i can still make the whole place shimmer

[risingtroia]

It would seem that one thing that translated from one life to the next and to this strange inbetween she found herself in was a love of early mornings. There was something about the quiet and the stillness before the rest of the world was awake, as moon beams shifted to lazy early-morning sun rays, the first blush of the day before dawn. She’d always been an early riser - as Donna, as Stacey, as Donna again in this strange...melded existence she found herself in. So much was confusing, but rising long before the sun remained the same.

It was nice, to have an early run and a shower completed before much of the castle was stirring at all. A kettle was set on the stove of the smaller kitchen, due to whistle any moment, as slim fingers made quick work of braiding back still-shower-damp hair. Stacey wasn’t due at work for another few hours, despite the camera left carefully on the counter beside the stove; Donna planned on taking her time, maybe taking some photos of the sunrise-streaked landscape from the roof before she officially got her day started. “Good morning.” She’d heard movement behind her, didn’t turn to look and risk ruining her nearly-finished braid. “I’ve put water on for tea, if you’re interested in a cup yourself. If not, I’ll be out of your way in a minute.”

[risingtroia]

[risingtroia]

spider-managing​:

One of the many, many things about living in New York - so many - was the faces. Millions of them. Unfortunately, Peter had never been the best with those. Or names. He tried. But so far, the new gig had been the kind of merry-go-round that didn’t stop spinning for nothing, nevermind a second to take a couple much-needed notes. Stacey, though - well, that was basically cheating. Memorability-wise. With an e, though. He’d clocked that much.

Could’ve sworn he’d seen her somewhere, though. 

She was nice, at least. Thoughtful, going out of her way to spare the fresh meat unnecessary suffering as he settled in. And, yeah - putting up with the chemical warfare that poured out of that cart he’d already made the mistake of trying, first thing that horrible, no good morning, would definitely be suffering. “Oh, my God. You’re an absolute hero, thank you, that - that smells like actual coffee, wow…” With a thoroughly grateful first sip, Peter perched back against the edge of his new, very IKEA desk. He’d try to keep it hygge. “Amazing. Stacey, right? Peter.” With the best still jet-lagged smile he could manage, he offered a hand to shake.

“What’s lesson number two? I’ll take all the tips I can get, that orientation was, uh. Disorienting.” Professionally, intentionally so. Designed to impress, to intimidate. Which meant that’s what he’d be: suitably overwhelmed and distracted, wowed by the whirl of it all. He could pull the act off, easy. Mostly because it was pretty true. Just, not entirely for the obvious reasons…

....

“Absolute hero, huh?” If only he knew the irony behin that. “I’ll take it.” The smile that had spread into place was easy, around the rim of her own takeaway cup as she took a careful first sip to asses the temperature. A little on the hot side, but better to drink it now while she had the time than later when it was hardly room temperature and long forgotten. “The hero known as Stacey, yes. You’ve got it. Welcome aboard,” she said, reaching out to shake that hand with her free one as she stored that name away for later.  “Can’t be giving away all the trade secrets, those are hard earned.” Another sip of her slightly-too-hot-latte, and Donna shrugged one shoulder. “Lesson number one is definitely bring your own coffee, or risk second degree burns from the Keurig because that’s still preferable to the coffee cart. Lesson number two is on time is late, and the best assignments go fast. Lesson number three is that orientation is available in a Powerpoint, which I can e-mail to you considering I definitely didn’t get much out of the presentation on the first round either.”

[risingtroia]

thatstheangle​:

Almost immediately, he received a response. A little whoosh as the first appeared, and then as he stared down at it, another for the second. His mind, usually so quick and calculating, felt—

Sluggish. Stuck. As though he didn’t understand the language they were communicating in, though he surely did. No matter how many times Angelo re-read the texts, they meant the same impossible thing. Impossible, but… 

His thumb flicked across the screen and before he could think too deeply about it, he was raising his phone to his ear. 

Across the Adriatic and miles away, Donna Troy’s phone rang for the first time in nearly seven years. 

...

The phone in her hand was ringing, and Donna stared at her for several rings. Answering it would be the simple solution, but nothing about this was simple. Even in her lifetime (short for an Amazon, long in Man’s World), this was the first she’d experienced anything like this; the curse had loomed over head like a stormy, ever-brewing cloud since before she’d left home....and while Donna knew the power of magic and the gods and fate, she’d questioned its validity until it had manifested in a very real and tangible way. She was Stacey Hinkley and Donna Troy, somehow having had lived two lives where she could remember everything. Two lives, two people, tangled and knotted into one being in a way that may drive her mad. Nothing about this was simple, not even answering a phone call. “Ciao.” She’d answered on the last ring, deciding she may as well fully jump in since she’d already taken the plunge. “I’ve been working through some rebrand related issues,” an understatement, considering the identity crisis, “and you know, I think I remember you saying that Troia meant something very unsavory in Italian. Figured I might need to go right back to the source, for ease.”

[risingtroia]

@spider-managing

“ -- Lesson number one: the coffee cart sucks, and the coffee downstairs in the lobby is somehow almost as bad.  Oh also, the Keurig in the break room is definitely broken and does this thing where it sometimes sprays boiling water all over the counter-top so it’s safest when avoided. Always bring your own coffee.” A lesson she’d learned the hard way, over the past few months. Call it her good deed of the day to save the new guy the same fate with the Keurig that she had suffered. Her good deed was in-hand in the form of two takeaway cups in a drink carrier; ‘Stacey’ was scribbled on one in messy half-script with ‘new guy’ on the other, considering she absolutely didn’t know his name. Hell, Stacey wasn’t her name either but that was another story entirely. “I don’t know your order, but I figured a latte would be better than the crap from the cart. Trust me on this.”

[diver5ion]

[risingtroia]

thatstheangle​:

Angelo stared down at his phone, the bite of quiche he’d speared on his fork clattering, noisily, onto his plate. The sound echoed even as he blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. 

Because the text he’d received had come from a contact he hadn’t spoken with for nearing on seven years. Someone he hadn’t spoken with because she was dead. All of the messages they’d shared with one another had been lost with time, the only things he’d saved having been a couple of pictures of her and a voicemail he hadn’t listened to in about three years. 

—But. This was ridiculous. Angelo hesitated, then shook his head, disdain overcoming his shock as he typed out a quick response, uncaring whether this was some sort of trap. If it was, he had full faith that he could escape it. What this was… This was tacky. In the worst way. Gauche. Disgraceful.

[ TO: Troia ] Perhaps you could start by telling me how you got ahold of the phone in your hand?  [ TO: Troia ] I doubt Wonder Woman would be pleased that someone has been plundering her late sister’s possessions.

...

The phone in her hand was definitely dated by technology standards, the one she’d been actively using up until recently much more recent and new. The one in hand was like a time capsule, flashes of her life before it had ended and before she’d somehow become Stacey Hinkley - photos, messages, memories that were able to be relived and to sort her life from Stacey’s and rearrange everything into order. In truth, she was surprised he’d responded at all - there was no saying he’d had the same contact, that he’d even have this number saved. So many variables were to be considered, and so Donna was genuinely a little surprise when the old and familiar phone vibrated in her hand when she was mid photo gallery scroll, his message popping up onto the screen. Naturally, he’d assume ill will - there was no surprise there, considering the circumstances. Donna Troy was dead, had been dead for seven years. [ TXT ] It’s hardly plundering. Hard to plunder one’s own possessions, you see. [ TXT ] Not to mention, Wonder Woman was quite pleased to give them back to me. 

[risingtroia]

@thatstheangle april 2021.

The clarity that she’d found was incredible - sharp, clearer than crystal with everything that had been blurry and strange for the past seven years suddenly making sense. The haze that she’d been living in had finally cleared, she could see clearly now and the clarity was both incredibly relieving and overwhelming. One step at a time, one day at a time, she was re-learning life as Donna Troy; Stacey Hinkley was no more, had been so real even if Donna felt like she was waking up from a too-long dream. One day at a time. She could do one day at a time, breathe a little easier after each one. There were still things to handle, pieces to slide into place, and one particular loose thread had been rather perplexing in how she was best to handle it. One day at a time. One breath at a time. Hell, he might not even be able to be contacted the same way any more - it had been so long, after all. [ TXT ] I’ve been staring at my phone, trying to figure out the best thing to say or the best opening. [ TXT ] Maybe you can help me find my angle?