bigapplesauce | I never want to see a day that's over forty degrees [closed]

Current Music: October 29, 2013

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I never want to see a day that's over forty degrees [closed]

It's been a few days since Jack was suddenly transported from Queenstown to Manhattan without an explanation. He knows people who can do that kind of stuff, but he didn't see any magic portals when it happened. More worryingly, the season is all wrong, autumn when the northern hemisphere should be in the throes of late spring.

Most worryingly, he can't leave. As in the wind won't work with him when he tries to fly away from the island of Manhattan, buffeting him back in instead of carrying him where he wants to go. As in not knowing how he can get back to anyone who might have answers for him -- the Man in the Moon isn't any more talkative than he's ever been, and Jack doesn't have any way of contacting the guardians when he can't fly to the North Pole...and when Sandy doesn't show up at bedtime. That's the part that came as the worst blow: he'd sat up through the entire first night waiting to see the dream sand, sure he could go to his friend and find out what was happening and why he's suddenly here instead of back in New Zealand, and whether he really did lose a year when it happened (the newspapers say it's 2013, and while he's pretty sure it was 2012 the last time he checked, once a couple centuries go by the years all blur together).

He's lonely here without anyone who can see him, and he's a little scared all the time from not knowing what brought him here or what's keeping him in and the other guardians out. Lonely isn't new, but it still hurts after things had been so good for a little while. Now that it's been a few days without any hint of what he should be doing to fix whatever happened, he's coping with it the same way he always has, if with less joyful abandon than before. It's cold enough for a little snow, which means it's cold enough to send people slipping on the ice -- and cold enough for a game of Snowballs From Nowhere. If there's one good thing about being unseen, it's the look on people's faces when he beans someone with a snowball and they can't figure out where it came from. He's been at it a while, and it's actually working to take his mind off of things, for now, to judge by his laughter when he lands a snowball right on the back of a random woman's neck.

[OOC: While this post is for introducing Jack to Greta, please feel free to assume he's lobbed snowballs at any characters who can't see him yet.]

[cw references to character death in comments]

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It's been an uncomfortable few days. Greta's been allowing Lilly and Ruckus to distract her from the assorted things she's been trying not to think about, but today, she's on her own. She needed to get some things from the market, and 'behave yourself while on a shopping trip' seemed like too tall an order for the child. Especially when set against a far more pleasant visit to see Melanie and Aziraphale, which she knows both girls enjoy.

Of course, being ostensibly free makes it hard not to at least try to see Iman. She hasn't heard from her friend in a few days, and while it's probably nothing - Iman knows how busy she is with Lilly - Greta can't shake the worry that she's put the other woman off, somehow, or that she would if given the slightest opportunity.

She's cutting through the Park, her shopping bag slung over her shoulder, and wholly absorbed in her own thoughts when a snowball smacks into the back of her neck and starts to seep down into her collar. Greta yelps in mingled shock and indignation, whirling around to catch the responsible party. He's not difficult to spot; he's right out in the open, laughing without a trace of repentance - or malice, to be fair. Still, she gives the young man a look of stern, matronly disapproval as she scrapes the remains of the snowball off of her neck.

"Must you?" she asks. Surely he has friends he could be pestering.

Oh, that was a good one -- it went right down her collar, and now she'll turn around, maybe find someone to blame, maybe not. Jack watches her expectantly, ready for a show.

He's not ready for her to look right at him and tell him off for it. His amusement rapidly transforms into confusion; for a moment he looks like a deer in the headlights before turning to look behind him -- because of course there's someone behind him she thinks did it, right? Except there's not. There are people all around, but no one in range, and when he turns back she's still looking in his direction.

"...Huh," he says. "That's...weird."

That's not exactly the response she was expecting. Greta watches the lad, her brow furrowing as he looks about himself in evident bewilderment. It looks like a far-too-late attempt to play innocent, but there's no one else for him to pin the blame upon. What business does he have acting so surprised? New Yorkers are good at ignoring things, but no one with an ounce of sense would expect that to stretch to ignoring a snowball to the back of the head.

She huffs out a breath, then marches up to the lad, intending to make a pointed remark about apologies and their timely delivery, but she's distracted en route by his utter lack of footwear. "Where on earth are your shoes?" she finds herself saying, instead, as she draws to a halt. "You'll catch your death."

Jack's still more or less expecting her to march right past him (or worse, through him) on her way to blame someone else for his snowball, but when he takes a few steps back and to the side she just adjusts course to keep coming right for him. "I don't...have any?" he replies, caught off guard enough to actually answer the question. "She's looking at me," he says to himself, then, to her, "You're looking at me! You can see me? You can see me!"

This declaration of the seemingly obvious is accompanied by an incredulously hopeful laugh as he bounces on the balls of his feet. "You're looking right at me!" he points out again.

"... Yes," Greta confirms, thrown. Shouldn't she? A quick glance around confirms that no one else is looking at the lad, but no one's really looking at her, either, so that doesn't prove anything. Maybe the poor boy's a bit soft.

Or maybe he has some sort of magic that turns him invisible or something. Given the Rift and all, that might be more likely than the other. But if he meant to be invisible - as she presumes he must, the better to carry out his little prank - why is he so giddy at being caught out?

Her indignation fades, giving way to concern. If he's come through the Rift, he probably needs help. And if being noticed is such a pleasant shock, it's a safe bet no one else has offered him any. Of course, that might just be his own fault; chucking snowballs at unsuspecting strangers isn't exactly endearing behavior. But she's been drawn in, now, and she can't just abandon a potential Rifty who's landed in Manhattan without shoes, even. Lowering her voice a little, she asks, "Are you new here?"

Edited 2015-11-26 20:36 (UTC)

"Yes!" Jack's jazzed enough that he blurts out the reply as if it's good news, then has to go back and correct himself. "I mean, no, I've been to New York before, but I just got here a few days ago and I don't really know how and I can't ask anyone, but if you can see me --"

He pauses, surprised all over again as he thinks about it. "You believe in me," he says, sounding awed.

The confirmation that he's a fellow Rifty is reassuring, but nothing else he's saying makes the least bit of sense. She believes in him? That seems like a rather personal thing to assume of a complete stranger. Yet he looks so earnest about it all.

There's probably no salvaging this introduction out of the 'bizarre' bin, but that won't stop her from trying. Greta sets down her shopping and gives the boy her full attention. "What's your name, lad?"

~~Jack Frost, playing it cool.~~ "My name?" It's like he's completely forgotten that sharing one's name is a regular part of meeting someone new. To be fair, he probably has. "My name is Jack Frost. I'm Jack Frost." At least the and you can see me is just implied this time. There's a beat during which he just grins at her before remembering that this goes two ways. "What's, uh...what's your name?" he asks, giddy about the amazingly normal conversation they're having right now.

"Oh!" Her eyebrows shoot up as that registers, and she gives the boy another assessing look, noting that the icy pattern on his clothing is actual ice. Well, this is strange, but probably no stranger than angels and devils (and probably less dangerous than the latter). "Um." She blinks, resists the urge to admit that she thought he'd look older, and gives her head a little shake as if to jostle her thoughts back into order.

So, she's speaking with the winter spirit she's heard tales of since childhood. At least he seems friendly - moreso than some of those tales would have led her to believe. But he's from another universe, probably not her own. And he's still acting very much like a normal boy.

"I'm Greta," she says, sounding ever so slightly star-struck. Someone walking by gives her a wary sidelong glance, and it occurs to her that the boy might actually not be as visible to the general populace as he is to her. Oh, dear. She must look completely mad. Flushing, she bends to retrieve her bag. "Come with me," she adds in an undertone. "We shouldn't talk here." With that, she spins on her heel and starts back towards her apartment at a brisk walk.

The feeling is mutual. He's still staring at her like she's some kind of godsend, still grinning like an idiot at the way she looks right at him and talks to him like a real person. He doesn't miss her surprise (laughs a little at her double take, actually), but he does miss the weird look from a stranger that sets her off.

The smile melts off his face when her surprise becomes embarrassment, and for a moment he's afraid that he did something wrong and she's going to go away and leave him alone -- but she asked him to come, even if she didn't sound happy about it, and so he hops ahead of her to follow from in front, walking backwards. "Where are we going?" he asks. "What's so bad about talking here?"

"Home," she says once there's enough distance between them and any other passersby for her words to go unnoticed. "If no one else can see you, then I look like I'm talking to thin air." She gives him a pointed look; he shouldn't need her to explain why that's a problem.

At least it's not far. Jack - another lad named Jack, she thinks wryly - starts to go a bit off course. It's no great surprise, considering he doesn't know the way and is walking backwards, besides. She reaches out automatically to steer him right with a hand on his shoulder. He's cold to the touch, which she supposes makes sense, but it still gives her a bit of jolt, and she draws her hand back with a faint, surprised exhalation.

"Oh, so you're saying you're embarrassed to be seen without me," says Jack, the light of mischief back in his eyes. "Better than being embarrassed to be seen with me, I guess --"

He gives a reciprocal start when she just reaches out and grabs him. Her grip is warm and firm, but too brief, and he's left with the ghost of her body heat when she quickly withdraws her hand again. He smiles a broken little smile and shrugs as if to say I know, right?, then lets his feet leave the ground so he can flit over to walk along properly beside her, careful not to touch and make her flinch away again. "I don't understand what's happening," he admits quietly.

For a beat, she wonders if she's done him harm - does warmth hurt when you're Jack Frost? Does anything above a wintery nip feel like a burn? He doesn't seem hurt, at least not physically. And to be fair, neither is she; he's cold, but not that cold, and her hand doesn't feel any worse for its brief contact.

It's a rather sad smile he gives her, though. If he's not used to being seen or spoken to, maybe he's not used to being touched, either. It wouldn't have occurred to her that Jack Frost would feel such a loss so keenly, but... well. She doesn't know that much about him, when all is said and done.

"I can explain some of it," she says in an undertone. "I'm not from around here, either."

They're leaving the Park for the city streets, and Greta gives him an apologetic smile before shifting her gaze forward, glancing at him occasionally to make sure he's keeping up.

Jack lets out an impatient sigh when she deliberately turns her attention away from him. In theory, he gets it. It's probably really weird to talk to thin air when other people can see you doing it. He's just never had that problem, not even from this side of it. He wants answers, though, and he wants to stay with the one person who can actually see him, so he'll put up with her silence as long as he has to.

Of course, he gets distracted almost immediately. It starts with idly scraping his staff along the buildings and sidewalk, spreading frost as he goes, but then there's a chihuahua out on a walk with her owner and both get to go skidding on a patch of black ice. Jack chuckles to himself, glancing to Greta as if looking for approval or at least shared amusement.

The tracery of frost he leaves in his wake is beautiful, and Greta winds up giving it more attention than she probably should. Anyone paying attention might think she was causing it, what with the way her eyes follow the invisible staff. The black ice trick is more alarming - those tiny dogs seem so breakable already, and she winces as both it and its owner skitter across their custom-built hazard. Neither are hurt, but it's a near enough miss that she can't tell how harmless Jack intended the trick to be.

Scolding him aloud is out of the question, but she does favor him with a reprise of the disapproving look she gave him before. There's something a bit ludicrous about all of this; he's some sort of immortal being, and she's staring him down as if he's any given misbehaving lad from the Village. Well, if he's going to act like a child, he's going to get treated like one.

"Honestly," she murmurs once they've reached her building and she's shouldered open the door to admit them both. "Do you always do things like that to people?"

She can take comfort in knowing that the look is at least moderately effective...though brief repentance quickly gives way to sulking. He doesn't leave her side, though, and he doesn't pull the trick again.

"Things like what?" he asks, a hint of challenge underlying his theoretically innocent tone. "Is this where you live?"

"You know very well what," she replies, arching an eyebrow at him, but doesn't otherwise press the issue. It might not be wise, given that she doesn't really know what he's capable of. Besides, there are more important things to discuss. She doesn't want him storming off (figuratively or literally) before she even has a chance to explain what's happened to him.

"Upstairs," she explains as she leads the way to the elevator. "Lots of people like us live here. The Rift - that's the thing that brought you here, and it's done the same to me and hundreds of other people. We tend to stick together, and we look after each other." There's an undercurrent of stubborn determination in her tone, perhaps because looking after others is the only real job she has, anymore, and she doesn't want anyone depreciating its value.

She opens her door and lets Jack in. Ruckus lifts her head sharply, then gets to her feet and trots over. Greta bends to give the dog a reassuring pat, then looks up at Jack with a pensive frown. "Are you all right, being indoors?" He's not going to start melting or anything ghastly like that, is he?

Jack stares at Greta as though she's grown a second head, honestly confused by the question until its meaning clicks and laughter comes bubbling up out of him. "It's not exactly a sauna in here," he points out. "I'll live. I mean, your water pipes might get a little frosty...."

They won't, of course. Not unless he deliberately tries, and why should he? Anyway, he's got other things on his mind. "What kind of thing is it?" he asks. "Does it just bring people? I mean -- regular people."

He was joking about the pipes, right? Greta glances down at Jack's feet as if half-expecting the floor to start freezing over where he stands, but nothing seems to be coming to any real harm. He must have some control over it all (though whether he chooses to exercise it is another matter). Deciding not to worry about it unless he gives her an obvious reason to, she slings her bag up onto the counter and starts unpacking.

"It's a sort of tear between universes. That's how it was explained to me," she says as she works. "And not everyone who comes through is, er... normal." Compared to the native population, she's guessing most Rifties are far from it. "We have angels and the Devil and a ship who's also a person..." she shrugs. "I'm not even from this time period. It takes all sorts."

Jack takes the opportunity to look around the room in which he finds himself, idly curious to see how his new ~~friend~~ acquaintance lives. "Angels? Really? I've never seen an angel. Do any of them know how to get home?"

He quickly zeroes in on a patch of wall covered in drawings, padding over (no frost left in his wake, now) and reaching out to gently touch it. "You have kids?" he asks, already distracted from the more serious matters at hand.

Edited 2015-11-28 01:13 (UTC)

"No one's figured it out, yet, but people are working on it." 'Encouraging' is the tone she's going for, though she's not sure how optimistic he'll be at the news that the Rift hasn't yet brought anyone through who can best it.

She glances at him as he makes his way over to Lilly's wall. It's just as well the girl isn't here; she gets nervous enough meeting strangers without said strangers having magical powers that they might use against her for a laugh. Ruckus is better socialized, but even she follows the lad at a little distance, leaning forward to sniff at his legs, her posture suggesting she'd bolt at the first sign of trouble.

Jack's question, as understandable - and even predictable - as it is, still manages to throw her. Greta stills, her gaze slipping out of focus for a few moments before she collects herself. She has to say something. The subject isn't as raw as it was, and she can't avoid it forever.

"I had a son, back home," she says evenly. Had. She still believes - insists to herself - that he's alive, but that doesn't mean he isn't lost to her. Past tense, then. "The girl I'm watching now isn't mine, exactly, but..." her shoulders hitch in a hapless shrug. "The Rift brought her here, too, and she needed looking after." She looks at the girl's scrawls to avoid looking at Jack (can she even expect sympathy from a spirit?). "Lilly," she finishes before turning away to resume unpacking.

It sounds like something the guardians should handle, even if it's not only children being grabbed up by this Rift. Jack just needs to find out what's stopping Sandy from coming to Manhattan, or find a way to send a message to one of the others so they can come together and figure it out. Maybe him being on the inside of things will even help, somehow.

He looks up from the drawings, the little smile of discovery fading from his face. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, before coming across the room to join Greta at her side. For a moment he starts to reach his hand out to her, but he drops it to his side again. "For what it's worth, I think Lilly's really lucky to have you."

Well, that answers that parenthetical question. Greta looks over at Jack, unable to hide a brief flicker of surprise. Part of her almost wants to object to the compliment - as if he knows her well enough to say something that sweet, and sound as if he really means it. The aborted gesture cinches it; she's touched, enough so to disregard their temperature disparity for a moment or two.

"Thank you," Greta says quietly, wrapping her arm around his shoulders in a half-hug. The cold isn't so bad, especially now that she's braced herself for it, and she gives his arm a brisk little rub before releasing him.

Was that too forward? He seems so dratted normal; she has no idea it she ought to be more deferential or fix the lad a snack. Does he even eat? It doesn't seem like the sort of thing he'd need to do, but that doesn't mean he couldn't, or wouldn't enjoy it. "Can I get you anything?" she asks. "I don't know if you, er..." she trails off uncertainly.

It's sad, though, thinking of all of them separated from the people they love. Lilly's parents must be missing her as much as Greta misses her son. As much as his family must have missed him.

He stiffens, forgetting for a moment that hugs are something you reciprocate, before his brain catches up with him and he frees his arm to slide it around her back. It's nice. It's really nice, and Jack has to remind himself to let go when she does. He gives an awkward little cough and tries to play it off like it wasn't much of anything, embarrassed by how much he liked it when he was trying to comfort her. "Oh -- no, no, you don't have to do that," he says. "It's -- I'm fine, really."

His bluster is oddly reassuring. If nothing else, it's clear she hasn't done him any harm. It rather seems as if he liked it. She supposes the poor lad doesn't get hugged that often, if being seen and heard are such surprises. "If you're sure," she says, folding up the emptied bag and stowing it away, then turning to face him.

"Well." This is tricky. She feels as if he ought to be given a phone and an apartment, but she has no idea if actually needs either of those things. Does he even sleep? Greta frowns at him thoughtfully. "You're different than I expected," she admits. "I thought you'd be older, and less..." she makes a Jack-encompassing gesture, then sheepishly concludes, "normal."

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