Cole (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lonelyghost) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bigapplesauce2015-11-26 01:07 am
lonelyghost) wrote in bigapplesauce2015-11-26 01:07 am
daylight will swallow me whole [open to multiple]
There is something he's forgotten, isn't there. Isn't there? Darkness where there used to be light, nothing where there was something, but now who's to say what it was. The sky is scarred but healed and quiet, and everyone is glad they are safe and you helped and you should be happy, but there is that itch of forgetting, like before, when you forgot yourself.
Can't keep the thread of that now, slipping through your fingers like fine sands, like a dream. The Inquisitor is here. Your friend.
"There've been some reports of Fade rifts in the Hissing Wastes," he says. "Would you like to go with us?"
"I've never been to the Hissing Wastes," says Cole. "Do they actually hiss?"
"I don't know about that," says the Inquisitor with a little smile. Cole likes his smile. It's friendly, and isn't forced. "Harding called it the worst place in the world, but I don't know if I agree with her on that. It's all quiet desert. I thought it was rather nice, myself. You might like it."
He asks when he doesn't have to. He is the Inquisitor, he can make anyone go with him at a word, but he always asks. He is a good friend. Cole hopes he never forgets.
The Hissing Wastes do hiss a little, wind whistling woefully over the sand. Cole does like it there, dark and cool and mostly quiet, traveling with Varric and The Iron Bull, neither of whom call him 'it' or 'thing', or seem to mind what he is. When they come upon the Fade rift The Iron Bull laughs and Varric says something funny, in the wrong order, and Cole's mind is mired elsewhere because this one does not feel right. The others don't notice, can't feel it, but this rift is two rifts, one inside the other, something else beyond, reaching and grasping.
He shouldn't, knows he shouldn't. Nobody should. But Cole reaches back.
It's what he does; he helps people. The others can't sense it, don't see that this rift wants more than to let demons out. It wants to pull them in. He can't let that happen to his friends. He won't. There is no time to warn them and no time to stop it so Cole pushes forward and offers himself, gives up himself gladly, to save them all.
"Cole!" the Inquisitor cries out, startled, confused, why is he going, why is he doing this, but Cole can't answer him now, can't turn back; if he were more like a spirit he could fight it, but he's not, and so he can't. He lets it swallow him up, and he is afraid: he doesn't want to go to the Fade, he doesn't want to be alone.
It is over very quickly. But it is not the Fade where he finds himself. This place is real. Whole. But it is not the world he knows. It is something different.
He is sitting in grass, real grass but different grass, feels different, remembers hundreds of different years, and millions of lives, nothing Cole's ever felt before. This is somewhere new. Not Thedas and not the Fade.
He does not move, sitting in the middle of the grass, surrounded by people who ignore him, even though he is wearing his hat and he just appeared, no one sees him, nobody sees. He's like he was.
Afraid and alone, adrift, absent. Cole curls inward and tells himself to wake up. It will not work. It never works. This is no dream.
Wake up, please.
[OOC: Please note Cole's permissions page and the abilities section of his app. It is possible that your character can meet him and then forget the encounter afterward, if you like. This means there could be multiple encounters. Feel free to tag in setting your character up as minding their own business, and Cole can approach them, as he is not easily noticed (not by the average person, anyway). Hit me up if you wanna run something by me.]
Can't keep the thread of that now, slipping through your fingers like fine sands, like a dream. The Inquisitor is here. Your friend.
"There've been some reports of Fade rifts in the Hissing Wastes," he says. "Would you like to go with us?"
"I've never been to the Hissing Wastes," says Cole. "Do they actually hiss?"
"I don't know about that," says the Inquisitor with a little smile. Cole likes his smile. It's friendly, and isn't forced. "Harding called it the worst place in the world, but I don't know if I agree with her on that. It's all quiet desert. I thought it was rather nice, myself. You might like it."
He asks when he doesn't have to. He is the Inquisitor, he can make anyone go with him at a word, but he always asks. He is a good friend. Cole hopes he never forgets.
The Hissing Wastes do hiss a little, wind whistling woefully over the sand. Cole does like it there, dark and cool and mostly quiet, traveling with Varric and The Iron Bull, neither of whom call him 'it' or 'thing', or seem to mind what he is. When they come upon the Fade rift The Iron Bull laughs and Varric says something funny, in the wrong order, and Cole's mind is mired elsewhere because this one does not feel right. The others don't notice, can't feel it, but this rift is two rifts, one inside the other, something else beyond, reaching and grasping.
He shouldn't, knows he shouldn't. Nobody should. But Cole reaches back.
It's what he does; he helps people. The others can't sense it, don't see that this rift wants more than to let demons out. It wants to pull them in. He can't let that happen to his friends. He won't. There is no time to warn them and no time to stop it so Cole pushes forward and offers himself, gives up himself gladly, to save them all.
"Cole!" the Inquisitor cries out, startled, confused, why is he going, why is he doing this, but Cole can't answer him now, can't turn back; if he were more like a spirit he could fight it, but he's not, and so he can't. He lets it swallow him up, and he is afraid: he doesn't want to go to the Fade, he doesn't want to be alone.
It is over very quickly. But it is not the Fade where he finds himself. This place is real. Whole. But it is not the world he knows. It is something different.
He is sitting in grass, real grass but different grass, feels different, remembers hundreds of different years, and millions of lives, nothing Cole's ever felt before. This is somewhere new. Not Thedas and not the Fade.
He does not move, sitting in the middle of the grass, surrounded by people who ignore him, even though he is wearing his hat and he just appeared, no one sees him, nobody sees. He's like he was.
Afraid and alone, adrift, absent. Cole curls inward and tells himself to wake up. It will not work. It never works. This is no dream.
Wake up, please.
[OOC: Please note Cole's permissions page and the abilities section of his app. It is possible that your character can meet him and then forget the encounter afterward, if you like. This means there could be multiple encounters. Feel free to tag in setting your character up as minding their own business, and Cole can approach them, as he is not easily noticed (not by the average person, anyway). Hit me up if you wanna run something by me.]
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She's wrapped up in her cloak of human guise, as per usual, and wrapped up in her own thoughts -- also as per usual, these days. She's stopped bothering to try to disguise or hide Biscuit, who could almost pass for an ugly little dog as he trots along at her heels through the park.
[OOC: So I literally got out the dice and made a Perception roll to see if Asmodia would notice him because tabletop character, and she got a critical failure. Good job, adventurer. Also, you have my permission to use his abilities on her, and I'll do my best to include clear enough trains of thought to make it workable -- Asmodia will not like it one bit, though.]
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So much that stands out. Pieces that don't fit, just like he doesn't, jumbled all together, jostled about. This isn't their world, and yet they're here. Not all of them - but many, many like him.
There is a wound in the sky here too; more than the sky, the air, everything. But instead of demons, they pour through. This rift is different. It thinks. It wants. He can feel it.
Someone else nearby. Two someones.
Cole gets up slowly and moves over to her, woman who looks like something she is not, and her companion, an animal like a nug, but not quite. She doesn't see him. Still, nobody sees him.
He comes a little closer, keeping his head tucked down, peeking at her from beneath the brim of his hat.
"You're lost," he says, nudging himself gently into her awareness. "But you know where we are. Can you tell me? Can you help me?"
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"Huh?" she asks, her mind trying to buy time as she figures out what he's even asking. Is he a beggar? He's dressed a little like a beggar, inasmuch as he's dressed like anything in particular. "I'm not lost," she says, and it's true in the sense that she knows her way back to the
tiny boxapartment in which she lives, and she knows her way here and there to a handful of places in this city. "We're in Manhattan," she adds. "In the Park. Did...did you just get here?"no subject
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"You did just get here," Asmodia surmises, watching him no less warily than her familiar. He doesn't seem like he means any harm, but it would be hard for her to miss the way he seems to know things about her he has no business knowing. "I don't know how to get back," she admits. "We've been taken by a Rift -- a kind of, of planar gate -- I mean, a hole between the worlds. Manhattan is the name of the city where it put us."
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This Rift is different, though. Everyone knows about it, no one is doing anything.
If they try to look for him - if they try to enter the Fade to find him - what if they become trapped there, because of him?
He wraps his arms around himself and says nothing more.
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"Because it's not an accident of nature," she offers. "The rift is a thinking thing, as far as we can tell. It seems to want to do this to people."
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He lifts his head slightly, looks at her. "I'm Cole," he says after a moment. "I don't know what to do. You don't either."
He feels like he should say more, he shouldn't just leave it there, but - Sometimes, people can't solve your problems, kid, sometimes all they can do is offer you company. Varric saw worth in every attempt to help, even when they failed, and he taught Cole to see them as well. Softly, he adds, "But that's all right. You don't need to."
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She frowns at him, disliking her own honesty. It would be useless to give him false hope, but that doesn't mean there's nothing she can do for him. "You're going to need a place to live," she points out. "I can help with that, at least."
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His fingers twist nervously around themselves. Perhaps it would be better if she forgot.
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Cole tilts his head downward, face hidden under the brim of his hat. "You don't trust anyone," he answers slowly, feeling it out. "Trust is dark, dangerous, a dagger that can deceive and deny. You were... different. Descended from old devils, and named for a new one. They whispered and watched. Hated and hurt you. Lusana tried to make you hers. She made you run. Why would you trust anyone after that?"
He wants to help. He hopes this is helping. It had been getting easier to know when he was saying too much, why something he said might make someone uncomfortable, but now - it's all behind fog again.
He looks up at her. "I will never use it to hurt you," he says softly. "I promise."
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"Oh," she says, but she might as well be saying ew. He doesn't seem like he means any harm, but in that moment she feels so terribly exposed that it's all she has in her not to turn tail right then. "So you're one of those kinds. That's -- alright."
It's not alright.
[I am really sorry about leaving you hanging. I marked the notif for this as read before I'd answered it and apparently closed whatever tab it was in; I just remembered last night that I hadn't actually tagged you back.]
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Too late.
He can feel it solidifying, distrust sharpening into fear and revulsion, familiar. He said too much. She feels unsafe, too open, doesn't want to be seen, not like that.
He takes a small step back. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. He didn't want to hurt her. If the Inquisitor were here he'd try to fix it like a person would, but Cole can't do that alone. It will be better if she doesn't know. She has enough to carry; she doesn't need this.
He raises a hand. He shouldn't be able to do this anymore, but she didn't see him until he let her, and he shouldn't be able to do that either. Soft and gentle, he whispers, "Forget."
There may have been a boy there, he may even have said something. There's nothing now. It probably wasn't important.
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Alright, so innkeeping's out of the question and 'procurement' isn't looking like a valid career path in this world, but there's got to be something she could do around here for a little extra cash flow. Asmodia huffs out a sigh as she realizes she got so lost in thought she forgot to keep walking (...was there...a person...? no, never mind, couldn't have been important). She's nowhere in particular to go, but she sets off again at a brisk walk anyhow, hoping the exercise will jog her imagination.
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He's thinking about going by and visiting Angela at the butcher shop when he smells something that makes him stop in his tracks. It's leather, which isn't unusual in itself, but it's old leather- musty and worn and a little bit odd. It's out of place here in the middle of the park, would probably be out of place anywhere in the city short of a tannery.
He turns around, looking for a source of the smell. He expects to see a person, but he sees nothing. When it starts to move away, he follows it. He feels a bit ridiculous playing bloodhound like this, but he'd rather figure out what this is now than have whatever it is turn out to be something dangerous.
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"I'm here," he says, stepping closer, hoping to become noticeable. It's something he has control over, at least, though it shouldn't be this way now. "I'm Cole. You can smell me but you don't think I'm food. Maybe once you would have. You're hungry but not for me. Can I help?"
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He looks the guy up and down, lingering a few extra moments on the enormity of the hat. It's clear now that the clothes are where the majority of the smell is coming from, with the exception of the more flowery smell. That reminds him of the graveyard back in Sunnydale after a good rain, all dirt and ozone and decaying flowers. Maybe it's a smell leftover from wherever this guy arrived from. Maybe it's just what he smells like.
"Well, that's one way to stay outta the rain," he mumbles at the hat. Spike's uncomfortably aware of how this...whatever he is had seemed to have a window into not just his thoughts, but his past. Some things he doesn't mind people knowing, others he'd prefer stay hidden. That the guy seems to be asking him out to eat adds another level entirely that he's not quite ready to get to. He raises his eyebrows at him. "What are you supposed to be, then? Psychic ghost outta the dark ages?"
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He shifts his weight from side to side, pulling his arms in. The man is dangerous but not to Cole. He's something odd. Vivienne would call him demon. Someone else would - would - who was it? What was he thinking about?
He doesn't like forgetting things.
"You were a ghost once," he says softly. "You died, pain and fire to save them all, and then you woke up, again, but not like before. Everyone staring, what is Harmony doing here, who are they, nothing makes sense. She told me that she loved me but she didn't mean it."
There are a lot of pieces to sift through but those are the important ones, he thinks. It only occurs to him after he's spoken that he may have done wrong.
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"...yeah." He's not sure which statement he's answering. All of them, probably. "I'm Spike, but I'm gonna bet you knew that one already." He reaches out and prods Cole in the arm with a finger, just to reassure himself that he's talking to something solid. "So, human then? Did you just get here?" His instincts say that Cole isn't human, but he doesn't have much evidence to the contrary either.
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He quiets for a moment, looking at the ground.
"I just got here," he confirms. "I didn't mean to."
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"I'm not going where you need to go. If I write down an address can you find it?" He doesn't seem dumb, just a bit touched in the head. He can probably figure it out. And if not, he'll find him when he gets back. "Someone's bound to answer if you knock really hard."
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"It's all right," he says. "I can find my way." He looks up at the man who is not quite a man. "You're going somewhere. Can I go with you?"
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Still, he hadn't quite believed Cole. Asking to follow him around like a lost puppy right after asserting that he can find his own way doesn't really scream confidence to Spike. He doesn't want the guy to get lost in the city. He looks like a bum or a very bloody peculiar brand of street performer, both things that people are going to avoid...if they can even see him. It's possible that Spike is the only person that's both curious enough to help him out and actually able to do so.
He shrugs dramatically.
"Yeah. Suit yourself." He lifts a finger and points in Cole's direction. "But if you have some sort of displaced time traveler freak-out about the subway I'm leaving you behind."
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ẅ̸̬̠͉̩̰̯̬̪̤́̅͛̏́ͤ͂ͧ̀h̶̨̠̟̻͍̩̼͇̠̖̬͇̭͕̞̭͂̾̑̂̀͂͗̎ͤͮ̈́̆̀͐͆̀̀͢a̡̮͚̼̫̫̹̺̙͈͇͖͙̭̙̪̝͊̓͆̑ͣͨ̅͛̓͑͋͗̈̒̆̏̃̚͡ͅt̢̧̛̙̦̱͎̪͈̠̖͖͍̺͓̥̝̼̀̔̆̔́̓ͭ̂̐ͨ͐̇̓ͦ̄̀͜ ̧̢̡̬̟͇̹̤̘̄̾̌̈́̑͂̓̿ͮͭ́͟w͚͇͉̘̩͙̹͔͍̮̝̼̩̝̫̉̇̑̃̓̂̌͒̀́̚͘̕͡á̡̢̝͈͎̼́͛́͐́̈́ͫͨͣ͂ͨ̆ͭ͌͂ͤ͆̕sͭͬͭ̒ͦ̌͆̏ͩ̐͛̆̅̒̑̔͋̾̈͟͡҉̮̟̳͇̹̲̤͕̱̯̤̪͚ ̐̂̄͗͛̔̈̀ͪͦ̚͏̨̦̟̪͉̼̼̪̯̪͉̖͓̝̦͓̯̮̀ͅͅh̸̤͙͓͙́̑ͣ͋ͩͥ͐ͦͭ̐͛̒ͦ͝i̷̵̶̫̤͎̥͔̯͎͊͌ͧ̏͑ͪ̄͆ͮ̿͠s̵̡ͬ͒̌̏͑ͤ̽̚͝͞҉̯͓͖͙̣̮̠̼̤ ̲̝͍̬̪̥̻̈́̐̉̃ͥ͛͂̏̊͒̕͠n̛̻̥͍̗̘͍̰͓͙̯̐͐ͦͬͮ̃̐͆̀ͭ͐͐͜a̵̲̠̪̮̺̠͗̔ͧͪ̌ͭ̀m̸̸̠͇̼̠̺̱͚̫͔̜̩̗̤̺͑̉͗ͮ͠͝͝e̵͊̊̅͆҉̵̡̫̠̳̦̫͙̯̫̫̝̳
They all saw him. But Spike is kinder than he wants Cole to think.
"And you won't leave me behind," he says, and falls into step. "Is it hard to only be able to eat from one place?"
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"I can eat anything," he says once Cole catches up to him, "it just doesn't keep me alive. Blood's what does it. So we're going to the only place to get a decent cup." He doesn't say that Angela's is the only place that actually has blood that will keep him alive, but it seems like Cole has already sussed that one out.
"You'll like Angela. She'll probably want to buy that hat off you." He threatens the possibility mildly. It's possible that she'd make an offer, but not with how closely he seems to be attached to the hat. Angela likes weird things. Spike doesn't analyze if that's why she might like him- Mostly, he knows that he likes her. With her warm attitude and familiar accent, he finds her soothing in a motherly way. It's nice, he thinks, to have some sort of person like that in his life, even if he only sees her every couple weeks.
"I can see her gardening in it come summer." He figures that she'll be interested by Cole. Might give them something new to talk about the next time he drops by.
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He hasn't felt things so precisely in some time. It's like being a spirit again - more like a spirit. Is he moving backwards? He was supposed to grow. Is this growing or shrinking?
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Secondly, he frowns because he suspects that Cole is embellishing his impressions to try to please him. Sure, he's visited Angela regularly since he discovered her shop, but there's no way that she thinks of him as anything other than a customer. She's personable and kind to everyone, which is a big reason why her shop is still afloat and making money. Her goods are excellent, but she's the reason people show up every week. He shouldn't read into her being kind; that's just how she is.
He stuffs his hands into his coat pockets and nods his head toward the subway entrance up ahead. "So's this what you do back home, tell people's fortunes?"
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"You do it too," he says after a moment. "Fight demons. Maybe I can help."
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"But I'm always on the look-out for sparring partners." That might be interesting. In fact, the prospect is a little exciting. He did have that offer from the shape-shifter, which he is totally going to take, but this could be a good opportunity too. He might even learn a different fighting technique altogether. He has no idea what to expect from Cole's fighting style, but if he can fight and heal, it seems like he'd be a pretty valuable guy to have around.
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"Yes," he says eventually. "I fight with daggers. I don't have them. My daggers. I lost them. Maybe the Fade ate them. I can fight and also not hurt you. If that would help."
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"I've got knives you can borrow." Actually, he has two on his person right now. "A sword, too. But I know a couple places where you can find some new daggers, if you want 'em." He's a little curious about the Fade, but he figures that it's just what Cole is calling the Rift. The prospect of fighting is a much more interesting topic right now. "You any good in hand to hand combat? Martial arts?"
When he looks up, he sees that the train they need in just pulling in. "Shite. Come on, we gotta hurry. Follow me." He speeds up a little bit as he gets closer to the turnstile, and jumps over it with ease." Once Cole is over too, he grabs at the arm of his jacket and pulls him a little ways, urging him along.
A yell right behind them alerts Spike that there's a policeman on duty. Thankfully, he has an excellent tactic for these situations. He turns his head and lets his face transform into it's more frightening configuration. With his heavy brow drawn down, a little growl is enough to stop the policeman in his tracks long enough for them to slip by.
Spike shoves Cole onto the train and smiles with pointed teeth as the doors close behind them. A moment later, his face has returned to normal.
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Cole doesn't think he should bring that up yet. People tend to get uncomfortable when he does that sort of thing.
He smiles when Spike offers to lend him weapons. That is kind, and very trusting. Not something he's used to in a first conversation. Cole's happy he met Spike.
He follows Spike's example over the barrier but that seems like it was the wrong thing to do - before he can answer Spike's question, there's a man yelling at them. Spike turns to him and changes his face, and fear stops the man, and Spike pushes him onto the thing they're catching.
"You frightened him!" says Cole, and then promptly falls down when the room starts moving. Not really a room. It reminds him a little of dwarven things, only those usually just went up and down, not side to side.
"It moves!" he exclaims, the man's fear forgotten. He clambers up. A few people are looking at him, but they forget they've seen him in a moment. Only Spike can see him here. There's a window, all scratched up with funny words that carry old pieces of boredom and the wish to leave something behind. He leans over an empty chair to peer out at the dark tunnel rushing by. "We're going so fast!"
[Cole Science Note: Cole's unnoticeable but not invisible - if Spike talks to him, people will perceive him as interacting with a person, they just won't really notice anything about that person. So Spike's free to interact without it looking weird.]
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"So no industrial revolution in your universe, then," he says, deadpan.
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It was a shame to kill them, he thinks, but it always had to be done. The Iron Bull always seemed to like doing it, at least.
He takes a moment to look at all the people around them before mimicking them, sitting down and keeping his hands folded in his lap. "Everyone has something to distract," he observes. "No one wants to look at anyone else."
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"I heard that!" Angela says from behind the counter, then continues wrapping up her last customer's order while talking with the woman about the meal she's planning, offering cooking suggestions and asking happily about the woman's daughter. Spike is content to listen for a while and look up at the murals that Angela painted. He was never much of a country boy. He'd grown up in the city, and then stayed in cities for most of his life, but it's still nice to see a little piece of England hidden away here in New York.
When the bell above the door rings again signaling the woman leaving, Spike turns back around to watch Angela untie her apron and come around to their side of the counter. "Now, what have we here." She grips Spike's arm affectionately and smiles up at him before turning her attention to Cole. When she sees his face beneath the hat, she looks sharply back up at Spike, her smile widening. "You didn't tell me you had a brother! I could have been giving you twice the supply."
"Wh-" Spike looks at Cole. There might be some resemblance, but he doesn't think that it's enough to think Cole is his brother. "Noooo. Not my brother. Never had a brother. This is Cole. He's new to the city."
She gasps and looks between them again. "The resemblance is uncanny, dear. You didn't notice that? That face. Not to mention the affinity for leather."
Spike groans and she laughs. "It's lovely to meet you, Cole."
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Cole's gaze drifts from the paintings to the meats, each decorated with little flowers and drawings on the tags. Angela wants to make people happy, wants to give them as much joy as she can through her work. Cole likes her.
She teases Spike and studies Cole without fear, and Cole looks back, not sure what to say. He can feel her - tired eyes, aching back, missing home, missing Rose - but she is happy, too, grateful that she can live here and provide service, happy to be alive, even though she's lost just as he and Spike are lost.
"Hello," he says softly. "Spike needs blood so he can eat. He likes buffalo best." He looks down at the display case, fingers fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve.
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Spike nods, a small smile at his lips. It's nice that she remembers.
Angela turns to Cole next as she ties her apron back up, "Cole, are you hungry at all? I could fix you up a sandwich. Spike will pay for it, won't you dear?"
Spike glares back at her, but there's no malice in it. "If I must," he answers. It's actually good that she'd thought of it. He hadn't considered that Cole might be hungry.
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Was it too much to say that? He has trouble remembering. He looks down. "It's important to me, too," he murmurs.