bigapplesauce | HANDYSPLOSION [open to multiple]

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HANDYSPLOSION [open to multiple]

Andrew is snooping, but he's not getting very far with it. The trouble with absurdly powerful, government-sanctioned entities is that getting inside the base of such an organization tends to be a bit more complicated than showing up with a forged Health and Safety ID card. Of course, he could probably get inside very easily if he simply went up to the front doors and announced himself, but somehow he doubts he'd be likely to come back out without making a grand production of escaping, and he doesn't want to be too late coming home and make James worry.

The other trouble with Romac is that they're too smart to have anything interesting going on outside. After quite a bit of loitering -- more loitering than is probably wise -- all Andrew's seen is fairly ordinary people going in and out of the building. Disgruntled at their failure to be even the least bit interesting, Andrew finally gives up in disgust and decides to walk to the rebel base in order to say hello to a few people and use their private library.

He makes it less than halfway to the park before disaster strikes. Later, Handrew will be mortally embarrassed that the crisis didn't come about because some Romac agent spotted him and decided to make trouble, or because he had to run to intercept an alien, or even because someone got it in their head to mug him. No, this disaster occurs simply because neither Andrew nor a certain speeding taxi driver happens to be looking in the right direction at the right time. As the meta-crisis steps out into the intersection of Lexington and 59th (against right of way, if he'd bothered to notice), there's a deafening screech, an impact, and Andrew quite unexpectedly shatters.

The reflex to use his power when surprised likely saves his life. Twelve tiny Andrews are scattered across the road a moment later, all of them stunned to one degree or another. As they recover and realize what's happened -- and hear the yells of a few people who saw -- they all take the same course of action:

Run.

Unfortunately, very few of them run in the same direction. There's no plan or pattern to it, and very quickly the Andrews scatter to the four winds -- or at least to the four corners of the intersection. There are a few shouts (even New Yorkers tend to notice when someone explodes next to them) and one person even stoops and tries to grab one of the four-inch-tall Andrews, but he has quite a bit of experience in running for cover.

[OOC: Let me know where you want to encounter one or more Andrews, and I will write up an explanation of how he got there. The accident occurred at E. 59th St. and Lexington Ave. (the game map might help you here), and the Andrews have gone in every direction. Some Andrews will take advantage of the nearby subway entrances; depending where he enters he could do as he intends and go northwest, or he could get on the wrong train and go northeast, which would take him past Romac housing. Really, anything is possible -- though he's trying to get to either the Rebels or the TARDIS, he could get lost in any direction, or stay stranded near the intersection. Just write a tag indicating where your character encounters an Andrew and I'll work it out (or you can PM me or ping me on AIM if you want to hammer it out together). He'll be staying in twelfths, since merging into sixths would make him a foot and a half high, meaning he'd be still too small to get around without trouble but too big to go unnoticed. There might be multiple Andrews traveling together, so let me know if you want two of them.]

UPDATE, November 14: Nine Andrews are accounted for so far. One Andrew each currently reserved for Lucy, Spike, and Topher, meaning no more Andrews are available.

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It's fortunate that Secret turns out to be strong enough to shift Andrew's weight, as he isn't able to do much in the way of climbing. Anyway, Daine would probably lose a few feathers if he had to climb, so this way is better for everyone involved. Unwarned, he might have been bothered by the way Secret ties him down, but under present circumstances he finds it reassuring, like a seat belt.

"Ready when you are," he replies, making what seems like a safe assumption regarding the meaning of that cheep.

Taking off is the most awkward part, if only because it involves a lot of heavy flapping and Andrew's well-placed to feel it. She aims for the top of the awning, first, wanting to get a little height before she starts out over the traffic. A few two-leggers throw surprised glances her way when she appears, but she's fairly confident that none of them are in a position to see Andrew (unless they're peering out of the windows above her, and isn't that a pleasant thought). Resisting the urge to ruffle her feathers, she throws another glance over her shoulder to make sure Andrew's okay, then opens her wings, launches herself off the awning and flies out over the street. The air isn't very sweet, but it's warm, and it isn't long before she hardly has to flap at all, but can just ride the thermals up and over toward the park.

She takes it slow (for a hawk), mostly out of mindfulness of Andrew's injuries and the assumption that slower speeds will mean less wind buffeting him about, if nothing else. But it's also a rare view of the city; he might as well have a little time to enjoy it.

At first, the impression Andrew gets is that this is not going to be even the slightest bit more comfortable or less painful than if she had carried him in her talons. With all the muscles and feathers shifting under him, it's a wonder even Secret can keep him from sliding about and losing his position, and more than once he grunts in pain when she jostles his injured leg or when Secret puts a little too much pressure on his side. He grits his teeth and braces himself for the second takeoff, probably making it worse by tensing his body. He's getting no enjoyment out of this whatsoever, only the pain of motion and the sickening feeling of lurching through the air.

At least, that's true until her flight evens out and she stops flapping. Andrew opens his eyes against the wind, peering over her shoulder as they rise on a thermal. It doesn't hurt too badly now (at least, no more than when he was sitting on the ground), and his breath catches at the view as they zip between buildings at what seems like tremendous speed.

Daine works her way northeast above Park Avenue, and catches a particularly fine updraft when she hits 65th. Not wanting to waste it, she rides it almost straight up for a good hundred feet, her only movements being subtle adjustments of wing and tail feathers.

"Fun!" she hears Secret say, though Mithros only knows where the little thing's mouth is currently located, stretched as it is across her back. She glances over her shoulder at Andrew as they rise, pleased to see that he's still well-secured - and that he seems to be enjoying himself (as much as he can, given the circumstances).

She continues to follow Park for a few more blocks. It's a wide avenue that gets plenty of sun, and the more height she gains over the city, the less flapping she'll have to do over the park. By the time they reach 72nd, they're well above the roofs of the buildings below, and she banks toward Central Park with a screech of pleasure. It's hard not to love flying, and it doesn't matter if anyone hears her; she'd just be a blot against the sky to any observers below.

Edited 2013-11-02 21:49 (UTC)

It's a good thing he's never fallen to his death and thereby been given a reason to have a terror of heights. Oh, wait.

In all actuality, Andrew isn't so very frightened, though of course there's the natural human (and, alright, Time Lord) tendency to imagine himself plummeting to his death from the heights they reach. With Secret strapping him down and Daine between him and the open air, though, it's not so bad -- like riding a reverse hang glider, if hang gliders were sapient.

"Do you do this often?" he calls over the roar of the wind. He's got his hands wrapped around a couple of feathers without really meaning to do so, probably pulling or pinching them uncomfortably.

She's noticed the pinching, but there's nothing she can really do about it. Besides, as far as discomfort goes, he's surely in worse shape than she is, pinched feathers and all.

Nodding her head would muck with her flight (assuming Andrew could even see the gesture), so she settles for blinking at him over her shoulder and letting out a softer screech of confirmation. She doesn't spend as much time on the wing as she could - or as much as she did when she was newly arrived and still getting her bearings - but she still fits in a few flights per week. She has to keep in practice, if nothing else, and it really is the least obnoxious way to explore the city.

It's just a pity Andrew's hurt. Maybe once he's all patched up, they can try this again.

Maybe Andrew can introduce her to Aglet once he's met up with himself and knows who Aglet is. She could start giving tours as a regular thing.

And alright, talking while she's a hawk doesn't work as well as it might. Grinning, Andrew winks back at her, though his expression contorts into a grimace for a second as something shifts and puts pressure on the leg. Squirming into a less painful position, he lays his head down on her back to relieve the crick he's getting in his neck and just gazes down at the part of the city he can see from that vantage point. "You'd think I could have stayed around and helped me," he grouses, already on to a different topic.

Introducing Aglet to a hawk (who, when she isn't a hawk, is a Bean): what could possibly go wrong?

She's pleased to see him enjoying himself a bit, though the grimace is a reminder of her real goal: to get him to the TARDIS as quickly as possible without doing him any more damage. To that end, she turns her head forward and focuses on her flying. She's high enough now that it shouldn't be too difficult to just glide to the TARDIS, and getting there with as little flapping as possible will be an interesting challenge. She rides the air currents over the park, slowly losing altitude as she approaches the Ramble.

With Daine preoccupied, Secret decides to answer Andrew's comment. "Hit by car - scary," the darking opines from somewhere along its stretched body.

"I've been through worse," argues Andrew, who really has. Or at least, the Doctor has. What's getting hit by a mere car when he's been quite deliberately tortured on multiple occasions? He finally notices the way he's practically pulling Daine's feathers out and carefully loosens his grip, his fingers still ready to clench but hopefully resting lighter now.

"Still scary," Secret says reasonably. "Tiny can be scary, too." It can sympathize.

It's a pleasant surprise when Andrew loosens his grip a bit; she hadn't really been counting on it. And there's still a good chance he's going to end up grabbing her again, especially when they come in for a landing. She slowly spirals over the Ramble and the lake until she's just skimming over the treetops, then heads for the TARDIS. Once she spots the blue paint through the leaves, she slows into a near hover, wings and tail shifting subtly to hold her position. Carefully, carefully...

Andrew keeps on watching, not wanting to admit that he's scared of being so little even to sympathetic ears. He's the Doctor -- or alright, he's Andrew -- and he's not afraid of anything so pedestrian as a bit of shrinking. He lifts his head as the ground comes nearer, and heaves a heavy sigh of relief when he spots the TARDIS.

"Careful," he says needlessly, then realizes he's pulling her feathers again and makes a conscious effort to stop. Everything seems so fast at this scale.

Yes, yes - no need to fret. Daine drifts to the ground like a leaf, though she does have to do some flapping at the last moment to stop herself from landing too heavily. Her feet sink into last autumn's leaves, and she folds her wings neatly. See? That wasn't so bad.

She starts walking toward the ship's doors before Secret or Andrew can make any moves toward getting the little man down off of her back. His leg is still hurt, so she might as well carry him right in. Once again, it only takes a light nudge with her beak to open the door, and she steps inside, taking extra care with her footing because of her passenger. Flying up to the console would be quicker, but it would also involve a lot of flapping. Better to walk, if it'll jostle Andrew less.

The good: the lack of flapping is easier on his aching body. The bad: it still hurts anyway. The ugly: Andrew is going to be seasick if he has to sit on a ~~waddling~~ walking hawk for too long.

"Daine?" Were she human, the Andrew standing up on the seat to see who's just come in would come up about to her knee. "Did you find another one?" Hurriedly, he hops down from his hard-won perch, stumbles, and comes trotting down to meet her.

Edited 2013-11-08 03:25 (UTC)

She is not waddling, she is striding like the majestic creature she is. But once the other Andrew starts to head over, she elects to stop and wait for him. She nods once in response to his question, then turns to check out the Andrew on her back, concerned over how well he is (or isn't) holding up.

It's okay, Daine, some species just weren't built for walking. Andrew won't judge you for it.

"Oh, look who it is," says the smaller Andrew on her back, turning his head just enough to see.

"How come he gets to ride on top?" asks the bigger Andrew, suddenly put out once he sees his smaller counterpart all strapped in like some kind of ~~dragon~~ hawk rider. "Well, come on -- the longer we stay apart, the worse the reintegration is going to get."

Daine gives the larger Andrew a reproving glare. This one is strapped in because he's injured, thanks ever so. Secret detaches itself from her neck and carefully starts to reshape itself, though it keeps a few arms around Andrew for general support. Now that it isn't stretched so thin, it's at liberty to form a little head again.

"Andrew hurt," the darking says by way of explanation as Daine crouches against the floor (and probably leaves little feather-prints against the glass). "Secret helps." Once Andrew's ready to try sliding off Daine's back, the darking can provide some assistance (assuming the larger Andrew doesn't just hoist the smaller one up, which is hardly out of the question).

Unfortunately, all of a hawk's facial expressions look like reproving glares, so Andrew misses her meaning. It's hard to miss Secret's, though, or the way the smaller Andrew turns his head to look at him and sticks his tongue out.

"Stroller," explains the smaller Andrew as the larger one, a look of concern finally crossing his face, moves around to help. The smaller one shifts his weight so he can slide off, but the larger one carefully reaches over and puts his hands around his counterpart, helping lift him down.

"How bad is it?" he asks as he gently sets him on the floor, letting the other Andrew lay down on the glass before sitting down beside him.

"Bad enough," replies the other. "Nothing broken, I think."

Daine turns her head to train her eyes on Andrew's leg as Secret loops itself back around her neck. Not that she can see much besides the scuffed state of his trousers. Her eyes are good, but she doesn't have x-ray vision, and she's not about to change her head to dolphin shape. If nothing's broken, there'd be nothing for her to see, anyway.

Looking back up at the littlest Andrew's face, she lets out a concerned little cheep. However bad it is, she hopes she hasn't made it worse.

Andrew frowns down at the other Andrew, his expression thoughtful.

"If you absorb me, you might get hurt," points out the smaller Andrew, voicing what both of them are thinking.

The larger one nods. "Or it might mitigate the damage, since I outnumber you two to one. At least then I could get to the medbay under my own power, yeah?"

Daine rises to her feet and backs away a little, giving them room to work. She could get out and resume searching, but she'd rather see that Andrew gets himself sorted, first. Anyway, it sounds like recombining won't fix his leg, and if he does need a little help getting anywhere, she could take a sturdier shape.

Despite the fact that she's seen him merge back together before, she turns around, wings out to stop her slipping overmuch on the floor. (Whose idea were the glass floors, anyway? Does the Doctor have to mop them thrice daily?)

"Where's the Doctor?" asks the smaller Andrew.

The larger one waves a hand. "Off calibrating the scanners, I expect. You're too small to pick up -- and you're only the third Daine found the old fashioned way."

The two of them continue to chat quietly for a few moments, but it's clear they're coming to the same conclusion: he can hardly be hurt worse in combined form than the little one is now. Besides, this is an opportunity to experiment and see what does happen if one of him is injured.

From behind Daine comes a little hiss of pain as the bigger Handrew takes hold of the smaller, and then a moment later there's a little gasp and a thump as he combines and finds himself crouching on a leg that immediately gives out from under him. "Ooooh, should've laid down," he mutters to himself, sprawling and giving himself a moment before he tries to examine the leg and see how bad it is now.

Daine turns her head to look back at him, concerned. When she sees that he's flat on the floor, she turns around completely. Odd's bobs, so much for him making it anywhere under his own steam.

What other shape could she take? She doesn't want to leave him, even just to go out and retrieve the bathrobe. Finally, she settles on the shape most comfortable to her - besides her human one, anyway. Shutting her eyes, she thinks of the Pack. A few moments later, a wolf is standing where the hawk used to be. Daine stretches, then gives herself a little shake. Ahh, that's better.

And on the bright side: wolves are more expressive than hawks, and her paws have an easier time on the glass floor than her talons did. She ambles over to Andrew's prone form and lets out a low whine.

He's probably made it look worse than it is. The little Andrew had been in so much pain by the time they merged that he couldn't do more than lay there and look pitiful, but now he feels quite able to at least sit up. Or he would, if he didn't feel like all the blood has just rushed out of his head, and if he wasn't wincing and squinting at the ceiling as he struggles to integrate a third set of memories.

He squeezes his eyes shut as memories of flying lay themselves over top of memories of faffing about in the TARDIS while he waited for himself, his mind trying and failing to condense it into a single narrative. Willing himself to compartmentalize the experiences and temporarily file them away under 'things that happened to other people,' which usually seems to help him get past this stage, he finally opens his eyes to find a concerned wolf staring down at him.

"Ah," he says, reaching a hand up to pat the side of her face (really, he's never going to get out of the habit of treating her at least a little like an animal in these forms of hers). "Sorry about that."

Daine huffs a little at the pat, her breath ruffling his hair. He probably ought to know better, but it's easy to slip up, especially when she's not talking. Anyway, she's had far worse treatment at the hands of folk who didn't know there was a human mage inside whatever animal shape she was in. A few well-meant pats are easy to forgive, especially coming from someone as tactile as Andrew (honestly, it's a wonder he doesn't get even more handsy when she's in one of her fluffier shapes).

Since she's not sure how much longer he'll need to lie there and pull his memories together, she stretches out beside him with a yawn, her shoulder within easy reach should he need a little help pulling himself upright.

Edited 2013-11-12 05:45 (UTC)

If rushed -- and maybe she ought to rush him, considering there are more of him still on the loose -- Andrew could probably manage it now. With Daine's warm form beside him, though, it's more than a little tempting to take a minute or two to lay there and let things process. Her being in easy reach means that he soon stretches his arm out and starts patting her on the side, enjoying that fluff. Times like these, he misses his dogs.

"Right," he says at last, the thought of the dogs putting him in mind of James, which reminds him that there's still more of him out there to worry his partner with their absence. "No time for laying around. Come on!"

He chirps that last bit at her as if Daine's the one lollygagging, then eases himself up into a sitting position and braces himself against her to stand up. His leg twinges terribly when he puts weight on it, but now it holds.

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