Things I almost remember (Lancelot)

[Anastasia]

The nightmares were more vivid than they had ever been before.

They had always been there, for as long as she could remember; back in the orphanage, in her tiny box flat in Paris…however they had never felt this bad before, this real. Most of them were about the war, throwing her back into her tiny squalid cell in the prisoners camp, seeing her friends deteriorate around her, finding scraps of paper with names on them, names she knew, people the soldiers had captured or destroyed…and sometimes…sometimes Dimitri appeared, always the same way, a cruel smirk and a dead eyed stare.

However, sometimes the dreams would take on an alternative form, and those ones scared her even more because she did not know where they came from. It was always the same, she was in a large empty building, but she could hear crowds of people outside, shouting, screaming, shots in the air, and she knew she just knew they were here for her. To drag her into the street, to rip her apart, to put an end to her for good. Someone was always calling her name, begging her to follow them to safety but she remained glued to the spot unable to reach them. No, not glued. Iced. Her feet sank into ice, a river…and over the top of it all…the laughter…a man’s laughter...filling her head until she woke up screaming the same thing in Russian. ‘Tselitel'’. Healer.

It had been a couple of days since she had found Arthur and Dimitri, since Arthur had chased her down and attempted to explain to her what had happened…but the nightmares had only got worse. She needed to sleep, she needed to shut down…which was why she found herself standing outside the infirmary in the school hoping that in all the commotion of getting the place up and running, they had someone in place that could help her. Medical assistance was probably a priority, right?

She tapped lightly on the door and called out, “Hello? I’m…looking for the doctor.”

[Lancelot du Lac]

"You and me both," replied Lance. He looked toward the door, which he'd left generally open. Any time he was actually in the infirmary, which was not frequently enough given his split positions (oh, how he was just thrilled about being a Vice President of anything, on top of being the school's medic, on top of being Gwen's knight, on top of helping to raise Tristian). At least he'd managed to clean the infirmary... which for some reason, didn't do too much magical cleaning of its own. Maybe it knew that if it got in Lance's way, he'd react... poorly.

The place looked as clean and pristine as an infirmary should. Lance did a quick check every time he came in, but the school's magic kept it up to even his standards. He knew the medicine to all but in order, at least enough to handle most cases that would walk in.

So he studied the girl standing there with a semi-critical eye, sweeping her up and down. "Can I help you with something?" he asked. "Because I'm not seeing something wrong, but in this school," he shrugged, "you could be supposed to be a penguin and I wouldn't know."

[Anastasia]

There was someone here at least, that was a good start. The whole place seemed emptier than usual, even during the war it had been busier than this. There was an eeriness to it that put her on edge, amongst everything else that was putting her on edge.

“A…a penguin?” she said, a little confused, “I’m…not a penguin-oh right! Cause of the magic. It…it changes people right, if they were an animal before and they come here, right. No, I’m not an animal.”

Like Pooka she thought.

Her hand started to shake a little, she stuffed it into her pocket quickly. She needed to keep it together, she needed to be stronger than this, she was stronger than this. Didn’t she survive the orphanage? Didn’t she get herself out of Russia? Didn’t she survive in Paris? Didn’t she survive the war…?

“I’m having trouble sleeping,” she said, “I was just wondering if…there was anything you might be able to give me that would help with that.”

[Lancelot du Lac]

Lance looked at the girl. She seemed vaguely familiar, though it might have just been that expression. Lost, confused... no, the slight shaking. Lance's eyes flicked toward that trembling hand for a moment before moving up to look at the girl's face. Had she been here before? She looked so young to have survived that horror. But, well, it had been ten years for Lance, but from what he heard, it had been significantly less for others.

"Few things," he said, nodding slowly. "But they say that what helps the most is actually talking," he hesitated for a moment, as if he were about to offer. Instead he bent down, rummaging around underneath the bed in the infirmary. Didn't take him long to pull out a bottle of hard alcohol. He dusted it off, looking up at her.

"Or there's this," he set it down on the counter, letting its weight speak for itself. His hand remained near while he turned to look at the girl. "Or I could actually dig around for something more medical. Your call." Ask no questions; hear no lies. Not exactly the best medical course, but around here, probably the most advisable.

[Anastasia]

Talking? To a stranger?

It seemed ridiculous, to talk to someone she didn’t know about what was going on her head, and yet at the same time there was something inviting about it as well. She didn’t know this man at all, however there was an anonymity that she couldn’t help but be tempted by.

“There, there isn’t much to talk about,” she said, with a shrug, “they’re just nightmares, everyone gets them…just…wouldn’t mind a decent nights sleep without…without being reminded of...Wayron.”

‘And something else…that I can’t seem to figure out…’

She looked at the bottle and for the first time in what seemed like a while she smiled and said, “make it a vodka and sure…I’ll take it.”

[Lancelot du Lac]

"Screams, shit, blood,' said Lance, shrugging. He had a feeling he knew precisely what sort of nightmares the girl was talking about: he had them from time to time. There had been a time or two when he'd actually gotten up at night, walked all the way to Gwen's bedchamber, and just sat there and watched, needing that reassurance, needing... her.

"Vodka?" he repeated, wincing slightly. He tapped the medicine chest for a moment. There was quite a selection in there... for some reason (being vice president of a corporation with newly allowed powers helped considerably). Maybe...he knelt, dug for a minute, and he swore a half-drunk vodka he didn't remember staring all but tumbled out. He caught it deftly enough, rising up with it in his hand.

"Seems like we've got one," he said, nodding and pointing. "Got paper cups up there. Only the fanciest shit for our school."

[Anastasia]

It was odd how those three words summed up her nightmares perfectly. No. Not her nightmares. What it was like to be a prisoner, to be helpless, to be trapped. She wanted to say as much to him but all she managed was a brief nod and a quiet, “yeah.”

She offered him a half hearted smile as he mentioned the paper cups and said, “what, no crystal glasses? You’d think with all these kings and queens around they’d be obligated to have some.”

She held her hand out for the paper cup and said, “So…did…did you fight in the war?”