[center][sub][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeXTgR5vl2M]Mood Music[/url][/sub][/center]

[color=gray]Dreams. An escape; for the mind, for the senses, sometimes even for the body. A passage to another realm, more open and ready to be shaped than any possible reality. For some, a paradise; for others, an exercise in terror. 

Linta, for now, dreamt of flying. Of leaning her weight on the wind, carried along smoothly and silently by the beautiful set of wings her bloodline had blessed her with. Ever dependable, sturdy, strong, her wings would never fail her, never drop her, never waver. Above her, the moons, her constant companions. All her life they'd watched her through the foliage, witnessed every moment and every milestone, a pair of distant observers to every event that shaped her. Around her floated the stars she'd tried and failed so many times to number, a myriad of dancing lights. Like children they followed her, like water they rippled out in her wake, drawing her path in the watercolour sky.

The colours, though, soon faded, plunging the bottomless sky into an eerie monochrome. The air grew heavy and cold, and Linta felt as if she had to fight to stay in the sky, instead of being supported by the rising fingers of the once-helpful breeze. A steady beat shook through the air, at first barely noticeable, a vibration seated deep in Linta's chest. The beat grew stronger, faster, soundless, but somehow reverberating through her irrefutably bones. Blackened silhouettes crowded the air in a storming spiral all around. Panicked, Linta flew faster, only to be cut off by a swirling wall of writhing shadows, trapping her inside the eye of the storm. The beating grew harder and harder, buffeting her left and right and stealing her balance away. She fought to stay airborne, but the air had disappeared; Linta could not find purchase, could scarcely breathe as she flapped like mad, flapped until blue feathers tore from her wings and she, like the stars and moons, fell spiralling down into blackness.

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Linda awoke with a start, breathing heavily with wings trembling and talons ripping into her sheets. A muffled pounding, like the rhythm in her dream, threatened to dent the door in its urgency. Suddenly angry, Linta screeched at the door, an ear-piercing, animal sound that sent the knocker running, if the hastened thumping beyond the door was any indication. With a satisfied nod toward the door, Linta roused herself. Her tiny dorm was a mess, the few belongings that weren't nailed down littering the floor. Downy white feathers were scattered there as well, and the blanket Linta had lain out on the floor had several large tears from her talons' iron grip. Linta scowled. She had a hard enough time sleeping in the tiny room as it was, and then some snake-witted idiot decides to wake her by pounding on her door? Evidently it would take more than a few weeks to get used to this place. 

Deciding she needed to see something outside, Linta pulled on her gauntlets and made for the door, catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror on the way out. Sharp, amber eyes were dark and raw from sleeplessness, like embers long burnt out. Her clothes - white and covering only her front, tied on like aprons to cover her breasts and groin - her backside amply disguised by tail feathers. It had been a battle to get them, but she loathed the thought of soiling her natural camouflage with a uniform - were wrinkled and twisted, but what actually miffed her most was the unkempt state of her feathers. Hopefully later she'd be able to find some ample time for preening. 

She made a beeline for the balcony, to one of many exits that allowed access to the railed ledge that wrapped around the Sentinel. There, she could see the sky; something she missed in the night and in the day while she tried fretfully to sleep in her ever-smaller plaster cocoon of a dormitory. For a while, she simply stood on the balcony, drinking in the chilled morning air and admiring the sunrise. Soon, the gentle song of a violin wafted on the wind to her; it was sad and sweet, but far away; her keen ears could pick it up from the opposite end of the ship, and that, likely, was where it came from.

Judging by the wind, the ship was travelling slowly today; likely hovering over a supply station or perhaps even a boarding dock. She'd seen the smaller ships before, zooming in like flies to deposit members, and whizz away again. Yes, maybe that was it - she'd heard that there was a member or two yet to come aboard. 

Choosing to test the winds, Linta mounted the railing and jumped off, letting herself fall for a moment before opening her wings. She truly adored that moment, the rush of blood and adrenaline that came with freefall. It really never got old.

The ship [i]was[/i] slow, likely idle and simply maintaining a position in the wind. Linta appreciated its halting; normally she couldn't fly alongside it without quickly falling behind (although those days were, however, great exercise). Today, she could glide alongside and gain on the ship, able to fly around it easily. As she glided, more comfortable in the air than on the ground, she peered into the many windows of the ship in search of activity. Gradually, its occupants were waking up, and she saw a few running this way and that, one winged girl nearly totalling another in her haste. Linta recognized the taller one as Sylvia, the violinist she'd heard that morning. She and Sylvia hadn't shared many words, but Linta's few meetings with her had been pleasant. She'd go as far as to say she was more acquainted with Sylvia's violin than with the one who wielded it. 

The two, however amusing, did remind Linta of the meeting she'd been informed of a few days prior. In the back of her mind, she considered shirking it altogether; however, these meetings almost always came with missions, and Linta wasn't about to miss the chance to slay more Lost. 

Gliding to the railing, Linta landed and made her way inside, peering curiously at Sylvia and the other girl as she passed. The girl wasn't one she recognized, and she looked strange; like she were wearing her wings. In fact, if not for their subtle movements, Linta would have thought they were just that: A costume.
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