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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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?"

Great, so she has met him. At least it doesn't sound like she knows him very well. Probably doesn't know he's an angel; best to keep that quiet.

The look and the pointed question catch him off guard, and he tilts his head down to avoid her eyes.

"I'm..." What is he supposed to say to that? Yes, that's about it exactly. She doesn't understand the extent of his issues, or the extent of Gabe's - well, everything. Gabe's loved humans before, but he's not like those ones. He can only imagine.

Why do these people care so fucking much about him?

"I'm not worth that," he says quietly. "I don't know what to do with that."

"Hmph." By that logic, Cinderella wasn't worth the Prince's attention. Neither was she, for that matter - but the Prince didn't love her, and if he loved Cinderella, it wasn't enough to keep him from straying. Probably not the best example, then.

She remembers Gabriel's healing kiss. Charming. She wonders if she really ought to be encouraging Johnny at all. This isn't her business.

Well. Johnny's made it her business. She can't vouch for Gabriel's intentions, but she's not letting the lad think he doesn't deserve to be loved. That's just too terrible a sentiment coming from someone so young.

"Where Gabriel spends his love is up to him," she says at last. "It doesn't matter if you think you're worth it or not; if he thinks you are, then..." she flaps a hand, "there you have it."

His eyes are still firmly downcast, so she reaches back through the brambles and tips up his chin until she can look at him properly - until he can see her, and see that she's serious. "Do you want him?" she asks bluntly.

He's startled by the touch; his instinct is to flinch from it, but he can't, and it's just as well. He meets her eyes, and he's so taken aback by the intensity of her look, the matter-of-fact air, like she knows best and he ought to listen. It's such a straightforward, simple question, there's no way to give a wrong answer.

"Yes," he whispers, tears welling up again, goddammit. "I really, really do."

That hasn't anywhere near solved the issue, but it's as clear as he's been since it happened. He misses Gabriel like crazy, and it's going to hurt like hell to face him again, but it doesn't matter. He has to go back, see him again, before it's too late.

"Thank you," he says gingerly, feeling at once awkward and genuinely grateful.

Greta knows about wanting - things she shouldn't, and things she should. Where Gabriel falls on Johnny's map is beyond her, but maybe it's better to get the lad moving than to make sure he's on the right path. So she smiles at his answer, wry and understanding. "Then find him," she orders, brushing away the new tears with her thumb, "and get him." A beat. "Well, once you're out of this mess."

The thanks is a pleasant surprise, and her smile broadens. She cups his cheek for a moment, warm and fond, then withdraws her hand. "Would you like the rest of that muffin?"

"Greta!"

Meanwhile, the Balladeer is making absolutely no effort to be quiet as he tromps through the Ramble. He doesn't have an instrument on him for once; he's just wandering the woods alone. For lack of any other clues, he's basically just picked a random direction off the path and stuck to it. He'll know how to get back, he thinks, if he ever happens to find Greta.

And that's a big if. He's kept his phone out, and keeps checking it every now and then, but there's still no new messages. Probably for the best, considering how that conversation went, but...it'd be nice to hear something.

The sound of voices stops him short, and he pauses, listening for a moment before heading in that direction. "Greta?"

Well, that's unexpected. Greta whirls about until she's facing the direction she thinks the first call came from, correcting herself a little when she hears the second. Is... is that the Balladeer? "Hello?" she calls back, incredulous. "We're over here!" She takes a single step away from Johnny, then stops; she's not about to risk getting separated from him when she can't count on herself to find her way anywhere.

"Greta!"

The Balladeer calls out again, much more cheerfully, before striding in the direction of her voice. With long legs like his, it isn't long before he's there, pushing his way through some underbrush to walk into their little clearing. "Damn!" he says, greeting Greta with a smile. "I was not looking for you at all, I'm completely lost - oh, wow."

This last is directed towards Johnny, as he finally realizes the true extent of what Greta meant by 'stuck'.

The interruption is jarring, and he quickly ducks back like he wants to hide. This is good, right? Someone's coming to find them, that's good. He would have liked a few more minutes to collect himself but whatever.

But then it's... yeah. It's that guy.

"Oh," he says, managing to sound reasonably contemptuous in spite of his position. "So you deigned to show up."

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