rae_of_sun: (downcast)
[personal profile] rae_of_sun
Sunshine's first proverbial taste of a (comparatively) northern winter has left her, for the most part, unimpressed. The snow lends the city a sort of postcard charm, until it doesn't - the traffic churns it into a grotty mess, and even clean snow soaks into the hem of your jeans. And it's cold. There's really nothing to redeem the cold.

Which isn't to say the electric blanket hasn't done its best. And it really is fantastic, but it lives on the bed, and Sunshine can't live on the bed with it (tempting as that might be). So, she's thinking: more blankets. Maybe some additional cushions. More tea. More stuff that she can use to make the rest of her apartment feel cozy.

Plus, the winter solstice is approaching. That isn't what the locals are celebrating, specifically - or if it is, it's near the bottom of the pile of holidays that seem to coincidentally fall at about the same frigging time. What are the odds? Maybe she should just be grateful that most of the customs she'd expect to see have transferred over. She (and her pocketbook) would have survived a lack of gifts exchanged, but it would have been kind of depressing, and winter is depressing enough already. She can pick up a few things for her new bakeshop family, and her new rifty family.

Mid-way through her bundling process, it occurs to her that Spike might be in the market for some essentials. She fishes her phone out of her purse and fires off a quick text: I'm going shopping. Need anything?
singthesong: (Travel)
[personal profile] singthesong
Winter is cold.

It seems obvious in retrospect, but the Balladeer had never given it a great deal of thought. Why worry about weather you won't experience? Presidents have a tendency to get shot in the capitol, during warmer seasons. Even as months passed in Manhattan, it took the sudden Rift blizzard for the full implications to sink in. Busking in the park isn't a good way to make money year-round, is it?

It's not the disaster it could be. There's other places. He sees people playing down in the subway stations all the time! So one day, when Steven is with Greta, he wanders alone down to the nearest one to set up shop. The environment is close, full of people and noise and heat, all reasons he never bothered to try this during the summer or fall. But it's not so terrible; he's played through worse, and he even sees a few people he knows passing through! Mostly locals, but Sunshine's bakery is nearby too. He gives her a quick smile and wave as she goes by.

For a few hours, it all goes perfectly well. The tips aren't as good here, but that's fine. They can get better. His focus on encouraging that response is strong enough that he doesn't detect any notes of displeasure approaching - not until he can already see the look on the policeman's face.

Apparently you're not actually allowed to busk in subway stations.

"This seems petty," he observes, torn between indignation and misplaced guilt as he's escorted out into the street. The police station? He has to go to the police station for something like this? "Haven't you got anything better to do? Like...like real criminals...?"

This should have happened to him in Dallas.

Rather than protest anymore, he just fires off a quick text before getting shuffled off. Self-pity and a fake ID won't get him out of this one.
spiritofwinter: (melancholy | emo kid)
[personal profile] spiritofwinter
The snowball fight with Greta and Iman has revitalized Jack. It's December, and by all rights this is his season. He just needs to get his head back in the game; he knows for a fact that Manhattan can be tons of fun in a snowstorm. Now's the time to start, too -- with a little luck and a little nudge to the clouds here and there he could stretch a Tuesday night flurry into a Wednesday snow day.

The few people who can see Jack might catch glimpses of him hurtling through the sky late in the afternoon of December 3, whooping up a storm. Literally whooping up a storm, it turns out; aside from all the joyous yelling there's a definite chill in the air as clouds form and snow starts to fall, slowly blanketing the city in fluffy white.

Or…not so slowly. Jack's standing atop a low-rise building, surveying his work, when he realizes that something isn't right. The gentle but steady snowfall is picking up now, and a harsh gust of wind makes him clutch at his cane as it nearly knocks him off the rooftop. It only gets worse from there: as the afternoon wears on the clouds continue to gather and darken, the wind goes from a few gusts to a constant howling force battering against the city, and the snowfall comes so thick and fast that one can't even see across the street. By morning the city will be at a standstill, buried under the snow.


[And thus starts the Snow Day event! Due to the severity of the weather, characters will be unable to completely ignore this event, but anyone with a decent stock of supplies can simply wait it out at home. Otherwise, feel free to have the power go out at your character's residence, strand them on the wrong side of the city, etc. The weather will warm up throughout December 4 (April 18-21 in real time), leaving tons of slush for the next several IC days.

Please feel free to use this post for threads or to make your own. All threads that take place during the event should be tagged "event: snow day".
]
boneshaker: (you precious piece of shit)
[personal profile] boneshaker
Waking up is still a strange affair. He's only been in this new city and this new (free???? he's still not over that part) apartment for, what, three days? Four? Finding himself in this amazingly clean, comfortable bed, seeing the stark white ceiling and the pristine furnishings and the light pouring in through the glorious windows is all very bizarre. It still takes him a minute to realize.

This morning his entire body hurts like hell, which is a helpful reminder. He remembers being out last night, and getting into a fight! A real fight! He got his ass kicked and it was amazing.

He stumbles out of the bed and makes his way over to the bathroom, checking himself in the mirror. He's a mess. Black eye, split lip, a couple minor cuts along his cheekbone. Bruises on his ribs too. Everything hurts. But that's okay. It reminds him he's alive. He's really here, this is really happening. This gorgeous rich-people apartment is his. He's still not really sure how he feels about that.

Well, it doesn't matter, he doesn't have to stay here. Spike gave him the address of his workplace and Castor has every intention of visiting him. It might be a little desperate and clingy to go visit him first thing after spending the night with him, but whatever. Friends are good. He needs friends.

He gets himself as clean as he deems necessary, gets dressed and heads out, following the directions his weird fancy rich-people phone gives him. It's not too long before he gets there, standing outside the anonymous little bookstore, which really looks closed, or like it should be condemned, tucked in next to a really nice-looking bakery. The bookshop is uninviting at best, and though that tends to be more his speed than the bakery's posh atmosphere, he finds himself getting cold feet. Besides, he skipped breakfast. He's still got some money, he should get some food, right? Yeah. Then he can visit Spike.

He steps into the bakery and feels immediately out of place, but marches bravely up to the counter anyway. The woman behind it flicks a blisteringly judgmental glance up and down his person before asking if she can help him. He politely requests a cinnamon roll. He's never had one before. They're huge.

He carries the giant pastry gingerly over to the coffee counter, where a young man whose nametag says 'Joel' stares at him.

"Hi," says Castor pleasantly.

"Are you okay?" blurts Joel.

"What? Oh. Yeah." Castor smiles as if proud that Joel has noticed. "Yeah, it was just a fight, you know. No big deal. You should see the other guy."

Joel seems both alarmed and impressed by this information, which Castor finds hopelessly endearing. Aw, this guy. He belatedly seems to remember what his actual job is and says, "Oh, uh, what can I get you?"

"I have no idea," confesses Castor. "I don't know what most of these options even are."

"Uh... really?" Joel looks up at the complexly chalked menu hanging on the wall behind him. "Well... do you just want like a regular house blend?"

"Yeah, that sounds easy enough," says Castor. "Uh... dark roast, I guess?"

"Coming right up!" says Joel cheerfully. He manages only a few steps of the process before the bell on the door rings and he looks up and stops short, staring at whomever's just walked in with an expression that can only be described as deep longing.
literatimariano: (Inconspicuous with book)
[personal profile] literatimariano
Jess has pretty much scoped out every single bookshop on the entire island of Manhattan, or something close to it. He knows all the good places, weird little corners that have the most specific, enchanting things.

So the both good and bad thing about being in an alternate universe is that this no longer holds true. Some remain the same, but he keeps discovering new places that never existed where he comes from, whereas some of his old favourites are missing entirely. And then there's the shift of time that means some things would've been the same, but has changed in the past couple of years.

Having been here three weeks now, he feels like he's starting to get a handle on it, though. And books have, as always, provided a welcome distraction from the realities of his situation. He's gotten a tip for a place over on East 87th street, which is only fifteen minutes away from his apartment, so that's his main mission for today.

He's been told he should check out the bakeshop next-door as well, and once he sees it, he has no qualms about complying. He gets a coffee and some apple muffins and eats it there so he'll have energy for plenty of browsing afterwards.

And oh was that a good plan, because this shop is packed with books, and he foresees himself being here for several hours at least. He immediately braves the terrible lighting and dives right in.

[Find him in Glaser's Bakeshop or Aziraphale's Bookshop. Also, note Jess has an Interactivity riftpower, which means characters should find it really easy to start a conversation with him.]
erratic_hematic: (siiigh)
[personal profile] erratic_hematic
Spike looks down at his phone and sighs. "Well, that went well." He's still getting used to not being so defensive around Sunshine, and obviously this wasn't the best of efforts on his part. At all.

He toys with the idea of texting back for a minute or so, but in the end he decides to go see her in person instead. This might be more than he can fix without her seeing his face. If he goes up to her, she'll be able to see how he feels instead of assuming the wrong thing from his texts.

He trudges up the stairs to her floor, then hesitates at her door for a moment before he knocks. "Hey, it's me."
rae_of_sun: (tapped out)
[personal profile] rae_of_sun
Is she getting too settled? Maybe that's the problem. Maybe 'I'm doing okay here' is too close to 'I could stay here forever.' Add that to the awareness that her feelings on the matter don't even rate - because if the Rift was going to do her any favors, it would have before now (right?) - and maybe it's no surprise that she's feeling a bit... bogged.

Sunshine looks around her apartment in vague, general discontent. It's too neat to warrant a tidying, and she lacks the requisite inspiration for a more desperate deep-clean. She doesn't really want to make anything, regardless of whether the sliding scale of difficulty is set to 'tea' or 'toxic experimental sugar concoction.'

She doesn't really want to do anything. But she doesn't want to just sit around by herself, either.

After a long, self-deprecating groan, Sunshine picks up her keys and trudges out into the hallway. She'll go see Spike. He'll make her feel better (or at least he probably won't make her feel worse). And he has a kitten, presuming he hasn't eaten it. Hey, she's checking on the kitten; that's practical. Look at her, accomplishing things. You're welcome, kitten.

By the time she reaches Spike's door, she can tell he's inside. That's a relief; she didn't walk all the way down here for nothing. She lifts a hand and raps a knuckle against the door, then leans against the wall while she waits for a response.
deadeyedchild: (surveillance)
[personal profile] deadeyedchild
The list of things Jay can do is becoming frighteningly short.

Can't stay in the hospital. The nurses start to glare and resent him if he lingers too long, past the allowable time, reminding him passive aggressively that they can't provide him meals, reminding him that he's not family.

Can't keep staring at Tim's deathly still face. Can't keep gripping his cold hand wishing the fingers would twitch.

Can't stay at home all by himself, sitting on the floor, staring at the wall, out the window, at books without being able to read them.

Can't bear to trouble Greta or Daine or Bee, again.

Can't cry. Can't sleep.

And he knows, after a nervous, cursory glance at the online checking account the Rebels had set up for him, he's fast-approaching 'can't afford groceries'.

So he finds himself knocking on Aziraphale's door, confronting the apparently perpetually harried angel with awkwardly indirect questions about money. It isn't a vague wave of the hand, a magical handout that he's after, even though he had no idea what else he could possibly be asking for.

It catches him wholly off guard when Aziraphale offered him a job.

Now he stands outside the truly terrible-looking storefront, checking and re-checking the notecard on which the address had been scrawled. The bakery next door is right. This is the place.

He swallows and steps inside. He has no idea what to expect - if Aziraphale will even be in. He'd made brief mention of another employee, and that was it. Nothing about what Jay was going to do.

Apart from sell books, he supposes. That's probably obvious.

The door opens with a nasty creak and he steps into the dim, dusty, damp-smelling little hole.

"Uh..." He glances around, his stomach unsettled, his skin prickling. "Hello?"
applesaucemod: (Default)
[personal profile] applesaucemod
 photo anigif_enhanced-buzz-29762-1378302740-10_zpse82a67eb.gif


Ah, October. A time of crisp weather, beautiful foliage, pumpkin spice lattes—and the flu. Make sure you get vaccinated!

Of course, vaccinations can't keep you safe from everything. Especially not a capricious, omnipresent entity that has, quite recently, been treated to the highly entertaining sight of someone struggling with illness for the first time in their life. Oh, dear. Someone's been giving the Rift ideas.

On the morning of October 2nd, those rifties who would never consider getting vaccinated against paltry human illnesses--because why would they need to?--will find themselves awake to a new level of personal hell: the flu. It will instantaneously infect any entities who are generally immune to such things, leaving them snotty, achy, miserable, and completely powerless to stop what is happening to them. What is this?! Are they dying? Oh god, the pathos.

Symptoms will persist until October 4th. Get plenty of rest, stay hydrated, and maybe investigate the wonders of chicken soup. Probably don't go see a doctor. Clinic doctors will be very confused and unhelpful about your weird anatomy, and The Doctor will probably be really gross and contagious.

Definitely don't consult WebMD. No good can come of that.

[OOC: Post here for initial reactions or start your own threads using the tag Event: Flu Season. Characters who can be affected are: the Doctor, the TARDIS, Zagreus, Aziraphale, Crowley, Desire, Ascended Daniel, Gabriel, Lucifer, and Rashad. You could probably also make a case for various other non-human/not-quite-human folks. No one's gonna tell you you can't have the flu, okay. Go nuts.]
i_jones: indiefairy @ LJ (guys there's all this pizza and turtles)
[personal profile] i_jones
Welcome, welcome. Not through that door. I mean, you can try it, but all doors lead to breakfast. Even that one underneath the console. You thought you were being clever. Maybe once you've behaved yourself and the TARDIS judges you to be worthy, you can explore a little more. For now, breakfast. For one night only, the TARDIS has become - or rather, has been inhabited by - King Ianto's Coffee Stop. Would you like to join the club? He has pamphlets. And buttons! But more importantly, he has breakfast. Lots of breakfast. The countertops of the cozy diner are lined with plates of breakfast foods galore - bacon, eggs, sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes, black pudding, cockles, laverbread... and okay, there are American staples too. There's your pancakes and your french toast and hash browns and cupcakes or whatever strange sweet things Americans eat for breakfast. Oh, and tea. Lots of tea. And if you ask very nicely, King Ianto himself might brew up some of his very own coffee. It's so good, it has a cult following.*

The walls are decorated with a strange collection of primarily alien souvenirs. There's one whole section of postcards from other planets and galaxies. GREETINGS FROM MARS! says one particularly upbeat postcard, featuring swathes of blue sand and a setting blue sun. Many others are unreadable. There are flags, leis of unfamiliar flora, letters of commendation (right next to WANTED signs), photographs both old and new of various people and various Doctors posing next to various monuments and landmarks, and strangely enough, what looks to be a stolen sign commemorating Ianto's death, from the management of Mermaid Quay. Have a look around! You never know what you might find. Probably none of it is dangerous. The food definitely isn't.

Oh and also the ceiling is space and outside the windows is space and spaaaaaace.**

*((Ianto has an undiscovered power: his coffee improves you. Your health, your powers (temporarily), your mood, whatever needs fixing. Please drink responsibly.))

**not actually space
erratic_hematic: (THE CLAW)
[personal profile] erratic_hematic
After his strange encounter with a masked figure in the park, Spike limps back to his apartment with a fractured leg. He knows that Sunshine is going to be angry at him for getting himself hurt, and that she'll want to see him, but it's still too early to disturb her.

He sleeps, and wakes up a few hours later - too late to have caught Sunshine before she leaves for the bake shop. So he makes himself breakfast (ostrich blood is surprisingly good) then props his leg up on the coffee table and starts reading the first trashy romance novel within reach.

He does want to tell Sunshine about the masked man. It's been one of the most unusual things that's happened to him here since satan punched a hole through his chest. It hadn't been nearly as challenging a fight as he'd have liked it to be, but if whoever that was is out there wandering around, maybe there's something worse that he can dig up.

Once he's sure Sunshine is home, he limps up and knocks at her door. When she answers, he smiles and shifts his weight onto his sturdier leg. "Hey. You've gotta hear about what I ran into last night. Or who. I'm pretty sure it was a who. Can I come in?" Maybe if he gets her interested she won't get mad about the leg.
erratic_hematic: (getting a bad idea)
[personal profile] erratic_hematic
Spike wakes up fairly early in the morning, and doesn't feel inclined to go back to sleep. It looks like it's going to be a warm day, so he forgoes his jacket when he leaves to wander through the park for a little while before making his way to the bookshop.

He hears the little mews before he sees them. On a park bench, a woman is sitting with a cardboard box. As he walks up, the man she'd been talking to lifts a black and white kitten out of the box, thanks her, and wanders off. He grins, excited at the prospect of eating something decent for once. The only kitten left in the box is all black. Short haired. A perfect snack. Spike hasn't forgotten his search for a better blood supply. And, while kittens aren't exactly the best option out there (pet shops would definitely get suspicious after a while), live stock is definitely something to try.

He takes the little black cat with him to work, plops it down on the counter, and goes about his day. Aziraphale probably wouldn't like him eating it here, but it'll be a nice little meal when he gets back home.
biscuit_powered: (human | serious | intent)
[personal profile] biscuit_powered
This again. The second time around the place is more familiar, which is weird because right up until reappearing in the exact same spot as the first time (minus weird lying man and helpful druid) Asmodia had completely forgotten that New York was ever anything more than a strange dream. And of course it took her from home when she was resting, again, so she and Biscuit are just as woefully unequipped as before. She's got her spell component pouch and a little bit of cash in her pockets this time, but no corset, no protective wonders, and no dagger or rod. What's really weird is that she does have her cloak of human guise, which she knows she didn't have on her before she got here.

At least this time she knows to put it on right away. A quick test proves that she can lie, too, which is just about the greatest mercy she's ever received. That begs the question of whether her magic is going to work this time, and another quick test confirms that yes, it does. That the test also renders Biscuit invisible is a bonus considering she's pretty sure she remembers that druid telling her this world lacks donkey rats.

Right. Strange world that's not as strange to her as she'd like it to be, no sign of her friends, and no gear. The situation is terrifying more than a little worrying, but she sternly reminds herself that as a slayer of devils and a traveler of demiplanes she can damned well handle this. Just let anyone try to hurt her and they'll find out firsthand why one doesn't meddle with witches. Alright, so there was a bit of panicked sobbing in the bushes in those first few minutes, but she is a mighty caster and a force to be reckoned with and no one is ever going to find out that the first thing she did when she realized she was back here was have a cry with her rat. No one is going to find out, either, that the second thing she did was to get hopelessly lost in a city park.

The third thing, though? Yeah, she's pretty sure the third thing is going to be good. She was aiming for the underground lair she'd been taken to before, but this fountain isn't a bad thing to come across -- this was supposed to be the center, wasn't it? No one would ever know it from all the people milling around it. She's been lurking at the edge of the crowd for a while, trying to remember which way to go, when it strikes her: She can use her magic this time. Portals and gates aren't exactly her thing, but it won't be hard to at least get a read on just what this thing is. Glancing around to make sure no one's watching her too closely, she mutters the words under her breath and curls the fingers of one hand just so --

Blinding waves of what her brain interprets as lime green and magenta light erupt across her entire field of vision, and her ears fill with the roar of her own blood rushing through her veins. The light parts and for a moment she thinks she's going blind until she realizes that no, she can see but there's nothing to see in the yawning chasm of nothingness that opens before her --

Then, mercifully, all perception shuts off as her stunned mind loses concentration on the spell. She doesn't register her knees buckling under her until she hits the ground, landing awkwardly on her invisible tail. She sways blindly, seeming not to hear the urgent squeaking of her invisible familiar, and finally gives up and slumps the rest of the way to the ground in the hope that it will make her head stop spinning.

Shitfit!

Apr. 26th, 2015 07:28 pm
applesaucemod: (Default)
[personal profile] applesaucemod
All is right in Manhattan this week.

It is a week like any other. The little creatures that dot the surface of the land scuttle to and fro about their business, each amusingly convinced of its own importance. A number of them relocate themselves with an unusual degree of difficulty. Some die. Some do not die. One or two new ones, the special kind, arrive.

And then…and then something is not right in Manhattan. Something is, in fact, wrong, incorrect, and unacceptable. Two -- no, four -- no, two of the little scuttling things --

-- THEY HAVE NO RIGHT --

-- WHY CAN'T IT --

-- CAN'T CLOSE, CAN'T STOP THEM --

GONE!


Gone!! The Rift claps furiously closed, but too late. Too late! They're gone, they've left, and they had no right! It did not permit them! Two they took with them only even existed thanks to the Rift, and those -- THOSE UPSTARTS --

It can't reach the ones who caused the superficial injury that's already healing (that's scarring over, it will NEVER AGAIN ALLOW THIS), and so the Rift lashes out at the ones who remain in their place. It can feel the little pets that remain, all of them, and it will remind them who owns them.


[OOC: Right! Andrew and James have escaped from New York just like Snake Plissken and the Rift is having a shitfit over it. Tag into this post for general Rift-related shenanigans; there will be a separate post for characters who want to attack ROMAC.

The Rift will inflict a wide variety of little inconveniences and torments on the people it considers its own, and players can choose what their characters will face. These should be things that could more or less go unnoticed by the population at large (so no city-wide effects, and please be careful to avoid anything that would effectively godmode other people's characters). Anything that's happened in a past Rift event is fair game, as are personal rainclouds, randomly appearing objects and animals, involuntary transformations, and just about anything else on the personal level. On a somewhat broader level, expect to find random acres of the Ramble transformed into jungle, redwood forest, wintery pines, and various other types of Incorrect Wilderness.]
rae_of_sun: (lost)
[personal profile] rae_of_sun
Later, she might find it fitting that sunset coincides with the breaking of whatever weird-ass glamour she's been under all day. She doesn't actually see the sun go down - too busy puttering around the kitchen, doing other things - but she sure as hell notices when months of memories reawaken in her mind, yawning and stretching their fingertips down into her gut by way of her heart. She actually hisses, a respectable attempt at a proper, vampiric sort of hiss. Fitting, because oh gods, Spike.

She forgot him. She forgot him, and then she was really kali awful to him - because of course she remembers what a pitiless troll she was in the bookshop, those memories haven't gone anywhere - and oh gods no, this is... this... she has to address this, immediately. Hell if she knows what she's going to say to him ('no hard feelings' isn't going to fly, because he is probably entitled to some hard feelings, here), but she has to say something.

After a short, fidgety elevator ride, she knocks on his door, feeling uncomfortably apprehensive. Maybe she's just missing the moral high ground. Or maybe she's still, perpetually worried that she'll look at him, or he'll say something, or touch her, and it'll be too close to that dingy little room in Grand Central Station and her hands will decide to do something about it. She wraps her arms around herself, her hands tucked between her elbows and her ribs, where they can't do any harm, and she waits.
applesaucemod: (Default)
[personal profile] applesaucemod
 photo beauty and the beast stained glass rose-NZWR_sm_zpsadnbeqxz.png


The twenty-seventh of August dawns bright and clear, but when your characters wake up, they will immediately notice something wrong. They've woken up the wrong size, or species, or age. Or perhaps everything seems normal until they take a bite of their apple-flavored toaster strudel, or attempt to speak, or wander into the woods, or bump into that old crone in the subway and fail to adequately apologize. However it happens, there's no getting around it: your characters are cursed, like an unfortunate out of a fairy tale.

On the bright side, many curses can be broken. Unfortunately, none of them come with user manuals, so how they might be broken isn't clear. Perhaps true love's kiss will do it, or a heroically sacrificial act, or some serious reflection followed by revelatory insight into your own soul. Or, y'know, whatever. But it's far more likely that your character will just be stuck with whatever it is until sunset, when any and all remaining curses will be broken.

[OOC: Feel free to use this post for initial reactions to whatever curse your character has found themselves suffering. Any additional posts for more specified shenanigans can go up under the 'events: curses' tag. Sunset is a little after 7:30 PM. Backdating and backtagging are the best and you should do both of those things if necessary.]
erratic_hematic: (sad sitting)
[personal profile] erratic_hematic
[tw for gross blood and also death and maybe corpse things and being buried alive. fun all around.]

Spike stops going to work the Monday after he and Sunshine break up. Sunshine won't want to see him, it would hurt to see her, and every single moment his body makes feels like too much effort anyway. It would be too much to go down there just to feel more pain. The best he can do is go to the fridge and dole himself out a half-congealed serving of inferior blood before stumbling back to bed or the couch. He doesn't bother microwaving it anymore, just lets it sit out until it's melted enough to drink. Each disgusting serving hardly makes a dent in his steadily deteriorating health. He feels himself improve for shorter and shorter amounts of time each time until the blood seems to stop working entirely.

On the sixteenth, he wakes up with a start and pulls in a gasping breath. He'd stopped breathing. Breathing isn't strictly necessary for his survival, but it's part of what makes him feel alive.

He doesn't feel alive on the morning of the sixteenth. He feels like a corpse. He lies there, just forcing air back though his lungs and reassuring himself that this isn't over yet. He can breath if he thinks about it. If he makes the effort.

He needs to get up. Even if the blood is worthless, he needs to try to get to it. It's all he's got.

When he flexes his hand, his fingers resist the motion like rigor is setting in, so he pulls his fingers in until they form a tight fist, then releases it. He repeats the motion with his other hand, runs through the motions one more time, then drags his legs around to the side of the bed. He feels so cold. He can't remember ever feeling this cold. As his vision slips in and out of focus, he imagines a coffin collapsing around him and his mouth filling with cold, dark earth. He's dying here. Can I die like this, he wonders, or will it be worse than that?

He has to get up.

Every joint in his body protests when Spike stands and stumbles forward. He collides with the door frame and grips onto it until he's sure he can stay upright. He's so so very tired. His eyes slip closed and he sags against the door frame, his shoulder the only thing propping him up. When his eyes flutter open again, it takes him a moment to reorient himself. He can see where he needs to go, but it feels almost impossible now.

He pushes himself as hard as he can from the door frame, but he gets thrown off balance and falls to his knees. The action is jarring, and enough to make him lose consciousness for a full minute. When he comes back to, he pushes an arm under himself only to realize that he's not strong enough now to stand again. He wants Sunshine, or Aziraphale, or anyone that could pick him up right now, but there's no way anyone is coming. He doesn't matter enough to be missed.

He crawls the rest of the way to the kitchen area. When carpeting meets linoleum, he lets his body sag back down to the floor and drops his cheek down onto the smooth surface. This is pretty far. He made it. He'll just rest a while and then make it to the fridge.

Five minutes later, he stops breathing. He doesn't start again.
singthesong: (Default)
[personal profile] singthesong
The Balladeer has been in Manhattan for about a day now, and overall? Yeah, this is not bad. Actually, though he wouldn't be crass enough to say so to Greta, this is pretty great. She was kind enough to help him get set up with these ROMAC people, who gave him a place to stay, a decent chunk of money, and one of these new tiny phones. It had a camera in it too, he'd found, very exciting!

Such things couldn't keep him occupied forever, though, and he spent most of the next morning just wandering the city. Normally he never stays this long in one place - it feels nice just to get out and walk. It's going to take him longer than this to memorize where everything is, but it sounds as if he'll have the time. All the time in the world, maybe.

Eventually, he makes his way back to Central Park. Unlike Greta, he isn't interested in visiting the spot of his arrival. Instead he's standing near one of the paths, playing and singing whatever happens to come to mind. Surprisingly, none of the songs so far have been about death! It's actually very pleasant - and the guitar case at his feet is starting to accumulate some tips. Yes, he could definitely get used to this.
rae_of_sun: (not anymore)
[personal profile] rae_of_sun
[Takes place after this terribleness.]

Sunshine bolts upright in bed with a gasp, wards and light-web flaring, her fingers clenched around a nonexistent palmful of ash. There's a singed smell lingering - in her mind? In the air? Oh gods, it's real, and she casts about her bed in a panic until she remembers that he didn't spend the night. It's coming from her pillow, as it turns out. There's a thin, brown line branded into the fabric. Her necklace-scar. It must have… gods. When was the last time it put out heat like that?

Don't think about it.

She sits back against the headboard and clutches her pillow to her chest, waiting for her necklace-scar to fade and her light-web to dim and her heart to stop trying to hammer its way out of her chest. She's used to nightmares, to the degree that anyone can be used to this kind of thing. Bolting out of bed in a blind panic and finding herself halfway across the room by the time she actually wakes isn't common, but it's not so unusual that she hasn't lost track of how many times it's happened since she came through the rift. It's not even unheard of for the nightmares to feature Spike, because that's just what happens when you have a whole carthaginian mess of vampire trauma that predates your vampire lite boyfriend.

But it's never been like that before. It's never been that real.
rae_of_sun: (listening - serious)
[personal profile] rae_of_sun
Sunshine wakes up with the beginnings of a headache nebulously bouncing around the interior of her skull and a small, baffled frown on her face. She's in Spike's apartment - she's spent enough time here that she can figure out that much without even opening her eyes - but it takes her longer than it should to remember how she got here. Wasn't there brunch? There was brunch, right? What happened to that?

Maybe Spike could answer that question. Maybe Spike could answer a lot of questions. Except she can't decide which one to articulate first, so she settles for hiding her eyes in the crook of her elbow and letting out a groan of general confusion and complaint.

Profile

bigapplesauce: (Default)
The Big Applesauce

Tags

Page generated Jul. 23rd, 2017 04:50 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios