This wasn't the first time that Dakki had awoken in a questionable hotel-like setting. But the last time this happened, she had been tossed in there with Gatt. (Boy, was that embarrassing...) Was solitude at such an undignified moment good, or bad? She wasn't sure. She didn't feel sure of anything.
At least she wasn't in clothing that wasn't hers. That, she could be thankful for. Though the undersuit that she slept in offered little protection and left little to the imagination, it was hers. And comfortable. Aaah, but where was this? She rose, checked the note, and picked up the key. Then she plucked an apple from the bowl, tossed it up into the air, and put it back. Everything felt real. But that meant little, if it was a simulation or another wild dream. And then her attention drifted to the remote control on the bed. Television? Maybe that would offer a clue.
"...ah, drat. Static?" She attempted to change the channels, and when that failed, came right up to the box to fiddle with it. Maybe she could... jiggle some wires? Twist some dials? Though there wasn't much to adjust. It was only when she had given up and was ready to turn the TV off that something flashed through.
"Ha! They're no match for US, are they?!" It looked like something midway between an action movie and a Saturday morning cartoon. It was a fight. A very sanitized, preposterous one, from what she could make out from between the bursts of static. One where a blond, muscular man with a powerful hammer attacked faceless baddies alongside a green-haired wizard who cast spells and quipped irreverently. Where an enormous and stoic knight with equally enormous weapons tore through the mooks, a priestess with powerful heavenly magic aiding his efforts. Where androids and magical girls with vibrant-colored hair and beautiful voices sang and cheered and dove bravely into the fray. Where a young boy and an old CAST fought back to back, calling out words of hope to those around them. Where a trickster with a crooked, scarred mouth fooled the enemies, where a silver-haired rogue let nothing stand in his way to victory. Where she could see the briefest of glances of herself, sometimes purple-haired and sometimes blonde-haired but always Dakki Sigal, in the midst of it all, beaming, fighting, winning, belonging.
Dakki had been slowly backing away from the television as she watched, snatching snippets from between the bouts of snow, and she sat heavily down on the edge of the bed when she reached it again. This was a simulation. This was a vision. This was all something put on by someone that had to know her far, far too well. She wanted to see more... and wanted to see none of it, for it was all impossible. Absolutely impossible. And unsettling. For someone had to know how she felt, to put that there for her to see.... She felt for the remote, gold eyes still fixed on the set, and moved to turn it off.
Open
At least she wasn't in clothing that wasn't hers. That, she could be thankful for. Though the undersuit that she slept in offered little protection and left little to the imagination, it was hers. And comfortable. Aaah, but where was this? She rose, checked the note, and picked up the key. Then she plucked an apple from the bowl, tossed it up into the air, and put it back. Everything felt real. But that meant little, if it was a simulation or another wild dream. And then her attention drifted to the remote control on the bed. Television? Maybe that would offer a clue.
"...ah, drat. Static?" She attempted to change the channels, and when that failed, came right up to the box to fiddle with it. Maybe she could... jiggle some wires? Twist some dials? Though there wasn't much to adjust. It was only when she had given up and was ready to turn the TV off that something flashed through.
"Ha! They're no match for US, are they?!" It looked like something midway between an action movie and a Saturday morning cartoon. It was a fight. A very sanitized, preposterous one, from what she could make out from between the bursts of static. One where a blond, muscular man with a powerful hammer attacked faceless baddies alongside a green-haired wizard who cast spells and quipped irreverently. Where an enormous and stoic knight with equally enormous weapons tore through the mooks, a priestess with powerful heavenly magic aiding his efforts. Where androids and magical girls with vibrant-colored hair and beautiful voices sang and cheered and dove bravely into the fray. Where a young boy and an old CAST fought back to back, calling out words of hope to those around them. Where a trickster with a crooked, scarred mouth fooled the enemies, where a silver-haired rogue let nothing stand in his way to victory. Where she could see the briefest of glances of herself, sometimes purple-haired and sometimes blonde-haired but always Dakki Sigal, in the midst of it all, beaming, fighting, winning, belonging.
Dakki had been slowly backing away from the television as she watched, snatching snippets from between the bouts of snow, and she sat heavily down on the edge of the bed when she reached it again. This was a simulation. This was a vision. This was all something put on by someone that had to know her far, far too well. She wanted to see more... and wanted to see none of it, for it was all impossible. Absolutely impossible. And unsettling. For someone had to know how she felt, to put that there for her to see.... She felt for the remote, gold eyes still fixed on the set, and moved to turn it off.