has_a_horn: (look at the mask | smile)
[personal profile] has_a_horn
Gabriel has been feeling listless. The days are getting a little bit colder and, with the drop in temperature, the city seems to close in on him incrementally. He's reminded more and more that he's approaching a full year trapped here in this city without making any real progress in fighting the rift. The rift giving him the flu had felt like a jab to let him know how powerless he really is here.

In the week since that, he's kept to himself more often than not. Monday rolls around again and he notices a pattern forming that he doesn't want to let continue. He's got to get out and talk to someone that's not rattling around in his own head.

He pushes himself up and pulls on his jacket, but instead of flying himself out of the apartment, he walks down the stairs. He pauses, momentarily on the landing that leads to Johnny's door before continuing down once again to knock loudly at Mako's door. He hasn't really taken the time to get to know her one-on-one yet, and there's no reason to put it off any longer. He's interested in her, this is a perfect opportunity to found out more about her.

It's fairly early in the morning, but that just means that it's the perfect time to go grab some breakfast. He hasn't gotten breakfast with anyone since Seth disappeared, and he finds that he misses it a lot.

"Mako!" He knocks again, then simply teleports himself into the apartment. "Come to breakfast with me. I need to make up for you seeing me groaning on the floor like a dying yak." He grins at her. "Come on. I'll introduce you to the concept of layering syrups."
has_a_horn: (pout | wtf)
[personal profile] has_a_horn
(slight sickness related grossness in the following)

He wakes up sore, and not in a fun way. He groans, and every muscle in his body protests as he swings his legs around the edge of the bed and sits up. What the hell is this? He stomach feels wrong and his head is pounding like he's got the worst hangover imaginable. Actually, worse than imaginable because when he attempts to heal himself, nothing happens.

There's something on his face- he lifts a hand and "Ughh-" that's definitely snot on his face. There is snot where it definitely should not be. At least when he goes to wipe it away, it disappears.

Whatever this is, he clearly needs help. A moment later, he arrives lying face down on Johnny's bed.

He groans. "Johnny, I've been cursed. Probly the rift. You need to-" He waves a hand vaguely then coughs, and for a moment he feels like he might just keep coughing forever, but it passes. "-call Aziraphale. He needs to come'n do something." He's ill. Surely this is what it feels like to be deathly ill, and if Aziraphale can't heal him, maybe he can reverse whatever curse the rift or whoever has put on him.

(He'll be with Johnny for a while, but later he'll be up at his place again, likely flopped in bed. Anyone is free to visit then)
driftseeker: (don't get lost)
[personal profile] driftseeker
Echoes of Raleigh, listen to me sing a horrifying chorus as her brother is ripped from the Conn-Pod, torn away with his life skewered on teeth larger than anything, his mind a shrieking turmoil of fear and agony and despair -

Mako wakes with a sharp intake of breath.

She doesn't have a brother.

She sits up in the bed in the apartment Gabe was kind enough to offer her, green like he said it would be to match the curtains framing the window, where the watery predawn light filters in to fall in puddled disarray over the rumpled sheets.

She braces hands to her temples.

She doesn't have a brother. She doesn't have a brother.

Mako jerks the covers back and pads to the kitchen, rattling around in a frantic attempt to fall into some morning routine. It is not until the loud groan of the coffeemaker pierces her ears that she realizes she does not start the morning with coffee. She starts with tea, Darjeeling black, and Raleigh would drum his fingers against the countertop impatiently, absently, as he waited for the grind of the beans to halt and the rhythmic drip of the machine to begin.

Coffeemaker abandoned, Mako flees into the outside world with its rush of cars and dizzying lights. She does not have much by the way of clothing, just essentials, simple and utilitarian.

She reads the name of the place at which she finds herself. Wilmot's.

She needs a drink.

No she doesn't. Raleigh needs one.

Mako has to sit down and order, and then she puts her head in her hands.
driftseeker: (got those jet pack blues)
[personal profile] driftseeker
Post-drift and post-canceled-apocalypse, it’s a disarray of decontamination protocol and harried celebration and administrative detailing that’s lost on a head that’s too full of sentiments opposed. There’s grief, sick and heavy, laid flat against the fluttering escape of relief, the confused realization that somewhere outside of this lies an actual future, not simply in the context of a motivation or incentive to fight ever-onwards, but as something conceivable and attainable and imaginable.

She can hear Raleigh for days after, as they undergo endless directives to ensure that they are free from the heretofore unconsidered threats of radiation poisoning or infection by alien pathogens, but nearly all of it slides past in an incomprehensible, exhausted blur of prolonged lassitude. They're ghosting constantly, instinctive and unthinking, awake and dreaming, and there’s a familiarity to the the brush of his mind against hers; they’re each others' anchors in the nightmares that follow, one dragging the other out of those plunging tangents of things many-eyed and blue-dyed and split-jawed and glistening, and between the horrors buried in their heads and the steel ache of loss, sometimes Mako wonders how it is she is still sane.

They’re released from the labs and medical procedures after a week. Herc circumvents the wall of paperwork for them, dismantles the red tape to scrape one last favor out from the Shatterdome’s shattered shelves, and tells them to give themselves a brief cushion of space before the press hits, because it will. They saved the world. They’re heroes. They're cultural icons. Their faces are plastered on every magazine and news report, and everyone will want to know what it was like and were they scared and how did it feel to save the world. Privacy will be a privilege they'll soon miss.

Mako just wants to sleep. Raleigh does too. They sequester themselves in an anonymous hotel and barricade out the real world and hunt for rest without dreams of things with too many teeth. The only clothes they have are PPDC-regulation. Personal effects have been left abandoned in their old rooms. They crash fully clothed and sleep with boots still on.

It’s with a roaring in her ears that Mako wakes and finds that everything is bright and wrong. The hotel is gone; the world, everything, and when she claws out in search of Raleigh’s mind she only finds screaming silence. It takes her a moment for her scrambling mind to string together causality and consequence, form a concatenation of deductions to be drawn from the seeping chill that soaks her from the waist up, the wet cling of her clothing, and conclude that she is standing waist-deep in water in a fountain in a city she doesn't recognize. Wind hisses over the water's surface, distressingly non-littoral.

Mako raises a hand and squints against the glare of the sun, bereft.

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