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

Current Music: Evening August 4/Morning August 5, 2013

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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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Now what is that meant to signify?

Daniel looks at him warily. He won't bother to mask it this time. That sounded very much like some sort of personal dare. His tangles with manifested mythology are statistically probable to result in death anyway, most frequently his own.

"Got shot once," he offers slowly. Or twice. Or so many times he's lost count. "Right in the chest, point-blank." Which was...also not a first for that part of his biology. One would think it'd be easier to forget once the visible scarring got wiped but no, Daniel remembers most of the unpleasant things he's been through. He just can't remember which ones he survived.

"I suppose that would be difficult to recover from."

Or just outright fatal, depending on where in the chest he was shot. Most people didn't recover from, for instance, a bullet to the aorta, but might if it hit a rib or otherwise didn't manage to get a major blood vessel. Maybe Daniel is just very, very lucky.

"But people get shot every day, Daniel. Some people get shot many times, and not all of them die from it. I don't see how that's particularly unbelievable."

"Don't I know it." This one doesn't quite fit the criteria of a smile. One side of his mouth pulls up, small and pained. "That wasn't the first or last time, or the only time I was shot in the chest. Military work has its risks."

He shivers a little. Once they get out of these mountains, he's definitely going to seek out the first gas station available. Tanking up isn't a strict necessity since the the car's still over half full, but he can't remember the last time he caffeinated which, in Daniel-time, is a grotesquely long interval to have gone without coffee.

"And, apparently, a shortage of kevlar."

You would think that after getting shot in the chest so many times, the military would give him a bullet-proof vest. Either that, or he'd learn to dodge and use cover. Cover is your friend, Daniel-- it keeps you from getting shot in the chest.

And, considering that it was getting a bit late in the day, Daniel might also want to consider the merits of a motel rather than driving through the night to New York. Especially because that would mean driving through the night, sitting next to a guy who smells like a month of back roads and sweat with just a hint of incontinent cat.

Eau de Satan, the newest fragrance by Lucifer.

As it turns out, kevlar doesn't do well against energy-based weapon blasts at point-blank range. It's awful hard to dodge when one is throwing oneself onto swords, literal and otherwise, every time one is provided.

"Eh, not their fault I was just an untrained civilian." Not that the military training actually helped him die any less, mind. In fact, Daniel's pretty sure his rate of death increased after he got lessons on how to reload and fire a P-90, because the universe is just like that he supposes.

"I was thinking of stopping off," he says in a spectacularly ungraceful shift of subject. "Maybe for some always-necessary caffeinated stimulus, though maybe to find a room. You...don't have any place to stay, do you?" Daniel's gathered as much, but it seems polite to phrase it in the form of a question.

"Not until New York."

He doesn't understand what Daniel means by 'caffeinated stimulus', but if it's something he requires, Lucifer will not object. Human bodies require many things that he doesn't know much about, so how could he judge if this is necessary or not? Maybe it's like food and water and sleep, something that, eventually, the body starts to stop working right if it doesn't receive it on a regular basis.

And, even though he could still force himself to continue traveling, there is a great appeal to having shelter. He has not had a proper roof over his head since he got out of Hell, and the ceiling to the Pit probably couldn't really be counted as a proper roof. Or shelter.

"And possibly not even then. So, no."

"All right, that's it." He smacks the side of the steering wheel decisively with the heel of one palm and nods. "Next stop we get, we're finding a motel, we're checking in, and you are getting a room to stay in, buddy."

Daniel is adamant, and this is mandatory. And he keeps his promise; the first (admittedly seedy) motel Daniel sees, he parks in front of.

"Right." He gets out and pulls out his wallet, rummaging until he locates a crumpled twenty. "There's a gas station like a five minute walk away. Have you eaten?"

Lucifer is mildly confused at the force behind Daniel's decision. He understands that his homelessness is considered unusual by human standards and that shelter is a basic need, but most people are content to leave him to his own business. They do not go out of their way to fulfil whatever needs he cannot meet on his own, and he does not expect them to.

Daniel is adamant about his altruism.

He steps out of the car a few moments after Daniel does, the motions slightly stiff from his sore muscles. Ignoring them is difficult, but if he leans against the vehicle, they at least protest his weight a little less. For a few long moments after Daniel speaks, Lucifer looks at him, considering the question.

"Yes," he says. "I have eaten."

This is true; he has eaten before. It's been several days since the last time, but he has, in the past, eaten. It is an experience he has obtained.

"Have you eaten recently," Daniel clarifies with the weariness of a familiar argument he's had to make with certain workaholic colleagues, looking at Nick over the tops of his glasses. "You know what, just - here." He presses the bill into the other man's hand, faintly exasperated. "Go get yourself something, ideally protein. Or coffee. One of the five food groups, you know."

He looks distantly amused with himself but the sharp pain on the side of his head reminds him that, ow, coffee would really be a good idea right about now. He forges bravely ahead.

"I can get us a room. Sound good?"

Lucifer takes the money that's put into his hand, holding it like he only understands the very basic concepts of what its purpose is. Which is fairly true; money can be exchanged for goods and services, but he still has some difficulty understanding how much of this arbitrary currency is of equal value to things he needs. Currency only has value equal to the faith people put in it, and faith is a human concept.

But, this task is simple. Acquire sustenance-- he has done this before.

"Very well."

He will leave Daniel to his task; he turns to start walking in the direction of the convenience store.

Nick carries himself with an uncertainty about basic human principles that's familiarly unsettling. Or, well, endearing, possibly. There's something a little Teal'c-esque about it, like someone who's new at this. It's present in the stilted diction, the careful speech, the precision to the words. Could Daniel have picked up an offworlder, just by chance?

He shakes his head, reaching up beneath his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose. That'd be just his kind of luck, wouldn't it? It might explain the obsession with Judeo-Christian chronology. Being raised by alien conquerors that draw from Earth mythology to create their legacy has that sort of effect.

The room is overpriced for what is almost guaranteed to be a poorly built establishment, but Daniel's too tired to care at this point. He waits just outside with the two suspiciously scuffed room keys, leaning against the car and hoping Nick hasn't simply walked off with the money in hand. Daniel's not sentimental about the twenty, but Nick really did not look in the best shape and wandering through Pennsylvania at night won't do wonders for his current condition.

Lucifer does not leave with the money; he doesn't have much experience with currency, but twenty isn't a high number and he knows from past experience that it wouldn't get him far. He purchases coffee, because Daniel suggested it, one for each of them. He assumes that this is the caffeination that Daniel mentioned before, the kind that he requires, and obtaining it now is the most efficient use of their time. There are many accoutrements that go along with the human ritual of coffee, creams and sugars and things, so he brings a little of each.

Food for himself is acquired not so much according to taste preference as it is what is cheap, will last for a long time, and can be easily carried. Things already in bags that he can put in his pockets, nothing that requires cooking or heating. Almonds, because he requires protein and has no desire to eat the flesh of another creature, and dried fruit and a few other little things. He keeps the food in the pockets of his jacket and carries the coffees back in either hand.

When he returns, he approaches Daniel and wordlessly holds out the coffee.

Oh wow, hey, there he is. Looks like he took the advice.

"Thanks." Daniel accepts the coffee, immediately removing the paper lid and sniffing experimentally at the far-too-hot liquid that promises to be of predictably awful quality, then shrugs and takes an unreasonably large gulp anyway. If it burns on the way down, he doesn't seem to care. His nerves instantly start to settle.

"Got us a double," he says apologetically as he hands Nick a room key and starts for the row of motel rooms. "Coulda gotten two singles but that pricing was atrocious. Hope that's all right."

Lucifer observes the manner in which Daniel takes his coffee-- the way he does not use the opening in the lid to drink from, requesting no additives, breathing in the smell of it first before drinking. He watches it like an outsider might observe a Japanese tea ceremony, trying to understand the nuances and details of a ritual that is entirely foreign, a cultural context separate from his own. It doesn't take long after he's ingested the first few mililiters for Daniel's posture to relax a little, like there is something soothing about the beverage.

Lucifer holds his own cup in both hands, letting the heat bleed into his fingers. His Grace is low, and his vessel has asserted its own normal homeostasis; the difference between the internal temperature of his hands and the coffee is only a dozen or so degrees Fahrenheit. The nights were cold, though, in the mountains this time of year, and his clothes were not entirely adequate, and the heat soothes something in the stiff joints of his fingers. Perhaps the appeal lies in the warmth of the beverage? The basic, animal need for heat?

He nods, acknowledging the room accomodations. "That will be adequate."

Lucifer only sleeps when he pushes his vessel too far, anyway. All he needs is a place to rest his legs for the night.

He wouldn't exactly leap to call this place adequate. Mediocre, maybe. Once they're at the room it takes two experimental jiggles of the switch to get the flickering lights on. Daniel scans the place with a dubiously raised eyebrow. Two beds, slightly peeling paint, and an ominously large bolt system for the door. ~~And probably no wi-fi, the bastards.~~

"Cheery," Daniel remarks dryly, stepping inside and draining the coffee in two or three gulps despite the unpleasant not-unlike-battery-acid aftertaste. Well, he's stayed in worse places.

The room reminds Lucifer of the roadside motels that the Winchester brothers used to sleep at and would serve as the backdrop for Sam's dreams. He wonders where Sam is right now, if he's still sleeping in places like this with the lumpy mattresses and scratchy sheets; he wonders if he could find him again. Sam would not be likely to say yes to him again, but perhaps he could be reasoned with, now that there isn't a looming threat of the Apocalypse. He and Castiel had been allies, friends, once-- perhaps the promise of avenging him will be enough.

Lucifer walks in a little further, ducks his head into the attached bathroom; there is mold growing in the bathtub and in cracks in the tile, probably because the ventilation fan is broken. The sink leaks and the construction of the pipes ensures that there is never quite enough water pressure. He puts his hand against the wall as though looking for the light switch, pulls on his spark-small Grace, and fixes it while the room is still dark. He makes it clean and functional and tells himself that it's because he doesn't want to put his vessel someplace where it might get Legionnaire's disease.

The stress of using his already rundown Grace is exhausting, even for something as small as this; he sways slightly on the spot, catching himself on the doorframe with his shoulder.

Daniel's just dumped his empty coffee cup in the bin in the corner and has been searching the bedside draws for a paper and pen - he comes up instead with a battered Old Testament, as irony would have it - when he stands up just in time to see Nick leaning against the doorframe, looking a little punch-drunk. Maybe worse. Probably worse. Yeah, worse.

"Uh. Hey. So." He moves closer. "You okay there, buddy?"

Edited 2014-12-07 23:08 (UTC)

He waits for the dizziness to pass and the static to fade from his vision, then pushes himself back upright. He is aware that using his Grace for little frivolous things like this will only make his recovery longer, but...

But it is his Grace, and his to use as he wishes. He needs no other justification.

"I'm fine," he says, though he would not be surprised if Daniel doesn't believe him.

He turns and walks to the bed furthest from the door, and sits down on the edge of it. It's hard and will probably be uncomfortable to lay on, but it matters little to him. He takes the lid off of his coffee and it smells bitter and hot.

What is it that humans would say at a time like this? Something to put another at ease?

"I probably just need to eat something."

There. That's an adequate explanation.

"What are you looking for?"

Daniel's just as skeptical of this variation of 'I'm fine' as he was of the last, but it's spoken with the curtness of someone who doesn't wish to discuss it. Hopefully Nick's just tired and hungry which, well, Daniel can't blame him.

He drops onto the other bed, Old Testament still in hand. He glances at it with a soft "huh" of distant, halfhearted amusement before tossing it onto the pillow.

"Paper and pen. Like to, you know, write stuff down sometimes. Helps me relax." And gives him the impression that he's doing Important Work when he hasn't done anything of the kind in a while.

Lucifer cocks his head at Daniel, a curious birdlike gesture, and reaches into one of his large pockets. There are a few bills' worth of change from his purchases and some coins; metal and paper. He does not enjoy being in this human's debt, because indebted he is, but there are small ways that he can begin to close the gap.

It is easier and less draining for him to transmute other objects than to simply make things out of nothing. He wraps his hand around one of the dollar bills in his pocket, the one not facing Daniel, and pushes a little power; he does the same with a coin, and he has a small pad of paper and a pen when he's done. The act makes him dizzy again, puts spots in front of his eyes, but it quickly passes.

He pulls the objects from his pocket.

"Will this suffice?"

His eyebrows climb impressively high when Nick spontaneously produces paper and pen. Did he just have those with him?

"Um. Yeah. Those, uh. Those should be fine." His head goes to one side in an unconscious mimicry of Nick's earlier motion, the question mark hovering just out of range of the spoken words. "Thanks."

Nick looks a little unsteady again despite being seated now, and one side of Daniel's mouth twists down in an expression that just borders on admonishing. "You should probably eat."

There is no explanation that he can offer Daniel that will be acceptable for why he has a pen and paper on him, so he ignores the questioning look and goes back to his coffee. Daniel has commanded him to eat-- not that he has the right to demand anything of him, but Lucifer will allow the transgression to slide-- and instead takes a tentative sip of the drink. It's bitter and warm and tastes a little like it smells, and he can feel the heat go down through his chest.

It's... pleasant. He does not mind the taste or the feel of it. It should make no difference to him; he views all food items as interchangeable, immaterial so long as they provide his vessel with the fuel it needs, but he enjoys this.

He drinks a little more before he pulls the packet of almonds from his pocket and opens them; he eats mechanically, as though food is just another necessary thing, with all the gusto that other people did their taxes.

Unfortunately, Daniel misses Nick's coffee-related revelations as he accepts paper and pen and makes himself semi-horizontal, leaning against the rather unstable headboard as he scribbles busily at the little pad of paper. A myriad of words, mostly Latin and Latin-based with a side of some oddly geometric blocky writing, start to form a rough shape on paper, distorted in the way words are in dreams but not enough, apparently, to deter Daniel from his work.

He pauses to stick the heel of the pen in his mouth absentmindedly, glances up and notes with some satisfaction that Nick's decided to take his own advice.

"Feeling better?"

"I think I'll live," he replies, and now that his benefactor is apparently satisfied at his nutritional intake, he rolls up the bag and returns it to his pocket. New York is still a long way off, and there may be a time later when he is walking that he'll require the energy it provides. He must ration things carefully, so that he won't get stuck in some back woods with nothing, like he was when Daniel picked him up.

He takes another few sips of coffee, savoring the warmth-- heat is a luxury, now that he has the ability to appreciate it, all the more so because he's just had an extra four hundred years' worth of absolute-zero cold in Hell-- and then sets it down at his feet.

He looks at his vessel's feet and the dirty, worn-down shoes they are housed in. He has not removed them since he's been on Earth, but he understands that it is inappropriate to lay on furniture with them on. He unties them with some difficulty, as the mud and grime has nearly fused the laces together, and carefully loosens them. When he pulls them out, one at a time, there is a dry, crackling sound, like crunching leaves in autumn. It's from the fabric of his socks, crusted over with dried blood and fluid from the sores and blisters on his feet; he's worn down his extremities about as badly as his shoes, if the fact that his socks, once white, are now almost entirely rust-brown is anything to go by.

There's both pain and relief at having them free, and he experimentally wiggles his toes just to see how much it aches.

Daniel gets distracted from his lexical undertakings by the stunningly, singularly nauseating smell that abruptly fills the room. His head bobs up, nose wrinkling, and he performs a perfect double-take when it occurs to him that were those socks supposed to be white.

It's a good thing Daniel hasn't eaten recently.

"Ah." He swallows thickly and tries not to gag and thinks of the most polite way to phrase this. "Um. You, uh, might wanna think about showering."

Daniel is making earnest effort to breathe through his mouth but the overpowering stench sweeps over him again regardless. The man has been walking miles upon miles without stopping. Obviously there will be wear and tear. Very odorous wear and tear.

"Just, you know. A thought." No offense.

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