bigapplesauce | an unexpected failure to journey [closed]

Current Location: The Ramble
Current Music: August 27th

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an unexpected failure to journey [closed]

Usually he wakes up from disorientation in the woods, not to it. But today he's stirred by wind on his cheek, rustling leaves and branches, birds sounding much more present than they would from beyond a hotel window. He feels suspended somehow, no solid support beneath his back. He's upright, but he's not on the ground either. What...?

Full consciousness comes abruptly and painfully when he jerks and flails, or tries to flail, quickly stymied by the thorny tendrils that are tangled all around his limbs and torso, pinning him to the unruly underbrush growing around the trees. The brambles aren't very extensive, but he is definitely in their midst, held him fairly fast a few inches off the ground.

Okay then.

Ordinarily he'd think he was dreaming but he's gotten a little too good at knowing the difference. He's definitely awake. He doesn't remember leaving the hotel, doesn't remember anything happening that could possibly explain this. Even with that he doesn't quite panic. This might as well happen. Rift life is already so goddamn weird. Every day is a gambit of refreshing normalcy and staggering weirdness.

He's not tightly restrained and the branches aren't that thick - he's pretty sure he could escape if he could just...

"Ow!" he snaps as the thorns snag at his clothing and prick him all up and down his arms. God dammit. He lets out a frustrated sigh. "Cool. All right."

He pulls his hands into fists and tries to move his legs. His jeans protect him little, but he really can't get good enough leverage to tear himself free. He tries again, a few different ways, and finds it becoming almost increasingly difficult, every time making the minor pains a little worse. He can't even reach his hand to his pocket, though he can feel his phone in there. Finally he just releases his tension, hangs there, defeated.

So what is he supposed to do, just wait for someone to stumble upon him? Maybe if he can get some animal's attention he could ask it to find Daine? He looks around for squirrels or birds but none are close enough, and if a person does happen along he'd really rather not be entangled in brambles and yelling at random birds.

This is the Ramble, right? It has to be. The TARDIS must be somewhere around here, not close enough that he can feel her, but. Maybe she can see him, send someone to help.

Or he could just pray.

No. Not like this. If they're going to talk again it's not going to be for something like this. It's going to be because Johnny goes back on his own.

Which leaves him with nothing to do but wait.

He settles in as well as he can and definitely does not sulk.

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Greta wakes with the sudden and absolute conviction that she needs to go to the Wood. Her morning routine is as short as she can make it: she rises, dresses, twists up her hair into a more haphazard bun than usual. She doesn't bother with making the bed or eating breakfast because it's important that she get out there and find... something. Some things. Yes. She does think to wrap a few muffins in a handkerchief and tuck the bundle away in her skirts, because who knows how long she might be out there? The Woods are vast, and she doesn't expect her task to be easy. But she will succeed. She's certain of that much.

She doesn't even think to take things like phone or keys. Those won't be of any use where she's going.

The Park is familiar territory for her, and she instinctively heads for the thicker cover of the Ramble. Yes, this is where she needs to be. Whatever she's searching for, it's somewhere in here.

She's not sure how long she's been wandering before her good sense starts to reassert itself. This isn't the Woods. Hasn't she passed that statue twice already? And what is she looking for, anyway?

Oh, for goodness's sake. Greta stops in her tracks, unable to believe the fix she's gotten herself into. She's in Central Park, and she doesn't have her phone or anything but a few muffins, and this is completely ridiculous. What's come over her? It's embarrassing, whatever it is. Sighing, she glances up at the sun to reorient herself and heads back for the base.

That's what she means to do, anyway, and she's sure the Ramble isn't that large, but no matter how far she walks, she can't seem to find her way out of the area she's in. The paths loop back on themselves, and when she tries picking a person at random and following not too far behind them, they end up vanishing before her eyes, and she ends up back where she started. It's like magic, and not the sort she wants to be acquainted with. Frustrated, Greta strays from the path, deciding to pick a direction at random and just walk in a perfectly straight line until she gets somewhere. Maybe it's the paths that are confused, not her.

He's starting to get hungry.

This is the worst. Just hanging here like a sad failure. Periodically he gets re-energized and makes another escape attempt, which, he's starting to realize, is actually making it worse. He somehow gets more tangled each time. Fuck this so much. He needs to figure out something to do that isn't the obvious solution that he's willfully not doing.

Fortunately for his dumb sense of personal pride, something is rustling nearby. Sounds like a person. Hopefully it's not a bear. He doesn't think there are bears here but also who even knows in this place. Only one way to find out, he thinks grimly.

He lifts his head. "Hello?" he calls. "Is someone there? I - I need help."

Five-hundred-twenty-three, five-hundred-twenty-four… surely she should have left the Ramble by now. This is awful. She'd be more than a little tempted to ask the kindest-looking stranger she could find if they might try leading her out by the hand, but she's been in the city long enough to have a realistic idea of how that would turn out. What else can she do? She's tried everything, nothing's worked, and she has no way of reaching Iman or the Balladeer. Even the TARDIS has proven impossible to find.

The last thing she wants to do is sit down and give up. Trouble is, she's starting to run out of other options.

So when a voice calls out to her - someone else in need of help - she feels absurdly relieved. Never mind that she's in no state to help herself, let alone anyone else. At least trying to solve someone else's problem will give her something to do besides wander in circles.

"Yes? Yes!" she adds more assertively, looking for the source of the voice. "I'm here. Where, er… where are you?" The greenery is rather thick here, and she doesn't see any tell-tale scraps of clothing through the trees. She takes a few steps in the direction she thinks the voice came from, skirting around a tree, and then she spies the rather unusual clump of brambles growing out of an otherwise bramble-free section of forest. Her frown shifts from confused to alarmed as the tangled mess wriggles unnaturally. Is it enchanted?

Oh no, oh no, is someone in there?

Greta stumbles forward, drawing to a halt a few feet away - out of reach, she'd like to think, of any enterprising tendrils that might slither her way - and crouching a little to peer through the twisted, overlapping vines. And there's the flash of cloth she was looking for, the gleam of an eye, and suddenly her predicament doesn't seem so terrible at all. "Oh, you poor thing!" she gasps out, horrified.

His reactions are mixed. For one thing thank fuck it's a rifty, and one who knows him, and one who's been kind to him before. For another, it's her, the woman he actually had a breakdown on the one time he met her because she reminded him of his mom. He doesn't know under what circumstances he'd have liked to see her again, but it's definitely not this.

"Yeah, hi," he says. "Um, Greta, right? I don't... suppose you have any, like... pruning shears on you? That would just be fuckin... optimal." Hopefully she doesn't ask him to explain how it happened, though actually 'I woke up here' is not that bad an explanation for a fellow rifty.

She knows that voice. And the voice knows her, apparently. It takes her a moment to place him, both because it's been some time since she's seen him and because he's thoroughly entangled in brambles, but then she has it. "Johnny?" The poor lad can't catch a moment's peace, can he? Still, she might do better to ease up on the 'poor thing'-ing. He doesn't want mothering (regardless of whether he needs it).

So she pats at her skirts, as if there's the slightest chance that a pair of pruning shears could have ended up in there, then shakes her head, disgusted with herself. "I have muffins, and that's all," she says, picking her way a bit closer. The brambles don't seem inclined to make any sudden overtures in her direction, so she pinches a stem between her fingers and gives it a cautious, experimental tug. Maybe she can untangle him a bit, or at least get some of this mess farther away from his body.

"I don't know what came over me this morning," she continues as she works. "I just left the base with practically nothing, and I've been tromping around the Ramble ever since. No matter which way I go, I can't seem to leave." She winces faintly as thorns poke at her, but isn't dissuaded. Johnny's still well-cocooned, but the outermost layer of vines is parting a little. If she can make a bit more space, she might be able to reach through and get to the ones that are actually paining him.

"Muffins are good too," he says as lightly as he can. He wouldn't say no to a muffin. He watches her, worrying his lip between his teeth as he picks carefully through the brambles. Sounds like she's had a pretty weird morning herself. "Yeah, I just woke up here," he decides to admit, in light of that. "So maybe something's up. Who even knows, with this place."

He gives an experimental squirm in response to her efforts and regrets it immediately, sucking air through his teeth. "I can't really seem to leave either," he says dryly.

Are they, though? Greta gives him a brief, skeptical glance. Muffins aren't going to get either of them out of their respective messes. Then again, if they're going to be stuck here for a while, perhaps it's just as well they have a little food. No water, of course, but she's trying not to think of this as such a long-term predicament that their lack of supplies will prove to be a problem.

The news that he woke up here is a bit alarming. She's still not sure what prompted her foolish behavior, but at least she remembers getting up and leaving her apartment. "As if the Rift hasn't done enough," she grouses under her breath as she pries a length of bramble away from its fellows and coaxes it down a few inches. It's not the quickest progress, but more of Johnny's face can be seen, and presumably he can see more of the outside world.

"Careful," she adds, wincing in sympathy when his wriggling only results in more pain for him. She wishes she could work faster, but all she has is her hands. "Sorry," she says. "I know I'm not being especially quick about this. But I think if I left to find help, I wouldn't be able to find you again." If she can't find her way out of the Ramble or find the TARDIS, she doubts she'd be able to find Johnny if she was trying to on purpose.

He's relieved that he can see a little better, and his right arm has slightly heightened mobility now. He still can't reach his pocket, though his phone has been buzzing periodically, annoyingly.

He gets immediately nervous when she mentions leaving. He didn't realize how desperate he was for contact, company, even if she can't get him out, he'd rather have her there than not. "Please don't go," he murmurs.

Wow, that came out a lot more needy than he meant it to. He dips his head down, instantly embarrassed.

"Hey, um... sorry, this is kinda weird, but do you think you can hand me my phone?" He nods down at his pocket. "I can feel it going off."

His request surprises her, both the tone of it and the fact that he's asking her not to leave him when she just told him she had no such plans. She pauses in her work long enough for a firm, "I won't." Then, noting his embarrassment, she lightly adds, "I've done more than enough aimless wandering already. Compared to that, this is practically a treat." That's punctuated by a brief hiss of pain as a thorn jabs her thumb, and she withdraws her hand to check the damage. She's bleeding a little, but it's nothing compared to what Johnny must be going through.

"You have your phone?" She brightens visibly. "Then we can call for help!" Crouching, she peers through the twisted greenery towards his pocket. The brambles are much thicker here, but not so thick that she doesn't think she could get her arm through it.

"I think I can reach it," she says, gingerly shifting the outermost vines aside and reaching through the gap towards his pocket. Thorns scrape her arm, but the brambles don't seem inclined to seize ahold of her and truss her up as well, so she presses onwards. "Excuse me for this," she mutters dryly as she finally reaches his pocket, her fingertips finding the smooth edges of his phone. It takes some wriggling for her to pull it out, and she doesn't want to move too quickly for fear of dropping it on the ground and having to dig for it all over again. But after a few moments of tense concentration and frequent thorn-induced wincing, she extracts the phone with a triumphant grin. "Yes! Right. Here you are." She carefully passes it to him.

He grimaces every time she makes a sign of being stuck with the thorns - this is his problem, he doesn't want her getting hurt for his sorry ass - but he keeps quiet about it until she's able to hand him his phone.

"Thanks," he says, holding it carefully and turning it awkwardly so he can see it. "Listen, don't... don't worry about me, I don't know if there's a way to get me out of here easily just like you can't get out of the woods. I think something weird is going on." Pretty well confirmed by the texts he's gotten. A big mess of texts originating with an initial query from Daniel, which he scrolls through rapidly. Daniel's levitating, Seth is a cat - Gabriel's in there too, mentioning Peter's now a goose. He snickers slightly at that.

And there's several texts from Iman. He furrows his brow as he reads those, glances surreptitiously up at Greta, and then back at the phone as he thumbs out a response. He takes care to delete a few particular texts from Iman before saying, "Hey, um, Iman's been asking about you."

"Like magic," she agrees with a thoughtful little nod. "The unpleasant kind - curses and so on." Now that she thinks about it, she'd wandered out here as if she had a curse to break. She looks around their bit of Ramble, as if half-expecting a witch to show up and give them helpful instructions regarding how to break the spells they're under, now. But she expects that's not how most witches operate.

She glances back at Johnny in surprise when he mentions Iman. "She has?" Why? Granted, wandering out of her apartment with practically nothing and no easy way to be reached isn't normal behavior for her, but she assumed Iman would be too busy at work to notice. If she noticed. Maybe something else is wrong. "Is she all right?" Greta asks, brow furrowed in sudden concern.

Curses, yeah. That kinda makes sense. Makes sense that Greta would know about that, too. He's a little distracted sassing Iman with a half-smirk, but he manages to answer both Iman's question and follow up with Greta's.

"She says she's okay," he tells her. "She wants to come find us but she's gotta help someone else first. Someone worse off than us, probably." This situation isn't great but it could be worse, probably.

He's not sure who to contact, meanwhile. The most obvious answer he could have contacted without the phone. Everyone else seems pretty busy with their own shit. Daine would be a good option if she didn't seem to be running around a lot already.

"Is there anyone you can think of who could help us?" he asks, glancing up at her.

"Oh. Good." She's genuinely pleased that Iman hasn't been struck down by anything unpleasant, if still a little baffled by Iman's sudden concern for her. But if this is as widespread as it sounds, maybe Iman thought to check in on her and found the apartment empty. Greta's stomach gives a guilty twist at the thought of what a worrying sight that would have been, but at least Iman knows she's all right, now.

She nods in response to Johnny's question. "Yes! The Balladeer - he's a friend, and he's usually in the Park. He might be quite close by." She nods at his phone, then asks, "May I?"

"Yeah, knock yourself out." Johnny holds the phone out to her, letting her take it. 'The Balladeer' - is that the guy who was singing about him a while back? Ugh, probably. Whatever, if Greta knows him then maybe he'll be able to help, and that's fine. "Tell him to bring scissors," he says dryly.

Thank goodness she thought to memorize her friends' numbers. Granted, it's not a tall order when you don't have that many friends, but that's beside the point. Greta takes the phone and fires off a text to the Balladeer, smiling in relief when he responds. "I'm sure he'll help us," she says, transferring the smile to Johnny as she waits for the next text.

And then she frowns. Wait... what? "He's..." she says, looking at the phone as if it's personally offended her. "He's not coming." Another text comes in, and her expression darkens further. She's not even dignifying that with a response. What a... well, 'disappointment' doesn't even begin to cover it.

Greta sighs heavily, then passes the phone back to Johnny. "I'm sorry. Maybe one of your friends would be a... a safer bet."

Johnny watches with growing concern as her expression changes from hopeful to frustrated. He takes the phone back, looking through the conversation with confusion and then anger.

"What the hell," he mutters, wasting no time before getting in on it. After a few baffling exchanges he makes a disgusted sound and closes out of the window, turning his attention back to Greta. "Your friend seems like an asshole. I'm pretty sure I punched him once. Maybe he deserved it more than I thought."

Edited 2015-03-22 01:27 (UTC)

Oh, dear, is Johnny texting him, now? She should probably tell him not to bother, but it's strangely gratifying to watch him tap out angry little missives on her behalf, if not at her behest.

"I don't know," she says with a dismissive flap of her hand before pinching the bridge of her nose. The Balladeer has never struck her as cruel. Perhaps someone took his phone. Or she misremembered the number, and it was just some random person being unkind. Or maybe he does have a nasty streak she'd just never been privy to until now.

What an awful day this is turning out to be.

"Well," she says, attempting to lighten the mood a little, "I don't suppose you'd like a muffin." Goodness knows how long he's been out here, but she's guessing they've both missed breakfast, and it's getting on towards lunch.

"I actually really would like a muffin," he admits. "I haven't eaten since yesterday." He shifts a little, uncomfortably, glancing at his phone. "Though, uh, you might have to feed it to me."

Just so this isn't getting any weirder and more maternal. Jesus.

"So, um, how do you know Iman?" he asks, constantly conscious of keeping things casual in spite of his grotesque situation and their mutual circumstantial imprisonment.

That earns him a little smile. "I think I can manage that." Given how many things she hasn't been able to manage today, it will be nice to accomplish something - even something as small as feeding Johnny a muffin.

She pulls out one of the muffins and tears off a little scrap. "I met her in a dream, actually," she explains as she reaches through the sizable gap she's made near his face and tips the muffin scrap into his mouth. It's a bit awkward. Her own son was far too young for solid foods when she'd left him. Better not to think about it.

"And then she came and found me when we were awake," she continues as she tears off more scraps of muffin and feeds them to Johnny, piece by piece. It will be less weird for both of them if she can keep up a stream of chatter, so she goes into more detail than she might be inclined towards, otherwise. "I was horribly ill at the time, from all the vaccinations they'd given me. She made me soup and taught me how the phones worked. She was very kind."

She draws her hand back, then tears off a scrap of muffin for herself. "How do you know her?" she asks curiously. She's never seen Johnny around the base.

Well, it's not the most undignified thing in the world, but he still feels awkward as hell. He appreciates that she doesn't seem to mind (though of course she doesn't). The muffin is really good, though he knows immediately it's gonna make him thirsty.

"Um..." He hesitates. 'We had sex a couple times' isn't an answer he'd want to give her even without the added context provided by Iman's phone issues. "Ran into her at a bar once," he says weakly.

She was fun. Though somewhat inevitably, thinking about being with anyone only leads him back along the usual mental path and his face soon falls, failing to notice the next offered piece of muffin as he broods.

"Ah," Greta says with a little nod. It makes as much sense as anything else. Actually, it makes more sense than 'we met in a dream,' but given that's how she and Johnny met as well, it doesn't seem so strange.

But now he looks miserable, out of nowhere. She pulls back the latest muffin scrap, a faint line appearing between her brows. "Is something wrong?" she asks. "Besides the, er, obvious?" His expression isn't pained, so she doesn't think it's the thorns, and she's certain the muffin isn't the problem. Is he sweet on Iman, as Gabriel seemed to be? She couldn't blame the poor lad if he was - Iman is kind and clever and very pretty - but someone with magic makes for rather stiff competition, she supposes.

"It's..." He looks away, frustrated that he let it show, frustrated doubly that he's actually considering opening up about this with her. Why her? He doesn't really know her, as far he knows Gabe doesn't know her, so - well, that's not bad, really, she's objective. It's just that he can't seem to escape this sort of maternal vibe she gives off, and they've already been down that road and it was awkward as all hell.

Well, whatever. He's here now, it's not like he can go anywhere, and she asked.

"I just... I fucked something up," he says, feeling stupid and exposed. He lets her feed him another piece which makes this even more idiotic. "I hurt somebody really, really important to me, and... and I don't know if I can..."

Ugh, what is he supposed to say? Does she even care? He looks away in frustration.

"I mean you've seen firsthand," he mutters. "You know what a mess I am. How I can't..." He makes a vague, finger-waggling gesture with his bound hand. "Trust people."

He squirms in discomfort and is rewarded by several more thorns sticking at his arms and his sides. He sucks in a tight breath and exhales in a burst, and it's like the pain dislodges something, and suddenly it's all pouring out in a terrible, unfiltered stream. "I could call him here right now, and he'd probably get me out of this, but I can't do that, because I fucking broke his heart. I love him and I broke his heart because that's what I fucking do. I-"

He cuts himself off. God. Way, way too much. He can't look at her. He can feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes and he can't wipe them away, can't make them stop, fuck, goddammit, not again.

"I'm sorry," he says, ragged and pathetic. "I - I don't have anyone to talk to."

What a goddamn lie. At least right now it's true on technicality.

As Johnny gets increasingly upset, Greta leaves off feeding him muffin scraps in favor of just watching him with growing concern. She doesn't interrupt, but she can't help wincing a little when he refers to himself as a mess, and her eyebrows climb practically to her hairline when he speaks of loving him, breaking his heart. Two men, is that--is that a thing? But that's beside the point. The point is that Johnny is in all kinds of pain, and she has to do something. Something better than gawping at him and questioning his choice in pronouns.

"Oh. Oh dear. Hang on." She sets the muffins aside on a fallen branch - they're in paper cups, they'll be fine - then shakes the crumbs off her handkerchief. "Here we are," she murmurs, her tone deliberately brisk, as if he's done nothing more humiliating than accidentally knocking over a glass of water. This is embarrassing enough for him already; he doesn't need her pity. But her hand is gentle when she pokes the handkerchief through the gap in the thorns and wipes his tears away.

"Now, then." Now what? What can she tell him? If she's broken any hearts, she hasn't been allowed to witness the aftermath, or been given the opportunity to atone. What her husband must think of her disappearance - what he must think about the Prince, if he knows, and she so hopes he doesn't - she has no idea, and there is nothing she can do regardless. All she knows is what she would have done, if the Rift hadn't taken her.

Maybe Johnny could do the same.

"Listen," she says firmly, ducking her head a little so she can look him in the eyes. "Sometimes we don't know what we have until we lose it. But that doesn't mean you can't go and get it back." She gives his cheek one last little scrub with the handkerchief, then pulls it back. "What's his name, this... this fellow of yours?"

Oh god, she's wiping his eyes now with an actual freaking handkerchief, this is so embarrassing, this is so-

-well, it's nice actually. It's kind of nice. He lets her do it without protest, feeling only slightly comforted. It's nice, too, that she's not treating him like he's said something weird or shared too much (which he knows he has).

"Gabriel," he murmurs softly. "Gabe." He looks down, shame bubbling back up in him as he remembers the last couple times they spoke. "It's... it's complicated. I told him that I was... that I loved him, like a while ago, and I never thought he'd... I mean I always knew he cared about me but I never thought it was like that."

This sounds so insane out loud. He told he loved you and you ran away? Why would you do that? He looks up and away, staring into the woods, willing himself not to cry again.

"I don't know what to do," he murmurs. "He's mad and he has every right to be, I... I just don't know how to... I mean, you don't understand, he's so much... more than me, worth more, I mean, and like, what am I? Why does he... why me?"

He looks at her like he's actually asking, even though she has no way to answer.

"Oh!" Greta hoots, startled. "I think I might know him - well, not know him, but I've met a Gabriel. He was, er, about this tall," she holds her hand an inch over her own head, "brown hair..." she probably shouldn't say 'charming,' "... erm." She probably shouldn't say 'flirtatious' either. "He liked jokes," she offers at last, a bit sheepishly. "Oh! And he had magic - the healing sort. Does that sound like him?"

At Johnny's wary nod, she rocks back on her heels, her gaze going momentarily distant. Oh, dear. She'll have to tell Iman, won't she?

Well, she'll worry about that later. For now, she fixes Johnny with a stern look. Gabriel's feelings about the boy aside, she's can't say she approves of Johnny's lowly view of himself. "So, you're allowed to love him because he's so wonderful, but he's not allowed to love you because you're just awful, is that what you're saying?"

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