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

Current Location: literally anywhere
Current Music: September 11th - 13th

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

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.]

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"I can tell there was a link there, once," he says, narrowing his focus over the arm's entirety. "Neurological, right? The components, I can see, ah, inorganic, but - tied, directly to you. And now it's, well."

He tries and fails to suppress a vicious spike of frustration over how, despite being what he is, he's completely unable to access the capabilities that would allow him to help with this.

"I'm sorry." He raises his form's eyes to meet hers, subdued and regretful. "If I could remember how to help I would. I should." But like most everything he should be able to, those parts of himself remain infuriatingly cut off, beyond what he can retrieve. "I should be able to, like this. But everything's - it's harder, here."

"Nah," she murmurs. "It's okay. I've... made my peace with whatever."

Bullshit. And he can probably tell, would probably be able to tell even if he weren't somewhat omnipotent right now. She doesn't want an easy fix, is what. She doesn't want some powerful godlike being to just wave a hand and fix her back up, fix something with no effort that she made herself, that nearly cost her everything. She will not accept that. She can't. It's stupid, but she can't.

"So how does this work, exactly?" she asks briskly, eager to move on. "I mean, is this gonna get easier for you? Are you gonna be able to recover your corporeal being? Is there anything I can do to help?"

Possibly an absurd thing to offer after that thought process she just had but whatever. She's not gonna not offer.

It's pretty much code, and they both know it. It's an awfully immediate thing for one to 'make their peace' over so quickly, but it goes beyond avoidance; it's not talking about it in a way Daniel recognizes.

She shifts the subject, and he lets her.

"I'm hoping that's the case," he says, though there's no masking his note of uncertainty. "The last time this happened I was able to descend again but, uh, right now the Rift's making pretty much everything - way more difficult. It took me a while just to figure out how to manage this." He opens a hand to indicate the form he's currently walking around in. "There aren't any Others here. I don't have the kind of guidance I did before."

"Others," she repeats curiously. "This is triggered by something, then? These 'Others'? How many times has this happened to you?"

Fuckin morbid, and also fucking fascinating. It's hard not to treat it like one of the most interesting discoveries ever. This is Daniel's life they're talking about.

"This'd be the third time," he admits a little ruefully. Ascension isn't really a thing here and he has to remember that, even if he has his suspicions that the Rift more or less facilitated the whole thing, whether on his behalf or for the sake of its own observation. He'd been more selective about who he discussed it with before but, well, there's hardly any point to secrecy now that the cat's very much out of the extraplanar bag.

"Back home I, uh, I kinda had this habit of - dying, really. Kinda frequently." His projection shrugs, resigned. "It's how I knew how to Ascend even though humans haven't advanced that far. Some of that leftover knowledge from the last two times, it was still there, subconsciously. I just had to access it and, well." The rest went right ahead and happened.

"No shit," she says without a trace of sarcasm, lifting her eyebrows. "How come? Is archeology that dangerous a pasttime in your space future?" She steps around him, finally getting around to that coffee. "I mean, I guess it's good that you have the wherewithal to..." Her one hand occupied, she tilts her head back to sort of nod at him.

"When your galaxy's linked by a network of unstable wormholes, it is," he offers with the semblance of a shrug. "Beings on higher planes, it was a thing. Now I guess I'm one of them. Er - again."

In the looser sense of the term, maybe. It's sort of hard to tell what he is, seeing as a fully Ascended being wouldn't be having issues with anything as trivial as opening an avenue of communication. Or just plain traveling anywhere on any plane without getting incredibly disoriented.

"What are these beings like?" she asks curiously, turning to look at him while the coffee heats. "I mean, do they take a physical form like us, or - more of a noncorporeal energy sort of thing?" Back home she had a few colleagues - and more than a few acquaintances she tended to keep at arm's length - who would be overjoyed to have any evidence of noncorporeal and/or extradimensional entities. It was growing into a bit of a fad there, one she'd have been much happier to see the back of, but this is another story. This is hard evidence, a living witness. She feels a little pang of guilt, thinking of him that way, but - he's her friend, too. It's not like friends have ever received special treatment from her. It's a hard habit to break.

"Mostly they kept to themselves on the higher plane. Called the 'Ancients', and a lot of them Ascended a - really a long time ago." And the note of bitterness that enters his tone is, in his mind, completely justified. The Ancients were never any great secret back home, and Iman's as deserving of the context as anyone. "Strict non-interference policy kept us from so much as talking to any of the, uh. 'Lowers'."

A mocking set of quote fingers closes the word before he lets the projection's hands drop to its side in disgust.

"We disagreed, let's just say."

"So they started out like you," she guesses, tilting her head to consider this. "So they set it off the first time, yeah? And after that you did it yourself? Why'd they want you?"

He's being very open, which is agreeable to her, as long as it's okay for him to talk about it. She wishes she could take notes, but that would probably send the wrong signals.

"The Ancients - physiologically they were similar enough to humans, yeah. More advanced, which is why I always needed another one's help." One corner of his mouth ticks faintly upward, rueful and self-deprecating. "Went the same way both times. I was dying, so one of them helped me Ascend."

His projection appears to study the ground for a moment, dark crease notching into the brow that doesn't really exist. He doesn't have a shadow. He can't remember how to form the semblance of one.

"I don't know what it was - cosmic happenstance or chance or whatever else." He hadn't seen what there was about him that was worthy, hadn't been able to look back at his life and see anything aside from a string of failures. He'd learned, gradually, to not dictate himself by that, and he's still not sure if that was really the right choice on his part. He's not ever sure if Ascension is the right choice. It's not for humans most of the time, and that's for good reason.

He might have just cheated his way out of what was meant to be his time, again. By way of a celestial escape hatch that was never meant to be abused. Again.

The manifestation looks up again, his frown deeper.

"I guess some of them thought I was 'worthy' to join them, until I wasn't." The smile slides from the face that isn't real. "I wouldn't stop interfering."

This is some fascinating stuff, and Iman can't help smiling even as he frowns to himself. "Worthy and then worthy again," she says. "I mean, humans are all about interference, aren't we? Isn't that sort of the main draw?" In pop sci-fi anyway. "They should have seen it coming."

She takes a mug out of the cupboard and pours herself some coffee, adding sugar, forgoing milk - too much of a pain with one arm - and nearly forgets she can't automatically cool it down before taking a sip. She holds it awkwardly instead.

"What did they want you to do?"

"It wasn't something that was done frequently, and there were always risks. Ascending me wasn't even really a popular move." He moves over to the counter, as if he can lean against it. As if that part of him is really here.

"Ascended beings - well, you know." He spreads an incorporeal hand wide, his tone derisive and brittle. "Meant to study the universe. See everything, understand it. We're not meant to care what happens on a lower plane. Meant to be above it."

"Huh." She studies him for a moment. "So how much can you see now?"

It's not so much a question of paranoia as it is one of interest. In this state he might have immense capabilities, if he can only seize onto them, relearn how to do things. She isn't about to ask him to probe the Rift, especially when it's probably the Rift that started this, but - well, she's never prepared to let an opportunity go to waste. Even when that opportunity comes in the form of an undead friend.

"Not nearly as much as I should," he admits. He remembers what he was, infinite, or capable of being infinite, here reduced to formless drifting. "The minutiae is easiest. Atoms, what goes on a, uh, molecular level. And - I can see the Rift. Or sense it." His form's expression frowns, and it's almost pained. "All the time."

Containing something meant to circumvent all methods of containment, made to exist beyond certain boundaries. Space and time are certainly malleable concepts, but despite every effort he remains tied, weighted, moored to this patch of world. The Rift is - clearly metaphysical to some extent, something larger and more powerful than anything else he's known. Stronger than Anubis. Stronger than the Ancients.

Stronger than him. Whatever he is.

"It's difficult to explain." Daniel gestures vaguely at his shape in a sweeping, vertical movement. "It's like an itch. Or being - trapped in the wrong skin."

Her expression darkens and she takes a slow sip of her coffee.

"I felt it, just for a bit," she says. "When I was testing the border, when it-" She half-shrugs it off, looking away. "Lucifer's been data gathering, gives stuff to me like dead mice from a frickin' cat. It's scary as hell. I have never seen anything this powerful, never."

She looks at Daniel again. She hasn't really mentioned Lucifer helping her to anyone but since she and Daniel met him together, well... it seems fair. And it's kind of a relief to mention it. "It's like... it has a completely measured, tailored response to absolutely everything. Every attempt to breach it. When it felt me pushing from the other side, it pulled me in, sealed up behind me. And then did it again the other day, like a fucking warning shot."

She takes another drink and sets the mug on the counter to gesticulate. Fuck she misses being able to gesticulate and drink coffee at the same time.

"The rumors are that the Rift flipped its shit because somebody got out," she says. "Someone figured this out, broke through. These two fellas and their kids, uh, Andrew Noble and James Wood, I think? I didn't know them. I don't know how they did it, I just know it can be done."

Could be done. She looks ruefully down at her dead arm.

"Can you sense any kind of weakness at all," she murmurs, not really daring to hope, picking up her coffee once more.

Well, Lucifer's suggestion to visit Iman now has an uncomfortable new context. Though she's made it clear she doesn't particularly need anyone's interference on her behalf, being in sort-of collaboration with Lucifer does not sound like - actually, Daniel thinks he might get where she's coming from.

"Andrew made it home?" He brightens briefly, only to deflate as she continues. Apparently even good news comes at an unfairly steep price. "Okay, well that might be why the Rift lashed out at me the way it did. It's like a complete shell, or trap, or - I guess 'island' might be a better term." He shakes his projection's head ruefully. "Isolating us. I did get a sense of - possession, I think. It's hard to define it, it was - and I'm - "

He adopts the tone of someone who would, if actually corporeal, blow out a gusty, frustrated sigh.

"I barely understand it myself - it was so alien, and - incomprehensible, even to me. Ascended beings are meant to understand things like this. Higher plane, infinite knowledge, expanded perception? But I don't know what it wants, or even what it is. I have no idea."

Manifested shoulders drop, defeated. No matter what he is, what form or shape or plane, he's still the same helpless little thing he always was. The Rift, he supposes, simply sees fit to remind him.

Not that he needed that.

Iman winces at his attempt to describe it, the visible onset of frustration and defeat. Sounds fairly terrifying, which, given Literal Satan's response to the whole thing, is pretty much to be expected. Nobody know what it is, it's more powerful than every powerful being, and if it can be said to have a personality its key personality trait is that it wants to keep them. At all costs. And it punishes when it's outsmarted.

"Well, we might need to start looking for ways out that are less... orthodox," she says slowly. "In any case it's probably best if we all take a breather. Let it settle down, get complacent again. Or something." She smiles ruefully at him. "We're both in kind of a rift-mandated time-out anyway, aren't we."

"More or less," he sighs. There's no immediate solution here, not for either of them. Though, granted, Daniel knows his situation is reversible - to some extent. He doesn't know what descending here would do to him, or, in the case that he succeeds, if there would be anything of the actual Daniel Jackson left. It's a marvel there's anything left of him as it is.

"Lucifer recommended that I, uh. Talk to you." He can't prevent the note of guilt that enters his voice as he admits it, and he gets the impression that someone flesh and blood would be shuffling their feet. "That's not why I came - that was, uh, that was actually an accident. But - I figured you should, you know. Know that."

She looks briefly surprised, then just smiles and shakes her head. "Of course he did," she sighs. "He's like in love with me or something, I don't know. Not, you know, not really. Used to just pop in on me until Gabriel finally warded the place up. Guess he thinks I have a decent chance at getting us out of here. That's sort of a confidence-builder, I guess."

"Yeah," says he glumly. "Me too. But I mean - I don't know why he seems to, uh - I know he thinks you've got the best chance of figuring a way past the Rift." But yeah, he has no idea why Lucifer decided that Daniel Jackson is a figure worthy of his interest. Though he supposes that he's made himself something of an anomaly at this point, and now his existence on a higher plane has just increased Lucifer's intrigue. Which is just great, and wonderful, and exactly what he needs on top of it.

At least Gabe's warded the place. It won't keep Lucifer from popping up anywhere else to chat, Daniel knows from experience, but it's something. He can't exactly go to war with the Devil over it. For one, he'd probably lose.

"I mean, if there wasn't any reason for him to wanna take you to prom there sure is now," she says wryly. "Lucky us."

She wishes she could offer him a drink.

"So you can't control where you go yet," she says. "Can you control how you leave? Or when? I mean like, should I be expecting you to pop out of existence at some point or something?"

Lucky, right. Well - to an extent, maybe. Daniel would rather the Devil's attention be on him than, say, Daine or Seth or Johnny. And now he's in a better position to deal with it, even if it is a much more confusing position on all levels.

"It's hit or miss." Mostly miss. There was the hiccup with Rashad, which drained him, but at least he'd managed to fade out willingly. "I try to warn for it but sometimes I just kinda - " He trails into an unhappy silence. Everything is so far from ideal right now that he doesn't know what to do about it most of the time.

"Hm." She nods thoughtfully, frowning to herself. "Well, if you start getting a better handle on it, I'll be around, feel free to drop in whenever. I'll make a point of not taking my pants off or anything." She gives him a wry smile, only somewhat strained. "I'm really glad you're still here, man."

"Thank you," he says, expression earnest. "I'll, uh - keep it in mind."

And maybe now she can get help from someone who isn't Satan. He's not sure if his capabilities quite measure up to Lucifer's, but he's willing to bet Iman won't mind the exchange.

In the space between heartbeats, his construct fades and his consciousness soon follows.

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

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