[Wynonna vanishes. Frank vanishes. Laura, too, vanishes.
That's the way of things. People come and go; they flourish in their little neatly compiled families, the kind that don't require blood or a universe to share, and then someday — like all good things — it must surely end. Laura is used to that, herself. She's seen it with the Munsons, seen the end of a number of lives, and she's lived the final breaths of a family herself. The thing is —
The thing is, when she vanishes from Deerington and wakes up in a dimly lit alley in New York City, she doesn't remember any of that. She remembers her father's final attempts to protect her and her friends. She remembers walking through a heavily wooded Canadian landscape towards the promise of asylum. And she remembers her tears had only barely dried on her face.
Now she's here. How had she gotten here? When? Where are the other mutants? Try as her wires might to spark something, it's all in the dark, all a blank slate. But she knows that there's something she's supposed to remember... something she'd been terrified to forget. She pats herself down — no backpack, nothing in her pockets, nothing but a pair of familiar sunglasses nestled inside her jean jacket. She leaves them there for now, staggers out onto the sidewalk on shaky feet, and stares in awe at the skyscrapers that line the horizon.
The night sky is starless compared to North Dakota.
Or compared to — to...
Shaking her head to clear the fog, she focuses first and foremost on survival: she's hungry, she's thirsty, she has to go. A sidewalk in Hell's Kitchen at midnight is no place for an eleven — twelve? — year old to be, but she hardly seems all that concerned about the company kept in the block as she makes a beeline for the nearest convenience store.]
LETS GOOOO
That's the way of things. People come and go; they flourish in their little neatly compiled families, the kind that don't require blood or a universe to share, and then someday — like all good things — it must surely end. Laura is used to that, herself. She's seen it with the Munsons, seen the end of a number of lives, and she's lived the final breaths of a family herself. The thing is —
The thing is, when she vanishes from Deerington and wakes up in a dimly lit alley in New York City, she doesn't remember any of that. She remembers her father's final attempts to protect her and her friends. She remembers walking through a heavily wooded Canadian landscape towards the promise of asylum. And she remembers her tears had only barely dried on her face.
Now she's here. How had she gotten here? When? Where are the other mutants? Try as her wires might to spark something, it's all in the dark, all a blank slate. But she knows that there's something she's supposed to remember... something she'd been terrified to forget. She pats herself down — no backpack, nothing in her pockets, nothing but a pair of familiar sunglasses nestled inside her jean jacket. She leaves them there for now, staggers out onto the sidewalk on shaky feet, and stares in awe at the skyscrapers that line the horizon.
The night sky is starless compared to North Dakota.
Or compared to — to...
Shaking her head to clear the fog, she focuses first and foremost on survival: she's hungry, she's thirsty, she has to go. A sidewalk in Hell's Kitchen at midnight is no place for an eleven — twelve? — year old to be, but she hardly seems all that concerned about the company kept in the block as she makes a beeline for the nearest convenience store.]