Escapism VI

Link to article: Escapism VI.

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+ [[SIZE 150%]]Chapter VI[[/size]]
//by Faeowynn Wilson//
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There is a respectful, jovial energy in the air, one of restrained excitement and polite downplaying. The Queens have arrived in droves, an even bigger gathering than that of Alison's initiation, with plenty more familiar faces than the first time, largely because Alison has become so acquainted and familiar with them.

She passes through groups of people, drinking to drink but keeping it light, sipping a white wine and cheering with people. The same band as attended her initiation plays something a little less ruckus, something more jazzy and smooth, a genre Alison has come to greatly appreciate over the past uncountable months -- she listens wistfully. She will miss it.

Her white dress catches grass stains and dirt from the paths. The breezy ocean air carries on it smells of cooking meat and merriment. All around her conversation buzzes, and every once in a while a portal opens noisily on the outskirts, and new arrivals come in, or rarely someone for one reason or another departs. The sun shines brightly as it nears the horizon, and people seek shade and rest for their eyes underneath canopy tents.

Under one, she finds the imposing figure of Petra, as she talks with Queens Alison recognizes but can not name.

"Alison!" Petra exclaims, as she draws close.

"Who, me?" Alison smiles.

Petra claps a hand on her shoulder. "Don't say that. That's such an overdone joke. Come here."

They hug, and Petra corrects a few kinks in Alison's back in the process. Alison coughs out a laugh, and as Petra sets her down more than she releases her, Alison rolls her shoulders and twists herself around to get a feeling for the new spinal position.

"I thought I'd asked you not to do that."

"And I obliged, but today is special."

"Hard to argue that. Hello, hello," she greets the other Queens, one of which, wearing an autumnal dress and locs, extends a hand.

"Felicity," she introduces herself. "I've heard a lot about you. You were involved in Zelda's Dart Project, weren't you?"

"I was, a while ago. Surprised that's where you know me from."

"It's a rare sort of Queen that stays within the realm of the physical and //humanly// attainable. I have a special interest in the projects that seem to remember the little people, and have an appreciation for the manual parts of all things good in this world. I noticed your name at that project, and I noticed it in a few other places. I admire that."

Alison beams. "Thank you very much."

"It's hard, sometimes, in the worlds we live in."

"It is."

"Am I wrong to assume that's a big reason for this?" She motions outwards at the gathering.

"Not at all."

Felicity smiles knowingly, as the other Queen steps closer and extends a hand.

"Vanta," she introduces herself.

"Nice to meet you, Vanta."

"Is it? How many of us variants do you really hold in your head?"

"//Variants?//"

Vanta shakes her head. "Ah, the terms are all out-of-date. Us oldheads are keeping up dead traditions!" She does look older -- for many Queens it is difficult to tell, as they have access to myriad ways of aging slower and looking younger even than they've aged, but Vanta wears honest streaks of gray in her hair and some mottling in her skin. "You haven't heard anyone use 'variants' in all this time? Really?"

"Maybe a few times."

"'Queens' is in vogue here, honey," Felicity says.

"But 'Queen' is an //earned// title! Not to say anyone here hasn't //earned// it, per //se...//"

"'Variant' is just more syllables than 'Queen,' is all."

"I just don't want to go around assuming every Alison I meet is a //Queen.//"

Alison looks to Petra and the resulting eye contact tells her they're on the same page. They share a private smile, as Vanta and Felicity break off to continue their debate.

"How have you been? How long has it been?"

"Over a month," Alison states.

"//Over?// I swear, I saw you just a week ago! This is all coming on pretty sudden for me. How's your month been?"

"Complicated. Homesick."

Petra claps her shoulder again. "I get it."

"I think you do. If you could go back...?"

"Definitely."

"I'm sure there are other worlds where the same colony exists, where --"

But Petra is already shaking her head. "No, they have a Petra of their own."

Alison nods, slow at first, and then more assured. "You understand," she says, voice lower.

"I do. I'm asleep, and now I live a dream. It's a good dream, filled with good people. To wake up would be to realize I'm actually dead in that bunker, or worse. That's not you."

"No," Alison agrees. "It's not."

Petra pats her shoulder again. "You made a lot of friends you know."

"I know."

Petra's hand lingers. Then she pulls Alison into another hug, gentler, leaning down instead of picking Alison up. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too."

As Alison is released, Petra steps back. "You've got more stops?"

Alison shrugs. "I'm the centerpiece. I figure I should be saying hi."

"Go say hi."

Alison salutes, lingers, and then departs. She greets several other Queens through her circuit, some familiar and some new to her. A few ask how long she's been a Queen and she struggles to answer each time. Only a surprising few of them recognize or otherwise bring up the project of New Alison, despite its importance to her. She had thought the ripples of that had made it farther, but she supposes not. //That's alright,// she thinks. //It was for me, anyways.//

She comes upon a picnic table with an umbrella stuck into its middle, being opened as she approaches. There seems to be a strange berth around the table, and of its three inhabitants, she recognizes Amity.

"Amity!"

"Alison!"

As Alison comes closer, Amity stands and opens her arms to invite a hug, much to Alison's surprise. She obliges, and Amity seems to keep it light and short, perhaps cognizant and protective of her well-ironed suit, which nonetheless is getting dusty from the atmosphere and kicked-up dust of the party.

"I didn't expect to see you here, but thank you much for the help with New Alison."

"No trouble. I do love to help the Princesses where I can, and regular exercise keeps my social graces sharp."

"Princesses?"

"Ah!" Amity clicks her tongue. "Alcohol has loosened my lips. Sometimes us A-names fancy ourselves the Queens and the rest of the multiverse's Alisons are our proverbial Princesses, who we train in the royal practices and arts to one day inherit our place. But where are my manners? Alison, meet Black Queens Ashley and Amber."

Ashley, the first referred and the closest, stands and extends Alison a hand. "How do you do," she says, in a deep alto and with a slight accent. She has dressed more appropriately for the occasion, if in dirtied grays and blacks. Her arms match the blacks with intricate tattoos, the left side of her body holding something more geometric and mechanical in design, her right something more fluid and organic, though both have prominent similarities, such as circles with inscrutable inscriptions at each tricep.

Amber seems to have been the most prepared, dressing in a tank-top, jeans, and boots, her care having gone all into her hair, having been pulled back into a waterfall braid. The most striking thing, however, is a gadget across her arm that seems to create glaring haloes of blue light in Alison's vision. As a result, she doesn't look too deeply at it, even as she shakes its associated hand.

"Nice to meet you," she says.

"You as well," Amber responds. "As long as we've let it slip," she suddenly titters, "I thought you were a //promising// prospect, very //promising.//"

"Oh?"

"You're ambitious! You can't sit still, you've seen rock bottom and you survived... you network, you're good on a team, and in leadership. You've got no specialties, of course, but neither does Amity, and look how well //she's// doing!"

Amity laughs, and there's a hard edge to it. "You have a funny definition of //no// specialty! If it weren't for //me// --"

Amber clears her throat.

"Yes, yes of course," Amity stumbles, straightening her bowtie as if by pulling it together she will pull herself together. "We are //guests,// and we ought to act like it."

"Why are you here?"

The question seems to catch Amber and Ashley off-guard. Amity recovers quickly, though: "If we stray too far from the greater organization we risk becoming alienated from the great Black Queen project. We can't be so distant //all// the time. And besides, we've met! I have a fondness for you."

"I don't remember talking much."

Amity quirks an eyebrow. "Do I sense a combative tone?"

Alison shakes her head. "Not on intention." She considers. "But I am curious. I don't get the sense the A-names show up for //most// things."

"We don't." Amity sighs. "I suppose there's no point in hiding it. Princess Alison, I have an eye for talent. //That// is my specialty." Without taking her eyes off of Alison, Amity tilts her head so that the statement aims towards Amber. "And my eye has caught on you. If you had waited only one month or so more, I may have asked you to join me on a project, used your eyes. In fact, the offer still stands, but..."

Alison is already shaking her head. "I'm flattered, but no. I've made up my mind."

"I was sure you had. Few would commit to such a gathering if there was any room left for doubt. Still, I am sad to see you go."

Amber grunts in response. Ashley seems to have spaced out, and kicks her legs under the table.

Amity raises a glass from the table, and turns to address them as a group. "A toast, to a departing //A//-name, and the great Queen she could have become, and the sable glow she will carry with her from today to the end of her days. May your obsidian blood guide you in all that you do, and may all your subjects recognize you as a true //noble.// Cheers."

"Cheers," the rest of them echo, and clink their glasses together. Alison departs, and though she feels no strong emotion about them, she notes the lack of fondness she feels for the A-names.

For a moment she loses herself in watching the center of the crowd, where the band is situated atop a flat, gray, circular stage, and people just beside it dance amidst the grass, trampling it flat.

While she waits, someone taps her on the shoulder. She turns to see Cobra, who grins.

"Cobes. Enjoying yourself?"

"Greatly. I don't have long -- I have to keep pwning noobs at jacks."

//What does that mean?// "Everything ready?"

"Oh well in advance it was ready. Things are dormant, no worries, it'll be very theatric and cool."

"I wasn't hoping for theatric and cool. More like, proper."

"It'll be super proper, too, yes yes."

Alison rolls her eyes, and then reaches to muss up Cobra's hair.

"Hey! Back off!"

"Come now. I won't get another chance!"

"Yeah, and you won't get another chance to have me beat your ass either, but I doubt you're gunning for //that.//"

Alison raises her hands: "Okay, okay. Point made. I hope you're not drinking //too// much."

"I won't miss you."

Alison laughs.

"Everyone treats me like a child just because I'm small."

"It's... not //just// because you're small."

"Uh-huh. Well, that was my time, thank you for wasting it."

"My pleasure. Be ready in, hmm... fifteen?"

"Sure," Cobra says, already walking away.

Alison watches the dancing for a moment longer, before beginning to intermingle once more.

//So sad to see you go,// many say. Some others ask //why// she's going. Not many, but some. She gives them trite responses. "I have to," she tells them. Most are satisfied with this -- the curiosity is feigned. Some produce quizzical gazes in response, but even they don't usually question further. She offers little. This is, mostly, formality. The people whose company she really sought, she has already spoken to.

Well, most.

She scans the crowd, and she doesn't have to scan long.

She disengages from small-talk with a Queen who floats a few centimeters off the ground by some method unknown. She never bothered to ask. As she makes her way through the assembled Queens, she finds the prospective Princess, and his mother.

They sit at a table on the outskirts, and instead of alcohol, they have sandwiches and orange juice. Adam seems entranced by the scene -- Su looks concerned.

"How are you enjoying yourselves?"

"Well enough," Su says, then she glances at Adam.

Adam holds his glass with both hands, like he's forgotten it's empty, and stares out at the gathering. Alison smiles.

"Is it what you imagined?"

Adam barely seems to notice her. Then, he turns to her, and nods. "They have magic."

"It's all very magical, yes. Just like in your books?"

"No. In my books, things go //boom// and there's never a moment of rest. This is like... behind the scenes of a big adventure, or, the prologue."

"It's your prologue, should you accept."

He nods.

"It's the same place," Su states.

"Hmm?"

"This field. This is New Alison, but without the buildings or anything."

Alison nods. "That's one of the least strange things about it all."

"So I've gathered. I don't think I can see anymore."

Alison nods. "Are you two comfortable? You know who to talk to, how to get back?"

"It's all been arranged, yes."

"I know. Just nervous."

"Because you won't be here."

Alison nods.

"Why?" Su asks, suddenly a bit tense. "Why invite Adam, only to leave?"

Alison hesitates. //Because he's a statement,// she thinks, but she doesn't want to sound so utilitarian and cold. "Because I don't fit, and Adam might."

"Why is that your decision to make?"

"It's not. It's his."

Adam rubs at his glass, and doesn't make eye contact. Alison looks at him, then at Su. "I made the decision to save the Alisonians because I couldn't save everyone. I feel, in some way, like I still didn't save you at all. You are being asked to become something new entirely, still, and that is a death just as final as that of the world you escaped. You will need new stories, you will need new histories. One day, there will be no one to remember that you came from a world beyond. It will be a myth. For now, you are a corpse, and the new world eats you and reforms you, takes the nutrients and transforms them into new life, new beginnings -- rebirths you. I didn't mean to do that, but I realize now that it was the nature of the beast. Adam is part of that death, and this is one -- and only one -- way he may be reborn. The experience of living through New Alison is one that would prepare Adam -- or another -- for making these kinds of decisions. For humane killing and culling, for rebirth, and the greater scale."

There is a long pause. Adam seems to be barely listening. Su's expression is stone, her stare unwavering.

"You seem to know a lot for someone who says she isn't meant to be here," Su retorts.

Alison shakes her head. "It's because of this that I know I don't belong. I have other duties. I am nominating Adam as someone who might, in a way, replace me."

Wind pulls at her hair. She brushes some out of her face. Su offers nothing more. Adam neither.

"Take care. I hope the best for both of you."

"Goodbye," Adam says. Su remains silent.

Alison makes one more circuit around the gathering, making aggravating small-talk all the while. The sun nears the horizon, and she takes that as her cue -- she joins the dancing. She dances on her own, feels the function of her body, how it has changed in the last uncountable while. Her diet has been wonderful with the plethora of options available to her. She is strong. She's always been strong, but she has had access to wonderful attuning instruments, the likes of which she could not have dreamed of. She has had free reign to run, to climb, to lift, to vault, to //breathe// in ways she has never been able to breathe before.

She dances alone. She dances together. At her ask, the musicians start something more lively. Step, thrust. She has never had opportunity to dance -- she's unskilled, but she's naturally tuned to it. She draws eyes, and eventually she draws hands. Someone reaches for her, and she takes their offer, moving in-step with them. They push and pull each other, they kick up dust and they trample grass -- they slip and they catch one another, they yip and they make noise. She passes from dancer to dancer, and despite no exchanges of words, //these// are the people she feels most connected to, //these// feel like proper hellos and goodbyes.

At one point, her eyes meet Erma's. She approaches with less enthusiasm, prepared to be turned down, but offers a hand. Erma hesitates, but takes it. A new song starts. In the ensuing motions, she feels herself relive the vulnerability of their few encounters, before they mutually retreated to a colder distance. The dance comes as a question first -- neither smile. Suddenly, and for the first time, she is embarrassed by her missteps, as Erma's stance remains steady. But after a trip and a catch, she looks into Erma's eyes, and finds her grinning. The equity is no longer pretended -- Erma takes control of Alison, leads her, teaches her. Her hands place Alison's. The toes of her shoes nudge Alison's feet into the correct positions. At some point, the training wheels come off, and Alison is asked to keep up. She surprises herself -- she does. Erma laughs.

"I'm sorry we grew apart," Alison ventures, mid-song.

Erma presses a finger against Alison's lips, and leans in to whisper, barely audible above the music: "Don't spoil this."

They exchange no more words, and Erma remains her partner in dance for longer than any of those prior. She loses track of time, the only clock being biological. She drives herself to exhaustion, and, soon after the start of another jumping rhythm, she laughs, short, and calls for a time-out. But Erma isn't finished, and she only nods in acknowledgment, and walks away to find another partner. Alison thinks she might see Belle, at the edge of the crowd, watching. She begins to walk that direction, as good as any other, and loses track of the sight. She finds a seat at the edge, and falls into it, smiling and heaving. She looks out across the crowd -- and sees the sun, beginning to tuck itself behind the horizon.

//I'll take my break, and then I'll make my speech.//

Many who come close wave to her, or make a brief greeting before realizing she's in recovery and can not give them her full attention. She's done with talking, anyways, and is happy for the excuse to be a little more shut-in.

One, however, finds a fold-out chair and pulls it close, sitting next to her. Alison makes eye contact, breathing heavily. The intruder extends a hand.

"Vaieli."

Alison raises an eyebrow, and then extends a hand. They shake.

Vaieli has a military bend to her. Clean, dark green, small pauldrons to accentuate her shoulders. Her hair is cut short, and she wears a beanie over it. There is a gun at her hip that Alison eyes, but does not comment on.

"Have to always be prepared," Vaieli says.

Alison just nods, still focusing on breathing.

"Heard a lot about you. Sorry we haven't talked before."

Alison shakes her head. "You didn't owe me a conversation. Heard a lot about you, too." She pauses to breathe, and Vaieli lets her. "Got the sense your relationship was private, didn't want to butt in." //Wasn't particularly interested, either.//

"Not private, but close. Yes."

Alison nods.

"You're sure about this?"

Alison nods again. "I am."

Vaieli's expression doesn't change, but her unerring stare unnerves Alison. After too long a moment, Vaieli breaks off and hunches over, resting her elbows on her knees, and looks out across the festivities instead.

"It's beautiful here."

"It is."

"It's like the redeemed version of your world. The coast, no city. No sludge, no towers, no mausoleums. Life, instead of death."

Alison shakes her head. "All life has death."

Vaieli grunts. "You know what I mean."

Alison nods, but she's actually a bit unsure.

"Seems like a big decision. To be giving it all up."

Alison shrugs. "It is. It wasn't easy."

Vaieli huffs. "Seems like the //easy// decision would be to stay."

Alison quirks an eyebrow.

"You've been given a great gift. The chance to live in comfort, ease and harmony. Do you disagree?"

Alison thinks for a moment. "No, mostly."

"It's what everyone wants, what everything is striving for. Peace, stability. Before our access to the infinite, it was essentially impossible. Entropy prevents such a thing, in closed systems. There will never be stability, there will never be everlasting peace, until the universe itself has melted and all that's left is slag."

"All life has death," Alison repeats herself.

"Indeed. But fear of death. Survival. That has always been the motivator of life. Perpetuity. In the end, every species is striving to end the struggle, to reach an equilibrium, to level out. Here, we've leveled out."

"But..." Alison starts, before considering what she wants to say. Vaieli only looks at her. She shakes her head. "Never mind."

"No, speak."

"I don't know what I want to say."

"Find it."

She tries in earnest, and it takes her a long moment of watching the slow shifting steps of the crowd as the band changes to a sweeter, softer tempo and groove.

"You said it yourself, that without the infinite, such an equilibrium is impossible."

Vaieli nods.

"So," she continues, "we're all... prepared, maybe even made for, a life of survival. Of struggle. This... this is pleasant, I know. But... if all life must have death, and neither exist here, we may not die, but I don't know... I don't know if I'm really alive."

Vaieli's eyes bear down on Alison. She meets them, and she wants to flinch, or look away, but she doesn't.

"Hm," Vaieli grunts, and she straightens. "You've really made up your mind," Vaieli says, and her tone says that what she really meant was: //You really know what you're doing.//

"I have." //I do.//

Vaieli seems to consider that. "Okay. I wish you well."

"Thank you."

Vaieli grunts again, but stands, and walks away.

Alison breathes deep. She's recovered, and now the only thing keeping her heart racing is latent anxiety about the next few steps. She's never been much of a public speaker. Nonetheless, she stands and strides towards the stage. She searches for Cobra at the nexus of all the many wires and cables snaking through the grass that people have been tripping over less than Alison would have expected, and finds her there, sitting underneath a canvas-tent and leaning far back in the seat, conversing excitedly with some boy who doesn't read as a Queen to Alison. As she gets on the steps towards the stage, some nearby notice her, and begin to cheer and clap. The crowd takes it up, even as she nervously waves for them to stop. She ignores them, walking towards the band, and helping them to remove their instruments and equipment. Several shake her hand before accepting help, and say things that are hard for her to hear over the noise of the gathered crowd. She smiles, assuming them to be well-wishes.

In the process of disassembling the band, she walks to Cobra's booth with a mic to ask to test it, and Cobra wheels on her as she gets close.

"That was //plenty// more than //fifteen.//"

//Ah, damn it.//

"You're right, sorry. I got very caught up in the music."

"And made them play well past their expected set!"

Alison furrows her brow. "Were they upset?"

"Yes! I bet."

Alison loosens. "You're assuming."

"I am!"

Alison chuckles, and almost reaches to muss up Cobra's hair, before remembering. "Well thanks for caring so much about what other people feel."

"I'm practically an empath."

"I can tell."

The crowd's cheering had died down as it was clear that the disassembly would take a moment, but made it something of a gag to restart, if only briefly, every time Alison would rejoin the stage. The result is that by the time she comes up to actually start her speech, the gathered are murmuring and conversing, the cheer slow to start, until they see her holding her mic and getting into position.

She laughs, and the clapping and cheering redoubles as everyone gets in on it. Alcohol may have something to do with the uproarious response, and a few yells of "we love you!" that echo around. Alison patiently waits, but the cheering, whistling, yelling and screaming becomes too much and she begins to make motions at the crowd, asking them to quiet down. They listen, belatedly.

"Wow," she says, and the mic doesn't pick it up. She taps the thing, and then says again, "wow," and this time it reaches the speakers. "I'm very flattered."

The crowd chuckles.

"Thank you, everyone, for making it out here today, I think I've said at least 'hi' to most of you. It means a lot to me, and honestly, this was a bigger turnout than I was expecting. Maybe people are itching for an excuse to party, but it still means a lot to me. Thank you for coming, thank you for being here."

Another cheer that she pauses to let pass.

"Thank you, thank you." She pauses, and pulls out notecards from her pocket to glance at. The lights above her cast stark shadows on the cards, so she has to angle them correctly. "In fact, I would like to take this time, before I leave, just to give my gratitude to the Black Queens. It's been a really wonderful time. Never in my life have I had more opportunity -- well, opportunities for anything!"

The crowd chuckles.

"I've exercised more since coming here. Much more space to stretch my legs, many more resources to aid in my training. Not to mention diet -- I've had access to such wonderful, nutritious food here, very unlike any of my home cooking. At the deepest, maybe most important level, my body feels rich and powerful here, and I have noticed that, and I am thankful for that. Thank you for giving me this body to return with, thank you."

Some cheers, some claps.

"Thank you for the time. I have had more time here to sit and think than I've ever had. It was such a change, I don't even know if I used it all that well. I think I wasted a lot of my time being antsy, itching to //do// something, and didn't appreciate the space as well as I could have. But still, I made some use of it, when I could finally convince myself to relax. I've learned a lot more about myself, about //why// I do the things that I do, than I ever had. I doubt I would have had the time to have these revelations back home. Thank you for that."

...

"Thank you for the recreation. I've never smiled as much as I have here." Some cheering follows the statement, and it gets the desired reaction -- she grins. "There has never been so much cause for celebration as here. I'm grateful to know that's possible, this happiness and... energy. Images of it will follow me home, and I'll try to make those images reality. I plan to bring back this happiness with me. Thank you for that, it is a wonderful gift."

A few hoots.

"Thank you for the beauty. I've lived so long in the ugliness, it was unclear what I was striving for -- I couldn't picture it. I think just knowing that places -- well places like //this,// which have become so commonplace for me now, are possible... that means a lot to me. I will be taking back these images of beauty, and telling people about them. Tall tales that I'm sure will make me sound ridiculous, but will mean the world to those most open to them. Myths, I've heard you guys call them. I plan to bring back myth. Thank you for that."

"I'll miss you!" someone yells.

The crowd amplifies their statement with cheers.

"I'll miss you too! I'll miss you all. Thank //you,// the individuals, for being good company. I hope that I have given you half as much to think about as you've given me, and while I have to leave, I do hope you'll miss me, just a little bit."

Another hearty cheer.

Alison looks over her shoulder to see the sun's disappearance, its light lingering in the atmosphere still as a glowing blue. //Perfect timing,// she thinks, as she turns back to the crowd.

"And that's my time, I think." That's Cobra's cue, and she takes it up immediately. The portal begins to open behind Alison, a coil of space beginning to unfurl. Alison rolls her eyes, discretely -- this //is// theatric, and it doesn't have to be. Cobra is, and many others for that matter, is fully capable of opening a portal nigh-instantly, and to have it make less hissing, tearing noise than this.

Of course, the whole crowd knows this, and takes it for what it is: a show. If any were unsure -- maybe Su and Adam in the back -- the lightshow and music make it obvious.

The crowd erupts into cheers, their volume fighting with that of the opening portal, and Alison beams thank-yous at them. Some beckon her to the edge of the stage, and she shares brief and difficult-to-hear conversations with them.

The music swells, and as it does, Alison sees some commotion in the crowd.

A figure moves forwards, as people seem to get out of their frantic way. Vaieli follows shortly behind the disruption, calmly walking forwards as the crowd parts. At the head of it, Alison makes out a red-faced, teary-eyed Bea.

Alison stays at the edge of the stage, crouched down as she was to converse with those at the front, her smile dissipating. She steels herself.

As Bea comes to the edge of the stage, she reaches and grabs ahold of Alison's wrist with a shaking hand, and Alison pulls out of the grip and stands in the doing. Bea seems to swipe again, but Vaieli's caught up, and puts hands on Bea's shoulders, holding her back. Bea's reaching arms return to her face, as she wipes tears.

"I'm sorry," Alison says.

"You're gonna die," Bea sobs out. "What the fuck, you're gonna die, girl!"

Alison pauses. No one else seems willing to step in. Vaieli communicates control, Alison is careful not to look too uncomfortable, hoping not to draw any unwanted aid.

"Bea," she finally says.

Bea doesn't look her in the eyes.

"I'll miss you too."

"Tell me," Bea manages. "Tell me — you're —" she hiccups "— you're going to //die,// Alison. I've — we've seen it, so many times, your world... nothing's going to get better, please, believe me, please."

Alison closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. "Okay. I believe you."

"You — you do?"

"I really wish it wasn't true, Bea. But I do."

"Then...?" Bea looks up. She searches Alison's expression. It remains stone. "Then -- then //why!?//" Anger wells up in Bea's throat and comes out just as suddenly. "Why are you going back? Why — it's a beautiful life, Alison, a, a life you're..."

Bea's face screws up, first in sorrow, then in frustration, the tight muscles of her scowl squeezing tears out of her eyes.

"Why should I let you. Why should I let you go and die?"

"Because I know."

"Know what? You don't know shit!"

Vaieli's grip on her friend tightens, and pulls her close -- Bea allows herself to be twisted and pulled into Vaieli's embrace, where she's held sideways to Alison. Vaieli looks from Bea to Alison, but neither speaks.

"I know enough," she says.

"You don't. How can you say that?"

"Bea," and Alison can't quite keep the frustration out of her voice, "you have no idea what my life is like."

"I --"

"//No,// Bea. You don't. My home may kill me. I might see my friends die, the things I love be destroyed. I knew that. That was my reality. I knew what I was going to do about it, Bea. I //know// what I'm going to do about it. And I'd rather be there, and see that through, than be here, and watch it happen from afar."

Bea shakes her head vigorously into Vaieli's shoulder. "That's insane."

"It's my choice to make."

Bea steps away from Vaieli, and turns to Alison, conviction on her face for the briefest moment. "I —" but she stops in her tracks. Her eyes search.

Alison suspects she knew the aim of the sentence. She shakes her head.

"You're fine, Bea."

"I'm — I just..." Her voice gets weak. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

Alison crouches again, an implicit invite that Bea takes to get closer to the stage.

"Did I fuck up?" Bea whispers.

Vaieli lets the distance grow slightly, as Alison takes Bea into her charge by placing her own hand on Bea's shoulder. Bea grabs it at the wrist, fiercely. Alison internally winces, but doesn't show it.

"Bea," Alison meets her volume, "you showed me worlds that are beautiful and clean. Lives that are free and easy. I think... I needed that."

"You did?" Bea doesn't hide the desperate hope in her voice.

Alison nods. "I think... it's important. I didn't even know what to picture, for perfection. I wasn't sure what I was striving for. It was hard to know what exactly was wrong, before I saw it all... right."

Bea smiles a faltering smile, but loses it in a sniffle. She can't hold eye contact.

"But you won't get it. It... it won't happen."

"I know. That's not the point."

"I don't get it."

"That's okay. We weren't a perfect fit."

Bea squeezes her wrist. They stand like that for a long moment, Alison trying her best to ignore the onlookers, the portal squealing behind her.

Bea's breaths shudder less and less, until she finally manages one, deep, to-her-core breath. She lets go, and steps back.

"Goodbye," she says, voice cracking.

"Goodbye."

She doesn't wait. She turns to Vaieli, and they walk away together, only Vaieli looking over her shoulder to catch glimpses of Alison.

Finally, someone from the surrounding crowd approaches.

Ashton.

"Not to pry, but is everything alright?"

Alison nods. "Yes. It is. I expected this, but I didn't think she'd wait until the last possible moment."

"Mm," he grunts a response.

"Ashton?"

"Yes?"

She makes eye contact. "As kind as you can, please. Make sure Bea knows that she fucked up."

He ducks his head in a nod.

She steps back, and looks over the now-curious and -tense crowd. She grabs hold of the mic again.

"Thank you, everyone. Goodbye."

The assembled Queens are slow to respond, but a clapping does start, and when it starts, it is followed by hoots, by hollers, by yelled well-wishes. She smiles. She turns to the portal, coiling and shaking. The lights turn a deep blue, the music keens. She pauses at the precipice. Nervous.

//No time for that,// she thinks. She steps back, and, in the spirit of theatrics, she runs, jumps, and //dives.//

She might hear a fresh swell of whistling and screaming at the act, before it all dissolves into nothing and everything, the background noise of the universe, the absence of absence and the simultaneity of herself and a selfless, all-encompassing reality.

She lets herself slip into it, as she does each time, enjoying, until there is no concept of enjoying, the dissolution. And at its peak, she has no thoughts of anything, because she does not exist. Reflecting on these moments, she always wonders -- what if she were to leave it be? If she simply refused to pull herself together, to become nothing? To spread herself as thin as it all? A fine mist of Alison Chao, wisps of her love and caring, her anger and despair, across the multiverse. Would they be noticeable? Would they come together again, at the pit of an Alison-shaped pool, to make a new variant? Is that what is happening //here//?

She steps out of infinity as variables turn back into constants, waves become solid things. But she keeps her eyes closed.

She feels, merely feels, as the clothes resettle on her body. Polyester on her skin. Her hair falling into place at her shoulders. She feels the tickle of a subtle bit of dust underneath her eyelid. She feels her weight press into her heels, into her socks, and into the floor.

She breathes, and feels the air enter her.

She listens.

She hears the hum of the vents. She hears the boiling of water on the stove.

She smells the noodles, and they smell ready.

She opens her eyes, and she sees her apartment, exactly as she left it. The phone on the wall. Her bed in the corner. She breathes in, and she breathes in home.

She smiles. Then she grins.

//Any way I can.//
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**<<** [[[Escapism V]]] **|** Escapism VI
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Escapism VI

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