Snippet #1464122

Ah, early spring in Sydney. Being a coastal city, spring wasn't all that different from any other season, truth be told. It did mean a larger influx of tourists, though, and for some, that was the best news they got all year. Others, locals who made their money in different industries, despised the coming of the locust plague of over-sugared American children and the parents that couldn't control them, or the old couples who'd fire off conversation in Chinese and have extreme communication difficulty with anyone else, or the uptight British with fancy vacation homes and posh, superior attitudes.

Leander was indifferent to all of it.

Then again, Leander was indifferent to most things. Closing the wooden door to the small bookshop she worked at, the young woman turned the key until she heard the characteristic click of the locking mechanism, then pocketed the lot of them and stuffed her hands into the sides of her aviator's leather jacket, probably the one item of clothing she owned that had ever been worth more than thirty bucks. Well, aside from the boots, but those were old military issue, not retail, so it probably didn't count. And if it did... well, she was indifferent to that, too.

Jerry's was, conveniently, about halfway between her job and her apartment, and a walkable distance at that. The bar's average clientele was about twenty years older than Leander and undergoing some kind of overdramatic mid-life crisis, but Jerry was the only guy in the area who knew how to make a decent drink. Besides, the other customers tended to leave her alone and wallow in their own misery, something that didn't happen if you went to clubs that served the twenty-somethings of Australia's most famous city. There, you tended to get hit on, usually by someone so far gone that it wasn't even really a compliment.

As soon as she entered, Leander took her customary spot at the bar, third seat from the end, and raised a couple of lazy fingers in a bid for Jerry's attention. The owner, an ex-military sort with an impressive collection of surprisingly-tasteful tattoos, obliged, pouring her the customary starter- a gin and tonic. Leander didn't even really like the flavor all that much- the way it burned on her tongue tasted of failure- but maybe that was why she started with it in the first place. If it came later in the evening, she might not remember why.

She noted something unusual just beside her. A smooth, flat, reflective oval was placed on the bar as though it belonged there. Leander snorted. "Reflective coaters, Jerry? I thought you had a bit more taste than that," she drawled in a bored monotone. He looked at her askance as though confused, and she grabbed the thing, holding it aloft between her index and middle fingers as one might a playing card.

Jerry shrugged. "Ain't mine, sheila," he replied matter-of-factly, and Leander raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more on the subject.

It wasn't until she was three more drinks into the night that she bothered with the mirror again. An errant bit of curiosity bid her pick it up again, and she stared for a moment into the reflective surface. Jerry, apparently noticing, spoke. "What d'ya see, Lee?" The young woman rolled her eyes at the rhyme; intentional or not, it sounded like Dr. Seuss.

Still, his tone was serious enough, and she wondered if this wasn't one of those 'the heroine gets life-altering advice from the friendly bartender' moments that sometimes showed up in crappy art-house films. Of course, that would be entirely stupid, because for that to be the case, she would have to be the heroine. Ridiculous.

"Mmm..." she pretended to contemplate her reflection, "freckles, too much hair, pointy nose, that slightly-drunk glaze to the eyes... looks like a waste of good space to me."

Jerry chuckled and shook his head. She almost liked that about him, that he assumed she must be kidding.

About three hours and several more drinks later, Leander assured Jerry that she was perfectly fine to get home, and headed out the door to do just that. He'd told her to keep the mirror, and let him know if she ever saw anything different, so she'd rolled her eyes and slipped it into a jacket pocket, the one without her keys. The woman's alcohol tolerance was remarkable, and she scarcely wobbled on her way home, though the stairs to the fourth floor were annoying as always.

After locking her door, she tossed her keys atop her kitchen island, and, deciding that she really didn't give a damn (tomorrow was her day off, after all) she plopped onto the couch in her living room, jacket and all. Her bed was a crappy mattress on top of an ancient box-spring, so sometimes the couch was just better, even if it did look like something a cat had hurled up in the 80s. Booze was always a great sleep aid, and so she was out within five minutes, though her dreams were fitful.

Leander had never been the sort of person to put much stock in dreams, and hers seemed to taunt her with the sort of peace she never got while awake. Often, she dreamed she was flying, just soaring on some kind of thermal bubble, free as anything on earth could possibly be, unchained by obligation, guilt, or memories she'd much rather drink into oblivion.

Tonight, though she did not fly; she simply drifted through an impenetrable blackness. Now this was more like her reality. She supposed she could put effort into it and try to direct herself in one direction or another, but what did it really matter when everything was the same?

If you don't like what you see, why not change it? The sound of the voice in her dream was enough to make her physical body jerk with surprise. Inside her head, she looked around, curious as to the source. The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

The hell? She thought, and as if in answer to the query, a small light appeared some distance away. Oh no, I've seen this movie before. I am not going toward the light. If she'd been physically present in any sense, she would have rolled her eyes, but as it was she could not, so she settled for snarky thoughts instead.

Don't worry; it's not that kind of light, the voice replied, and she realized with startling certainty that it was most definitely her voice. Now, if you don't like what you see, why not change it?

You said that already, she pointed out in a deadpan, and the voice sighed.

I should have known I'd be this difficult. Just... just look, would you?

Leander shrugged; if she'd ever thought herself anything but completely insane, all such inclinations were banished by the fact that she was pretty certain she was talking to herself... in her own dreams. Good thing she didn't really give a damn if she was off it or not, she supposed, and decided to oblige herself and drift closer to the light. As it turned out, it was not a light at all, but the mirror from that night, reflecting light from an unknown source... or perhaps just possessed of some kind of internal luminescence. She felt her physical hand close over the selfsame object in her pocket, and this confused her. It was like she was aware of both the real world and this one at the same time.

Well? she prodded herself. Do you like what you see?

Leander looked into the mirror, which was conveniently suspended in nothingness at a good height for such an inspection. To her surprise, she saw not her own reflection, but a moving picture; scenes from her daily life, and what had once been but was no longer. She shook her head; was this some kind of trick question? Are you stupid or something? If you're actually me, you know bloody well that I don't.

So... the voice trailed off, and Leander had a feeling she knew what was coming. Change it. Touch the mirror.

The brunette was hesitant to follow such an order, but in the end this was just a dream, so she figured it couldn't do any kind of permanent damage anyway. Reaching out, she tentatively touched the surface of the mirror with her index finger; eyes widening in a rare moment of true emotion when it rippled as though it were water. She drew her hand back as if stung, but then touched it again, applying pressure this time, watching in wonderment as her hand went straight through and did not appear on the other side of the glass.

She mirror trembled, and began to expand, and Leander tried to withdraw her hand, only to discover that it would not budge. The harder she tried, she greater the resistance, until she felt herself being pulled in. She didn't think to scream, not even as she was forcibly tugged inside and deposited against the ground somewhere... else.

---

With an audible groan, Leander opened her eyes. A mistake; the light was way too bright, and red spots danced behind her eyelids when she squeezed them shut again. "Shit." Forcing herself to sit up, the young woman rubbed at her oculars for a second before attempting it again, this time with marginally more success.

What the hell is this place? was her first thought. Her second was that it had to be the fanciest bloody Ren-faire she'd ever seen, what with all the silk and brocade and linen these people were wearing. She was in the middle of some elaborate market set-up, and she thought wryly to herself that the merchants really were getting seriously in character.

People were staring at her, which was somewhat irritating, and Leander stood and dusted herself off, assuming the usual bored 'leave-me-alone' expression she tended to favor, staring pointedly right back at anyone who seemed to have the gall to do the same to her. Okay, so she wasn't dressed like an idiot; that was no reason to gawk like she was some kind of bizarre circus act.

Damn... I must have been way more wasted than I thought last night. Either that, or I'm still dreaming. Something was bothering her, though; it was Spring in her city right now, but the vegetables these people were selling screamed fall, as did the coloration of the few trees in sight. If this really was the world's most elaborate Renaissance Faire, why would they bother with something like that? And nobody could just make it colder outside anyway.

There was a moment in which she entertained the thought that someone had spiked one of her drinks, and she was now on an acid trip of some kind, but she was far too in control of her faculties for that. Well, fine then. All she needed to do was find whoever was in charge of this place and get directions out. she'd ask one of these weirdos, but she doubted she'd get an answer that made any kind of sense.