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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By the time she finally hears a faint reply, her hands have mostly recovered themselves aside from a faint, persistent tingle. She definitely won't be trying that method of exiting the Ramble again. Following the sound of his voice, she strikes out from the path and soon finds herself back in that familiar little clearing. It looks like some of the local wildlife have found her muffins - only a wrapper remains of one, and the other has been toppled off the branch she rested it on. Well, it's no great loss. She expects they both need water more than anything else, and that will just have to wait until the Balladeer's return.

"Hello again," she says to Johnny, somewhat dispiritedly. "Things didn't go entirely according to plan, but the Balladeer should be back soon." She tries to sound encouraging, despite having a better idea of how little the two like one another.

"How are you, er... holding up?" She winces. "Not the best choice of words, sorry."

'The Balladeer', huh. Is that his name, or is Greta just being weirdly vague?

"Sorry," he says. "Worth a shot, anyway. I'm... doing okay, you know. No change, really." He shrugs as best he can, gives her a faint smile. "So he's, um... a friend of yours?"

It's not very subtle, especially not if the Balladeer asked her about him, but if he did, all the more reason to get to the heart of things quick.

"Yes. I, er, found him when he first arrived." It seems it's now Johnny's turn to quiz her on the Balladeer, now that the Balladeer's had his go. At least Johnny's capable of expressing himself clearly, provided he's not too busy being nervous and generally mistrustful to get to the point.

Maybe it'll be easier if she just gets to the point for him. "I take it you didn't get off to the best of starts when you met him." She manages not to sound as if she's assigning particular blame to either party, but she does raise her eyebrows at him in a silent request for any explanation he might care to offer.

Johnny sighs, but he's a little relieved that she's just getting right to it. "Not really, no," he says. "I kinda punched him in the face."

That sounds bad. But he wouldn't be surprised if 'the Balladeer's' already taken care of making him sound bad.

"He, uh... knows things about me. Things he shouldn't know." He really doesn't want to allude to any of this, but what choice does he have, if he doesn't want to come off looking like he's in the wrong. "Things that I don't want anyone knowing. Because it wouldn't be safe to know, right? Remember?" He looks at her, needing her to understand, needing her to believe him. "I had to stop him, I panicked and I punched him. It didn't go well after that. I need to know if he told you anything. Anything private. Please."

If that asshole is spreading this shit around, spreading it to Greta of all people - well. Johnny hopes he isn't going to have to finish that thought.

Greta knew about the punching, but she tsks disapprovingly nevertheless. There are other ways to get someone's attention, and the Balladeer's already been subjected to more violence than she'd like. Johnny couldn't have just said something?

Then again, knowing what she does now about the Balladeer's abilities, she can't entirely blame Johnny for being upset, either. There are parts of her story she wouldn't want casually broadcast to anyone within earshot, and that's only because they're embarrassing, not because they're dangerous.

She sighs, ducking her head a little to better peer in at him. "He didn't tell me anything specific. It wasn't easy for him to get anything across, his curse being what it is, and I... I told him I didn't want to know, anyway. Whatever he heard, it's none of my business."

After a beat, she adds, "But I don't think he could help hearing. It's his Rift Power - rather like what he used to do, back where he came from. He can just hear people's stories, like music." It's not easy to politely convey what he seems to have thought of Johnny's story, in particular, but she eventually settles on, "I think yours... startled him."

Good. At least Greta knows when things aren't her business.

And yeah, it's not his fault, fine. That doesn't mean he had to sing it out loud. Certainly doesn't mean he had to be such a fucking creep about it afterward.

And it doesn't mean he's not still dangerous.

"Okay," he says after a moment, trying to get his head around this 'hearing stories like music' thing. He shifts a little, winces against the thorns and sucks in a quick breath at the slow tightening of the vines around his arms. God, dangerous or not, he really hopes the dude comes back soon, with water and fucking scissors.

"Well I don't know how much he heard," he says, "or what it even... sounds like to him, what he thinks he knows, but if he can he needs to stop listening. It's none of his business either, and if he's going around fuckin... talking about it, that needs to stop."

Maybe if he gets Greta on his side with this she can talks sense with the Balladeer or something. She seems like a good sense-talking candidate. And the Balladeer actually likes her, so.

And she's supposed to... what, box the Balladeer's ears if she catches him thinking about Johnny? "I'm not his mother," she points out, not unkindly. "Maybe if you spoke to him properly instead of--of throwing punches, he'd be more inclined to listen to you."

She falls silent for a few moments, focusing most of her energy on reaching through the vines and trying to loosen some of the tightest-looking snarls around his arms. "Not that throwing punches is in the cards for you at the moment, anyway," she murmurs as she works.

He blinks at her, a little taken aback by her response, as gentle as it was. Pointing out that she's not the Balladeer's mother is the most weirdly maternal thing she's said yet. He feels like he's being reprimanded.

God this is so weird.

"I panicked, okay?" he says, unable to keep his tone from becoming defensive. "Nobody should know this stuff about me, and this stranger was was just singing about it all casually in the park where anyone could hear, I thought he was doing it to mess with me or something. I wasn't planning on punching him again."

Well, unless you count when they'd thought he was being a dick to Greta over the phone, but that doesn't really count, he thinks.

"Anyway I tried talking to him, after that," he mutters reproachfully. "That didn't work out too good either."

Whatever. This feels pointless. He heaves a frustrated sigh and looks away.

A mild reprimand, perhaps - less because she's shocked by Johnny's behavior and more because the Balladeer is her friend, and it feels as if they're plotting behind his back about how best to silence him. She doesn't like it, being in the middle like this, and she echoes Johnny's sigh with a quiet one of her own.

"It used to be his job," she explains, her tone rather subdued. "Singing people's stories, I mean. Maybe he just... forgot himself for a moment when he heard yours." She's not entirely comfortable speculating like this, either, but even if the Balladeer was here, he wouldn't be able to fully explain himself. Surely she can take a crack at it without doing any harm.

"Look," she continues, "I know you don't want to talk about it, and don't want people to know, but... it might help if you explained why it was so dangerous." She leans over a little, trying to catch Johnny's eye. She suspects both him and the Balladeer just want to protect people when all is said and done; they're just coming at it from different directions.

He nods very slightly, a subtle jerk of the chin, and continues staring into the woods for a few moments.

"What I went through," he says carefully, "almost killed me. And it can hurt people here, if they know too much, or spend enough time around me." People excluding Gabriel, he thinks bitterly, who can take care of himself. "I don't know how bad it could get here, but I don't want to risk it. And I can't talk about it, because that's how it spreads."

He finally looks at her again. "I'm sure his heart's in the right place or whatever," he says begrudgingly. "I just want him to stop asking about me. For his own good and everyone else's."

It's all a bit vague, though she supposes that's no surprise. 'What he went through' - in his own universe, presumably - could mean anything, and all she knows is that his mother was... not as good, or as present, as she could have been. But he's not talking as if he's merely had a bad experience; he's talking about himself as if he has some horrible catching illness. As if he's cursed in ways that have nothing to do with these dratted brambles.

But curses can be broken. And if he's been isolating himself because he assumes he's dangerous, how can he know if he's not? Maybe he's not catching anymore.

"I won't ask you to talk about it," she promises. Even presuming his experiences aren't contagious, she wouldn't want to pry into his business or make him relive anything upsetting. "And I can... try to talk to the Balladeer, as well." She's on much better terms with him, obviously, so maybe that will count for something.

But it's mostly Johnny she's concerned about, and she pauses in her bramble-loosening efforts so she can give him her full attention. "Your heart's in the right place, too, you know," she says. "And I'm not afraid of you." Afraid for him, maybe, but not of him.

Johnny looks at her, momentarily surprised by the sentiment, simple and probably unsurprising though it is. He smiles in faint but genuine gratitude.

"Thanks," he says, inadequate for all she just said to him. But his throat is parched and he's getting tired. Ironic that the guy he really wants to avoid is the person he'd most like to see right about now, with water and some kind of gardening weaponry.

The Balladeer, meanwhile, has been out shopping~!

His approach is audible as he comes crunching through the trees, a few plastic bags slung over his arm. He lights up at finally seeing them - or at least at seeing Greta. "You're not here!" He's been criss-crossing the Ramble longer than he'd hoped; finding his way out is one thing, but locating one random patch of bramble amidst all of it is a little more difficult

Lapsing into silence, he hands one of the bags to Greta. There's some hot dogs wrapped in foil inside, along with three bottles of water, one of which is half-empty. He never really stopped for food or drink this evening either. Reaching into the other, he pulls out a new pair of gardening shears. "These'll never work."

He hopes they will, anyway. Who knows with curses?

Greta brightens in turn when the Balladeer walks up - and with a few promising-looking bags in hand. "You're back!" Thank goodness. However awkward he and Johnny might be around one another, at least now they can get somewhere. She takes the offered bag and peers inside, relieved to see a few bottles of water. That, she figures, can come first; then they can work on getting Johnny out.

She tromps back over to Johnny and pulls out one of the water bottles, giving it an excited little waggle for emphasis. "Look! Hang on, I can hold it for you." She can't promise a lack of spills, but it's probably better for him to get some water now than wait until the shears do (or don't) take care of the thorns.

Aaand he's back, right on cue. Johnny smiles slightly at Greta's excitement - at least she's happy - and it broadens to a relieved grin at the sight of water. Thank fuck.

He doesn't mind some of it spilling down his front - he doesn't even mind the increasingly bizarre situation of her feeding him. He's just glad to have goddamn water. He lets her pour almost half the bottle before he nods and ducks his head down, gasping slightly. He glances over at the Balladeer, giving him a dubious but not entirely hostile look.

"Thanks," he says, mostly for Greta's benefit.

He wouldn't be a good stage character if he didn't appear on cue, right guys?

The Balladeer fiddles idly with the shears, carefully testing their blades on the pad of his thumb. It feels sharp enough to easily handle those vines; he'd cut himself if he pressed a little harder. Greta's still pouring the water into Johnny's mouth as he snaps them shut again, and he doesn't look up at them until Johnny speaks. Even not listening - very very carefully not listening - the guy makes his skin crawl a little. His friend standing that close puts him even more on edge.

Still, he meets his gaze steadily and smiles. "Huge inconvenience. Ready to give this a shot?" And he holds up the shears. He's wary, but the last thing in the world he wants to do is show how much he's feeling that. He just wants Johnny to have the dignity of eating his food himself, of course!

Once Johnny's done drinking for the moment, Greta caps the bottle and sets it aside, then opens another for herself. That still leaves her with a hand free, though, and she nods at the Balladeer between sips. Coming up for air, she says, "You can cut and we can both pull. Maybe we could start around his arms and try and get those free." She's not sure how long this will take - or how successful it will be - but if they can at least get Johnny's arms loosened up, he'd be able to feed himself, which she expects he'd appreciate.

"Yeah," says Johnny to them both, more than ready to try this, though there's weighted dread in his stomach, a distant certainty that this isn't going to work. Natural laws are being violated left and right here, why should this work, no matter how sensible they all insist on being about it?

Obviously he wants to try, and it's all he can do not to hope. He doesn't think he has it in him for the disappointment.

Edited 2015-04-18 22:30 (UTC)

The Balladeer nods and circles around to find a good spot. He has his own private doubts about how well this will work - he can't even get away with telling the truth via hand gestures - but it's worth a shot. If they can get Johnny down, he can just clear out of here and away from everyone else.

He's careful not to nick Johnny as he works the blades into position around one of the thinner vines. In a normal world, it could cut that easily; hopefully starting small will improve their odds of accomplishing something.

Greta sets her bottle aside and watches closely as the Balladeer positions the shears around one of the vines. When the blades close together and the vine snaps cleanly, she releases a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. It's such a simple solution - too simple, perhaps - but it seems to be working so far. Still, she says nothing to Johnny, instead pulling the cut vine aside so the Balladeer can get at another one.

It takes her a minute to register that they aren't really making progress. The vines that they cut stay cut, curling away from the rest of the tangle like stray hairs, but no matter how many she pulls aside, there always seem to be more. "Wait," she says to the Balladeer, leaning closer to the hole they've been making. And she can see it, now, more vines twining out of the deep green shadows to take the place of their fellows.

Greta straightens with a sigh, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. "It's not working. Or not well enough. There are more coming in."

Johnny is equally heartened, albeit more guardedly, to hear the successful snip of the shears, to watch the vines part. But it seems like they're not really going at the ones that are really holding him, it's more like the Balladeer is trimming around him, like he's a garden ornament. He more or less feels like one right now. It's only when Greta announces her discovery that he realizes why he still feels so fucking immobile - not just paranoia, but actual warping reality, these brambles so goddamn intent on keeping him in place that they're sprouting freshly to make up for the severed ties.

"Fucking shit," he snaps, struggling in frustration, accomplishing nothing but a few more cuts. How desperate is he gonna have to be before he calls Gabe? Well, the Balladeer isn't gonna be able to be here for that. Johnny doesn't really want them getting near each other, for reasons he's not fully prepared to pin down.

"Just..." He sighs, defeated. There's nothing they can do, they should have known this. He can't tell Greta to leave him because she can't leave the woods. The Balladeer evidently can't say what he means no matter how hard he tries, can't even nod when he wants to, why should his situation be any better?

"We'll just have to fucking wait, I guess," he mutters.

Some part of him deeper down is scared shitless right now. What if this never goes away. What if no one can do anything about it. What if he's trapped here for the rest of his fucking days.

What if he slowly turns into a tree, like in so many dreams.

He shudders convulsively and looks away, jaw set, staring darkly into the woods.

As Greta straightens, the Balladeer leans in to take her place, watching bright green shoots worm their way out and around Johnny again. They're fast; it'd be impossible to cut quicker than they can grow. "Wonderful," he grumbles, stepping back and closing the shears.

He's not willing to leave Greta here alone, and he knows she's not going to abandon Johnny. So it looks like they're stuck here.

"It'll probably be a while," he says, trying to be reassuring despite the fact that he doesn't know. "I was told Rift things like this last a long time." A few days at most, Daniel said. Maybe a week? Hopefully not that long. What are they going to do when it gets dark? The idea of spending the night near Johnny makes him shudder, but he can't leave Greta here alone with the man! Asking her to sleep entirely by herself somewhere else in the woods wouldn't be much better...

He drops the shears on the ground near the other bag and kneels down to start pulling out the hot dogs. They're still warm in their foil, and he offers one to Greta. "May as well starve then." She can feed that one to Johnny if she likes; he got a few. He'd thought they must be hungry after being out here all day.

Greta winces as Johnny struggles. That's definitely not helping, but she can't do much more than lift a hand in a halfhearted, quelling gesture before he stills on his own.

"Then we'll wait," she says, just before the Balladeer chimes in. She looks at him in faint alarm at first, before realizing what he really means and nodding. "It probably won't last long." She peers through the vines at Johnny, lips twisting into a wry smile. "And it's not as if I have anywhere else to be." Or anywhere else she can get to, at the moment.

She turns back to the Balladeer as he starts pulling out hot dogs, then takes the one he's offered her. Still warm; that's nice. "Are you hungry?" she asks, looking back at Johnny.

"Yeah," he sighs, defeated. "You eat first, it's fine."

He'll just hang here and not watch them, not do anything, really. It's like sulking. That's the extent of his capability right now. Hanging around sulking.

"If this does end soon I'm gonna need a drink," he mutters.

Man, the Balladeer was never planning on waiting for you to eat.

"No way," he agrees idly, leaning back against a nearby tree as he unwraps his own dog. They would not believe how difficult it was for him to actually order the food he wanted. There ended up just being some grabbing and pointing involved, and he's probably got a few food truck vendors to apologize to when this is all over.

Not that he's getting drinks with Johnny, of course. That sounds horrifying.

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an unexpected failure to journey [closed]

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