Play@YSDC

Sleep is heavy, like a stage curtain, and a show is playing behind Genevieve's eyes. It's a magic act, in fact, and she sits in the front row of a faceless audience.

The lights flicker to life; the atmosphere becomes a little green. A dark-skinned, sharply-dressed man takes long strides over to a bare table. Mirrors at the back of the stage reflect his every movement.

This is a dream. She knows that - she's perfectly lucid. And it feels familiar, as though there's a twinge of something old in the air.

The dark man smiles at his audience - at Genevieve.

Kadael wrote: This is a dream. She knows that - she's perfectly lucid. And it feels familiar, as though there's a twinge of something old in the air.

Genevieve finds herself drawn to the show....focused and at attention. She knows she is dreaming but this is the first time in weeks that she remembers a dream, due to her studies and the exhaustion at night when she goes to bed. She has been sleeping so deeply that, come morning, she does not recall her dreams. Even more odd, is that she is aware right now...

Why is this familiar?

Genevieve falls back on her education and her belief of Jungian dream theory...

It only seems familiar but my unconscious mind is just sorting out memories formed through the day or a lifetime...putting them together to make this dream. That must be it...

However, even as these thoughts came, she did not feel entirely convinced...

She attempted to turn her head and view her fellow audience members but found she could not take her eyes off the dark man...his smile...his eyes...the performance...

I can leave anytime I want. She rationalized in her head. Let's see what this performance is all about...

She felt stoical but realized her palms were sweating and clenching the edge of the seat...

"Hello, one and all!" The man's smile splits into a grin, revealing a mouthful of shockingly white teeth. He doffs his top hat, and a rabble of butterflies sprays forth. The audience applauds, hands smacking together mechanically.

"Enjoyed that, did you? We haven't even gotten to the first trick, ladies and gentlemen!" His stage presence is larger than his body; he seems to command the very air to move. With a sweep of his long, black cape, he covers the surface of the table and shuts his eyes. "Now, a volunteer from the audience is needed here. Let me see who is the strongest..."

The cape is pulled away to reveal a plume of faintly shimmering smoke and a large jar - no, an urn. The man extends a hand directly toward Genevieve, opening his eyes and staring straight into hers. "How about you, miss? I could see the magic inside you from a mile away!"

The faceless audience applauds in a strange cadence of clapping as the flurry of butterflies disperse into the air but Genevieve realizes she is not clapping...

Upon sighting the urn, Genevieve feels anxiety grip her...

Why is this familiar?

This time her logic does not have a response...

She is focused on that gleaming, toothy smile and misses the dark man's words. However, his extended hand and piercing stare seem to convey enough...

I'm the volunteer...

She rises and, as she ascends the stage, the mirrors at the back of the stage do nothing to reveal the identity of the audience and only seem to animate the dark man's movements, even though it seems he is not moving...

Maybe the smoke from the act on the air is doing it...

She is lucid but this dream is playing upon her mind....

Another short burst of applause accompanies Genevieve's rise to the stage. Up close, she can clearly see the man's fine, sharp features, his skin shimmering under the greenish lights.

"Lovely, lovely," he says, and pulls a walking cane longer than his arm out of his coat sleeve. Resting an elbow on it precariously, he tips his head to one side and grins once more. "Now tell us, my dear: what is your name?"

Genevieve feels her mind swimming and responds to the request in a voice a lot less softer than she would regularly use...almost child-like...

"Genevieve..." She responds then surprises herself more by asking a question usually inappropriate in a stage performance but, considering this dream venue and lack of a billing, maybe appropriate...

"What's yours?" Genevieve asks, feeling herself blush...

She is startled. The sound of her voice exactly mimics how she remembers her voice being at age five but the body she presently occupies is her at age twenty-three.

She glances down at the table, despite the dark man's gaze, and sees the urn is still there. The anxiety rises.....

Should I stay here? Should I go? Can I?

Genevieve feels a fear she has not felt since she was eight or nine..the fear of death. She remembers at night, going to bed, and imagining an emptiness in large, abandoned halls, void of anyone...and memories slowly dissipating....with no one to acknowledge them...

She looks up and meets the dark man's eyes...

Her heart is pounding and she wants to look for a way out but in a moment of clarity....

"Is this real..?"

The dark man's grin nearly splits his face in two now. "Why, I am the Mysterious Ammon!" He declares it with a flourish of his cape towards the audience, eating their stilted applause like sweets.

"Genevieve, Genevieve..." He tests the name on his tongue, then reaches for the urn's lid. A puff of ash escapes, but nothing more.

"It's magic," Ammon murmurs under his breath, tilting his head so his dark eyes catch the light. "Do you believe, Genevieve? Go on, put your hand into this lovely urn. You don't want to disappoint the audience, do you?"

A thousand stares lock onto her every movement.

Genevieve is mesmerized by the dark man's eyes when she realizes her hand is extended, nearly inches from the urn's open top...

She felt a dread overcome her being and jerked her hand back so violently that she stumbled backwards and to the stage floor...

WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! She screamed in her head....

The dark man stood above her; his gleaming teeth still glowing in the green smoke of the air. The crowd was invisible and yet she could feel their eyes upon her....

The audience had been quiet before, but now the silence cuts through the air. The hum of the stage lights fades into nothingness. Ammon straightens, taking his cane in one hand. With the other, he twists the top between his forefinger and thumb.

"Power is wasted on those like you," he says, his grin still present yet somehow sinister. "You're afraid to even scratch the surface."

With a final twist, he takes his fingers off the cane, revealing a sharp, sparkling blade at the end. "More useful to feed the ones who know better."

Kadael wrote:"Power is wasted on those like you," he says, his grin still present yet somehow sinister. "You're afraid to even scratch the surface."

"Wait!" It's Genevieve's regular voice.

Ammon's words, like a challenge or dare, cause Genevieve's resolve to return...

It's just a dream, girl! Genevieve reprimands herself. Why the fear? Besides, I have not awaken so maybe my subconscious wants to reveal something...

"I'll do it."

Genevieve begins to rise, despite the lethal blade wielded by the dark man...

"Oh?" Ammon spins the cane in his hand, then sticks the blade into the stage floor. No one seems to care. He gestures toward the table, arching one of his finely pointed eyebrows. "Interesting. Go on and delight us, if you can. The urn still stands."

His eyes glitter darkly, traveling the length of her body. "Maybe you're more of a woman than a frightened little girl, now."

Genevieve rises and, as Ammon's eyes scan her body, she feels anger arise within her...

Damn the audience! Genevieve directs her gaze, full of contempt, to lock with the dark man's eyes...All the fear is gone. ..and damn you!

She pushes past him and plunges her hand, almost violently, into the urn....

I want to know!

Kadael wrote:"It's magic...."

His previous statement, though murmured, seems to echo loudly in her mind.....

Ashes spill from the urn like water overflowing. The audience utters a single, collective gasp.

"Such determination!" Ammon promenades around the stage, having abandoned his cane. "Such fire! What will emerge from this place where lost things go?"

A hand slips into Genevieve's, seemingly having come up from the bottom of the urn. The table is not covered - no one could possibly be hiding under it.

Genevieve gasps as the hand grips her own. From her previous vantage point in the audience, she knew the bottom of the table was not covered....

Unless it was all smoke and mirrors....

She grabs and pulls her hand against the one grasping her own...

I want to know...

Genevieve pulls up and out of the urn, revealing a slim, delicate hand covered in flakes of ash. It's a left hand, and there's an odd bump on the fourth finger that might be a ring. Thankfully, the hand is also connected to a wrist and arm; a little bit of sleeve is visible. The hand isn't resisting - if anything, it wants to come out - but whatever or whoever is inside the urn is rather heavy.

"She has the strength after all, ladies and gentlemen!" Ammon beams at the audience, spreading his arms wide. "But there's no shame in needing help, is there? After all, this act is monumental!"

"What do you say, Genevieve? A little audience assistance?"

Genevieve pulls at the hand, trying to draw the individual out of the urn but cannot, even going as far as to grip with her free hand....

"Yes...yes...I do need help..."

Again, her voice alternates back to her 5 year-old self. She glances to the audience for a volunteer but still cannot make out a face in the smoke that seems to hang in the air, green like a solid cloak of vines....

The dark man is a blur of movement in her peripheral vision...even though he may or may not be moving....

"Don't trouble yourself, my dear. You just concentrate." Ammon's smile is implacable as ever as he strolls to the very edge of the stage. "You heard Genevieve - and she's going to need all of you. The urn doesn't want to let go of this one, but we have more power than it could ever imagine."

"So I want you all to watch her closely, just like you've been doing. Think upward thoughts; think of flying, of leaping, and most importantly, of lifting. Imagine yourselves all holding this hand that she's managed to coax out."

A moment passes. Then, all at once, the weight inside the urn twists, and disappears. For a moment, Genevieve feels as though she's pulling air - a shoulder emerges from the depths of the urn, then the bend of a neck -

- it shouldn't be possible, the mouth of the urn is too small to fit a head -

- the floor of the stage is covered in ash and Genevieve is staring at the gray-streaked face of a woman, still clutching her left hand. The urn is unbroken, lying at Genevieve's feet.

Genevieve finds herself eye to eye with the ash covered face of the apparition she has drawn from the urn...

Again, she is on the floor but, this time, does not recall falling there....

She is still holding that hand...

Why is this familiar? What is this....?

Her mind begins to swim again...

The dream has began to possess her and she feels the fear rise again....

The audience's applause is an oddly muffled sound now, like it's coming from somewhere far away. So is Ammon's speech. It's as though the only thing in this world is the woman, kneeling on top of the table.

"...amazing, ladies and... made it happen! ...reunited at... the impossible!" His words seem to blur into each other.

The woman's eyes open: a bright, piercing blue. Her lips curve into a smile. "We always knew you would be beautiful." Her voice is as clear and sparkling as morning dew.

Genevieve rises to her feet, still holding the slender hand of the woman on the table....

"Mommy...?" Genevieve's voice is again the soft, lyrical one of her youth...

She feels joy at seeing her mother again but also a sadness at not having experienced one of these dreams for a very long time...

The audience and Ammon seem miles away....

The woman's eyes, similar to Genevieve's own, are a dead give-away based on the photos her father kept and the ones she saw once she was old enough to remember....standing out in their piercing blue color, even under the shroud of black and white photography....

"I knew I would see you again!" Genevieve can feel her heart swell as she leans in to embrace the woman, despite the filthy robe of ashes...

"It's true, mommy. There is an afterlife and you're there! Tell me what its like...."

Genevieve's voice, to her ears, again strikes her as it slowly changes to her older self....

Josephine holds her daughter close, tears making tracks in the ashes on her cheeks. She parts her lips to speak -

- and a strangled, desperate noise comes from somewhere deep in her throat. Her hold on Genevieve loosens, and her arms go slack. Little streams of blood pour from the corners of her mouth and eyes.

"All right, which one of you broke concentration?" Ammon glares at the audience. He's picked up his cane, and jabs it like an accusation in random directions.

Then he spins on his heel, looks at Genevieve, and shakes his head. "No, I know. It's your fault."

As her mother's grip loosens and the blood flows from the corners of her mouth and eyes, Genevieve can feel her own eyes begin to fill with tears....

"No....." She whimpers quietly, her heart sinking....

It's been so long....

Then the accusation....

Kadael wrote: (Ammon) spins on his heel, looks at Genevieve, and shakes his head. "No, I know. It's your fault."

"NO! I believe and want to know!" Genevieve screams, the anger swelling in her to the point she is crying. "It's you who is taking this away from me!" She sobs...

The frustation consumes her and again, she has fallen...

As Genevieve cries and falls, her mother is still. She gasps and chokes on her own blood welling in her throat - and begins to dissolve. Her skin withers into flakes of ash.

"Me?" Ammon takes a step back and presses a hand to his breast, shutting his eyes. "Oh, my dear Genevieve. I thought you, of all people, would know."

Then he looks at her. His eyes are green under the stage lights. "You killed your mother once. Now you're killing her again."

And then she snaps....

"Go to hell, you ass!"

She runs at Ammon hoping to grab his cane and spear him upon it....

Genevieve's rush was not anticipated, and Ammon tries to sidestep her too late. His hold on the cane is strong, though, even as she tries to wrest it from his grip.

Genevieve,Make a STR x3 roll to try and pull the cane away. This is your lucid dream, so you may subtract 10 from the number you get.

Genevieve pulls at the cane as the tears begin to cloud her sight. Ammon's grip is strong but, in a moment, she feels the cane come loose and it is in her hands somehow....

The look on Ammon's face is either surprise or casual indifference...

In a second, his words come to her again...

Kadael wrote:"You killed your mother once. Now you're killing her again."

Genevieve feels a scream escape her being as she attempts to plunge the sword cane into Ammon's belly....

The smile doesn't slip from Ammon's face until it contorts with pain. He looks down at himself, at Genevieve holding the cane, at the blood dripping onto the stage floor.

"This isn't going to help you," he gasps, struggling to maintain his confident and cheery persona through it all. "You sentimental, simpering bitch..."

His mouth twitches into a lopsided, mocking grin. "Oh, mommy, you really did go to Heaven! I'm so glad I sent you there - packed your bags and everything!" Ammon rolls his eyes, even as his body begins to crumple under its own weight. "You're a real treat on the stage, Genevieve. Should be in pictures, or whatever they're calling them now, and I- I can't believe you stabbed me."

He laughs, though it must be hurting him. "But this is your dream... and you have power... but then again, you're all the same. Stumbling around in the... in the dark..."

Genevieve comes to, shocked by her violent response. She releases the cane and takes a few steps back, glancing out towards the invisible audience, which is still obscured by the smoke that refuses to subside...

She feels guilt consume her...so many witnesses to her act....

But then her logic kicks in...

This is just a dream. None of this is real... She rationalizes...

Ammon's words about her being the reason her mother died had stirred up buried emotions and thoughts...Ideas she had never confronted and had buried deep inside of herself...

The academic in her is back in full force. Maybe that's what my subconscious wishes to show me...to finally deal with...

Kadael wrote:..."But this is your dream... and you have power... but then again, you're all the same. Stumbling around in the... in the dark..."

Ammon's words seem to confirm this even though Genevieve is unsure of the comparison to others...

"I...I..." She is at a loss for words. Should she apologize for her actions? The dark man's impending death performance seems real but then he must only be a phantasm of her mind...

She decides to avert her eyes to the pile of ashes on the table where her mother once appeared...

When Genevieve lets go, Ammon stumbles backward and falls, the cane sticking out of his belly like a spear. He does not move or speak any longer.

And at this very moment, the smoke clears. The audience is gone from their seats, and they've left no trace of themselves. It's like they were never there.

There is nothing on the table save for a scattering of blood-soaked ashes. Something golden sparkles from the top of the mound, even as the stage lights begin to fade.

In the world beyond sleep, Genevieve can feel herself beginning to wake up.

Genevieve,Make a POW x3 roll if you don't want to wake up yet.

Genevieve feels a cold absence descend upon the stage, with Ammon's stillness, the missing audience and the dissipation of the smoke, and a pull from somewhere beyond...

I need to awaken...

But, in the dying stage lights, she sees the shining object on the pile and has to know...

She approaches the pile of blood-soaked ashes to investigate, as the stage slowly grows darker, reaching for the sparkling object...

The lights go out just as Genevieve's hand closes on the object. It's cold in her fingers - a band of smooth metal. Her mother's wedding ring.

The show is over. Nothing left to do but leave this dream behind.

Genevieve looks at the ring, feeling the pull of the waking world upon her...

Genevieve, you need to wake up...

The voice in her head is not hers, but her mother's voice....

Kadael,I would like to wake up but if I cannot, I'll attempt to leave the theatre in an attempt to accomplish that task....

Genevieve opens her eyes, and finds herself tangled in the familiar sheets of her bed. This communal housing isn't the nicest of places, but compared to the strange stage in her dream, it's refreshing and utterly calm.

The ring is gone - but so is Ammon, the silent audience, and that mocking pile of ashes.

Genevieve immediately reaches for the pencil and note-pad she keeps on her night stand and begins to jot down any details she can recall from the dream. It has been awhile since she has had a dream she can remember and this one was definitely curious enough to leave her a bit shaken. In fact, she finds she is covered with a layer of perspiration, which is odd because the window was left slightly open last night and usually it is cold and damp in the communal flat, due to its location in the Merchant District, close to the Miskatonic.

As she records notes, Genevieve again notices the calm of the flat and realizes her fellow flat-mates must be gone for the day. It is at this point, she realizes she is a few minutes away from missing an appointment with Assistant Professor Alex Warden concerning his research into parapsychological screening. She dons a robe and quickly rushes to the commons room to use the communal phone in order to re-schedule the appointment.

When she returns to her room, she decides she should make her way to the University library to conduct research. Her only class is later in the afternoon so she has the time.

Ammon?...Sounds Egyptian. She ponders. What a strange name for my brain to conjure. I don't recall ever hearing it before. Maybe the library will have some information.

Genevieve prepares herself for the day at a relaxed pace, suppressing any thought of her violent and disquieting actions within the dream, then sets off on foot to the University.

As she reaches for the front door of the flat, it flies open. A young woman, probably younger than Genevieve, with honey-blonde hair and a tear-streaked face storms in. Just outside the doorway is a distraught young man, peering around Genevieve to look at the girl.

"FINE!" she shrieks, balling her hands into fists. "Go ahead! Leave me here! I won't care, I'll be dead!"

The man sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Eliza, you're not--"

"Stop talking! I hate you!"

Kadael,Do I recognize this girl as living here in the flat..?

Genevieve is surprised by the sudden appearance of the couple but the open hostility in the air causes her to attempt to defuse the situation by falling back on her training or, at least, what she can come up with in the spur of the moment...

"Eliza..."Genevieve turns and speaks as calmly as she can to the girl while motioning with her hand to the young man to stay back. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Genevieve has seen this girl, but she wasn't instantly recognizable because she's never witnessed her acting this way. She's always been calm and a little invisible.

Now, though, every move Eliza makes is dramatic and overwrought. "He's leaving and I'm scared," she wails, scratching at her face with mercifully short fingernails.

"Eliza, I'm just going to class!" The man gapes at her, arms outstretched as though he's begging her to come back, then looks over at Genevieve in that all-too-identifiable way: the helpmehelpmehelpme eyes.

"And while you're there the man will get me and rip out my eyes and you won't care and - and - and..." Eliza says it in one breath, which leaves her gasping in addition to her sobs.

The young man slowly shakes his head, the corners of his mouth drooping ever lower. "The police came. He is not going to get you or your eyes."

Genevieve is overwhelmed by what is happening. She finally recognizes the girl but this individual is not the one she recalls in memory. Her mind races...

The man who rips out eyes...? She must be suffering from hysteria. I need to separate her from the psychic stress. Genevieve reacts quickly, feeling the years of schooling have finally paid off...

This young man could be the stressor. I need to separate them...

Genevieve mentally details her schedule for the day and decides she has the time to deal with this. She addresses Eliza in the most calming and quiet tone she can...

"Eliza, we could go in for a tea and discuss what you're feeling. Your gentlemen friend can carry on to class and you and I can discuss this fear you are feeling. I'll be here with you and you'll be safe with me..."

Eliza looks Genevieve up and down, then brushes her tears away and slowly nods. "...Okay. You... thank you." She keeps nodding to herself, mumbling almost inaudibly.

The young man gives Genevieve a look of gratitude and apology before waving goodbye to Eliza. She does not respond.

Genevieve watches the young man leave. The owner had rules against gentlemen callers being in the flat and Genevieve was relieved that a scandal was avoided, in case anyone witnessed him entering the premises. She ushers Eliza to the commons room and motions for her to take a seat. Genevieve remained standing by her.

"Now, Eliza..," Genevieve softly speaks. "Is there anything you need? Perhaps a glass of water or a cup of tea to sooth you before you tell me what is wrong. I am here to listen."

Genevieve gently holds the young lady's hand in her own but she is nervous to leave Eliza in the room alone after the display of attempted self-mutilation with her dull fingernails. Taking Eliza to the shared kitchen with her was even more of an unviable option, where she would have access to knives and the such...

Kadael,Will a Pyschology roll here garner Genevieve any useful information?

Eliza sniffles and shakes her head, then turns to look at the couch. She moves to sit down, pulling on Genevieve's hand. She doesn't want to let go.

"Dean and I were... we were walking outside..." She talks with deliberate slowness, blinking as her eyes mist over again. "A... a man ran up, a-and he... he..."

Her lips draw into a thin, tight line as tears run down her cheeks and she starts to tremble.

Genevieve,It certainly would.

Eliza's hold on her hand prompts Genevieve to stay...

"It's O.K. Go on..." Genevieve looks for any tissue nearby while encouraging the girl to sit with her...

Genevieve tries to assess the situation by reading the girl's body language and the way she communicates in an attempt to ascertain any additional information pertaining to the girl's state. Again, Genevieve feels her education is paying off...

Eliza's mental state is as readable as a dime novel. Her eyes dart around the room when they aren't focused on Genevieve, indicative of paranoia - likely related to this ominous "man" she mentions. It can also be inferred that she sees Dean as a source of protection from this man, hence the hysterical anger when he had to leave.

Interestingly enough, she seems to have associated Genevieve with this sort of protection now; her insistence that she stay close, the tight hold on her hand, and the instant trust in her eyes all point to this.

"His eyes were gone," Eliza whispers.

Genevieve hears this last statement and is perplexed....

His eyes were gone? Does she mean he was blind or were his eyes physically missing? Genevieve contemplates for a moment. Maybe this man is a veteran of the Great War and suffered a terrible injury. I need to get her to explain...

"Eliza," Genevieve speaks at a volume just slightly higher than her whisper. "I do not want to put you through it again but I need you to elaborate for me to understand..."

Eliza's breathing grows ragged and heavy, and her face flushes red with emotion. She sits without speaking for a long, tense moment before she breaks into wailing sobs and throws herself at Genevieve.

"He didn't have any eyes and his fingers were all bloody and Dean ran off and left me alone with him and he was looking right at me!" Eliza puts her head on Genevieve's shoulder, fingers pressing into her palm. "And every time I close my eyes I see him again, and he's looking at me, and he's going to take my eyes..."

Genevieve holds the young woman and tries to absorb this information...

She's insinuating that the man scratched out his own eyes? It can't be unless this man is utterly mad... Suddenly Genevieve's eyes widen.....Or he is possessed by some malign spirit!

While Eliza sobs violently, Genevieve attempts to formulate a course of action...

She's too hysterical to give accurate information and too distraught to be left alone. I wonder if...

Kadael,Can I attempt to hypnotize [b]Eliza[/b] in order to gain the necessary information, such as what happened and the location of this occurrence, as well as potentially calming her down enough to move her to a safe locale?

"...and Dean doesn't care even though he said he was sorry and there were all these people coming around and then the police and Dean said everything would be okay but it isn't!"

Genevieve,Certainly.

Genevieve removes the silver U.S. Half Dollar from her pocket and clenches it in her free hand. She suspects Eliza would not allow her to leave the flat to investigate this incident further. She also believed that Eliza would not want to leave the flat with her either.

Maybe I can get her to relax through suggestion. Genevieve considers. Her distraught condition may prevent this but its worth a shot...

"Eliza," Genevieve gently speaks. "I want to try something to help you relax. Would you be willing to try?"

Eliza pulls back and nods, sniffing through her tears. "A-anything... I'll try anything, you're so kind..."

Genevieve nods and positions herself in front of Eliza, holding up the silver coin between the two of them...

"Now Eliza," Genevieve softly speaks. "I need you to focus in on the coin. I want you to stare directly at the coin and relax. Feel your breath pass through you...Inhale through your nose slowly and exhale through your mouth...Just focus on the coin and your breathing and just relax..."

Genevieve lets a moment of silence pass then continues...

"Eliza, I want you to relax even more. Just focus on my voice and take deep, slow breaths. I want you to let all the stress flow from you...feel it leaving your body. Just focus on your breathing and my voice...deep...slow...breaths..."

Genevieve looks at Eliza, checking to see if her eyes were fluttering and slowly closing. This would be a sign that the hypnotism was taking effect....

At first, Eliza's panic surges and spikes; her knuckles go white and her breathing quickens almost to the point of hyperventilation. Her eyes, wide as saucers, don't quite manage to focus and keep drifting to Genevieve's face.

After a moment, though, she collects herself and manages to slow down. The tension in her arms and shoulders goes slack as she listens to Genevieve's soothing voice. Taking deep, controlled breaths, she stares at the coin with heavy eyelids.

Genevieve notes Eliza's eyelids drooping and continues...

"Eliza..." Genevieve speaks even softer. "I want you to close your eyes...Feel your limbs becoming heavier but focus on your breathing....deep..slow..breaths."

"Now, I'm going to slowly count down backwards from ten. With each number, I want you to slip into a state of deeper relaxation by breathing even slower, deeper breaths. I want you to feel your arms and legs becoming even heavier...your body completely relaxed...free from any stress...Like you are melting into the chair..."

Genevieve begins to slowly count down, monitoring Eliza's reaction...

"Ten.....nine........eight.............seven........"

Genevieve continues counting down, listening to Eliza's breathing while spacing the distance between the numbers...

"......three.............two..............one."

Genevieve waits a moment, watching Eliza to see if she is under. Then she speaks again...

"Eliza, when I say 'home,' I want you to raise your right hand."

Genevieve waits a few minutes, allowing Eliza to relax a little more then speaks...

"Home."

Eliza slowly shuts her eyes, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Her breathing is quiet and even.

When Genevieve says the word, she responds immediately, holding up her right hand.

"You can put your hand down."

Genevieve is satisfied that Eliza is under but nervous that the mention of her encounter might disrupt the girl's calm...

"Now, Eliza. I want you to remain calm. Focus on your breathing and know in your mind that the man you met today has been taken to a place for his own safety by the police. He did not want to hurt you. He was disturbed and needed help and now he is in that place. You will be safe. Do you understand?"

Genevieve awaits a response and gauges Eliza's reaction to the mention of the incident before continuing...

Eliza folds her hands in her lap, taking a deep breath. She shudders slightly, but otherwise has no strong reaction. "...Yes, I know." Her voice is very quiet. "There are things I know that I don't believe, sometimes. You don't have to tell me I'm hysterical... the man didn't even touch me. I understand."

Genevieve can feel herself relax upon Eliza's reaction and response and exhales deeply before continuing...

"Very good Eliza. Now can you tell me where this encounter occurred and exactly what happened. Share any details you may have forgotten in your excitement..."

"Dean and I were out for a walk before classes started. He said we were passing the Department of Physics. It was just the two of us, and he stopped and took my hands." Eliza breathes a light, shivery sigh, a small crease forming in her brow. "Then... a man ran up. He was tall, and had dark blond hair, and was wearing one of those jackets that hold your arms, but he'd... torn through it, so I could see his hands were covered in b-blood."

Her fingers twitch uncomfortably. "I saw him before Dean did. His eyes had... had been ripped out of his face, b-but the empty spaces seemed to be looking right at me. I started screaming, then Dean turned and saw him. He told me to stay with the man, that he was going to go get help... and ran off."

Genevieve absorbs the information and carries on...

"Eliza..." She speaks softly. "Continue to breathe deeply and relax. He was injured visually and could not have been looking at you. Now try to remember.....Did anything happen when Dean left you alone with the man? Did he say or do anything?"

Genevieve is wary...

Maybe this man was just an escaped inmate....

She awaits an answer but is attentive to Eliza's body language and response...

"He was talking about a star," Eliza says, letting out a small sigh. "He didn't touch me, but he kept... acting like he could see me. I think he might have said... 'Judith' at one point, but he kept going on about stars."

Genevieve considers what Eliza passes on but can't decide if this is important. She has no knowledge of Astronomy and what she does know...that there is no constellation named 'Judith'...forces her to weigh her options...

Small wonder. She is under but I need her to be calm. I need to leave her or place her somewhere where she can be calm...

Genevieve is pleased with her accomplishment, the hypnotism of a relatively sedate hysteric, but needs to investigate this claim....but in her mind, this seems to be the story of some escaped mental patient. If she could calm Eliza, she could get to campus and maybe get some additional information but, in her mind, this is just a random occurrence...

"Eliza, you have done well and realize where you're at. You're safe and no one can hurt you..."Genevieve gently plies. "I need you to decide on a safe haven. You' re a student away from family. Can you stay here and relax or do you need to accompany me? I'll be going places you may not want to attend...."

Eliza chews on her lip for a moment, weighing her options. Her teeth are small, like a child's. "...I want to stay with you. You'll keep me safe..."

"O.K. Eliza. You will be safe. Now I need you to focus again on my voice. I am going to count to ten. With each number, you will feel yourself becoming more aware as if awakening from a pleasant sleep. When I get to ten, you will open your eyes becoming fully aware but rested and relaxed."

Genevieve begins to slowly count up...

"One.......two.......three......."

As she counts, Genevieve listens for changes to Eliza's breathing, from deep to more regulated...

"Eight.......nine.......ten."

Eliza wakes gently, blinking at Genevieve like a too-bright light. "I... hello again. Thank you, really, thank you--I feel much better."

"Are... are you going to go where it happened? Behind the-- the Physics Department?"

Genevieve pauses. "I really have to...." She was a student. She had certain responsibilities. Surely she couldn't keep on gallivanting about.... But then she looked at Eliza and felt sorry for her. "Would it help if I did? Would you feel better? I could let you know that there's nothing wrong there."

Eliza takes a breath and releases it in a sigh that makes her whole body slump a little more. "I was only thinking... that I should stay here and rest after all. E-especially if you're going to look into what happened."

She looks back at Genevieve and smiles ruefully. "I just don't want to think about it anymore. And I-- I'm sure you have better things to do than watch over me."

Genevieve nods. Well, that's that then....

"I'll be back shortly to let you know that nothing's there."

Nothing is there, right? Surely the madman would have run off.

She starts for the door, pauses to look back at Eliza, then heads out.

Eliza has gotten up and is moving out of the common room when Genevieve looks at her. A second ticks by--and then she's gone.

Genevieve,Move to the following thread: [url=http://www.callofcthulhu.org.uk/pbp/viewtopic.php?f=224&t=3194&p=154446#p154446]Perception[/url] Do not read any posts above the one you have been linked to.