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Emily Stanton

0 · 413 views · located in Wing City Spaceport

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Saviarre

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He will be everything that a man is supposed to be.

Don't turn your back on the city.

So begins...

Emily Stanton's Story

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Emily Stanton lifted the corners of her lips in a small smile as she met his eyes.

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Chaos. A shriek. Breaking glass. Dishes clattering. The complete shock and surprise that played over Emily’s face was real and genuine. Obviously, this was not the reaction she was expecting. In the commotion, she’d stood quickly, the book clutched to her chest tightly as she stared in confusion at him, her eyes flickering between his face and the revolver.

“I…” she started, taking a step back only to bump against the wall.

Sit.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she muttered, glancing uneasily to the weapon. “I was just trying to make conversation.”

Sit.

Slowly, she moved to reclaim her seat in the booth, her body stiff and ready to run at a moment’s notice. “H-He?” she asked, trying to be nonchalant about the fact that he could kill her in a moment if he so chose.

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White teeth pulled at a rubbery pink lip, instantly darkening it as the blood beneath the skin found itself trapped. Dark eyes continued staring uneasily at the gun, stinging from the need to blink, but not daring to out of fear. He spoke to her and she listened to his words, her brows pulling down tighter and tighter as he spoke.

05… 06… those were models of the machines. She recognized that. Wait. Was he calling her a construct?

Her eyes followed his as they slid over her body and she slowly pulled the cloak firmly closed around herself. ’You are not from my past.’

Clearly, the man was insane. Swallowing, she slowly moved to stand again. “I…” Nervous eyes flickered to the weapon again. “I assure you, Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sit!

A tentative step carried her slightly away from the table before she appeared to have a change of heart and again reclaimed her seat. Protective arms crossed themselves over her chest, hugging the book to herself. “I was merely trying to converse. I… I’m sorry.”

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With his hand away from the revolver, Emily visibly relaxed slightly, but her posture was still ramrod straight. She dropped her eyes to the book she held, her brows knitting together in a moment of confusion as she tried to work her way through this.

You don’t know him.

“I don’t know you,” she asserted. “I came here for some corned beef hash... diners usually have good corned beef hash…” She placed the book on the table, a hand over it protectively. “I… I asked about reanimation because… well… everyone has an opinion on it, don’t they? Everyone is familiar with this book… with the morality issues of playing God. I didn’t mean to offend.” She looked over toward the waitress, a silent plea for help written across her features.

Reanimation. Do you think it’s possible?

She swallowed, looking back at him. “I… I don’t know. I think it might be…But I don’t know.”

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Her eyes flicked once more to the gun, the black hole at the center of the barrel holding her attention for a moment. Uneasily they lifted back to him. Swallowing, she twisted her fingers around each other.

Tell him what you think about the book.

Emily’s eyes shifted to the waitress again. “Perhaps you would like to discuss over dinner?”

Tell him what you think about the damned book!

The cringe was almost imperceptible, but the sharp intake of breath was hard to ignore. “I… I pity the monster. Frankenstein had everything taken from him… his family, his wife… because…” she hesitated, glancing once more at the concealed revolver. Even though his hand wasn’t on it, it was obvious that it had her attention. “He deserved it.”

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Her teeth sought her bottom lip again as she listened. “Dr. Frankenstein’s assistant?” she asked, honestly confused. “Clerval?” She shook her head slowly, not taking her eyes from him. “Clerval was his friend. His best friend. Frankenstein’s creation killed him.”

He’s not talking about the book, Emily.

Clearing her throat, she stiffened as the fingers found the revolver again. “You… you’re not talking about…” she stopped, brows furrowing. Reaching for the coffee that had grown cold in the cup in front of her, she swallowed some of the bitter liquid with a grimace, her eyes never leaving the weapon.

If Frankenstein’s assistant stopped the monster, the people would respect him. Frankenstein created the monster that killed so many. The assistant would be a hero. Everyone would spit on Frankenstein’sname. Say it!

Uneasily, she lifted her eyes from the weapon to look at the ceiling, attempting to recall it all. “If Frankenstein’s assistant stopped the monster, the people would respect him. Frankenstein created the monster that killed so many. The assistant would be a hero. Everyone would…” she hesitated, her hand tightening around the cup. “…spit?... on Frankenstein’s name.”

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Bug hesitated a moment before pulling the fish from the fire and setting it on a nearby stump that served as a table. “’ere’s nothin’ wrong w’ ‘ere,” she admitted. “I was jus’ thinkin’… M’be…” She stopped and shook her head. “N’ermin’… yer righ’…”

She avoided the question of money by plating up the fish before turning back to the fire to coax the hot potatoes from the angry coals. “I like it ‘ere w’ you.”

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ic Bug

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As he stood, Emily sank back against the vinyl booth, pressing herself tightly against the seat as if trying to absorb into it. She was afraid of this man now, clearly. He was not only insane, he was towering over her. She felt trapped. He’d called her Emily. She hadn’t given him her name. Despite the appearances otherwise, Emily was starting to suspect that maybe this man wasn’t simply insane. He knew her.

Why didn’t she know him?

As the barrel of the gun pressed against her forehead, time seemed to stop completely. She closed her eyes, squeezing them so tightly that the blackness was speckled with red dots.

Open your eyes, Emily.

Around the cold metal, her forehead broke with tiny beads of perspiration. The hands that were once lying so protectively on the book in front of her trembled violently against the black cover.

Open your goddamned eyes!

“I… I don’t want to die,” she whispered, a single tear somehow escaping her tight eyelids.

Tell him he won’t do it. Tell him he’s killed you once already. Tell him he couldn’t bear a second time.

These thoughts made no sense to her. His words made no sense to her.

Open your fucking eyes, Emily! Now!

The words that came from her mouth came from somewhere within her… a place she didn’t recognize. They were nonsense. Complete nonsense spoken barely above a whisper, her lips trembling for a moment before she could get the words past them.

“Soon the dark will pass. D-Don’t… don’t turn your b-back…”

What did that even mean?

Goddamnit, open your fucking eyes!

But they remained shut as tightly as she could manage.

The setting changes from Canti's Diner to Gambit's Bar

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Stepping in behind the previous woman, Emily had to agree completely about the heat, although her method of dealing with it was different than the other woman’s. While Torture opted for shorts and flip flops, Emily remained in the long sleeved, high necked lace dress she normally wore. For the most part, she could ignore the sweat trickling down her face, her back, her chest. There were far more important things to consider… like her purpose here in Wing City.

Slipping around to a booth off to the side of the room, she glanced at the others with whom she would share this space for the short time she intended to be here. However, the glance was short lived and she turned her attention to a folder she carried. Why Arthur wanted a factory and a lab here of all places, Emily would never understand. It was too hot. And it wasn’t exactly… friendly.

What was wrong with staying in the City? Everything was perfect in the City. Why come here?

Perhaps Arthur wanted to extend his gift to Wing City as well… and then Wing City could be as perfect as home.

With a small smile, Emily pulled a small notebook and a pen from the stack of papers and began composing a letter.

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As Emily composed the letter, she flipped between pages in the stack of paper she had. Real estate information for property in Wing City. Albert probably would have preferred a phone call or an email, but Emily wasn’t a big fan of technology. Despite the fact that she worked with it, when she had the option, she avoided it, instead utilizing methods that didn’t involve technology. She’d rather hand-write a letter than compose an email. As far as she knew, she’d always been that way.

Albert didn’t seem to mind, though he got annoyed when anyone else did so. He preferred instantaneous information. Perhaps he was just patient with her. How’d she get so lucky?

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The day had already started out incredibly hot, and it would only get worse. While most of the pedestrian traffic in Wing City had opted for shorts and flip flops, Emily remained in the long sleeved, high necked lace dress she normally wore. For the most part, she could ignore the sweat trickling down her face, her back, her chest. There were far more important things to consider… like her purpose here in Wing City.

Slipping around to a booth off to the side of the room, she glanced at the others with whom she would share this space for the short time she intended to be here. However, the glance was short lived and she turned her attention to a folder she carried. Why Albert wanted a factory and a lab here of all places, Emily would never understand. It was too hot. And it wasn’t exactly… friendly.

What was wrong with staying in the City? Everything was perfect in the City. Why come here?

Perhaps Albert wanted to extend his gift to Wing City as well… and then Wing City could be as perfect as home.

With a small smile, Emily pulled a small notebook and a pen from the stack of papers and began composing a letter.

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As Emily composed the letter, she flipped between pages in the stack of paper she had. Real estate information for property in Wing City. Albert probably would have preferred a phone call or an email, but Emily wasn’t a big fan of technology. Despite the fact that she worked with it, when she had the option, she avoided it, instead utilizing methods that didn’t involve technology. She’d rather hand-write a letter than compose an email. As far as she knew, she’d always been that way.

Glancing up to the bartender, Emily lifted a hand to catch his attention. “Excuse me,” she started. “If it’s not too much trouble, could I get some tea? Earl Grey if you have it, otherwise, any kind will do.”

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As the steaming mug was set before her, Emily smiled at the bartender. “Thank you,” she nodded before turning back to the stack of information in front of her. Before adding anything more to the letter, she laid the pen down and lifted a single sheet of paper. This one. This listing was perfect. The warehouse was huge, the asking price was reasonable, and there would be plenty of room for a lab as well. Albert would love this one. She was sure of it. Setting aside the paper, she quickly flipped through the others to check to see if any of the other potential properties was as good. This one would be a good candidate too. And this one.

Sighing to herself, she laid all of the papers down and reached for the mug. Blowing across the steaming liquid to cool it, Emily closed her eyes and smiled as the scent of the bergamot infused tea washed over her. It really was the simple things in life, wasn’t it?

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Emily glanced up at the newcomer, lowering the mug of tea from her lips as she studied him for a moment. Smiling politely in acknowledgment of his presence, she picked up the papers once more, studying the details of the real estate. Her eyes kept returning to the first and she laid it on the top of her stack. Studying it just a moment longer, she lifted her pen and continued to compose the letter to Albert.

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She’d been so caught up in writing her letter, she hadn’t realized that activity in the bar had continued as usual. The voice broke into her thoughts, however, and she glanced up, momentarily disoriented. Name? He wanted everyone’s name? Seeing no harm in it, she laid her pen down. It wouldn’t hurt to make some acquaintances while she was here, would it?

Don’t, Emily, don--

“Emily,” she responded, leaning back and sipping her tea. “Emily Stanton. You?”

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Emily blinked at Varius’ reaction to her name. “Y-yes,” she responded. “Emily Stanton.” What was wrong with her name? She repeated it to herself mentally a couple times, but it sounded perfectly normal to her. Nothing special. Just a name. Her name. Emily. Stanton.

As he mentioned Wily, however, Emily’s eyes narrowed distrustfully. “Wily?” she asked, shifting slightly. “As in… Albert Wily?”

Time to go, Emily. Don’t get into this conversation.

Yet Emily remained, completely curious. “You’ve heard of Albert?”

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As confused as Varius was, Emily was right along with him. She blinked as she looked at him. Songs? Well, just because she wasn’t aware of any songs about Albert didn’t mean that they didn’t exist. He was, after all, greatly loved and respected in the City, wasn’t he? But how was her name tied to his? Surely she wasn’t in these same songs.

Clearing her throat, she took a sip of tea before leaning forward, a protective hand over the papers in front of her. “I work for him,” she responded. It wasn’t exactly a lie. It was only part of the truth.

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Emily was staring down into the notebook she carried, her face pure puzzlement. The equations weren’t working out for her. Things wouldn’t work until she got these calculations correct, but there was something wrong. Quietly, she read the equation to herself as she moved across the room, until something caught her eye. Emily glanced up just in time to see the soldier’s movement. Instantly she stopped in her tracks, mouth agape. That suit… She blinked, studying him openly for a few moments before realizing herself. Clearing her throat, she looked down at her notebook again, trying to remember what she was doing when she saw his armor. Right. Equation.

Again she moved toward the counter, making a point to keep the soldier within her sight, lifting her eyes to him periodically. If only she could get her hands on it… Albert could do great things with that.

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Talk to him, Emily.

She swallowed, glancing up at Agares again, her eyes moving over the suit. No, she couldn’t. What would she say? Your suit is impressive and I’d like to study it?

Do it, Emily. For Albert. Do it for Albert.

Again, that voice in her head… Emily tried to ignore it, looking down at the figures in her notebook. She had to solve this equation. She had to get the calculation correct. Otherwise, the machines back home wouldn’t work.

Just talk to him.

She looked up at the soldier once more, noticing the woman with him. No. She wouldn’t interrupt.

Damnit, do something! Give him your number. Something! I—er… Albert needs information on that suit.

Scribbling a number on a piece of paper, Emily doubted she had the courage to give it to him in the first place. He probably wouldn’t call her. And even if he did, what would she say? If it weren’t for the voice goading her to do so, she would have simply sat still. Instead, she called the bartender over, handed the slip of paper to him and with as much composure as she could muster, she gestured to Agares. “Please be sure that he gets that.”