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orbwitchEven 50 years later, folks from all over would line up to see it. The place where Lark Omen won the war. And the place where Lark Omen died. She'd donated the replica a few months before the final battle. Maybe she knew how everything would shake out, or maybe she just wanted to show off how goddamn cool her mech had been.
Blue and their family had travelled far for a glimpse the Daybreaker and anything Lark Omen might have touched. The group arrived just as the museum was closing and it was the pleading look on young Blue's face that made the caretaker let them in against zir better judgment.
"Five minutes."
For all ten years of Blue's life they had heard nothing but fantastic tales of Lark and the Daybreaker ending the conflict for good. They wanted to be just like her. They had the posters, the replica uniform, and now they were here standing outside the Daybreaker's (replica) cockpit, hands shaking.
Their parents were talking quietly with the caretaker. Blue was alone. Or so they thought.
The kid slipped past the stanchions and sat in Lark's seat. They put their hands on the controls, giddy. This is what it could feel like to be a galactic hero.
"Lark Omen here, ready to fly."
It was a cool airy voice. Unmistakably Lark's. There were so many vids of their speeches available on the network. Blue whipped around. No one there.
"H-hello?"
Silence. Part of the exhibit? Blue went back to playing pilot. Making weapon noises. Talking on fake comms. This was the best day ever. Worth the awful trek here in a tiny ship crammed with travellers. They could be the next Lark Omen should another war ever come.
Some of the buttons under Blue's fingers lit up and they froze. The viewscreen flickered to life. In it was a reflection that wasn't quite Lark and not quite Blue. They gasped and leaned closer. The reflected face titled its head curiously as text started appearing.
"Blue! Time to go!"
They looked back out to the museum towards their parent's voice, then back to the screen. It was off. No lights. No reflection. Just metal and wires and screens. Blinking didn't bring the messages back. Neither did tapping, clicking, or asking. They scrambled out.
As the family made their way back towards the doors, Blue looked back one more time. A shadow stood beside the cockpit, person shaped and unmoving. Blue blinked. It was gone, replaced with a chill down the kid's spine and the phrase "bring the day" echoing in their mind.
---
This piece was originally posted to Cohost (RIP) on July 05, 2023
Blue and their family had travelled far for a glimpse the Daybreaker and anything Lark Omen might have touched. The group arrived just as the museum was closing and it was the pleading look on young Blue's face that made the caretaker let them in against zir better judgment.
"Five minutes."
For all ten years of Blue's life they had heard nothing but fantastic tales of Lark and the Daybreaker ending the conflict for good. They wanted to be just like her. They had the posters, the replica uniform, and now they were here standing outside the Daybreaker's (replica) cockpit, hands shaking.
Their parents were talking quietly with the caretaker. Blue was alone. Or so they thought.
The kid slipped past the stanchions and sat in Lark's seat. They put their hands on the controls, giddy. This is what it could feel like to be a galactic hero.
"Lark Omen here, ready to fly."
It was a cool airy voice. Unmistakably Lark's. There were so many vids of their speeches available on the network. Blue whipped around. No one there.
"H-hello?"
Silence. Part of the exhibit? Blue went back to playing pilot. Making weapon noises. Talking on fake comms. This was the best day ever. Worth the awful trek here in a tiny ship crammed with travellers. They could be the next Lark Omen should another war ever come.
Some of the buttons under Blue's fingers lit up and they froze. The viewscreen flickered to life. In it was a reflection that wasn't quite Lark and not quite Blue. They gasped and leaned closer. The reflected face titled its head curiously as text started appearing.
hello pilot
.
.
.
the war is never truly over
.
.
do not let them lie to you
.
remember me
ask questions
daybreaker brings light,
"Blue! Time to go!"
They looked back out to the museum towards their parent's voice, then back to the screen. It was off. No lights. No reflection. Just metal and wires and screens. Blinking didn't bring the messages back. Neither did tapping, clicking, or asking. They scrambled out.
As the family made their way back towards the doors, Blue looked back one more time. A shadow stood beside the cockpit, person shaped and unmoving. Blue blinked. It was gone, replaced with a chill down the kid's spine and the phrase "bring the day" echoing in their mind.
---
This piece was originally posted to Cohost (RIP) on July 05, 2023
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Date: 2024-09-16 02:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-09-16 08:48 pm (UTC)