"Marceline Lyra Salden, at your service."
"Spencer Reid," he says, "Detective Spencer Reid, actually. At yours."
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
+Spencer Reid X OC
A weary detective strides into the dimly lit bar, his sharp eyes scanning the faces of the patrons...
In Spencer's dream, factory smog descends upon London as if it were fog. He walks through unnamed streets, pistol in hand, a trail of scarlet blood leading him towards a madman with a knife and an urge to kill.
As it usually does.
Marceline felt restless, so she decided to take a walk outside in the dead of night. The ripper had been found, supposedly, and she wasn't a hooker even if that weren't the case. Snow fell peacefully and the moon lit her way around the town. She was thoughtless.
"I know you're there," taunts Spencer into the soot. "I know who you are. I know you gutted all those women, the clothes you wear, your dead grey eyes."
There's a chuckle to his right, and he turns, pistol first. The black coal particles are making it hard to breathe.
Even the roads were quiet, only the wispy air and the occasional owl became the symphonies of the night. Where was she even going? Yes, she knew her surroundings but her walking became automatic, leading her wherever.
In the distance, there's a spot where the soot turns to snow. Spencer rushes towards it.
Marceline began to hum along with nature's song, a lullaby her mother used to sing to her. She began to sing softly, as to fill in the emptiness,
"Bium bium bamba
Bamba and dili dillid
My little friend, and I lull to rest
But outside, a face looms at the window
When the mighty mountains
Fill your chest with burning desire,
I will play and soothe your mind.
Bium bium bamba
Bambal and dili dillid
My little friend, I lull to rest
But outside, a face looks at the window
When the cruel storms rage
And the dark blizzard crouches above,
I shall light five candles
And drive away the winter shadows."
Spencer halts as the tune floats its way through the snow. He frowns it's not only something foreign to his dreamscape, something outside the tired motions of his recurring nightmare. It's completely new.
And it's Marceline.
"Marcie?" he tries, weak, unsure if he'll even be heard through the thickness of snowfall. "Marcie, watch out. The Ripper's here."
A presence can be felt, she wouldn't dare try to stick around to find out what it was. She turned around and headed straight back to the bar. It was then that a man came from the shadows. He looked familiar, perhaps an old customer.
"Excuse me miss, can you point me in the direction of Yaletown?" he said.
Those eyes, it was something about those eyes that pierced her soul, made her feel uneasy.
"It would be just about that way I came from," she said. She touched her dagger, this action went unnoticed.
"Thank you." And he walked off, becoming one with snowy wind.
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