don't get lost in heaven, they got locks on the gate [open to multiple]

[peacefulexplorer]

Existence without form or breath or shape is disorienting, the spread of atoms over a plane he doesn't recognize, with the repeated dissolutions and reshapings of an indistinct self. At one point there was pain, and the unspooling of himself into light and purpose, and for a long while there is only amorphous drifting. He hits barriers, dissonant and frequent, where once he should have crossed from one plane to another, one reality to the next, in an effortless slide of energy across the universal boundaries. It is difficult to define emotional state outside of the human context - he only knows that he is not human - but it is a state of affairs that generates confused distress.

Temporal sequencing becomes a problem.

Awareness, too, is difficult to achieve. Gradually he is able to pull together the various components that comprise himself and reshape them into something capable of perception, but doing so strikes him with a revelation disconsolate, and that is that there are no Others here - no Ancients, nothing, simply an empty plane of shifting light and bottomless dark. And he is alone.

He knows he did this, and it was for a reason. But he finds he cannot remember anything, not immediately, and when the memories trickle back with his concentrated effort they are unfiltered and unstructured and unordered until finally he can impose the alien concept of linear time upon the thing, and fully interpret what he is in comparison to what he was.

Daniel Jackson.

The name is the linchpin that generates the outward ripples, spreading from that singular point of origin. It triggers the flood of remembrance, the 'gate, Manhattan, the locked-away knowledge that was once sealed in his head but now coalesces seamlessly into the whole of him now. He cannot delineate his form by shape or size or mass, not any longer, but now he remembers, he remembers what it is he can do and how it is he can do it.

He starts small because he must, drifting as a pair of hydrogen atoms while he glimpses the city on a reduced scale. Then he builds to it, the recollection of his shape. Spectrally manifesting was never truly allowed before, but if there are no Others then he is not bound by their laws. He assembles a body that resembles the one that was human and familiar, and projects it. It takes two tries to succeed, three to sustain it for longer than a meaningless collection of seconds, and no matter what he tries he cannot force his shape to manifest with glasses. Apparently his inner self, or however he chooses to define it, does not need them.

He loses track of how many attempts he makes before he can maintain his form visibly for any significant length of time. But finally, in a ragged burst of energy, the bewildered shape of Daniel Jackson reappears in Manhattan, and there he stays.

[ooc: Daniel Ascended back during the Rift Shitfit of September 4th, and he's only just figured out how to Do Things in his new state of being. Right now he's completely intangible and frequently phasing in and out of visible existence. I've added to his handy-dandy reference post as to what he can and can't do in this state. He can also show up LITERALLY ANYWHERE so if you want in on Ascended funtimes just pick a date and a location, or Daniel can pick one, or whatever.]

Comments

September 12 (cw identity crisis)

[omnomnom_feels]

He has not healed. Rashad doubts that he will ever heal, and the knowledge that this state of being may well represent the rest of the eternity he is destined to suffer until the destruction of the world at the end of time is continual cause for panic rather than encouragement to adapt. It is impossible to live this way, the world constantly flooding in, irrational emotions swaying his every thought and action. It must stop. It does not stop.

He should not be capable of this suffering. He is not capable, and yet he suffers.

He does not understand how it is he does not starve when he has not eaten since the day he was damaged by the unknown angel. He does not think he can eat. He wishes his soul-reptile were with him in the waking world to provide him with some glimmer of rationality, but of course she is not and it is impossible for him to dream when the Rift does not will it upon him. There is no place for him in this world any more. It is not only that his job is gone, the data he so carefully hoarded scattered to the winds; he dares not even return to what was ostensibly his home, the rooms in which he stored himself when he was not at work or wandering the city in search of sustenance. He lives in fear of an encounter with one of the seemingly many people who would do him harm given the opportunity even as the foreign need for vengeance smolders in his breast. Would killing those responsible do anything to right the world? He does not think it would, and the realization that he wishes to do so anyway sickens and frightens him.

He is not the slightest bit familiar with the being that abruptly appears nearby him where he lurks in an alley, his body damp and filthy because he lacks the will to perform even the simple thaumaturgical act of cleaning himself. Rashad scrambles to his feet and stumbles away from the apparition, heart thudding. It is not an angel? He does not know what it is. "Leave me," he pleads. "Whatever you are, I want no part of it!"

thanks for not sending a notification dw -_-

[peacefulexplorer]

It's strange to step into the familiar shape, with limbs and hands and fingers that flex in a semblance of solidity. He has to concentrate to maintain it. The stimulus of the world through his wider, greater-than-physical lens is more than a little disorienting, despite in past instances having time to acclimatize it. The Rift is almost certainly the source of the perceptual distortion, and it throws him for a metaphorical loop with everything he attempts.

So he manifests in an alley completely by accident.

It takes him a minute to register the additional presence, and another minute to realize there is something horribly wrong about it, something immediate and beyond the scope of his current understanding.

"Woah," he says, his voice ringing oddly in ears that perceive the minutiae sound's varied mechanics in the surrounding space. Automatically his shape's hands come up, palms out, in a gesture meant to be placating, reassuring. He looks at the other man, the other being, halfway alarmed and halfway disturbed by the wrongness resonating on a level he can now detect. "Are you - are you okay?"

bahh. did you check your spam filter? gmail gets filter-happy.

[omnomnom_feels]

The being does not advance on him, but Rashad does not relax. His muscles thrum with tension as he presses himself against grimy brick, staring at whatever has manifested itself in his latest inadequate hiding place. The form does not fool him, would not fool him even if he had not seen it appear before his very eyes. He cannot taste it or feel the scope of it in his current state, but he can sense very clearly what it is not.

"No," he whines, lacking reason to lie and unsure whether it is a relief to complain or if acknowledging the pain simply reopens the wound. "What are you? Why are you here?"

turns out that was the culprit but I thought I fixed it :P

[peacefulexplorer]

What are you. Daniel retreats, trying to give the man - the being - the person - his space. Whoever he is, whatever he is, he's plainly terrified, and Daniel's abrupt manifestation can't have helped.

What are you. It brings him up short. He doesn't know, not anymore. He doesn't have access to anything that could define himself for what he is. Ascended, but not Ancient. Not one of the Others. Something - else.

"I'm Daniel," he says simply. It's true, if not entirely forthcoming. "Sorry, uh - I'm kind of - adjusting."

That's ambiguous.

"I didn't mean to startle you, I'm sorry." He keeps his tone level, steady. If nothing else, maybe he can calm him down.

September 12 / Johnny's apartment / morningish??

[johnny_truant]

Johnny is in the kitchen, staring at the coffeemaker, like he often does now, feeling numb and alien. Everything has been very odd lately, distant and filtered unnaturally, ever since that last big dream he's felt... off. Hasn't quite been avoiding Gabe, but he has been keeping himself 'busy' doodling (most of them he's crumpled up or burned by now) and sleeping.

He pours himself a cup and turns around and immediately drops it, shattering the mug, spraying his goddamn breakfast across the floor. For a moment he doesn't even care.

"Fuck!" he practically shrieks, pushing himself back against the counter.

Daniel. Daniel is standing there, like right there, where he was when he died. Looking at him. Glasses-less.

And he's not disappearing either. Johnny could have assumed he was just seeing a little memory flash, a PTSD thing, no big. This? This is a straight up hallucination.

Or like. A ghost.

"Daniel...?" he breathes, still pinned with the counter biting into his back.

[peacefulexplorer]

When it occurred to him that he should probably find Johnny and kind of explain everything a bit, this isn't exactly what he had in mind. He doesn't need to be entirely certain of what is or how he's doing it to know that spontaneous materialization in someone else's apartment is pretty on the rude side in addition to completely alarming. He doesn't quite startle exactly - his shape's eyes widen and he jerks with the distressingly impractical impulse to prevent the impact and shatter of Johnny's coffee mug against the floor. He can track the arc of the motion and the crash of the object and its contents in linear time, in nonlinear time, in a fascinating contemporaneous divide of several varied time-streams - but in all of them, he's helpless to prevent it.

Whoops.

"Johnny," he says by way of belated preamble, somewhere between regret and apology. "I am - really sorry."

For the mug or for the trauma, he isn't really sure yet.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny wobbles slightly, his grip on the counter now a bracing one, holding himself up.

"You're," he starts to say, breathless and confused. "What?"

He's sorry?

"Daniel," he says again, he can't seem to string even two words together at a time here. He pushes himself off the counter and steps forward gingerly, avoiding the bits of mug and the pool of coffee, reaching out with a trembling hand. "Are you - are you really here?"

September 12 | The Balladeer's apartment | late evening?

[singthesong]

The Balladeer has a new apartment!

It's smaller than the previous one, given the loss of his ROMAC allowance, but that's no big deal. It fits the three or four boxes containing all his things, a careful pile of instrument cases in one corner, and a cluster of furniture in the middle of the front room. ROMAC wouldn't need the furnishings they'd provided him now, he figures. Even if they do, he doesn't care. Some of his park friends helped him carry some of it up, but they've all gone now, with the promise that he'll arrange it all into something like an actual living space himself tomorrow.

Which is why the faint burst of sound startles him up from his spot on the floor where he'd been picking through a box. It's quiet, but it's present; he turns his head but can't quite figure where it's coming from. The place is definitely empty. He wouldn't be able to hear his neighbors through the walls; maybe their speakers, but he knows the difference between records and people. This sounds like someone here, or almost here. Maybe out in the audience?

"Hello?" he ventures aloud, stepping forward to peer down the hall. The sight of it empty is not surprising.

(If this place is haunted he might have to forgo that deposit.)

[peacefulexplorer]

One problem Daniel never had with the higher plane in his old universe (and it's a dire sign that his life is not and never will be 'normal' that he even has to think that sentence) was that it was never this hard to do anything, not in theory. There was always some obstructive Other preventing him from taking any action, but manifestation was never this much of a pain.

He can't even see where he is when he starts flickering, his projection wavering on several levels for reasons utterly unknown to him. Why must making contact be so hard.

Finally his shape stabilizes, and Daniel finds himself peering at the back of someone's head.

"Oh - " is about all he he can manage.

[singthesong]

The Balladeer wasn't quite at the level of actual alarm yet, but the sound of a voice makes him spin around, taking several automatic steps back.

"Oh," he echoes unintentionally. It's Daniel. Daniel has just appeared in his living room. He gives the other man a quick once-over, brow furrowed slightly. Manhattan being Manhattan, someone warping into his apartment is far from the oddest thing that could happen. On its own, with someone friendly, it wouldn't be a problem. No, this just feels off for a number of different reasons - not Johnny levels of off, thank god, or they would have a problem. "Uh, hi?"

...oh hell, he'll just come right out with it. "What happened to you?" Daniel always sounded pretty normal to him, more or less. He's trying not to pry, but something's changed.

September 12 sounds like the popular choice

[wentdowntogeorgia]

Lucifer has done something that he has not done since arriving in Manhattan: he has lifted some of the wards on his warehouse. Only a few, and only the ones that are absolutely necessary, but there is less protection on the place that he rests his wings.

He has done so to allow for other sigils and runes to be put into place. He's noticed in the time since the rift had its hissyfit, that there's been something around the city, sometimes revealing itself in little bursts like it hasn't gotten the hang of physicality yet. It feels like one of his brothers, but without a vessel, a wavelength without direction or purpose. There are ways to make something like that a little more at home, to make it easier to settle and coalesce even without a vessel to take.

He prepares everything and waits, and is eventually rewarded.

Lucifer expected a brother, not Daniel Jackson, but he is not entirely disappointed. He turns, and tilts his head at an inquisitive angle.

"Hello, Daniel."

[peacefulexplorer]

It's like a beacon, or it would be if he had a less physical metaphor at his disposal, but he doesn't. It's a part of this distressingly tiny space that's a little more clearly-defined, and it's a relative sanctuary versus the relative chaos that is the space he's perpetually drifting through. It's a relief to settle into a part of Manhattan that's a even a fraction less storm-tossed and impossible to navigate, until he realizes why it is that he finds it easier to manifest.

Daniel would have been perfectly happy if he'd never had to hear that even tone again in his life. Which, technically he isn't, because he isn't technically alive. That's great. That's hilarious.

He draws the particles of himself as tightly as he can into the shape he's created, the partially-Ascended equivalent of withdrawing into himself, and regards the being opposite him warily. He can perceive more of what he's looking at, far more than he ever could as a human, and it creates a picture that's searingly bright, unnatural, and - beautiful.

Daniel hastily pushes past that. He doesn't need to examine that right now, and he doesn't want to. Not particularly. At least now it's less of a struggle to keep his projection's voice reasonably steady when he answers. "Hello, Lucifer."

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"You look different, Daniel. Have you done something with your hair?"

Lucifer takes a step or two closer to Daniel's manifestation, looking him over. He's almost made himself something of a vessel, a collection of particles in a shape that suits him, but it's fundamentally different from a living body-- in the same way that even the most lifelike mannequin is still not a real person. And what's inside it...

Light and starstuff. So close to his brothers that he might have almost mistaken Daniel for one of them, but it's impossible for a human to become an angel. Daniel's close, though, so close it nearly hurts.

"So, this is your Ascension."

11th | gabe's building | early afternoon

[has_a_horn]

It's hard to ignore the energy that's lingering in the building like some sort of metaphysical smoke damage. Gabriel felt it when he'd first come back after Daniel's ascension, and on and off for days after that it is replaced by an actual presence that feels more angelic than human. By now, he knows what it means, and he's too curious not to try edging the process on a little quicker. He wants to talk to Daniel.

On the 11th, he feels the presence again, so he makes a pathway for it. In aid, he scribbles a few sigils on a yellow pad of paper while he sits on the couch, but it's mostly an organic action, similar to the way he hides his wings away in another dimension. There's a connection now between planes where there wasn't moments before.

He opens a door, and waits to see if Daniel will come through.

[peacefulexplorer]

With the seemingly endless, purposeless drifting, it's a genuine shock to see the easy pathway between planes, and even more mystifying to be able to slide into that avenue without exacting as much effort as he's grown used to. It takes several tries before he can collect himself into completion, fashion that shape in a projection of light and molecules.

He examines the area around him, the unusually open space, energy grazing along dimensions and doors that haven't been open to him for so long, and several he's sure he doesn't recognize. It's a moment - shorter, perhaps, in the typical understanding of time - before he settles upon the form that he doesn't immediately recognize. It's all light and wings and a brightness compacted into the body of a vessel that is so much smaller than the being within it. It's beautiful and terrifying, but when Daniel finally peers past it he remembers the face of the man it wears.

His projection stares.

"Gabe?"

[has_a_horn]

"Ah! Daniel! There you are." He slaps the yellow pad of paper down on the coffee table and looks up at the very much changed man. It's strange, seeing the difference. It's as if all the pieces of Daniel that hadn't been quite human before have been amplified enough to drown out all of the human elements. He's still recognizable, but much more than what he was.

'I'd offer you a drink but..." he gestures vaguely at the manifestation. Probably not possible. At least at the moment. Out of curiosity, he probes out a little with his mind trying to get a better sense of this new being- not much more than a telepathic handshake.

The 13th | ex-rebel apartments

[wildmage_daine]

Daine's been lying low for the past several days. It's been easy to excuse. The rift isn't a secret anymore, which makes her more wary of being seen working out in public - folk are paying attention, now. She's had to move in to a new place and get herself and her friends settled, and that's kept her busy enough, too.

The new place is nicer - she recognizes that, a bit distantly. There's a windowsill for Shadow to sit on, and more room for the dogs. She's high enough that she can safely leave the window open at all hours, though it means only birds and determined squirrels can come in to visit her, and only the larger birds are unintimidated by the cat. But even that is better than not getting random visitors at all.

She's still so tired, though, and she can't think about the rebels or what she did to them without feeling sick.

Little chores are a good distraction, so she's occupying herself with a torn shirt. It wasn't even the mess in the base that damaged it, just an accident with a hawk she was healing. Her sewing skills aren't amazing, but they're good enough for minor repairs like this. She's frowning down at the half-completed row of stitching when there's a sudden yelp from Molly, and then she lifts her head sharply to see what's set her off.

Someone's standing in her apartment. More than that, he's standing in Sarge, and it's such an alarming and baffling sight that Daine doesn't even recognize him right away.

What? Sarge asks sleepily, rolling his eyes to look at Molly and Daine in confusion. Why are they both gawking at him like that? He lifts his head and stretches out his forelegs, gives his ears a shake, and then looks back and belatedly notices the two-legger standing there, legs going straight through his own midsection. That gets him moving; the dog grunts and scrambles to his feet in a sudden flurry of limbs and ends up cowering behind Daine's chair. And through the whole thing, the two-legger - Daniel, Daine realizes with a start - just stands there, untroubled by the motion.

It's like he's not even really there.

"Daniel?" Daine hazards, brow furrowed. If not for the fact that the dogs see him, she'd think she was going mad.

[peacefulexplorer]

"Oh god," says Daniel perplexedly, staring at the dog who he appears to be standing in. The dog skitters out from the first projection he's managed to hold for the first time in, in - well, a while, probably. Time's not really a concept that's linear for him anymore, so it's hard to say.

It's practically an immediate reflex that allows him to pick up on the veritable multitude of other living beings in the room, one of whom seems human if not strictly typical. Recognizing people based off their energy signatures is proving to be difficult in addition to incredibly disorienting, and it's only when he sorts all the individual components and separates them into their definitive parts that he can put a name to the person who's just identified him.

"Daine," he says finally, expression clearing into relief, then mild alarm, before finally settling upon apologetic confusion. "Ah. Well." He looks at his projection, then back at her. "Sorry."

[wildmage_daine]

He has no scent, Molly observes, perplexed. She's not hiding behind Daine's chair, but she's not approaching Daniel, either. She just leans forward a little, eyes bright and nose quivering as she investigates him from a distance. Like the two-leggers on the television.

Shadow wanders out from the kitchen and pauses, visibly surprised for a few moments. Then his expression lapses back into careful, feline boredom. That's different, he deadpans, walking up to Daniel and swiping a paw through his foot as if the man is no more substantial than smoke.

"Stop that," Daine says, frowning down at the cat. Shadow sits down and begins to primly wash the paw that just went through Daniel's foot, and she transfers her frown to Daniel. "What happened? You're like a ghost." Setting her mending aside, she gets to her feet and takes a cautious step toward him.

September 13 / Iman's apartment

[etherthief]

She's finally dragged herself back to her own apartment from Greta's - the hangover is still pressing at her temples but it's not as bad as it was when she woke up. The apartment feels stuffy, closed, lonely - she stares around at it for a few moments before trudging to her bedroom and stripping off yesterday's clothes. She draws herself a bath and sits in it for as long as she can stand, her dead arm hanging over the side.

Somewhat refreshed, she wraps herself in a towel and pads back out to the kitchen to make herself some coffee.

[peacefulexplorer]

Thank god the apartment is empty when he materializes in it, because dropping in on people in the middle of their personal lives has been a distressingly regular pattern that Daniel really wishes he could pin some measure of control onto, but it's been difficult enough controlling the generally unstable process of manifesting at all, let alone where he does it and when. It doesn't help that he hasn't really figured out any kind of means for tracking time in a way that makes sense to him yet, so he just has to blindly hope that it's progressing - reasonably.

Whatever that means.

He's in a kitchen, he can say that much. It's not one he recognizes, so that's a good indication that he should dematerialize and probably leave the owner to it. Yep. That seems like a good plan.

Too bad he can't seem to be able to.

[etherthief]

She rounds the corner with her eyes downcast and just as the tall, broad intruder catches in her periphery she snaps to attention, adrenaline burning hot, gives a gasp she nearly chokes on, and staggers back against the wall, her one good hand clutching her towel. "What the FUCK," she demands shrilly, coming back down almost immediately as she sees - she recognizes-

"Daniel?" she takes a trembling step forward. "What the fuck?"

September 12/13 | Seth's apartment, 3 am

[powerdealer]

Seth's not in the greatest place these days.

For a variety of reasons, really, though it was Daniel's death - however permanent that might prove to be - that kicked it off. He can't really blame himself for what happened to Daniel, not reasonably, but his mind finds ways regardless. Or else fills him with regret, at not having spent the time better, at not having told Daniel how he feels. Yet also knowing that it might not be too late, that Daniel might not really be gone, which means he can't even properly mourn, he can't try to get closure. And even in reasonably normal circumstances, he's terrible at finding closure anyway, he knows that from experience.

And then, well, there was what happened the other day at the rebel base, which he also has conflicting emotions about. On one hand he feels vindictive pleasure, and satisfaction at the thought that the place is no more. Then on the other, quite a lot of shame at what he did, how he felt. How ruthless he can be. He tries not to think about it. Part of him wants to believe in himself like Daniel did, that he's better than that, but then he looks at what he's done, how he feels...

As if that wasn't enough to keep him up at night, he still feels a bit like a mercilessly shaken fizzy drink bottle. He's got so many more powers running through him now, it's hard to keep track, or keep a lid on them. It's not as bad as it was, but it's more than enough to leave him feeling jittery and tense.

So it should be no surprise, really, that he's still awake at the middle of the night, looking unkempt and exhausted, staring at the wall and nursing a beer. He's run out of the stronger stuff, which is probably for the best.

[peacefulexplorer]

Oh.

Well.

Maybe this is for the best. He'd been worried, he had, and maybe Johnny's told him by now, but there's no guarantee Seth will believe it. He recognizes where he's ended up as soon as he draws himself into visibility; even in vision cast in so many new planes, multifaceted and variegated, he's been here often enough to know where he is.

And so everything comes full circle.

He's honestly not sure what one says to this - he could go the Teal'c route, allowing Seth's mind or subconscious to delineate a scenario that he can simply insert himself into. Then there's the Jack O'Neill route, the veneer, the familiar flippancy meant to be transparent and easily interpreted along a conversation double-edged, but Daniel honestly can't be sure if either are the best route. He doesn't need to pick up on the sharp sting of alcohol in the air to know Seth's been drinking, and the heaviness of sleeplessness is a weight on Seth's mind all its own.

Right, and there's the other thing, the thing where doubt is usually the first reaction to instances like this, particularly if one happens to be drunk and insomniac. The mind's automatic impulse - distrust.

There are too many potential routes to be interpreted and Daniel knows he'll have to settle on one inevitably. Seth doesn't deserve this or any of it, and so he shifts his projection until it's distant and behind the man and when he speaks he speaks softly, laden with unspoken apology.

"So beer's not really what I'd call a traditional nightcap."

[powerdealer]

Seth might've thought he merely imagined it, but there's this prickle on the back of his neck that precedes the voice, noticeable even in his numbed state. Besides, he's imagined Daniel's voice in his head quite often in the past week - or more now? Seth hasn't been good at keeping track of the days. Enough to tell the difference, anyway. (The Daniel in his mind usually sounds a lot more disapproving and disappointed than the real Daniel would be.)

He jerks a little in his seat, a sudden twitch at the realisation of someone's presence. He's almost grown unfamiliar to it, having spent as much time alone as possible lately. Cutting short even visits from sympathetic, worried friends checking up on him. He's mostly only had Monty for company, and she doesn't exactly speak much.

"Daniel?" he asks quietly, almost imperceptibly so, turning in his seat. He sounds hoarse too, he realises - must be because of how his heart just leapt into his throat.