[ you're waiting for a train. except, no, this isn't inception and there's no ugly gained-forty-pounds-for-the-role leonardo dicaprio with bad facial hair here to question her dream motives. there's just... an actual train, that caroline finds herself on, seated there with a proper id and paperwork in order and everything all in its place. as if she was meant to be here all along.
but she hadn't volunteered to go to new tokyo, had she? it had been out of the question without her daylight ring. it was hard enough to explain why she couldn't go outside to people in the safehouse — trying to explain that to strangers in a new city would have just been too much. and yet, here she was. riding a train to said new city, getting a text from someone she's sure she's never met.
and yet.
leo. the name stirs up feelings of familiarity, warm and fleeting even against the cool air of the train compartment. possessiveness, too, like someone she'd claimed as her own in a past life somehow. snippets of the dream pull back through her memories, and suddenly, her blood runs cold. or it would, if it could.
but she doesn't just want to say it. 'oh, hey, i think i fed on you in my dream, were you there for that?' it's weird, dangerous. too risky. better to come up with a last-minute excuse — scrolling through the network to find a match to his username gives her something to go off, flimsy as it may be. ]
at the safehouse, right? you organized the supplies drive for the locals.
[ in a pinch, apply a compliment. ]
it was really well organized. i'm sorry i couldn't be more help.
no subject
but she hadn't volunteered to go to new tokyo, had she? it had been out of the question without her daylight ring. it was hard enough to explain why she couldn't go outside to people in the safehouse — trying to explain that to strangers in a new city would have just been too much. and yet, here she was. riding a train to said new city, getting a text from someone she's sure she's never met.
and yet.
leo. the name stirs up feelings of familiarity, warm and fleeting even against the cool air of the train compartment. possessiveness, too, like someone she'd claimed as her own in a past life somehow. snippets of the dream pull back through her memories, and suddenly, her blood runs cold. or it would, if it could.
but she doesn't just want to say it. 'oh, hey, i think i fed on you in my dream, were you there for that?' it's weird, dangerous. too risky. better to come up with a last-minute excuse — scrolling through the network to find a match to his username gives her something to go off, flimsy as it may be. ]
at the safehouse, right? you organized the supplies drive for the locals.
[ in a pinch, apply a compliment. ]
it was really well organized. i'm sorry i couldn't be more help.