applesaucedream | Can't Stand the Distance, Can't Dream Alone [open to all]

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Can't Stand the Distance, Can't Dream Alone [open to all]

The sleeping rifties might have a difficult time realizing they're dreaming this evening, in part because tonight's dreams are atypically vivid, even compared to the rift's usual efforts. Perhaps that is because it's drawing so heavily from the memories of the dreamers, themselves, and using that information to recreate their home worlds in stunning detail. And that is the real reason the dreamers might not be eager to accept the unreality of the situation: the situation is one that many of them have been hoping for for months or even years. In their dreams tonight, the rifties are going home.

Perhaps they arrive in the same moment that they left. Perhaps months have passed at home, or they might even find themselves arriving before their departure point. But those are small details when compared to the overwhelming realization that they're back where they belong.

They're not alone. Many dreamers will find the rift has given them a companion for the return trip. Well, an uncomplicated return home is probably more than anyone could have hoped for, anyway. And for the unwitting visitor, perhaps another universal displacement will be easier to bear with the addition of a local guide.

[ooc: usual dream party rules apply; all are welcome, and dreamers can remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion. Also at the players' discretion: when their character arrives in their 'home universe,' and how many (if any) locals they'd want to run into.]

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Seth nods tersely. It'll have to do. It's not the most reassuring, and his stomach is in knots thinking about what could potentially happen once they get there. But... Well, what choice does he have?

He doesn't manage to return the smile. There is, at the moment, very little to smile about. Currently he's leveled out a little, but he knows as soon as they're inside, he'll be fighting off another breakdown. Which could get not just him, but also Daniel killed. He needs to focus on keeping it together. On just following Daniel and doing what he needs to.

Finding an entrance to the bunker, one aside from the entrance Daniel desecrated, proves to be more of a challenge than he would like but they find another grating that leads to the underground hallways eventually. There are no surface sentries and the weapons fire is pretty limited to what they can hear in the city, so Daniel assumes the insurgents have staked out tightly around the gate. That would make sense; it's the symbol of their rebellion, and it could prove vital in negotiations.

His stomach wrenches a little at the thought and Daniel fervently hopes Jack isn't bargaining his life for the offer of military support to the rebels. He knows he's been gone long enough for Jack to get desperate, maybe desperate enough to pull something as ill-advised as that. Moral qualms aside, that scenario would just see more lives pointlessly lost on the battlefield.

They get close enough where Daniel can glimpse a few sentries around one corner. He ducks back before they notice and nods to Seth.

"All right. Stay behind me, phase out if they get too close in case a shot gets lucky. Gateroom isn't far but it'll be packed and it'll be noisy. First grenade is the diversion. The second is my signal that you move in." He digs out a pencil and a slip of paper and scribbles seven symbols on it, offers it to Seth.

"Those are the symbols you dial. Stick to that order, and don't go through until I say. All right?"

He searches the other man's gaze, jaw locked. He wishes Seth still had the gun. He doesn't want to send him in defenseless, but at least he has a means of evasion.

Seth nods at the instructions, accepting the piece of paper. He studies the symbols, trying to commit them to memory enough that he'll recognise them quickly. He doesn't know how many symbols there are in total, so it's hard to say how long it would take. He keeps the note held tight in his hand, since it's pretty important he not lose it.

Finally he looks up and nods, teeth gritted. He doesn't quite trust his voice at the moment. And to be honest he's almost a little glad he doesn't have a gun. One less thing to focus on, and he doesn't think he'd be much good with one anyway.

Now he can just concentrate on a few simple things. A) Try not to get shot, B) try to avoid Daniel getting shot if he can, and C) open the gate. He supposes as long as it's not a fatal wound, they can deal with getting shot as long as they get through the gate. A military base would probably have the equipment to patch that up. That's one good thing at least.

"Okay." Okay. Deep breath. "Okay."

He shoots Seth a brief, fortifying smile and tears out from around the corridor, opens fire on the two sentries. Before they've even slumped against the walls, now slick with trailed red, the sounds of running footsteps and shouting indicate he's raised a decent ruckus. Daniel stoops to retrieve one of the fallen rebels' weapons and bolts down one of the adjacent hallways, praying Seth will wait for his signal. He leads his pursuers on a brief but merry chase before he's able to pick them off, then doubles back to start shooting his way to the bunker's gateroom.

The one-man assault works surprisingly well, at least at first, primarily thanks to the confining nature of the halls and the rebels' general disorganization. They've been gaining ground through force and conquered resources, not necessarily due to any great tactical skill. As anticipated, most of them have clustered around the gate as their holy symbol. Daniel pulls the pin out of grenade number one and lobs it into the small, vulnerable tomb that is the bunker's gateroom, steels himself against the crescendo of panicked shouts and the scramble of doomed footsteps.

It goes off in a loud spray of dust and howls, then silence.

Daniel breathes.

The remaining rebels will start spilling his way any minute, and Daniel needs to head them off to give Seth time. He tosses the signal grenade in with a nauseating tearing in his chest; he doesn't dare confront what kind of man he is in that moment.

He locates suitable cover a safe distance from the gateroom, takes his position, loads his second-to-last magazine, waits for them to come and hopes they come quickly, before he has enough time to examine what he's doing for his and Seth's sake.

It takes an awful lot of willpower for Seth to keep a clear head at this point, following after Daniel. He very deliberately does not look at the bodies - for a moment he wonders if he should grab the other one's gun, as a deterrent, but he doesn't know how to work it and he doesn't think it will actually stop the rebels unless he actually hits them, which he doesn't want to do. Besides, he doesn't want to run into an Earth military base armed either, if they have no idea who he is.

He mostly manages to keep out of sight, though at one point two rebels spot him unexpectedly and start shooting. Being on as high alert as Seth is probably capable of, the bullets pass right through him, and he ends up ducking through a wall into a thankfully empty room. While there, he can hear the first grenade go off and he closes his eyes for a moment, trying not to contemplate what is happening, trying to distance himself from the reality of it.

When he steps back out through the wall, the two who had spotted him are gone, and Seth continues on his way, his mind filled with steely resolve to try to block out the fear and disgust. Once the second grenade goes off, he hurries into the gateroom.

It's not pleasant. For a moment it's all he can do not to throw up again. The worst thing is the smell, he realises, which is also the hardest to block out.

But the pedestal is easy enough to spot, and at least he can focus on that. Just dial Earth, and it will be fine. It's a bit more complicated than a phone, with something like three dozen symbols, and he unfurls the piece of paper, which has gotten pretty wrinkled from how hard he's been clenching his hand around it. It takes a lot of effort to hurry while still being certain he's pressing the right keys.

But each one lights up in an encouraging way when he presses it, with satisfying chinks, and there's lights on the gate as well. He presses in the seventh symbol and looks up at the gate. Nothing seems to be happening, and there's a flash of panic that he did something wrong.

The gate lights abruptly go out, then light up again with the chunking of locking chevrons as someone else starts dialing from the other side.

A fresh wave of blue sprays outward then compresses into the shimmering wall of its localized wormhole. Immediately, a good dozen or so heavily armed soldiers pour through, all clad in SG-team BDUs. Several train their weapons on the first figure they see, the one that apparently was attempting to dial out before Earth could get a lock on Tegalus.

"Rebel?" one of them asks, directing the question at the colonel present.

Daniel, meanwhile, is being forced into a retreat. His last magazine stutters and the gun clicks, useless, and he's left with no other options than to run and hope that Seth's managed to dial the gate successfully. He sprints down the hall but there's no sound of pursuing footsteps, just a clatter that would indicate -

He grimaces and speeds up. Why would he be the only one with grenades?

With the constraining nature of the bunker's schematics, Daniel knows there's no way he'll be able to clear the blast in time. He registers it hollowly and tries anyway, pushes himself forward, he can see the bunker gateroom just ahead an instant before the outward projection of force slams into him and kicks him forward. The momentum carries him in a stunted, skidding roll and he can hear distant shouts, make out the faint pulsing glow of blue from the gate - Seth got it open, he did, but there are too many people in front of it, did the diversion not work? Daniel knows the explosion's done something but his nerves feel like they've been burned out and he can't distinguish one form of pain from the other.

He needs to get up and move but he's having enough trouble staying conscious.

Edited 2014-12-06 18:34 (UTC)

Seth watches the unresponsive gate with increasing dread, until something definitely happens, but somehow it doesn't seem to be him that's doing it? He jumps back in alarm at the sudden eruption of what looks like water coming out of nowhere.

And then suddenly there are guns being pointed at him again, and Seth's arms go up automatically, the universal sign of oh God please don't shoot. The outfits match Daniel's though, which affords him a glimmer of hope and relief. As much as you can have when you are being threatened with firearms. Hopefully these are the reinforcements Daniel mentioned.

When someone asks if he's a rebel, he shakes his head fervently, even if they weren't actually asking him. And just in case they decide to open fire, he's keeping himself intangible, despite the toll it's taking on him. He knows he'll have to stop doing it before they decide to touch him, lest they find out what he can do, but while all those guns are trained in his direction, well...

And then all of sudden there's another explosion, and Seth whips around immediately. "Daniel!" It would be impossible to stop himself from reacting, and equally impossible to keep the desperation and terror out of his voice. Seth's frozen in place, wanting to run to Daniel, but terrified they'll shoot him if he does. Oh God, please let him be alright, oh God...

"Jackson!"

"Oh, fucking christ."

"Come on, get him out, get him out!"

There are numerous hands moving him and apparently trying to be gentle about it but Daniel's ears are ringing too loudly for him to make sense of it, much less recognize who any of the words belong to.

He dimly registers, however, the one figure that is not uniform, that stands with its hands up and is so plainly terrified, and Daniel remembers Seth, Seth needs to get back to Earth too but those are an awful lot of guns aimed at him for a precautionary measure and Seth doesn't do well with guns, even with Daniel's limited exposure to him he knows this but the foreign hand that reaches to support his head comes away slick and red. At some point he exists in an upright state though not of his own volition. Someone must be supporting him. Someone - he can't tell who.

"Seth." Daniel must align all his focus to make the word articulate, he concentrates all his willpower to get his eyes to stare at the shape that he desperately hopes is Seth, that certainly resembles Seth but his perception of movement is so delayed that he's having trouble believing it.

"He's a friend," he slurs, wishing he had the muscle memory to implement pointing, just so he could pick Seth out from the smeared mass of shapes that is all he can distinguish currently. "He's a friend. Doyouundersan'?"

There's a colonel nearby, probably, and that's who he's going to assume that question got forwarded to. The SGC puts a great deal of faith in its colonels.

"You sure, Jackson?"

"He's pretty bad off. Sir."

"You think the man's taken a complete leave of common sense?"

"Think he had any to start with?"

"For fuck's - you!" The words are barked with more hostility. Directed at Seth? Daniel hopes so. "Come on, let's move!"

Daniel needs to warn Seth about the transfer, how disorienting it can be the first time through, but he's falling through the gate before he can pin down the words necessary.

"Surprise me, then."

He's been sitting here telling Daniel bits and pieces of his personal history, after all, and has gotten hardly anything in return other than the fact that Daniel is an archaeologist who can quote Scripture from memory. That's practically nothing, considering what he now knows of Lucifer's family situation and the clusterfuck thereof.

A clusterfuck that he'd prefer to have not as the center of the conversation, especially if he is going to be spending a few hours stuck in this small space with him.

Seth realises dimly that he's shaking again, but he almost can't feel his body anymore, it's like all he can feel is the panic and despair at seeing a bloodied Daniel being carried towards the gate. For a terrible moment Seth thinks he might actually be dead, but no, he's moving, he's conscious, he's looking at Seth.

His voice is so weak and slurred that Seth can barely hear him, and when he realises Daniel is calling him a friend, there's a sharp twist in his stomach that reminds him yes, he does still have a body and it is capable of feeling things that is not fear. And all he can do is watch, he wants to help, he wants to run over and help carry Daniel and reassure him it's going to be alright, to not let him out of his sight, but he can't.

He flinches a little at being suddenly addressed, the combination of worry about Daniel and the guns pointed at himself giving him an incredibly heightened sense of anxiety and skittishness.

However, there's only about a second's hesitation before he does what he's told, following towards the gate. He assumes at this point they won't actually shoot him unless he does something obviously aggressive, but he doesn't know what they'll do with him, and it's pretty obvious they're not even slightly inclined to trust him. He keeps his hands out from his sides and clearly visible, even if he is very obviously unarmed. It's not like he could really hide a weapon in what his basically his pyjamas. But he's hardly going to take his chances with this.

He hesitates again at the liquid-like substance, but he's not given any chance to steel himself for it, because almost immediately someone roughly nudges him in the back with the butt of their gun, and he more or less stumbles through.

It's not a fun experience, but at least it's over quickly. He doesn't have time to really take in the room he enters, except for it being grey and utilitarian and filled with even more guns pointed in his direction, because going through the gate after already being so weakened and strained and pushed to his limit makes him completely disoriented. He half trips, half simply sinks forward onto his hands and knees, and for a moment he can't stop himself from retching, even if he probably expelled all he could earlier. He lifts his head and he can see Daniel being carried off, and he desperately wants to follow, but he neither thinks he's allowed nor able to.

Lucifer looks at the approaching monstrosity; feels it, the awful, twisting, brute-force power of it, and after a moment or two there is recognition. This is the thing in the stolen girl-body that he'd fought in a dream once, the useless fight that did nothing but provide him with some understanding of its strength and tactics. It is free now, unshackled by the constraints of a mortal vessel, the little hellish vermin that surround it unable to even make a dent in its defenses. It seems to notice them about as much as a human notices the ants they tread on.

The demons still crowd to attack him; Lucifer pushes with his Grace and they are burned out of existence in a wide radius around him. They are less keen after that.

When he speaks, it isn't with his vessel's voice; it would never be able to go far enough for Illyria to hear him. He speaks as beings like themselves do-- directly, without the middle-man of sound vibrations.

"Well, fancy seeing you here, Illyria the Merciless."

The medteams have gotten an incredibly impressive response time down for obvious enough reasons, and they're just as unfailingly adept at performing their jobs as usual when Daniel comes through. He's out by the time he hits the embarkation ramp, and Seth will have to deal with SGC security on his own.

"Stand down," growls the colonel wearily at gateroom security, his name patch indicating him to be Col. Reynolds. "Just a refugee. I'm assuming?"

The gate security teams reluctantly lower their weapons, eying the latest recipient of Daniel Jackson's insufferably charitable humanitarianism guardedly.

"All right." He's not pointing a weapon at the guy but he's looking at him like he'd like to. "We're taking a walk to iso, so you can spill. Why was Jackson so sold on getting you here?"

He parses that subtle little challenge for a moment, wondering how much he can say, how much he should say without breaching on something that's classified.

"Oh, I dunno." He tightens his grip on the wheel fractionally. "Couple NDE's kinda teach you some perspective." That's less alarming than actual real death, right?

There it is.

They recognize it immediately, a savage appreciation for the truth of its being. The Morningstar. The epitome of sin, Hellfire, destruction - or so it is said. It is so small here, and Illyria so vast. Will this be to their detriment?

Slow to arrive, are you not? they taunt it regardless, absolute in their whole form. The city has been cast into Hell, and you have only just begun to wreak small destruction.

"I wouldn't have pegged archaeology as a dangerous profession," he says, because, well. Most people wouldn't think that a guy who goes around looking at excavation sites and reading really old books would be at risk too much.

But, then again, there is something off about Daniel. Something that even Lucifer's nearly nonexistent powers can get a hint of.

"Just what have you been looking at that's brought you to near-death on more than one occasion? Read a Necronomicon or two?"

"It is when you consult for Air Force," Daniel says carefully, which is bound to raise all sorts of questions about what the USAF would want with an archaeologist and a disgraced one at that but, well, cat's out of the proverbial bag now. "Sometimes situations get more, ah," one hand releases the wheel to spin in a rough, equivocal circle, "volatile than necessarily expected."

By which he means sometimes you get shot by murderous alien warlords and then resurrected so he can plan to kill you again for the amusement factor. That wasn't a fun time.

"And the Air Force has much interest in dead, ancient civilizations? Here I thought they only cared about drones and terrorists."

There is definitely more to this story than what Daniel is telling him; then again, there's a lot more to his story than what Lucifer mentioned, so it's really all equivalent. And it's not as though Lucifer has much leverage to force Daniel to divulge it, nor does he want to waste his energy going brain-spelunking in order to find out. Before, it may have been something that he would have been curious about, but he doesn't have the luxury of indulging it now.

"Do you have a specialty? One particular culture or period?"

Nick seems intent on turning the interrogatory game around on Daniel, don't think he hasn't noticed, but Daniel doesn't mind the shifting exchange. He's asked Nick quite a bit about his own family life and if they're going to play this game of ambiguities and sweeping general statements it's only fair that they alternate.

"Egyptology," he says, a little easier, sensing an acceptable segue. "Primarily. I've expanded since." Yes, to alien civilizations that are bizarrely bent on emulating ancient Earth cultures. And also Latin. "Sometimes I get called in to serve in a diplomatic function. When you study that range of languages it can help with -" intergalactic "- international negotiations."

Seth despairingly watches Daniel disappear out the door, and it takes him a moment to readjust his focus to his actual surroundings, the people who now have to deal with him.

He wipes at his mouth with his sleeve, though there's nothing there but some spit and dust. He's remained remarkably blood-free in this whole affair, apart from the few scrapes and minor wounds he's gotten from shrapnel and debris. He hasn't had time to examine himself, he just knows he kind of hurts all over. But surely some of that is simply his mental state, shock, whatever.

Sitting back onto his heels, he looks up at the man speaking to him. He thinks he might be too exhausted to go anywhere without help, but judging by the phrase 'taking a walk', he's not sure he has much choice. The rest of his words take a bit longer to parse, and his brain seems to be working unbelievably slowly now he's no longer in mortal danger. He wouldn't go so far as to say he's safe, but he's no longer moments away from death.

Jackson, he realises after a moment, means Daniel. 'Iso' takes a bit longer. Isolation? He prays that's not what he means, because that sounds like the last thing he needs right now, but again he's not sure he can really argue. He also doesn't know what to tell them. Telling the truth isn't always the best idea with hostile government personnel, but since he has no idea what they want to hear, making something up would probably be even worse. Especially since Daniel is not here to speak for him. He'll at least have to stick with the things he's told Daniel, so that when Daniel wakes up, their stories will match.

"I'm from Earth," he says, his voice sounding surprisingly hoarse. He holds out the piece of paper he's been clutching this entire time, since he no longer has any need of it, and hopefully it shows that Daniel had definitely been intending for Seth to come here. "He was helping me-- We were helping each other get back."

Not that he was an awful lot of help. More of a burden, definitely. Daniel would probably still be fine if didn't have to drag Seth around everywhere. Sure, Seth had saved their lives earlier, but Daniel probably wouldn't have needed saving if it weren't for him. And now Daniel is injured, and who knows if he'll even make it, but no, Seth can't bear to think about that possibility right now.

Edited 2014-12-06 22:24 (UTC)

"For the love of - all right, come on." Without invitation, Reynolds hooks one arm under Seth's and pulls him upright, casting around for the nearest SF he can hand him off to. "SG-3's done here. Someone gonna get this guy to iso?"

Someone does. Seeing as he's not in a state of medical emergency, two someones, both SFs and with very little consideration for Seth's apparent discomfort, escort him up six levels and through the subterranean halls into a small and windowless room furnished with one table and two chairs and little else, where their orders have apparently decided they leave him while the information makes its way up the appropriate strata of command and back down again.

For hours.

This is not typical protocol, but the implementation of subconscious terrors in nightmares hasn't stopped with Daniel's own past regrets; it's pulling from Seth's lingering fears as well and applying them just as liberally.

That doesn't mean Daniel's subconscious won't be throwing Seth a bone, however. Eventually, after the seemingly interminable waiting period, the door opens.

Seth flinches automatically upon being grabbed, but as much as he wants to pull away, he doesn't. He's done this before. This is all painfully, sickeningly familiar. Right down to the featureless underground corridors. He wonders where they are, how deep down they are. America, presumably. Though not necessarily, it might just be an American operation. Apart from underground, there's really no way to tell, apart from asking, and, well. Even if he had the mental capacity to inquire about such things, he doubts his escorts would be chatty.

As it is, Seth remains quiet, and they don't ask him anything further, and then he gets dumped into what is definitely an interrogation room.

Under different circumstances, he might've railed against this treatment. Demanded to be seen, to be informed what's going on, to be acknowledged at all. He knows himself well enough to know he's not above lashing out at his cage and his captors.

Two things are stopping him. One is the hope that soon Daniel will wake up and come see him, or speak for him, and that if Seth behaves aggressively then that will definitely count against him. The other is that he's just so completely exhausted. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. Spiritually too, but he's not sure he's been all that great there for ages.

Most of his time is spent on the floor, leaned against the wall. There's a chair there, sure, but it's not actually that much more comfortable, and when he's all alone it somehow just makes everything more stressful. So exposed, in the center of the room. He'd rather be along the edges, back to the wall. It's easier on his claustrophobia, seeing as much of the room as possible, rather than having it pressing in from all directions.

Time passes unbearably slow, and it's impossible to guess how long he's been in there. He's tired and hungry and thirsty, but physical needs seem to take a backseat. Regardless of how tired he is, he couldn't sleep here. He wonders if they'll keep him in here long enough to go into withdrawal. He wonders if it's already starting.

He breaks down twice while waiting, each time until it seems like there's no more emotion or tears to wring out of him. He's not even sure what he's specifically upset about when it happens. It's just all too much, and it doesn't seem focused on one particular thing. Sometimes the sounds or the images of the people Daniel killed. Daniel asking him to kill. Memories of his Daniel, the one who knows him, both things that happened and things that didn't. Gabe, and Johnny, and his apartment. Kelly, or Shannon. Even Manchester, which he hasn't seen in years. Happy and sad things alike. The topics capable of upsetting him seem endless.

And then, at last, at long last, the sharp sound of the door opening, and Seth lifts his head to look.

A silver-haired head pokes its way into view. "Helloooo."

He locates the guy at last, huddled in the corner and not in one of the two perfectly serviceable chairs that are right there? Jack O'Neill is a little offended. The accommodations aren't great, sure, but chairs have gotta be better than floor, right?

"Hey there," he says, a little cheerier than the situation really merits but he's just received the first piece of good news to come his way in months and that's bound to make him a mite chirpy. He enters the room bearing a tray of nondescript food and bottled water. Both objects get set down on the table as Jack takes a seat in the chair closest to the door, which has swung quietly shut behind him, leaning back in an untidy slouch of disarming unprofessionalism.

"Commissary grub." He indicates the tray with swing of a hand, nudging the chair opposite him with one toe meaningfully. "Not five-star, I know, but gotta be better than that offworld stuff. Yeesh."

He looks at the room's other occupant expectantly. You gonna come out of your hole there, gopher?

The main reason Seth doesn't stand up immediately is confused surprise. Well, that and the exhaustion probably plays its part. But largely it's because he's taken aback with just... the amount of cheer, which seems extremely discordant given Seth's situation.

He feels like he's seeing one half of a good cop bad cop routine. But the surreality of it at least shakes him out of his thoughts a little, since it's so completely against expectations, he has no choice but to deal with the present rather than what he thinks is supposed to happen.

Seth wearily gets to his feet, approaching the table and sitting down with a certain amount of trepidation. Still, the offered meal is impossible to pass up at the moment. "Thanks," he says, opening the bottle and gulping down a good quarter of it in one go. It's not even that cold, and yet it's blissfully refreshing.

"How's Daniel?" are the first words he speaks once he sets the bottle down, a little breathless now.

He moves slow and caged and it's not like Jack blames him, it's just that he doesn't get why base security toted him all the way here instead of to one of the guest quarters. It's not like he poses a whole lot of threat. Maybe a teaspoon of threat. A thimble.

"He'll be sore in the morning," answers Jack amiably, one eyebrow arching up at the stranger's concern. Daniel doing that intense-personal-bonding thing with offworlders isn't new, and neither is the immediate first-name basis. Daniel has that effect on people. "Still out. But he'll live." In a stunning turn of events.

He leans forward, dispelling some of his lighter air, but his expression doesn't shift from its amalgamation of expressively bored and politely curious.

"So." Brightly delivered, pitched upward, laden with meaning. "Let's skip right over the weather. Mind telling me a bit more about you, yourself and...you?"

That was meant to be mildly clever. Which it was, damnit. Not quite the intensively sincere spin Daniel would put on it, but supposedly he's gotten that routine already.

A whole lot of tension seems to drain out of him at the news that Daniel is going to be okay. Not all of it, not even half, because there's plenty tension to go around. But it makes everything else just a bit more bearable.

That seems to be all the pre-amble they get, though. Right on to the amble.

"Uh," Seth answers eloquently, unsure where to begin. Unlike Daniel, he's never been the most good with words, and his abilities are currently very limited.

"Seth Johnson," he says, picking a new last name, though not a very different one. He tends to switch them up whenever there's a significant change in his life, and this is, well, it's certainly significant, but he's gotten used to the J.

From there on, what else to say becomes less obvious, but he struggles on. "From Manchester. Live in Manhattan. Was there, until I.. wasn't. Suddenly I was in that, um, that gateroom, on..." He frowns, concentrating. "Tergalus?" Close enough. "And Daniel saved me."

Unsure where to go after that quick summary, he starts picking a little at the food. He certainly won't turn it down, but it's strange to be interrogated while he's having dinner. Or, the other way around, probably.

This summary will surely lead to questions he can't answer, but in any case they'll wonder how the hell he got there, so he might as well be upfront about having no idea. Well, he has some idea, but not one he can easily explain and not sound like a complete lunatic. Besides, mentioning the Rift brings up so much other stuff. Some of it he would prefer not to share.

Edited 2014-12-07 01:18 (UTC)

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Page 8 of 15

Can't Stand the Distance, Can't Dream Alone [open to all]

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tw: npc deaths galore

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tw: explosions and injury and pain

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