The Dark Side of The Marshmallow · 10:21pm May 3rd, 2023
This is not getting included in the story. Consider it a side scene. What happens when you make Rebecca mad?
There was a light, chilly, breeze coming in off the ocean as Rebecca sat watching the waves from the hotel balcony. The air smelled of saltwater, almost sickeningly so. Even though it was late evening, and the sky clear, she could barely make out the stars through all the light pollution. The beach was primarily free of people at this hour, aside from Blanche, who was now walking from the shore to the hotel.
She took a sip of her champagne. It was a bitter drink, not something she cared for, but she was in a bitter mood, and had no desire to enjoy the coming minutes. There were no sweets, and what was coming wasn't something to celebrate. She'd asked Russel, her husband, to run to the local store to pick up a list of items that she was confident would keep him busy for an hour or two, especially since she'd asked for a few obscure things he had no familiarity with. There wasn't any serious risk of him coming back too early. Was it duplicitous of her? Yes, but there were things that she didn't want Russel exposed to and aspects of her that she'd rather he didn't know existed.
Dreamwardens were dualistic creatures; it was their nature. Each possessed both good and evil reflections of their essence. Rebecca was a smiling, cheerful, caring pegasus who wanted people to be happy and inspire creativity. That was her positive nature. That was the nature she displayed almost all the time. It took a lot to bring her darker nature out. You had to really piss her off, and you had to be a special level of despicable to do that. Once a person had accomplished the difficult-to-achieve task of inciting her rage, they had best take great care. Many people thought Phobia was the Dreamwarden you should never anger, in fear of her nightmares. The truth was that there were far worse things than nightmares. Rebecca, if pushed to it, took more direct approaches to dealing with the scum of the Earth. Maybe she got it from Ghadab, who raged at the injustice he saw. Maybe she got it from Sha'am, who was merciless in her actions. Or perhaps old Krik–who despite his gentle and quiet demeanor, had been the one Dreamwarden to execute someone on the spot without trial in order to prevent them from hurting anyone else. Regardless of who she had inherited her darker nature from, it was only inheriting things that synchronized with her traits, so blame could not be leveled solely on her forbearers.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a runner, her prey tonight, the first she had decided to move against in over a year and a half. Samuel York was an amusement park owner. He had a house a short distance down the boardwalk, and he ran this route without deviation every night around this time. Earlier today he had a court case dismissed against him, not for the first time, or even the tenth. Being rich, having the best lawyers money could buy, and a willingness to intimidate witnesses and families of victims always won him the cases, not to mention judges were elected in this district, and Samuel always made hefty donations to their campaigns. He also helped campaign for several politicians and political hopefuls nationwide, regularly verbally condemning the opposition with slanderous lies.
Samuel had rigged the system in his favor. He would keep rigging the system in his favor. The public loved him. The public believed all the court cases against him were nothing but politically motivated attacks. She didn't care about politics. She only cared about how guilty he was, and the fact he would keep doing what he had been doing. Realistically, she had no way of changing that. She'd tried getting witnesses to testify under Dreamwarden oath, they were too scared and afraid of retribution. Retribution didn't even necessarily come from him; as mentioned, the public loved him, and they were more than happy to retaliate on his behalf. He couldn't be held accountable for what some rabid fan did to a witness. He had no involvement.
Samuel York enjoyed these runs. He had said in interviews that he was able to focus and clear his head best after his evening runs. He'd been on his track team in high school, and never stopped training, even if there were no more races to win. He was never more at ease than when he was running.
She took another sip of her champagne and continued to watch him take his evening run, coming closer.
A friend of hers ran a shelter. She'd personally spoken to the victims in that shelter. She'd heard their stories, seen their suffering, knew their hopelessness. She'd seen their nightmares. She could try to tend to the nightmares when they were asleep but couldn't fix what they felt when awake, and that added to her rage. Even after tonight, she knew nothing would change. For all her power as a Dreamwarden, she was as much at the mercy of the system as those victims. He would keep on doing what he'd been doing, and no one could stop him. He'd still keep taking people away for private tours of his parks.
He was close now. She watched and waited, body at ease. This hotel she was staying at was the most run down out of the hotels he ran by. That was good. It made it more affordable for her to stay here. It also had the added benefit of not actually having a working camera monitoring the beach.
Samuel was on the beach in front of the hotel now. She turned and walked back into her room, heading to bed.
She was almost to the bed when she heard the screams as Mister York's evening run suddenly took a very unexpected and painful turn. It was unlikely he would be taking runs again anytime soon, not after getting his leg caught in a bear trap. There'd be no evidence of what happened to him. The bear trap was already gone, and he was undoubtedly gripping his mangled leg as it bled all over the sand. Samuel York could not be stopped. He would keep on hurting people. He would keep on getting away with it. However, after tonight, maybe he would understand being in pain, feeling helpless, and feel fear in places he'd previously felt safe and happy. He'd understand what his victims who'd come to his parks felt.
"You shouldn't have pissed me off. You shouldn't have raped those kids," she whispered.
Yeesh. You better not angry those that are most happy and cheerful and creative. They can give their soul wholly into their doings. And they can imagine : )