A snippet that will probably make no sense to you.
this is proof of three things:
1- I am still writing
2- What I am writing is incomprehensible to anyone not involved in the story.
3- I am always, always a fangirl.
Sybil settled the last of the papers around her, thinking hard. They were spead in a circle around her, with dates, times and prophecies next to phone bills and computer printouts. She was chewing on the pen that had been holding her hair up, staring at the numbers as if they could reveal the secrets.
There was something she was supposed to see here, something naggingly familiar. She dragged her laptop over, ran some of the phone numbers she'd called in the last few days. Something she was supposed to know, but couldn't see.
Her family had always believed that they controlled fate. Over her life, Sybil had decided that it was quite the opposite. Their close connection didn't allow them to shape the future; they were manipulated by fate, they were its tools. It was enough to make anyone consider piety, that there might be some vast benevolent, force at work. But she had seen that force work for ill as well as good, and through seers like herself. It was why she had left.
Her family had also always believed that clouded vision was their punishment for interfering in the affairs of destiny too directly. Sybil had her own theories on that, too; no seer could ever perceive their own fate, after all, so was it so inconceivable that they might muddy the waters with their simple presence?
She shook her head. Something familiar, not in a vision but tugging at memory; she'd learned to trust instinct in both directions. Her finger tapped on one of the printed phone records. That call, two weeks ago. Not the number she usually reached Daredevil at. She'd assumed it was a work number and let it go; normally, she didn't feel the need to pry. Too dangerous, both for herself and the heroes of the city.
Now it seemed vitally important. And face it, Sybil. You want to know. You don't like being shut out like that. She frowned at the memory of a wry, gently mocking smile. He'd been teasing her.
Her train of thought jumped the track. The charity benefit. A familiar smile… no way. No way in hell. She'd grown up around blind people. That had not been an act. Even as she thought it she was thumping into the bedroom, digging through her work pants for the business card.
It was the right number. Shitshitshit. What the hell did that mean? Was it just a really, really good act? Certainly made for a hell of a cover. Hmm. Maybe he was in business with his brother?
The phone rang. She fumbled for it, almost tripping in an effort to escape the mire that was her closet. "Hello?"
"You've certainly managed to make a mess of things, sister," the wry voice said on the other line. Immediately Sybil stood up straighter, switched the phone to her other ear. All of her sisters could "see" the person they were talking on the phone with; it was a benefit of the final step that Sybil had been unwilling to take.
"Cypria," Sybil said, neutral. "Why are you calling me?" She didn't bother to ask how she got this number, how they knew where she was. They were her family. They'd probably known all along.
"You were supposed to have figured that out two days ago, when you first met him. All your instincts tell you it's true. Don't doubt yourself. And don't grit your teeth at me, it's not ladylike. Go on, call him, see what he has to say. Take him out to dinner. Would it help if I told you there might be sex? Much later on, of course, and you know how uncertain these things can be. Still. You could use the attention."
There were reasons that Sybil did not call home. Cypria was one of them. The rest of her family was worse. Still, it was nice to have her suspicions confirmed.
"Sybil? Mom sends a message, too. I'll interpret, since I know that if I left it in Latin you'd probably just ignore it." See? She wasn't nearly as bad. "The darkness you saw gathering in Gotham will soon come to pass. Fear will cloud many minds. You have made yourself a vehicle of fate, but you can see the right path if you look closer. And avoid French food." She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if she throws in those little things at the end just to confuse us. Take care of yourself, Sybil. It's a crossroads out there." Which was more chilling than Mom's cryptic words. Crossroads meant that things could either go really good, or they could end up a smoking crater. Interesting times.
Cypria had hung up. Sybil sighed and flopped on the bed. Well. No French food, huh? Too bad. She knew a really great place. She dialed the number.
Posted at 01:28 am by
Dvana
