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Lunch seems pretty normal.  Greg and Dave are at the table as the Usual Suspects begin to arrive.  Heather and the other band girls are there and Megan's cheer squad is present.

Sylvia's there ahead of the crowd, it seems, and it's as she seats herself that she says, "Hey, I hear you went to a couple of Hitchcock films the other day, Greg."

Megan makes her way into the lunch room as normal, walking along with the typical cheerful expression she wears as she makes her way over to the table with the other cheerleaders.  After the Halloween shopping yesterday, she had seen the other girls back to the EL and stayed in Chicago and had gone back to Neiman Marcus to buy a suit, getting the alterations rushed so she could pick it up tomorrow.  After that, she had come back to Oak Park and stayed out at the Barnes & Noble downtown till eleven last night before finally going home.  This morning, she had done all she could to avoid her mother before heading off to school.  Taking a seat, she looked at the other girls with a smile.  “Hey, how was everyone’s weekend?”

"Greg looks up from his reading and nods.  "Yeah, Megan had mentioned that she was inerested in seeing some of the old movies I've shown you guys, and there were a couple at the art theatre I go to in the city."

Sylvia nods.  "Is Hitchcock something special for you, or is it old movies in general?"

"Not just old movies.  Good movies in general, and some directors especially.  Hitchcock is one of my favorites, Pekinpaw, Ford.  I'll have to line up some viewings for you guys."

Sylvia seems to fasten on to the conversation as if it's a drink of water after a long walk through the desert.  "Are you working on anything?  Not documentaries, but features?  Something with a script and actors?"

"I've got some stuff in the works now.  Spending time with the drama kids has really paid off, and most of them are excited about being in a movie.  Even a small one."

"Yeah, Ginny's been talking about that.  She and I'm sure, like, five other girls are under the impression they're the stars."  She takes a breath like she hasn't breathed in a while.  "What are you going to do with yourself when you graduate?  Are you going to Hollywood?"

Sammy enters the cafeteria.  She thinks briefly about joining the Usual Suspect's table, but sees that Sylvia and Greg are deeply engaged in conversation and decides that she'd probably wind up feeling stupid and awkward and like she had to prove something over there, just like she did shopping yesterday, and it would probably be better if she just stuck with her regular friends.  She sits down with some of the band kids, joins the card game,  and laughs at John-the-tuba-player's stories.

Not sure where I'm going.  There are a couple of good film schools, so I might go that route.  Hollywood isn't the first place I'd go.  I'm sure there is a lot I still have to learn.  Roger Corman runs a company that makes B movies, I might try to do an internship there to see how it's done on a budget.  There are really a lot of options.  What about you, has the jurnalism bug gotten to you?  Gretchen says you practically run the paper."

Sylvia's eyes bug out a little, and she shakes her head.  "Gretchen exaggerates.  I just write stuff on the board, and it gets done."  She pauses.  "There's no art to journalism.  I mean, there is, but it's not art.  You're pretty much constrained by the rules of newspaper writing:  don't editorialize, cut out unnecessary words, that kind of thing.  It's like in filming documentaries you probaby get a choice of what to present and what not to present, but you can't ethically script something and present it as reality."

She looks at Greg.  "Are you an artist?  I mean, do you film reality, or do you make reality?"

"I can do both.  I prefer to create though."

She eyes him, giving perhaps undue thought to what he's said.  "I guess film is different.  If you draw or write, it all comes out of you, purely out of you.  In film it's more like reassembling the world, isn't it?  You have to work with what you have."

"Sometimes.  You frame a shot and make the actors see your ideas and try to convey them.  It's not purely the world but a distilled version of the world."

Sylvia stares at the ceiling for a second.  "But the fact remains that you create out of reality.  Everything you film has some substance behind it, and you manipulate that substance to represent something more abstract."  She shakes her head, brings her gaze down to him again.  "Sorry.  Been thinking about that lately.  What's real."

"-Reality is merely an illusion, although a very persistent one.- Albert Einstein."
Colin arrives and takes a place at the table, catching Sylvia's last words.
"Sorry for my late, my friend Josh has a flu, and I had to collect his homework. How did you got to talk about what's real?" he asks curiously.

"Light and shadow."  Greg says, "Just talking about movies and making them."

"Maybe this has nothing to do with movies, but did you ever have one of those days when you weren't so sure of the difference?  Between illusion and reality?"  She's addressing Greg, Dave, Colin--whoever's at the table.

DAVE: "Once, the morning after my apendectomy.  I woke up and couldn't remember how I'd gotten to the hospital, had the feeling that everything was a dream.  It didn't help that it was in Poland, so everyone around me was talking but I couldn't understand a damn thing they were saying."

GREG: "Sometimes if I work a scene too hard in my head I'll start to try and reshoot scenes of my life.  Maybe I didn't like the way I went into the kitchen for a drink, or I don't like the lighting in a room and start to try and change it, then realize I'm not working a scene.  that can be a sign I've been working too hard."

Donnie wanders into the lunchroom, stopping to drop off his bookbag. He leans into Sylvia, unaware of her intense conversation, and briefly pauses at the side of her head. Perhaps he pressed his lips to her hair, perhaps not. "Hi all." he says with a smile and goes to the lunchline to get some food.

Sylvia looks up at Donnie as he passes and flashes him the hopeful smile of puppy love.  "Maybe it's not that important," she says, still ankle-deep in metaphysics.  "Maybe the difference between subjective and objective reality isn't that important.  I mean, is it important?"

Colin thinks about it for a moment.
"I think it is. There must some layers of reality that is... real, not subjective, otherwise we would never be able to communicate. Everything would have different meaning for us, and trying to really convey what we think and what we feel would be like a cat trying to bark what he means to a dog.
A thousand people could take a thousand different photos of the same scene, and all would mean something different but there has to be a scene. Monet painted fifty times the same view of the same cathedral, but there has to be a cathedral, otherwise things have no meaning.
Mmm, do you understand what I'm trying to say?" he too quite confused by what he said.

Megan was glad that so far there did not seem to be any rumors going around about her mother having gone with her to the movies with Greg and the drama club members.  She had prepared a response should that have happened, which started with characterizing the “date” as not a date at all, but had also included the possibility of saying some very mean things about Greg.  Part of her was glad to not do that, part of her that was still really mad at how what he had said had made her feel still wanted to, but for now she would not sink to that level.

Smiling happily as the other girls talked about their weekends, she told them a bit about hers, or at least some of the high points.  “Yeah, mine was pretty good.  My date with Zach Saturday night was good, though I couldn’t tell you what the movie was about, if you know what I mean.”  She said with a grin.  “And yesterday I got my Homecoming dress fitted.  I picked out a great Vera Wang dress an Neiman Marcus, and I have some great Christian Dior heeled sandals that will go perfectly with it.”

Sylvia nods but doesn't seem to find it comforting.  "I was reading about idealism, the concept that reality is, in its fundamental nature, nothing more than ideas and that every other manifestation of reality is only a symptom, a side effect, of whatever idea you're really interacting with.  Do you think that could be the way things are?  Way down deep?"

The other girls share some of the details of their dresses and there is some talk of the Halloween party.  When Megan mentions her pirate costume some of the girls debate trying to make it the squad theme.

Colin squints, trying to grasp what Sylvia's words mean.
"Mmm, if that was true, what would we be? Ideas too?"

"Isn't that the most important part of us?  Isn't that what makes us unique?  If you cut off your arm, you're still you.  If you lost everything but your thoughts, you'd still be you.  At least, I think so."  She pauses.  "We could be ideas, an amalgamation of ideas, or if you want to invoke some higher power, we could be someone else's ideas."

Megan listened with a smile as the other girls talked about their dresses for Homecoming, making several compliments and such at their choices.  When they started talking about the Halloween party and showed interest in doing some squad theme around her costume, she felt a bit flattered.  “Doing a pirate theme would be so cool.  I can’t wait to wear my costume, it is sooooo hot.  But you all should choose what you want for a costume.”  She said with a wide grin. 

"I think the most important part of us is our soul." Colin says simply. "The part of us that loves, and keeps on doing it even after we die."

"And I don't like the higher power theory either. It's bad enough thinking we have a destiny leading us somewhere, but if we were someone's ideas, just characters of this being's imagination, well, then he should answer for a whole lots of things. Or the pain and sufferings people go through is an illusion too? For him it would be so simple to just imagine everything going all right. Is he sadistic? I'd rather have reality, and a meaning, I told you."

Sylvia isn't sure she believes in souls, but she considers the idea, then dismisses it as immaterial to what's really bothering her.


"It's easy for you to talk about souls and meaning.  You're like some kind of shaman, aren't you?"  She's not really clear on what Colin's deal is.  "Must be nice to have proof instead of faith."

OOC: Only Colin sees the following.

Suddenly the Blackbird is on colin's shoulder.  "She brings up an interesting point.  You have proof.  Now you have to decide if you also have faith.  You've reached a point where the world will begin to open herself to you.  Will you have faith, or will you become wrapped up in knowing instead."

OOC: sorry for the late answer. It's an intriguing question, that had me thinking most of he day.

Colin looks upon his shoulder, as if there was something there.

Is it really that different? I mean, what is faith? Is it believing something that I can't prove? After my father died, I believed that he was watching upon me. it was stronger than that for me, I *knew* it. Could you say that I had faith in that? And now that I have seen him, that I maybe have a proof of that, what has changed?
I can see many more things now. Are you asking me if I can still believe in something I can't see? Yes, I can. I think I do. I have faith in many things. Is that the answer you were looking for?

He turns back to Sylvia.

"Well, yes, you could say I am some kind of shaman. So? I don't think I would have given you a different answer some months ago, when I wasn't. Having my eyes opened has mainly given me more things to find a meaning in. It's given me some proofs and some new things to have faith in. Do you really think it's easier for me? When my spirit guide perches upon my shoulder to talk with me, and nobody else can see it, is it real? Or am I seeing things? And that's just an example. I see many things. Can I really be sure I am not in a padded room somewhere, and I'm only imagining to have this conversation with you? Are you sure you're not a figment of my imagination?" he asks her with a smile.

The blackbird looks at Colin, "I'm not the one looking for answers.  you are."

Donnie places his nearly icy can of coke on the back of Colin's neck as he passes by, making the teenager jump. "Don't worry Colin, this can of icy-cold coke was just a figment of my imagination."  He smiles as he sits next to Sylvia, popping to top of the can. "Mmmm. Refreshing illusion."

"I wrote down my dreams thsi morning. I'll tell you about them after y'all are done with your talk of reality and fantasy."  He winks conspiritorially at the two who share his secrets.

He means it kindly, but for a moment it looks like Sylvia is going to be ill.  Her expression develops a peculiar, sickened twist to it, and her eyes go a little hollow.  But then Donnie sits down, quaffing the illusion of his icy-cold Coke, and she seems to be all right.  "What dreams?" she asks him in a voice that starts shaky but steadies itself along the way.

Donnie puts down his drink, covering her hand with his. "Are you ok?"

Sylvia nods quickly, doing her best to ignore the ice cube of fear in the pit of her stomach.  She might even go so far as to nudge them away from their concern--

It's all right.  Everything's all right.  Move along now.  Nothing to see here.

--and then say, "The dreams?  You've been having dreams?  More dreams?"

Donnie's forhead wrinkles in concern, but at Sylvia's prompting, he talks about them. I'll talk to her later about it, I guess. He leaves his hand over hers.

"I had a dream I was riding a dragon, specifically a bronze walker that was the knight's companion in the story Elfaen I wrote two years ago. He was laughing and we were racing across the plains, fleeing some evil. A dark shadow, like a fast approaching storm, was following us and we were trying to make it into the safety of the forest before the rain hit us. It was me, and it wasn't. I was watchign it as if a movie, but it was me riding him instead of Guilfoyle. It was exhilarating and crazy. Wehen my alarm went off, i woke up with my heart pounding."

Sylvia considers Donnie's dream with the perfect seriousness of a Jungian therapist.  "Do your stories always take place in another world?  I mean, who's this guy, Guilfoyle?"

"Usually. Guilfoyle was a retired knight in one of my stories, who took up arms again after his junior replacement betrayed the Duke they owed fealty to and kidnapped the Duke's daughter, hiding away and demanding ransom. Guilfoyle helped raise the girl, so it was a double affront to his honor. Uther was his companion through all of his youth and warrior years. Dragons have a signifigantly longer lifespan, so he was as spry and able as ever, but Guilfoyle was fading, his power and skill a shadow of his youthful vigor."

"You don't suppose he exists, too, somewhere?"

"Ooo, now thats a strange thought. All I know is that Pip is real. I wonder if Uther exists somewhere too!"

"You'd better stock up on Doritos."  Sylvia remembers Pip chewing his way through Sarah's bag.

Oh.

Well, yes, you could say so.

You're still the one that knows the questions, though. Colin grins at the bird. There's something in his fumbling when dealing with his spirit friend that strikes him as funny. I must be like those little children when they begin to explore the world around themselves.


Colin notices the shadow passing over her, and looks at her with concern.
Is she still worried about her powers, maybe? Is that why she came up with reality and illusions? Or did I just say something wrong? Maybe I should try to talk with her. Ok, last time it didn't work at all, but she's still my friend, I should do something.


"WHOA!"

He stares at him with eyes seething with mock anger. "Oh, there will be so much imaginary vengeance for this. Just let me think of it."

Colin listens to his friend's dream.

"I must say that I somewhat envy your dreams." he smiles at his friend. "I dunno how reliable dreams are, but when dragons are involved, you'd better presume something exists rather than not."

Sammy whispers to Heather "I got a dress for Homecoming.  Want to see a picture of it?"  She slips the photo out of her English notebook  into Heather's hand.

Heather nearly squeals when she sees the picture.  "That is so awesome.  Jim said he'll be fine by then, so we're still going to go.  It's gonna be so great."

"Well, if you excuse me, I'm going to look for Mr. Heep. I have to ask him about the infamous camera. See you later. And you-" he points at Donnie "- watch your back." he says with a grin.

Colin goes to the labs. He promised to help Megan and his job isn't done yet.

"Oh wow, I'm so glad he'll be okay.  I was worried for you."  Sammy takes back the photograph and replaces it in her notebook.

"Pfft. Take your weaksauce home to mommy, noob." He smirks as Colin heads off.

It's guy talk, and by all rights Sylvia should let it go.  Nevertheless she asks, "What's weaksauce?"

"Sorry. Internet slang for 'no skills', a game-player with no game, a dude without the capacity to be a winner. Amongst other definitions. It depends on who you ask."

Sylvia files that one away for later use.