14069/An Unexpected Guest

An Unexpected Guest
Date of Scene:	07 February 2023
Location:	Lydia's Apartment
Synopsis:	An otherworldly entity dressed as Lydia's mother stops by her apartment for a chat.
Cast of Characters:	Lydia Dietrich, Straw Man

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Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    It's still fairly early in the morning, and the sun has yet to rise, which allows Lydia to be up this late. She's currently burning the midnight oil, so to speak, working on her latest book. After the grueling process of her last book, The Book of Lydia, it's actually quite pleasant to go back to writing smutty lesbian supernatural romances.

    So she's sitting at her desk, typing away on her laptop, in her oversized "Team Bella" T-shirt and sweats, trying to get in a few more pages in before bed. Of to one side is a small brandy snifter with a bit of blood wine still in it. She doesn't have much of the stuff, but occasionally she'll pull a bit out as a treat.

Straw Man has posed:
    "Don't you think it's late for that, baht?" the voice interrupts the silence in the apartment. "Look at the time! You won't find a good man by doing that. They'll go running right out the door! Oye," she makes her way to find a few things that are out of place to pick up, or else not PERFECTLY in place to adjust. "And who is going to read that anyway? Just yourself." She shakes her head, ambling around the apartment in her cleaning fit. It's mom. But is it? There's something wrong, something not right, other than the fact that she just really appeared in the place, a sense that she isn't really Lydia's mother.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia leaps into the air in surprise, not hearing her mother come in, and deftly lands crouched in her chair, fangs out and hissing. It takes her a moment to recognize who it is, though that only brings a bit of confusion. "Mom?" she asks, fangs retracting and stepping off the chair. "What are you doing here? I won't..." she blinks, scowling. "You //know// I'm a lesbian!" Not that that's ever stopped her mother before, a voice in the back of her head says.

    "Plenty of people read my books," she says defensively, her brows furrowing in confusion. This is just... bizarre. Her mother //never// stops by unannounced. How did she get in anyway? She doesn't have a key. The more she thinks about this the more off everything seems. And her mother. This is all wrong.

    "Wait. You can't be mom," she protests. "It just doesn't make sense and you feel... not right." She, then stalks around the woman who invaded her home like a predator stalking prey, her twinkling stars that constantly surround her shift in agitation. "Who are you? How did you get past the mezuzah? The wards?"

Straw Man has posed:
    "You're one to talk about what doesn't feel right, baht. You. I'm not concerned with your wards. Or words." The tone changes a little. "Just how long are you going to hide in the pages of your books and of movies. She walks over, examining the team Bella shirt. "It's much easier to spend time with make believe vampires than with yourself as a real one, is that it?"

    She finds a stray sock, and sniffs it, then ambles to toss it in the hamper.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    "I'm //fine// with being a vampire, mom." Lydia starts defensively, a reflex so ingrained in her that she can't help it even if this thing isn't her mother. She shakes her head as if to clear it, still confused. "Wait, no. Why am I defending myself to you?"

    She quickly darts over and snags the matching sock before her mo-- whatever this thing is can get to it, too. "What do you want?" she demands. It's a good question, appropriate for what she would ask of her mother and this impersonator.

Straw Man has posed:
    "Are you defending yourself?" the visage of Lydia's mom asks. "I suppose if you're writing a book about that, no. Not that, though. Not really. A book about Viscera. Why call it The Book of Lydia, then?" No real answer to any of the asked questions. How this being passed wards, who they are, what they want.

    "Don't you think calling it an "Old One" is a relative statement? What defines something as old anyway?" she asks in an accusatory manner, as if taking mild offense. She starts to walk over to the computer chair without permission when Lydia gets up, as if it were her own to claim.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    "I will /never/ write about Viscera," Lydia spits. "Its name deserves to be buried, forgotten." Once again she resumes walking around the figure that's taken her mother's form. "They're called 'Old Ones' because they're older than the universe. Older than time. They're the things that live in the Void, and covet reality."

    Slowly the stars about her coalesce in her hand, forming a golden sword, which she points at the being in her office chair. "Who are you? //What// are you? Name yourself and your intent!"

Straw Man has posed:
    Rachel's rotates in the desk chair, and gives one of those condescending arches of the eyebrows that only a mother knows how to properly deliver, looking up at Lydia.

    "Who am I?" she asks. "Yeled, you should watch your tone. You don't want to raise your blood pressure, remember what happened to your father's friend, poor Daveed, the man never did know how to relax." No aggressive stance is given to the appearance of the sword, as if she does not believe that Lydia will use it.

    "Besides, why I am is far more important than who. People are far too hung up on names I think. Do you greet all people this way? Or just those who look like your ema?"

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia barks out laughter, "Ha! Blood pressure. Good one. My heart no longer //beats//, mo-- whoever you are." She stands resolute, the sword not wavering, but she doesn't move to strike, not yet. Whatever this is, it seems content to talk. For now. Yet she's not about to let her guard down. She knows far too well that those who merely talk can be the most dangerous.

    "I only greet those who pass my wards like they weren't even //there// and take my mother's shape this way," she says evenly. "I've been in the Justice League Dark since its inception, and we're tasked with protecting the world from the supernatural threats the Justice League themselves cannot handle. I have fought things from the Hosts of the Silver City to the Old Ones beyond time itself." This isn't a boast, clearly, but a warning.

    "You do not wish to name yourself. So be it," she says. "Names have power and I do not begrudge you this. Once again, I ask your intent."

Straw Man has posed:
    "Wards only keep out those who are not already inside them," the woman in the chair answers. "Names have power, yes, but only power you give them. My intent is simple, I am not your enemy, as you may have trained yourself to think." There's a lazy cast of view back to the text on the screen. "Not without good cause, admittedly. Think of me as a friend, though. A neighbor, if you will. An old friend." Given the previous context of the word old, it seems rather intentionally chosen. "You've seen quite a bit in your short life, and I'm not sure you do well with it. I'm not sure if the JL Dark is a badge of honor or a crippling wound. Both maybe? I guess it doesn't really have to be an either or, does it?"

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia is silent a moment as she turns over the creature's words. On the screen of her laptop is a scene between the main character and her vampire lover. A moment of tenderness, the calm before the storm.
Eventually, she lets out a defeated sigh, the sword dissipating back into the field of stars that constantly surround her.

    "Both," she says, agreeing, as she makes her way to one of the couches and slumps down into it. "We've saved the world... the universe several times over. But the cost..." Her voice sounds heavy with the weight of her sacrifices. "The cost has always been great." The cost of her run in with the Old Ones has indeed been great. It cost her her friends, her loved ones, even nearly her life, leaving her alone and shamed for the part she played.

Straw Man has posed:
    "There's always a threat that can end the universe," Rachel says, standing up from the chair and following her to sit on the other side of the couch.

    "There's always an emergency somewhere in the cosmos that needs critical attention. You are on one planet in one solar system in one galaxy among tens of thousands of galaxies. "The truth is, very few beings truly want to end the universe. They may want to change it to something you'd scarcely recognize, but not end it. Things start to feel smaller when you look at the true scale of what happens every minute. Very few threats are quite as large as they feel."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    "Most times, yes." Lydia says slowly, her strange golden eyes tracking the movements of the being before her as it joins her on the couch. "Archangel Michael, though, had he won..." she shakes her head. "He would have destroyed all of reality. Remade it in //his// own image, and not the image The Presence had intended." She gives the entity a wan smile, "Sure, our reality is but a drop in the ocean of all The Presence has created but still. It's //our// reality. One which, I suspect, even being such as yourself prefer to exist in."

    "The old ones, though..." she begins, her eyes getting a far away look and her voice coming out strained. "They wanted our reality. Change it, as you said, to something we'd scarcely recognize. But I've seen what they wanted. I... helped." Her eyes snap back to her not-mother, pain evident in them. "Not helped saving reality from them. Helped them invade it."

    "Oh, I didn't mean to," she says dismissively. "Not at first. At first I..." she pauses, frowning. Why is she even talking to this being? "At first I was a coward and hid behind The Predator that made me a vampire. I thought it would shield me from pain, make me strong." She snorts derisively. "It did anything but. It made me vulnerable to Viscera's temptations, and once I accepted it into my head... well... it was only a matter of time."

Straw Man has posed:
    "Not at first. Which means that there was a second. Culture says that things which are second are lesser than things that are first, but in most situations, things that are second have priority. If you didn't mean to at first, what did you mean to at second?" The motherly eyes, for being not a mother, do bear a striking ability to mimic her better days as much as her worse.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    A bitter laugh escapes Lydia's lips. "Oh, at second I desired power. I reveled in the power that freedom from empathy gave me," she says, nearly snarling her words is disgust. "So when Viscera came to me, offered me more..." she shrugs. "How could I have turned it down?"

    "I thought I could use it's power for good, and in my hubris I thought I was strong enough to bear the price." She shakes her head. "In the beginning, I healed. Brought lost limbs back. Gave people the bodies they should have had. In my desperation to prove that I could still be a good person despite lacking empathy, I didn't charge a thing."
    
    She closes her eyes, remembering those days with a shudder. "It wasn't enough, though. With the power came desire to //create//, and I thought that helping people could sate that. But I found myself experimenting on animals. I gave a cat wings, that sort of thing. In the end even that wasn't enough."

Straw Man has posed:
    "There's nothing wrong with creating," the motherly figure says. "It's natural. It's what the Presence does, isn't it? Make something from nothing. You are not wrong to want to create. The Presence," the following short word has volume ad infinity. If names have power, this name IS power. The name of God. Not Presence, or Source, or Lord. THE name. "He creates. He is creation. You are created. To create makes you creator. You wanted to be God. to make what he makes." She switches to Hebrew, "<Hear o Israel, the Lord, he is one.>" The first line of the shema.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia's lips press into a thin, hard line. There are many responses she can make to this. She can't refute what the creature says to her. Not when it's true. Save for one thing.

    She suddenly cracks a smile and tension releases out of her. "//They// create. //They// are creation. Why would God limit themselves to just one gender?" This is an old argument for her. One that she's never won, but one that she always steadfastly argues.

    Her eyes flick towards the blackout curtains she has installed on the windows. "Alas, it is dawn," she says, standing, "and it is my nature to sleep during the day. As you came in peace, go in peace and if you happen to decide to come again... please knock?"

Straw Man has posed:
    There is a knowing smile as Lydia chooses to pick at a pronoun. "I think the maker of all things is less concerned with pronouns than roles." A clear understanding of Scripture, the Father role that is described at length in the Torah. "I'm curious what you see to be yours." The image of Rachel stands to her feet. "But far be it for me to overstay my welcome, I'm sure we'll have plenty to talk about, plenty to do." There's a wink, and the room is empty once again, without so much of an indentation on the cushion where she sat.