bigapplesauce | Entries tagged with dropped: daniel jackson

[Warning: Lots of focus on suicide, with a side of drug and alcohol use, plenty of traumatic subjects.]

Seth should start keeping a tally of number of times Daniel gets to watch him die in a dream. Only two so far, but that's in less than three weeks of knowing him, so who knows what it will be over time? He's long since given up on keeping track of when he dies in a dream in general, since that's not a terribly unusual occurrence, but it's rarer for it to happen in shared ones.

He had given up on sleep more or less immediately after waking up. The fear he had felt, the hopelessness, it was all a bit too real, too familiar, and easily stuck with him. So he had gone out to cope with it in the only way he felt capable of - getting blissfully high.

A few hours later, once morning had properly arrived, and the buzz was wearing off, he returned home. Not ready to deal with being sober however, he had replaced the morphine with alcohol, namely whiskey. The rest of the morning had passed in only somewhat comforting intoxication and anxiety, and then Daniel had texted him, and Seth didn't feel able to answer. It took two hours before he could actually face the idea of seeing him after that ordeal. Not just because of the things he had seen Daniel do, but the things Daniel had seen him do. There's no small amount of shame and self-loathing involved.

But at last he had answered, and now he's waiting for Daniel to get there, anxiously picking at his sleeves and staring at the wall. He's not as drunk as he would like, but he's definitely not sober. It's not going to be a fun conversation.

Current Location: Hell's kitchen
Current Date: August 5th, noon

erratic_hematic

Spike is on Grand street in Chinatown, it's eight o'clock in the morning, and he's staring at a chicken. The chicken in question isn't alive or possessing a head, so he's betting that any chance of getting any blood from it or the five other chickens next to it is slim to none.

The blood supply available here in New York isn't any good. What he'd initially figured was just a blandness of taste is actually much much more of a problem. Blood that he buys here just doesn't do what it's supposed to be doing for him. Even after he switched butchers, the problem continued. He's constantly tired, and constantly hungry, and things are only getting worse as time goes on.

Hence, the chicken.

"Oi, you," he yells back to who he guesses is the proprietor of this little shop, "whatta you do with the blood?" He makes a fiddly finger gesture at the chickens. "The chicken blood?" When the man doesn't seem to understand, he repeats, slower and more enunciated, "CHICKEN. BLOOD."

After a few more frustrating back and forths and the assistance of a passing bystander as translator, Spike gleans that they do not sell chicken blood to the public, but they do sell it to an asian market a few streets over, where he can buy it in chilled and possibly gelled cubes. It doesn't sound promising, but at the moment it's the best idea he's got.

[Spike will be heading over to the asian market, picking up gross blood cubes, then heading back to the rebel apartments. You're welcome to have your characters find him in Chinatown, waiting for/on the B train, or walking back to the rebel apartments. Here's his trip]

Current Location: chinatown
Current Date: August 4th (morning)

peacefulexplorer

The knotted mass of guilt in Daniel's chest hasn't gone away by the time he's on his way to Seth's apartment building, again, hands clenching and unclenching and wandering and ducking into his pockets and back out again a minute later.

Daniel feels like an idiot.

He feels like an idiot, because what good could an ordinary library in Manhattan possibly be for this kind of thing? Yesterday had passed in sporadic bursts of anxiety, horror over what the hell might be happening, creeping dread that this might not be reversible and then finally today Daniel's traitorous phone had buzzed to deliver several texts in rapid succession. Texts he should have received a full day ago. Short bursts of words and questions that should read as neutral and impersonal like any other text but don't because Seth had clearly, clearly not been in a good place by the time he'd faded from Daniel's range of vision and he must not have heard or processed any of the prior warnings because the texts all make it bleakly obvious he'd had no idea what was happening. Seth must have assumed the worse.

That would not be atypical for Seth to have assumed the worse.

The idea that Daniel had most assuredly been the cause of that makes him faintly, mildly nauseous.

He has to halt outside the building for a tight minute, his lungs a paradoxical mess of relief and jittering apprehension and no small amount of the always-persistent guilt until at last he makes an unerring line for the figure in front. The visible figure. Daniel's eyes don't slide right past and he doesn't need to constantly refocus and the gradually mounting panic tentatively starts to give way.

Current Location: Hell's Kitchen
Current Date: August 1st, noon (backdated)

powerdealer

Seth has had a pretty uneventful few days since he last spoke to Daniel, if you don't count getting pretty intensely rained on yesterday (which had sucked, but at least the city isn't exactly cold these days), and thinking for a moment he'd met someone from his home universe before that. That had admittedly been pretty weird, even if it had become evident more or less immediately that Eliot was not Curtis. Still, minor occurrences in pretty slow days, really. Days which have largely been spent mulling about his life.

( Read more... )

Current Location: Central Park (upper east); Rebel apartments
Current Date: July 31st, 2013

essentiallyharmless

Lucy's had a pretty eventful few weeks. She's mostly moved out of her flat, letting Daniel take it over, leaving the necessities and things she's not overly interested in bringing - and also a fair amount of books she's already read, which she normally would bring, but Daniel seemed like he needed reading material.

That alone took a certain amount of time, not to mention decorating and arranging everything in her new apartment, which was the first thing she did. She can't stand not having a safe space that's just hers, her plants and her books and her fishes, everything decorated to be light and airy and soothing, someplace that feels safe and homely. It had been essential to maintain some level of sanity when she was staying all cooped up, and even now when she's not there as much, it's something to keep her grounded. Maybe she should get a cat, too. The fishes are lovely, but they're not all that good for being affectionate with, and she finds she needs that now. Perhaps she'll become a crazy cat lady. The 'crazy' part already applies to her, but at least now she's functioning.

Which is probably thanks to the other big change. Working for Romac. She'd had her reservation to begin with - she still does, of course, but after everything that's happened, she thinks she's learned her lesson about letting herself be swayed and blindly trusting in something bigger than herself. There are definitely flaws within Romac's system, and she's pretty sure a lot of what they do could be handled better, and then there are the people working there who are only doing so for their personal advancement...

But then she also quickly found genuinely lovely people, people who really are just trying to do good. People who care about not just the city and its inhabitants, but also about the poor people falling through almost every day. People helping to manage crisis after crisis. And perhaps she is letting herself be a little swayed by finally feeling like she can belong to a community again. It's been so long since the last time. Years. Once upon a time, when she used to organise fundraisers, and then work in publishing, digging out new authors she enjoyed and helping them succeed. More than once it's crossed her mind to go back to that, but she doesn't know how to do so when she has to start over, without her family's connections and the financial security. Perhaps eventually her work with Romac will give her enough stability and security to do so again.

The work is good, too. They managed to find something suitable for her, organising and managing and doing a lot of interaction with people, collaborating to make things happen. Considering how little help she feels like she got from the rebels when she arrived, just an apartment and some money, she wants to make the city more welcoming to those who are arriving now. Romac actually has the resources to do more than that, if she can just manage to convince them to.

She suddenly finds herself brimming with ideas on how to improve things. Better assessment of what a new riftie actually needs, a proper social security network, and making it easier for people to ask for help. Education and integration, finding solutions for people who might not have as easy a time to blend in or learn their customs. Better follow-up. Giving those who will never be able to function normally in society something worthwhile to do, something that both contributes to Romac and the world, and is also personally fulfilling. They have so many resources just in the people who keep falling through the Rift, if only they could manage them better. It makes Lucy feel like her work actually matters, and that is a rewarding feeling to have.

So far, she's pretty sure the rebels haven't really caught on to the fact that Lucy's left, or at least not enough to send someone to clear out her apartment. She assumes they'll find out soon enough, though, so she wants to keep in contact with Daniel and make sure he isn't suddenly thrown out on the street or... arrested for squatting or anything like that. That, and also she finds Daniel rather sweet, and probably a good friend to have.

And so Lucy is checking in on her apartment - now Daniel's, if all but on paper. She could just let herself in, but in case Daniel's home, she knocks on the door and announces herself. "Daniel, are you home? It's Lucy."

Current Location: Rebel apartments
Current Date: July 29th

peacefulexplorer

Navigating his way to Seth's building without assistance makes Daniel prouder than he has any right to be, but it's just nice to know he's able to adapt and learn his way around. It gives him a sense of accomplishment to contrast with the drifting downward trajectory it feels like his life's taken as of late.

The optimism lasts about as long as it takes for Daniel to find the apartment door. Then he briefly loses his nerve and has to take a minute (or two, or three, certainly no more than four and no, he has absolutely not been counting) to collect all his thoughts into one place and automatically begin assembling a preamble before scrapping the idea almost immediately.

He is not going to start with a formal introduction. That would be ridiculous.

And he's not nervous. Just a shade agitated, maybe. Well within reason. It's just the issue of he and Seth spending a disproportionate amount of time walking around in each others' heads, something that definitely warrants a conversation of some sort. Possibly involving alcohol, and Daniel isn't typically one to make that suggestion lightly.

He's done hesitating. Daniel takes a quick breath and knocks before he can change his mind.

Current Location: Hell's Kitchen
Current Date: July 25th, late afternoon (backdated)

apidae

Today Bee is restless. She doesn't feel like being still, but she doesn't feel like being alone, either. Sunshine and Spike are both at work and Daine hasn't answered her phone, which probably means she's off meeting animals. She's cleaned, she's eaten, and she's tried to read, but now she wants to go out. Better yet, she wants to go and visit her darlings, but she wants to take someone with her. She considers Peter, but she's not quite ready to knock on his door again after their last meeting.

That leaves Aziraphale. She's only met the angel a couple times in passing, but he seems very kind. Perhaps he'd like to meet her darlings.

She steps barefoot out into the hall and pads down to his door. She hasn't seen him since the day the dangerous creature came through the Rift, when he went out and reportedly got hurt. That was a long time ago now. She chews her lip nervously before knocking.

Someone's inside, she can sense that much, but after some consideration she doesn't think it's Aziraphale. There's nothing familiar about it, in fact. She frowns curiously.

"Hello?" she says after a moment, raising her voice just enough to be heard through the door. "Is someone in there? It's Bee, from down the hall."

Current Location: Rebel apartments
Current Date: July 26th (midday)

peacefulexplorer

Daniel scans the intersection for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, hands crammed in his pockets. He's not anxious and he's certainly not fidgeting. Well. Not overly.

And if he were, hypothetically, fidgeting and shuffling and shifting in one place restlessly, it'd be completely justified given present circumstances. He's just a little on edge, mostly thanks to shared group dreams which are, apparently, possible - something he's recently discovered in the worst way imaginable. He'd been hoping all morning that leaving the apartment and interacting with the real world for a bit would brush away the last few echoes of the nightmare, but there's still a chill in his spine regardless. Expected, but no less unwelcome.

So, yes, he's a little concerned, primarily about Seth. It's true that Seth has lived here for longer - much longer - and he'd acted like he was used to the shared nightmarish experiences by now. Daniel has more than a few issues with that sentiment (the foremost being that horrible nightmares in which people get impaled and imprisoned and die should not be something one gets used to, personal history with nightmares aside) but he's also hoping Seth can clear up a few questions about the Dreaming. It might not have been real in the strictest sense of the word, but it had certainly felt like it.

Also he is worried.

That line of thought just keeps looping on back.

Daniel's phone buzzes, a text from Seth. Soon the phone returns to his pocket as he crosses his arms, takes stock of the intersection again, and waits.

Current Location: Corner of 49th and 8th
Current Date: July 20th (backdated)

powerdealer

Seth's not entirely sure how much he likes being called up as a newbie's guide to superpowers. Any recognition is still a bit too much for him, and he doesn't like meeting at a pre-determined time with someone he doesn't know. But Wilmot's End is just about the only place he feels is safe, neutral ground.

He'd actually showed up pretty early, thinking he might scout for other newbies with fresh powers they might like to get rid of, but he's felt far too anti-social to actually approach anyone. His anxiety's been kicking in, much earlier than he'd like. It's a worrying trend that he's trying very hard not to think about too much.

So he's sitting a little towards the back, nursing a drink and watching the door from his booth. Looking for anyone who looks a little lost and out of place, like they're searching for someone.

Current Location: Wilmot's End
Current Date: July 18th (still a little backdated yup)

etherthief

Iman practically drags her new friend to the East Village, wandering with intense focus until she finally comes across the bar Jodie had recommended to her, which looks just like it sounds, a proper English pub. It's been ages since she went to an English pub. She's looking forward to it. A little hysterically, actually. No wait. Scratch that. She does not get hysterical. She's a scientist.

"Here we are!" she says brightly, drawing Daniel in. Oh wow would you get a load of this place. The lady behind the bar is in costume. Adorable.

"Wow you can kinda tell it's for people from an alternate universe, can't you?" She snorts and takes stock of the people, looking for someone to talk to, or someone whose brain she (they) can pick. It's pretty early for anyone to be drinking, so there's not too many people there, except one guy who is drunk, slumped over the bar. Looking exactly like she feels, or rather how she wants to feel in an hour's time.

"That one," she says decisively, not bothering to check if Daniel's with her on the idea of approaching a drunk stranger and asking him questions about their mutual cosmic misfortune. He's probably not. She doesn't actually care.

She goes straight to the bar, assuming Daniel will follow, sits herself on the stool next to the guy, and nods to the tender. "I'll have what he's having."

[[ooc: Daniel's just gonna be here for the initial thread, but Iman will be here all day! Say hi if you wanna.]]

Current Location: Wilmot's End
Current Date: July 16

rae_of_sun

Well, if there's ever been a reason for Sunshine to start pushing herself in the magic-handling department, the arrival of a mega-toxic kali nightmare goon from wherever-the-hell - and a subsequent text containing a ward symbol against said nightmare goon - definitely qualifies. Gods, has she missed wards. And, okay, she finds it a little hard to fully trust the effectiveness of a ward symbol drawn by… well, anyone aside from an accredited wardsmith (herself included)… but if there's even a slight chance that it'll work, she will gladly wallpaper the entire damn building with the thing.

Better to start small, though, especially if what she's going for is 'permanent.' Which is why she's standing outside her own apartment door with the little image of the symbol pulled up on her phone. She examines the picture with a tight little frown, memorizing the details in case intent is not enough. Then she tucks her phone into the back pocket of her shorts and braces her palms against the door.

Okay. She can do this. It's big - far bigger than anything she's attempted before - but it's only wood. Easy compared to metal or stone. And her grandmother said she could do anything in bright sunlight, and there's plenty of that shining in through the window at the end of the hall, all of two feet to her right. So.

Sunshine shuts her eyes, pictures the ward symbol as clearly as she can, and shoves.

A bolt of power runs down her arms and into her door, the recoil strong enough to force her back a pace. She opens her eyes, regains her balance, and takes in her new door.

At first, she thinks it was a bust; the change is so subtle. But then she realizes that the ward symbol is there, right in the middle of her door and as large as a dinner plate. It's visible only because the grain of the wood abruptly changes direction, like an incredibly fine inlay. She steps closer and runs her fingertips over the line where symbol ends and door begins, but she can't feel a seam.

"Gods," she breathes. Could she darken it? Probably, yes, if she tried again. Make it a bit more obvious, if that's what's needed. A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. It worked. How's that for permanent?

Okay. She'll come back to her own door later. First, she has to do Spike's. And then the main entrances. And then the windowsills. ~~And then literally every other flat surface she can reach.~~

[ooc: Sunshine is gonna spend the day WARDING ALL THE THINGS, so feel free to have your character run into her in any given hallway, down by the front door, or even up on the roof. Pretty much anywhere in the rebel apartment building is fair game. And hey, she'll probably ward your door if you ask nicely.]

Current Location: Rebel apartments
Current Date: July 16th, 2013 (backdated)

peacefulexplorer

He's been counting the days since he arrived and has gradually come to accept that the way home might not be as straightforward as he'd hoped. Or existent. Daniel has concluded that he can be reasonably sure he's not dead, which has its ups and downs (the ups being, hey, he's not dead, and the downs being that he kind of wishes that he were, because at least that way he'd have some idea of how to get out of it).

Lucy's apartment has been a welcome refuge, but it can only hold him for so long. He probably still looks horrendously out of place in the black military-issue tee and BDU pants, though at least he's no longer covered in alien dust and panicking over spontaneous space-time displacement, so there's that. And wandering around like this might not be the best idea Daniel's ever had ever, admittedly. All the same, right now he needs movement to stimulate thought. He needs forward movement to make him feel like he has an attainable goal. He needs movement and he needs it not to be as directionless as he's feeling just now, and Daniel can already tell that he's more or less failed in that regard.

Daniel realizes a little too late that the park is very big and he might possibly be very lost. Possibly definitely.

He turns slowly on the spot, frowns, starts looking for signs and, finding none, turns to the nearest passerby.

"Hey, ah. This might sound strange, but I'm, uh, I'm a little lost."

Current Location: Central Park
Current Date: July 16th (backdated)

peacefulexplorer

Coffee was developed in Ethiopia circa the fifteenth century, though there have definitely been indications of coffee-drinking as a habit in Yemen, and the developmental process of learning to cultivate it and then brew it and then mass-produce it and then manufacture it to consumers must have had a truly tremendous impact on the growth of human history when one considered it in the broader historical context. There must have been countless world leaders who loved their coffee, who were addicted to coffee, who required it to function, who made their best and worst and most historically influential decisions while drinking coffee or waiting for coffee or having been deprived of coffee for unreasonably long stretches of time.

No matter how many stimulating linguistic exercises Daniel puts his brain through (break the word down to its origins, from the Dutch koffie to the Arabic kahwa to the Turkish kahveh until finally the definitive term itself was developed in the sixteenth century), he always seems to loop back to the extreme, infinitely frustrating lack of coffee.

The fifteenth century had coffee.

And he does not.

His hand creeps up to take off his glasses so the other can massage his pounding forehead. He’s already resolved to add “instant coffee” to the suggestion box of things that could improve the conditions of extended offworld missions. The SGC probably doesn’t actually have a suggestion box, so he files away a reminder to suggest that they get one. Civilian feedback might not seem all that important to them but they should know by now that those opinions have got to count for something and - oh, hello.

Caffeine withdrawal forgotten, Daniel’s thoughts abruptly divert to the singularity taking place in front of him.

It’s almost like a wormhole but not - not quite. Roughly conical, shifting. There’s something off about it. No gate, for one. And for another, it - well, it pulses.

The glasses go back on and Daniel scrambles to his feet and stares, squinting at the apparent spaciotemporal anomaly that has just formed without warning.

“Hello,” says Daniel, just in case the thing is sentient. He raises a hand and waves.

The not-really-a-wormhole doesn’t respond in any obvious way. Daniel’s head tilts to one side as he watches the thing swirl and shift in its oddly mesmerizing, seemingly unpatterned movements. He tries communication again, speaking as one scientific anomaly to another.

“Do you understand me?” Daniel asks slowly. “Are-are you, ah, alive?”

He probably shouldn’t get any closer. He probably shouldn’t -

The thing swells unexpectedly, wrapping some indistinguishable force around Daniel and pulling -

Oh, hell.

And then he is suddenly, inexplicably somewhere else. Somewhere that looks suspiciously not like P5X-909 but that felt nothing like beaming technology and he was on P5X-909 not ten seconds ago. It felt like ten seconds, though Daniel knows better than to trust his own perception of time when he's been known to mistakenly spend entire days poring over the same translation.

Daniel stares at the fountain he's unceremoniously ended up at, crowned with an angel holding its wings and arms outspread. If he didn't know better, he'd say -

He'd say he's on Earth.

If he ever comes back from this one, he’s going to add “keep Daniel Jackson from dying in every unpleasant way imaginable” to the suggestion box.

Current Location: Bathesda Terrace
Current Date: July 13th (backdated)

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The Big Applesauce

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Page generated Jun. 12th, 2025 02:25 am

The Big Applesauce

Entries tagged with dropped: daniel jackson

[closed] After painting the ceiling red

Out for blood [open to multiple]

It's been the worst day since yesterday [closed]

[closed] I guess I just brushed through your mind more gently than I intended to

[closed] I'm the hero of this story, I don't need to be saved

Does it trouble your mind the way you trouble mine? [closed]

[closed] The pedigree of honey / Does not concern the bee

So Who's Going to Watch You Die? [closed]

a thankless job but somebody's got to do it [closed]

Don't Panic [open]

She'll teach those hatches! [Open to Multiple]

A Detour to Your New Life [open]

That Wasn't Beaming Technology [closed]

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