An Unwelcome Meeting

[Deon]

Sophie fiddled with the thin belt strap wound around her tan slacks as she crossed and uncrossed her legs repeatedly in the reception room. Her hands rested underneath her elbows, arms forming an X down by her stomach. She seemed clutching onto them with apprehension, though if someone approached her about it she would obviously deny it. I was her hands that gave it away -- the chalky white knuckles, the cold marble skin -- her eyes and her face showed no inkling of her inner thoughts.

A television buzzed in the background, and an anchorman droned on about something or other about raised taxes. Another young child was crying, clutching on to his mother and throwing a tantrum because of the fact that he had to get a tetanus shot. The smell of the hospital filled Sophie's nostrils; she hated the scent of disinfectant, of the bodies that passed through here where she was right now. The smell of all the people... There was a certain intimacy that she did not wish to feel with the general population, and the stuffy room brought her into contact with everyone and anyone, who she felt could somehow find out why she was here. It was almost as if they were rubbing off something on her when she was in this vicinity, something horrible and impure that was foreign to her secluded little world. She wanted a shower. She wanted to get this checkup over-with. She had already postponed the end-of-the-first trimester long enough, and her physician was getting on to her. She couldn't risk a phone call or a letter.

[Seaheart]

Seaheart walked through the hospital, wanting to check some facts about DNA. It was for a special reason. It was about what happened when he blanked out and was sometimes surrounded by dead bodies. He was smiling a little. The hospital. He had sent people here, but had oddly enough never been here to get healed. If he knew the thoughts that were running that Sophie's mind, then he could say his were completely opposite. He loved the smells, the people, the bodies rushed back and forth, some dead. This was an intimacy he enjoyed and did not ponder about. This was not because of Sophie's reason, but because he already understood.

He then walked into the reception room. He saw the receptionist change the channel to watch her soap, an internn getting told off by a senior doctor, a woman fretting and crying over one of her family, then.......Dementia. No, last he remembered, she only took to being called Sophie. And the way she looked, she was not Dementia anymore. He grinned evilly for a few seconds toward the sky. He dared the Guado officials to bring out the beast. He'd make sure he took whatever happened to him that they were controlling to their front door.

He walked toward her at a steady pace. He wore a bit of a grin that he was sure would bring up memories. He sat down next to her and said quietly without looking at her "Well, hello 'Dementia'," He said almost maliciously, knowing full well that'd strike somewhere hard. "Long time, no see. You've changed quite alot.....not for better in my standards. You are with Arkady I have heard. Ten years right? When the war started. Married yet? Any children? Do tell please for catching up with you would be an utmost pleasure." He finished, toning down the grin.

The thought, the essence, the feeling of her beside him brought mixed emotions. For one, self control. She was the perfect target to mess with. He knew the one thing she hated at the moment. Well, by the way she looked at him at the wedding he was pretty sure. The past. The past was one thing she hated. He was so sure of it. She was in love with the good part of her part, blocking out anything else, living in the good part and only the parts she wanted in the present, and trying to piece together a future she longed for. He knew her whole past too, meaning he knew her weakness, and could eat her inside out.

But he had to remember that this woman had been a true love. One he understood and one whom he shared many similarities with at one point. So it was a mix of longing, self control, and a desire to do what he did best. Destroying people's mentalities. But for now, he felt just the sight of him was enough to make her squirm, and would take much tenacity to even acknowledge and speak to him.

[Deon]

Sophie stared ahead with glassy eyes, pretending that she hadn't seen Seaheart. It was enough to have to stand next to him at Maeve's wedding, or to casually pass by him on the street without any recognition, or even just to share the same room with him, but... here? Now? Fate's cruelty was undeniable. Perhaps if she showed no emotion, if she said nothing, he would leave her alone. But a small, yet vocal, part of her mind screamed that it wouldn't be so. That he would continue to prod and poke and bend her until she finally snapped in two and gave in. She would take away his sense of victory by surrendering easily. That seemed the best choice, and the only way to vaguely satisfy her desire to thwart his intentions.

Of course. He was approaching her. How delightful. She steeled herself to listen to his voice, her body tensing up noticeably. A pleasant conversation was worse than a beating; she would much rather take the latter, and be brought down by force rather than casual words.

She could feel the slight temperature change resulting from his body warmth as he settled in next to her, and the displacement of the air that fluttered against her when he sat. She didn't want anything to do with something that had touched her walking past. The warmth, the heat, the sounds that entered her ears were a reminder that it still existed. And yet, she was experiencing a strange phenomenon. Sophie thought she would feel something more when he sat down next to her, but her emotions seemed drained, leaving only emptiness lined with a residue of old hatred. When he spoke, it was as if the words weren't even registering in her mind, just like an order to a machine that it didn't truly comprehend, only responded to automatically. They struck no chords, and she felt no pain. Only a numbing emptiness. She didn't know which was worse. Pain perhaps was easier to deal with than nothingness. Nothingness cannot be ignored.

"Let's skip the niceties, shall we?" she started through gritted teeth. Her voice seemed strained from lack of use, though that was not the case. "I'm not your Dementia anymore, dear. And you don't give a damn about me. Let me just tell you right now: the feeling is mutual. And you know what else I don't give a damn about? Your opinion. Sorry to break any preconceived notions that you may have possessed. I personally think that I have changed for the better, and my happiness is much more important than your convictions. You have nothing on me that I can't deal with now. My life is going along quite well without you, and you severely underestimate my abilities to handle anything that comes. Besides, I don't have a desire to catch up with my past. I left you a long time ago, Seaheart. Get over it."