over me, Bester. Maybe when I was a P5; when the Vorlons took me in, altered me -- I passed your understanding. Hell, I've even passed my own. But that's my responsibility, not yours. I'm not one of your telepaths. I never was, and I never. will. be."
There, she said. The gauntlet has been laid. Her tone was both determined and menacing; a small part of her hoped that the apparition would take her challenge, that it would come down to a battle she would win. Another part of her knew that, until she did win, the negative energy would continue feeding the demon…and that the energy behind her abilities provided more than just a light snack.
"I was sent here for a second chance. I don't intend for you to take that away from me."
His tone was flat when he responded. "You're a telepath, Lyta; you'll always be one of mine." And then his eyes narrowed, and she felt the onslaught of his P12 abilities.
Or what should have been an onslaught. She watched as the ghost strained to pull together the power it had wielded only the day before, when he had been able to push past her weakened defenses and read her thoughts, trace her synapses with its awareness. Like a tennis ball against a solid object, however, his energy merely bounced off the barriers she had constructed around her mind and around herself.
Lyta narrowed her eyes, focusing her own powers on him with pin-point accuracy. Her mind strained under the effort. She knew in that instant that she had been right to try and kill him -- that in order for her to be free, she had to finish the job. She issued one command from her mind to his, hissing but clear: Die.
A darkness enveloped him and he struggled; it was to no avail. Slowly, his mind screaming, he disappeared into the aether.
For the first time all week, she truly felt alone. She hoped it would last, but until the demon itself had been bound, she couldn't be sure. For now, she decided she would simply enjoy the silence.
And hope she had the mess cleaned up by the time Alanna showed back up.