postictal: (behind you)
[personal profile] postictal
[tw: some brutality and beating, later some panic and flashbacking to hospitalization]

Keep your head down, stay off the radar, just act like the normal person you aren't, and everything will be fine.

That was the general idea.

Was.

But then, he should've expected something like this. When you come home from work and the door's not been open a minute before a couple ominously stone-faced guys come striding in, it generally throws up a few warning flags. And when opening your mouth to ask um sorry, but what the hell incites one of them to bring you down in a hard tackle that sends your cheek stinging against the carpet and your knees scraping along the ground, pure fight-or-flight impulse kicks in. Fight and flight, actually, and Tim manages to crack one of them a solid right hook across the jaw that leaves a darkening bruise before they wrestle him into submission. Maybe if he wasn't him right now - fuck.

In the end, there isn't much he can do against two guys who look to have something like six inches on him, and a few minutes of hopeless thrashing and several well-placed kicks to his ribs later, it's pretty much a lost cause. The apartment interior's a wreck; Tim definitely heard something shatter on his way to the ground, and he feels the distant, bizarre urge the apologize to Jay for being responsible for fucking things up yet again. He's sorry, Jay, really he is. He didn't mean to this time, honestly.

And that's when one of the guys sinks a fist into his stomach, and Tim loses track of things for a little while as his entire respiratory system promptly goes to shit.

He wakes in a little square room of concrete walls and windowless gloom.

Fuck. Fuck no. He lurches to his feet, all dizziness and nausea, and pounds at the door that looks more solid than any locked hospital door fuck, and he screams let him out and is anyone there? and please I need help please until his voice rasps into hoarseness and his vocal chords feel wet, as if they're torn and bleeding. His fists sting from banging against the door, its impassively hollow tone drumming against his ears. His jacket's gone. His medication. They fucking took it off him, they took everything, they took him away, and if there's anything he can do to help his situation, it's think and be calm and be compliant and be cooperative and not panic right now, which he isn't, who would even think that?

Because he's not a scared little kid anymore. He's not, he swears he's not. There's nothing tall and specter-like in the room with him, and he's not curled in the corner with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them and he's not huddled like he's eight years old again, because he's not the lost little boy crammed into a hospital room with a plethora of confusing and contradictory symptoms. He's not.

It's just a dream, and any moment he's going to wake up.
peeta_mellark: (Srsbsns)
[personal profile] peeta_mellark
Peeta's dreams are a confusing mix of reality and past nightmares, the line between his old life and his new one smudged into obscurity by his subconscious. He's in the jungle, then he's in Central Park, wearing the uniform of the arena or the first clothes he received when he arrived in New York. The details merge together in an unsettling manner, but he's always running, running to save Daine.

The trees, an unnatural mixture of hardwood and jungle vine, whip past him as he goes, the air that tears through his lungs tasting of salt and stagnant water and cotton candy. One minute he can see Daine - foot poised over ground he know will not hold her, now with her back to a shadow that wears the face of a man - the next she is obscured from view by the neverending trees. No matter how hard he runs she is always the same distance away, close enough for him to see every detail of her expression as she sinks into the earth or struggles against an assailant he knows he could not stop.

Only when it is too late does the nightmare let him reach Daine's side. In his mind, he both struggles to drag her from the unyielding soil and stumbles to a halt beside her lifeless body, the monster disappeared from the scene of its crime.

His body jerks him awake as if it had physically thrown him from the dream. He lies flat on his back in bed, panting, head swimming with images that he can't quite match up with the emotions raging inside him. All he knows is that he needs to see Daine.

Flinging back the covers, he quickly crosses the room and heads out into the corridor. He doesn't slow down until he reaches Daine's hallway, the trek there having given him time to calm down from his initial post-nightmare high. His last few steps to Daine's door are hesitant, but his hand raises of its own accord to knock before he stops himself. It was just a nightmare, Peeta, he tells himself. Pull it together. It isn't like this doesn't happen all the time. You don't have to wake Daine up for this. With that thought in mind, he turns to go.
wildmage_daine: (determined)
[personal profile] wildmage_daine
This is getting shameful. She needs to pull herself together. This isn't the first time she's lost someone.

Of course, the last two times she lost someone - or thought she had, like in Carthak - she wound up on murderous rampages. It's just as well she hasn't done that now, she knows, but doing nothing is grating on her, and trying to fall back into her old routines is little better. As if she can just go back to life as normal.

Which is why she's still in her room at the base during a time when she'd normally be in the park, making her rounds. She can still keep tabs on the People from underground, so she'd know if anyone really needed her, but that's a weak excuse, and she knows it. She can't know for certain - she's not privy to all the People's secrets - but she has a sneaking suspicion that they're not clamoring to see her because they think she's safest underground.

Well, she can still accomplish something, surely. So she sits herself on the floor and starts to work on brushing Sarge and Molly. Especially Sarge; he's shedding something awful.
bibliophale: (resignation | welp)
[personal profile] bibliophale
Aziraphale suspects that in spite of all the griping, like caring for the angel is a big pain in the arse, Crowley would much rather keep him locked in his Romac flat for the foreseeable future. It's work more than anything else that forces them to part ways - each of them has to report back to their respective organizations, both of which are frantic for details on yesterday's nuclear bomb of a newcomer, the whereabouts of whom is now officially unknown. Crowley is likely going to skew the truth as much as he can, while Aziraphale isn't sure what he can do, being that others may have already reported. Anyway, the expectation that they are going to be able to keep the arrival of the Morningstar a secret for any length of time seems a little too optimistic to the Principality.

He still looks like shit, according to Crowley - his bruises and wounds have been healed by the cooperative efforts of Crowley and Gabriel, but none of them could completely erase the burn on his neck, and though his wings are healing and hidden now, they still ache, and it shows in his walk. He looks tired, weak.

It doesn't matter. Normally pride is one of the more troublesome sins for him, but not today. He stolidly ignores the looks he gets as he moves through the Base, waves off most of the questions about his condition during the debriefing - it's fine, he was lucky, he'll be fine.

The debriefing isn't the reason he wanted to come in anyway. He has much more important business.

As soon as he's free of his superiors, he sweeps back through the halls until he finds Daine's room. He hesitates outside the door; he can feel her presence inside, and her animals.

It's been a very long time since he sought anyone out simply because they needed him.

He doesn't dwell on that little personal failing. He raises his hand and knocks lightly.

"Daine?" he says, keeping his voice lowered. "It's Aziraphale. Can I come in?"
wildmage_daine: (a whale needs me)
[personal profile] wildmage_daine
Daine wakes with a start, heart pounding and gasping for air. The first few breaths are difficult, and it takes her a moment to dispel the memory of that choking liquid mud and realize the real reason her lungs feel sluggish: Sarge's head is resting on her chest.

Daine? She can feel his worry as he lifts his head and steps back a pace to look at her and sniff at her face. You're awake?

Good. That's Shadow, and a moment later, a rough feline tongue scrapes against her forehead. He's crouched beside her on her pillow, and she can feel the familiar shift of Molly's body along her side. She's in her room. It was just a dream - a nightmare - but it's over.

One slow breath, then another. Molly shoves her head beneath Daine's hand, and she gives the dog a comforting scratch. Okay. She's okay. None of it was real, not the monkeys or the drowning, and Peeta--

Wait. Is Peeta awake, or is he still in that gods-cursed arena?

Daine sits up sharply, earning a soft meow of complaint from Shadow. I have to wake Peeta, she says, swinging her legs off the bed and lurching to her feet. Her head swims for a moment, then clears as Sarge leans against her left side and Molly hops off the bed to press against her right. We have to wake him up now.

She's at his door in less than a minute, not having bothered with shoes (or with anything else that would have slowed her down). Sarge and Molly are at her side, and Shadow is bringing up the rear as if he coincidentally felt like taking a stroll in the same general direction. "Peeta?" She raps her knuckles against the wood, then pauses to listen for a response. Nothing. "Peeta, are you up?" Another pause. She thinks she hears something this time, a quiet sound of distress.

No more knocking. Daine tries the doorknob, finds it locked, and lets out a frustrated huff. Fine. She'll do this the hard way.

She can't shift completely - not without wrecking her clothes - but she can still give herself the head and shoulders of a bighorn sheep. Her collar digs into her neck a little, but she doesn't care. Daine backs up a pace, then slams her newly fortified skull against the door. There's a crunch that masks the faint tearing sound of her collar giving way, then the lock splinters and the door swings open, juddering a little from the impact. Her head snaps back to normal as she stumbles inside and makes a beeline for his bed.

"Peeta!"
wildmage_daine: (a whale needs me)
[personal profile] wildmage_daine
Daine wakes up with an unfamiliar weight on her chest and her mind ablaze with copper fire. For a moment, that's all she can see even after she opens her eyes, but a few blinks bring the world into focus… or they should. But her view has been obstructed by a mound of off-white fluff.

Daine, Daine, Daine! Sarge has, from the sound of things, been repeating her name for some time. Perhaps that's what woke her. Daine, they're everywhere! He doesn't sound upset, just excited, but it's still enough to wake her fully. In a moment, she realizes that the unfamiliar weight on her chest is, in fact, a rabbit. And that there's another rabbit on her desk, and three more huddled under the bed where Sarge can't reach them. Molly probably could, but the terrier is sitting over by the door.

I can smell more outside, she says.

"It's all right," Daine says automatically, mostly for the benefit of the rabbits beneath the bed. Sarge might not mean them any harm, but his enthusiasm can be daunting, especially for prey animals. Moving slowly so as not to spook the creature on top of her, she carefully lifts the rabbit off of her chest. "Odd's bobs," she mutters. This is far more fur than she thought a rabbit could have. Daine sits up and finally takes a proper look at the creature… and finds it impossible not to grin. If she couldn't tell it was a rabbit by the feel of its mind, she'd never believe it. It looks like a toy.

"Hullo," Daine says, brushing some of its fur aside until she uncovers one of its eyes. "What's your name?"

Puffbucket, the rabbit replies, quite seriously. I think I'm lost.

You're not the only one. That came from the auburn animal atop her desk. From beneath her bed, there's a timid chorus: Us, too.

"All right, let's get you all up on the bed. Don't worry about the dogs, they won't hurt you." She first sits on the floor to coax out the three beneath the bed, whose names turn out to be Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur; unaware of the reference, Daine accepts the names without blinking as she lifts them up to join Puffbucket. The rabbit on the desk introduces herself as Agent Scully, which does strike Daine as an odd choice (why call a rabbit 'Agent' anything?), but she merely shrugs and puts her with the others. "You'll be safe here. I'll go get you some food, all right?"

Broccoli? Puffbucket asks, lifting his head.

"I'll try," Daine promises. Truth be told, she mostly just wants an excuse to leave that won't upset them. They will be perfectly safe in her room - but the same can't necessarily be said for all the other rabbits in the base. And it feels like there might be an awful lot of them.

Instructing Sarge and Molly to stick close, Daine opens her door and peers out into the hallway. "Oh, my," she murmurs as she takes it all in. There are at least a dozen rabbits out in the hallway, some huddled together near the wall, and others lolloping along the stone floor like low, mobile clouds. "They really are everywhere."

[OOC: Consider this Daine's open rebel base post. If you'd like to have any of your characters bump into her here at some point during the day, have at it!]
rae_of_sun: (faint amusement)
[personal profile] rae_of_sun
It's o'dark thirty, and Sunshine is in the base's cafeteria, making muffins like it's her job, because it used to be. Her hair is in a messy bun and her face is streaked with flour, but she's in… well, it's probably the best mood she's been in since she got here.

It's been a week since she arrived, but her internal clock is still set to coffeehouse hours. She woke up a little before four, stared at her ceiling in disgust for a few minutes, and then rolled out of bed and came to the one place she knows that has a decently-equipped kitchen. She is going to make some goddamn muffins, and that's that.

This is the first time she's used the place, and it's deserted… so whether it turns out to actually be all that decent remains to be seen. There's no one to introduce her to the ovens and their various quirks, and she's had to track down the equipment and ingredients she needs via intuition and guesswork. She sort of prefers it this way, though. She's used to being queen of her domain, not having some other baker breathing down her neck while she works. (Okay, so this isn't her domain - but as long as no one else is here, she doesn't feel so much like a trespasser.)

Speaking of, she figures she might have an hour before the quote-unquote real cooks arrive to make the real breakfast. But that's enough time for her to turn out a few trays of excellent muffins, so how upset could they really be if they find her here? She's basically just making their jobs easier, right?

Never mind that she's also that desperate for a little bit of her old routine. Well, if she wants to land another gig in an above-ground bakery, she's going to need a resume, which will mean borrowing these facilities, anyway. She's just being… proactive. And they're pretty well-stocked, so it's not like she's using up the last of their anything.

Yes. This is totally fine.
wildmage_daine: (determined)
[personal profile] wildmage_daine
It's well past her usual bedtime when Daine slips out of her room, a blanket wrapped around her like a cloak. Aside from the blanket, she's wearing nothing but the Badger's claw and a pair of shoes. Given her plans for the evening, it makes more sense to forego proper clothes. It'll certainly be more convenient this way.

Edgar's door is shut, and she holds her breath as she pads past it. She doesn't expect that he'll interrupt them again tonight, but on the off chance he does come looking for her, she's left a note for him on her bed: Everything's fine. Back soon. She was sorely tempted to add, Don't try to find me, but she's counting on his memory of what happened last time to keep him from doing anything foolish.

The corridors are deserted thanks to the late hour, and it isn't long before she's in an area of the base that would probably be empty even in the middle of the day. As far as most of the rebels know, there's nothing down here.

There's a newly reinforced door at the end of the hall, and she rearranges her grip on the blanket so she can push it open. It has a reassuring heft to it, and when she passes through, she notes the addition of some more silver on the other side. The second door has been similarly reinforced, and so has the third, from the looks of things. But by then, her focus has shifted to the purpose of her visit.

Daine steps into the room and eyes the new cage. "Hullo."
edgar_sawtelle: (Questioning)
[personal profile] edgar_sawtelle
Edgar doesn't realize anything is wrong at first.

He's been spending a lot of time in the base, and when he wakes up early that morning he has already decided to get out into the park for a while. It's barely light out when he leaves, and he doesn't pass anyone in the hallways. It's cold, so the park is empty too, aside from the few dedicated joggers here and there. But they stick to the paths and Edgar prefers to lose himself in the wooded areas. If he doesn't think about it too much, he can almost believe he's back home there.

Edgar sits on a stump and watches the sun rise while Almondine trots around, smelling every tree she can find and darting after things Edgar can't see. The sun is caught in the tops of the trees when she finally struts over to him, looking very satisfied with herself. He smiles and stands, clapping a hand to his leg to call her on as he heads back to the base.

It's once they're back in their quarters that Edgar realizes something's amiss. Having filled Almondine's water dish, he sits on his bed and grabs one of the books he's borrowed from the library from the table by the bed. He opens the book to where he had marked his place with a folded piece of paper and settles in to read a little before a late breakfast.

It takes him a few seconds to realize that he can't read what's written in the book. Frowning, he flips through the pages. They're all written in some sort of gibberish. He checks the spine to be sure it's the same book he was reading before, but there's no help there; whatever's written on the spine is just as unintelligible. Slightly concerned, Edgar checks the other two books he borrowed. They're also indecipherable, as is the small stack of scrap paper - used for communicating - he's collected over his time on the base, and everything in the small notebook he's been using as a sort of journal.

Almondine can clearly sense his growing confusion and she noses his arm. Edgar strokes her head, then signs to her: /I can't read./ Or he tries to. But the shapes his hands form don't make any sense, the motions they follow meaning nothing to him.

Edgar stares at his hands as if they belong to a stranger. He can feel his breath quickening, panic rising inside him, and he isn't sure whether he's going to collapse into the desk chair or start running.

He clasps his hands together so hard they hurt.
fragmentation: (Serious - Contemplative)
[personal profile] fragmentation
James is having a pretty regular day. They're planetside, on a lovely little world called Hedenex. He's taking an exploratory stroll, dressed in one of his three-pieces suits, walking through the complex cityscape they're visiting, enjoying the unfamiliar sky.

He's spent most of the day running around with Andrew, seeing sights, meeting people, testing the cuisine, and letting the dogs stretch their legs a bit too. But Andrew and the dogs only have so much energy, so James has left them to get some rest. James doesn't really need to worry about those things, so he's been getting some exploring done on his own. It's a very welcoming area.

He's just about to head back to ship, when he stumbles. This in itself is unusual, given how surefooted he normally is. But it only gets weirder from there. His systems go haywire, his vision and most of his senses cut out completely. There's a moment of panic, but he doesn't have long to dwell on it before he wakes up in an entirely different place. That is, places.

--

James, or rather the Ambrose part of him, comes to on a streetcorner on the Upper East Side, near Harlem. He's breathing, which is most unconventional. When did he start breathing? Up until a moment (or however long it's been) ago, he was completely robotic.

It's not the first time he's been put in a flesh body, however, so he manages to adjust fairly quickly, getting slowly to his feet. He doesn't much care for the cold, though. Perhaps this is just another Time Scoop, but it's usually less unpleasant.

But no... Because there's something missing. Great chunks of his mind are gone, and he feels strangely empty. Oh, not his memories. Those are still there. Not as organised and reliable now he's got a biological body, but there. His two imported personalities. The Doctor and the Master. They're gone. Yet somehow he can still sense them. As if they're here, but not part of him anymore. He's not sure what this means.

It doesn't occur to him how strange he must look, standing here in the cold, looking confused and lost.

--

Across town, the Doctor wakes up. He's in a café in the East Village, down on 10th street - though he himself doesn't know much more than that it's a café, and that he's currently slumped against the wall in a booth.

He goes through much the same thought process as Ambrose. They have the same memories of course, more or less the same mental capacities; the only difference is how they react to it. And the Doctor is worried. Deeply worried. If he's split free, that means the Master is probably also wandering around somewhere. He can feel that much. A presence in his mind, but far too distant and vague for him to pinpoint it.

First of all, where is he? His surroundings aren't much help. Back in his old body, he could've smelled it. He's not sure how reliable this new nose is, but he hasn't the memories to recall which place smells like what anymore in any case. It definitely doesn't look much like Hedenex, though.

He prods the shoulder of a random patron. "Pardon me, but could you tell me where I am?"

--

Meanwhile, approximately right between the two others, in the back of a dark McDonalds on 42nd street, right off Times Square, the Master version of James wakes up.

He, unlike the two others, is not quite so worried, once he's realised what's happened. In fact, he's rather delighted. His personality is often kept quite buried, at least compared to the other two. He's not so keen on finding them, though he feels that they're here somewhere, now he's finally got a body of his own.

He grins to himself, and pushes out the backdoor of the restaurant, out onto 41st street. It's not particularly crowded, but there are a few walking around. "You, human, where am I?" he asks one of them.
bluesuit_handy: (.misc | sneaky)
[personal profile] bluesuit_handy
It's been so good to stretch his legs again after so long cooped up on the ship. Andrew loves traveling, of course, and he loves spending time with James and the dogs, but his tolerance for monotonous space journeys is diminishing rather than growing. Their first journey out from Earth was the longest, of course, since they had to reach a jump node before they could travel from world to world in a matter of weeks rather than months, but somehow just a week stuck in a space the size of a largish flat is almost unbearable to him now. If he had to do that longer journey again, he might go mad.

Despite his enthusiasm, there's only so much running about (much of it literal) he can do before he tires out. Hedenex is a friendly sort of planet, with more than a few things to do and see, but just now he's tucked back up in bed in the spaceship he shares with James, their dogs curled up nearby as if watching to make sure he doesn't go off again without them when he wakes up.

His sleep is troubled by dreams that are less bad, necessarily, than they are weird. He's in the midst of grudgingly assembling a floral arrangement under the watchful eye of a robot servant belonging to a version of the Master he hasn't seen in centuries when a chill wind suddenly blows through the beach house where he and Abraham Lincoln have been imprisoned together. He shivers in both the dream and in reality, shifting uncomfortably on the hard red surface of the bleachers that make up the roof of the Times Square TKTS booth. He's wrapped up surprisingly well for someone who was just taken away from his cozy bed and blankets, as he tends to layer up even when he goes to bed, but a fleece onesie with a hoodie over the top half and socks on under the enclosed feet is still not enough. At least he'll look dashing in that yellow ducky-themed print?
wildmage_daine: (Default)
[personal profile] wildmage_daine
Daine is stretched out on a cot with a pile of books in front of her and a skinny cat curled up by her side. She leafs through one of the volumes with interest, if not any real sense of urgency. She's still not convinced that she's going to be staying in this realm for very long, so learning more than the absolute basics about the place seems like a waste of her time--or it would, if she had anything else to do with it.

What she wants to do is go back to the park and look for the rift, but the two-leggers in charge have made it clear that leaving the base wouldn't be wise until she knows more about New York. After what she's seen out there, she begrudgingly agrees with them.

She's reaching for a book called Rules of the Road when there's a flare of pain in her head, and she accidentally knocks the book off of the cot. The cat, Shadow, raises his head sharply as Daine grips the sheets, brow furrowed. Mithros, where had that come from? It almost felt like...

There's another flicker of wild magic in her mind, and she pushes herself upright, all thoughts of reading forgotten. There's a bear in the base. There's a bear, and it's hurt. And angry.

Daine slips on her boots, grabs her bow, and leaves her room, Shadow trotting silently behind her.

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