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

[applesaucemod]

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.]

Comments

[peacefulexplorer]

The grinding whirr of the naquadah ring and the thunk of engaging chevrons is so sharp and familiar that for a moment Daniel can't find anything wrong with it. It feels completely natural, from the roaring vortical surge of blue-white as it storm-roars outward to the watery snap of the spiraling fluid energy kawoosh reshaping itself into the oscillating, rippling puddle. It only strikes him once he's been hurled through the shrieking tunnel of tearing space-time that he hasn't been through a stargate in weeks.

He gets no time to consider the incongruous timeline before the gate discharges him out on the other side in a far more turbulent exit than necessary; inertia is constant even through gate travel, even through the spaciotemporal fold between two artificial wormholes in separate coordinates of the galaxy. Yet the stargate ejects him at his destination violently and sends him hurtling onto the new planet in a torqued parabola. One shoulder glances off the raised dais but he manages to twist the awkward landing into a partial roll, avoiding injuries worse than simple bruising, then rights himself immediately and unclips the P-90 at his tac vest to bring it up defensively.

Daniel gets about thirty seconds to appreciate the old feel of the gun, disturbing in its familiarity, before his world detonates.

The dais gets rocked by a low, rumbling explosion, a deep and percussive force that sends fragments of debris pinwheeling in Daniel's direction. He ducks behind the DHD for cover, groping for the radio that apparently isn't there. A second impact - are those missiles or energy-based weapons or sonic-based technology he can't tell he can't tell there's too much happening - rocks the gate again, and before Daniel can consider dialing home a third blast smashes into the platform barely several meters away. No form of evasive maneuver would have been sufficient. He tumbles backwards off the dais and scrambles to get back to his feet

Threat assessment: alien planet, unknown coordinates, unknown assailants, explosions very very nearby. Force and magnitude of attack unknown. Gate unsafe.

Get to higher ground.

[wildmage_daine]

Daine lands shoulder-first in three inches of snow, the wind knocked out of her and her bow dropping to the ground. Confusion and déjà-vu wash through her in equal measure, and she just lies there for three beats of her heart before an achingly familiar grey face fills her view.

And what sort of move do you call that? Cloud asks her, huffing out an annoyed breath in Daine's face. Were you going to take on a handful of enemy mages single-handed? Idiot foal! Her teeth close around Daine's shoulder, hauling her upright, all the while continuing to berate her. I let you out of my sight for a few weeks, and you get all kinds of foolish notions--what are you clinging to me for? she finishes, her tone taking a turn for the baffled as Daine throws her arms around the pony's neck.

A few weeks? Daine protests weakly as she turns her face into Cloud's mane. Hot tears are streaming down her cheeks. Cloud, I've been gone for months.

She can feel Cloud's confusion at that pronouncement. Nonsense, she mutters, though her tone has softened. You weren't in Carthak that long.

"Not Carthak," Daine says aloud, struggling to her feet, still leaning against the pony for support. She notes that she's wearing the same clothes she was when the rift first took her. "I was--somewhere else." She falters uncertainly. How could she even begin to explain Manhattan to Cloud? She casts a glance at the surrounding wilderness - a real forest, nothing like the Ramble - and shakes her head, overwhelmed. "Is it… is it really the same day I left?" she murmurs, as much to herself as to the pony.

There's a snort from Cloud, who can't seem to decide if she ought to be concerned or annoyed by Daine's inexplicable chatter. You've hit your head or something, she concludes. And you're lucky that's the worst of it. Come on, let's… she trails off, then turns to look at something behind Daine, her ears flattening in suspicion. Who is that? she demands to know.

tw: fantasy gore

[noteasybeingblue]

The rain-spattered streets of this city are coated in water and blood in equal measure. The heaps of demonic corpses are immeasurable, piled between alleyways and quickly trampled beneath the feet of the next oncoming hordes. The Los Angeles has long since crumbled from its former proud metropolitan sprawl, rendered completely unrecognizable. Hellish fissures have erupted from the ground; the sky is become a darkened, bloody smear streaked with stars; the rain has progressed into a hail of fire belched from the choking black clouds overhead; swarms of heterogeneous beasts, winged and tentacled and horned and cloven, scale the formerly mortal-owned buildings of cement and glass and shred them to their foundations.

And it is glorious.

For despite the diversity and number of Hellbeasts, despite their endless ranks, none have come close to laying low the conqueror, the God-King, the Merciless, the eternally triumphant. Illyria strikes down her foes tirelessly, gleefully, and revels in each one's demise.

Finally, this world has become a hair more aligned with the one she knows. Illyria is still a god, still a king, and she still knows what it is to conquer. This world will be hers, and every demon that does not bow will be crushed.

[rae_of_sun]

Sunshine has been here before. Both in the sense that it's Charlie's, and she's here all the time, and in the sense of returning to work after an absence that involved all sorts of freaky shit better not discussed - not least of all because she doesn't even have an actual temporal absence to account for, so uh, thanks to the rift for that? Except it's not really a favor. This might be easier if everyone understood that there had been an… upheaval. If it wasn't - for all intents and purposes - all in her head.

She's been handling it pretty well, she thinks. Avoiding her mother is perfectly in character, so she hasn't had to deal with that, yet, and okay, maybe she's been getting atypically choked up upon encountering basically everyone, but she has yet to reach Charlie-drifts-absently-into-the-bakery-to-talk-to-her levels of weird. If she can get through her first day back without having a meltdown or twelve, she will count this as a success.

It's not that hot in the bakery - not by her standards, and she handles the heat better than most - but she's still feeling a little bit stifled. So she's taking a break in the little courtyard adjoining the bakery and kitchen, pulling in deep breaths of the late summer air and telling herself: it's okay. You're okay. You're home. This is good. This is good.

this is so big, I'm so sorry

[johnny_truant]

[ooc: courier new text was taken directly from a scene in the book, made present tense and third person for the purposes of this. Apologies to Mark Z Danielewski, and also everyone.]


Johnny wakes up because of the radio, KROQ's Love Line, this time drenched in purple rain, and there's Hailey, he remembers Hailey, disturbed face, incredible body, came over that one time it was a really nice night and then she was gone in the morning for reasons he could never understand? - she's on the radio now, describing to Doctor Drew and Adam Carolla how he--"this guy in a real stale studio with books and writing everywhere, everywhere! and weird drawings all over his walls too, all in black. I couldn't understand any of it."--had dozed off only to start screaming and yelling terrible things in his sleep, about blood and mutilations and other crazy %&#@, which had scared her and had it been wrong of her to leave even though when he'd been awake he'd seemed alright?

An ugly shiver rips up his back then. All this time he's believed the cavorting and drinking and sex had done away with that terrible onslaught of fear. Clearly he was wrong. He's only pushed it off into another place. His stomach turns. Screaming things is bad enough, but the thought that he's also frightened someone he feels only tenderness for makes it far worse.

Does he scream every night? What does he say? And why in the hell can't he remember any of it in the morning?

This has happened before. No. Oh no. It's happening again.

Maybe he does remember. He remembers a dream, or was it a dream? Can't have been; it was too, too real, and he's too different, yes, there it is, the new tattoo on his arm, non sum qualis eram, proof of the point. Something isn't right. He's back. He's home. He's home.

No.

But the thing with Hailey happened ages ago, so long ago, did the rift - did it send him back too far? Is this it? He's just here now, no more Gabriel, no more TARDIS, no more anyone? Just like that?

This is fucking unbearable.

He kicks off the sheets and tumbles out of bed, landing hard on the floor. His instinct is to look for Yarrow but he's gone too. They're all gone. He'd only just been approaching the fourth month of his new life but it was all so much, so good. Better than life has ever been. Even with Zagreus. Even with that.

He picks himself up, breathing too hard, too fast. He checks to make sure his door is locked. Returns a second later to put on the chain. He needs more locks. (He remembers needing more locks.) His heart starts hammering. He retreats to the corner of his room but that doesn't help. Fuck, fuck, fuck--isn't helping either. Better go to the bathroom, try some water on the face, try anything. Only he can't budge. Something is approaching. He can hear it outside. He can feel the vibrations. It is about to splinter its way through the Hall door, his door, Walker in Darkness, from whose face earth and heaven long ago fled.

Then the walls crack.

All his windows shatter.

A terrible roar.

More like a howl more like a shriek.

His eardrums strain and split.

The chain snaps.

He's trying desperately to crawl away, but it's too late. Nothing can be done now.

That awful stench returns and with it comes a scene, filling his place, painting it all anew, but with what? And what kind of brushes are being used? What sort of paint? And why that smell?

Oh no.

How does he know this?

He cannot know this.

The floor beneath him falls into a void.

Except before he falls what's happening now only reverts to what was supposed to have happened which in the end never happened at all. The walls remain, the glass holds and the only thing that vanishes is his own horror, subsiding in that chaotic wake always left by even the most rational things.

Here now is the darker side of whim.

He tries to relax.

He tries to forget.

...He can't forget. He doesn't want this anymore. He left this behind. This already happened and he already wrote it down. What more can he do. What more can he give.

"Gabriel," he whispers, helpless, desperate, pleading, lowering himself gently down to his knees. "Gabriel, can you hear me?"

Long, dusty silence. He stares at his hands on the floor and wills it to open, swallow him up, take him away. He can't. That's gone too now. Good.

Then: footsteps in the hall. Ordinarily Johnny would never go out there. Especially not because of footsteps. But it might be Gabe. It might be.

He gets up, unchains and unbolts his door, opens it. Steps into the hall.

There's someone there, but he can't know if they're real.



[Gabe may indeed answer this prayer but don't let that stop you from throwing anyone else at poor messed up little Johnny. He can meet anyone in the hall and it will probably be terrible.]

[bluesuit_handy]

Andrew sits back in his lounge chair, scratching behind the ears of the little havanese dog curled up against his big, pregnant belly. Before him lies a lake, its water reflecting the triple moonrise above. Behind him lies an adorable, stub-nosed spaceship big enough to house the equivalent of a small flat inside. His expression is troubled; though he ought to be pleased to be home he's instead struck with anxiety over the fact that James isn't here with him. Last time they went through the rift there was a delay between their arrivals, but there's no guarantee that things will happen the same way twice.

The little dog on Andrew's lap and the golden retriever splashing about at the lake's edge snap to attention at the sound of someone approaching, waiting in readiness as Andrew turns to look as well. The third dog, a big wire-haired mutt, leaps to his feet beside the lounge chair and begins barking hysterically, the sound surprisingly high-pitched, like he can't decide if he's crying or barking.

"Oh, hush!" Andrew admonishes him. Then, to the person newly arrived, he adds even as the golden retriever comes dashing up toward them, "Don't mind Harry, he's just an idiot -- Kate, no!"

[peeta_mellark]

Snow crunches underfoot, and Peeta frowns down at it in confusion. Where is he? He tries to think back, to recall how he got to these snowy woods, but the last he remembers, he was in New York.

Cautiously, he takes a few steps forward, listening intently. Almost as soon as he does so, he hears a voice. What's more, it's a familiar voice, and he walks toward it with less care. Less than a minute later, he's staring at a horse - and a very familiar back.

"Daine!"

[johnny_truant]

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, what the fuck is happening, WHAT THE FUCK.

It's LA, sort of, he remembers it, but it's not his LA at all, it's all earthquakey and covered in blood and fire and huge fucking monsters. He doesn't have time to contemplate what's happening. He grabs a metal beam and fucking runs.

"FUCK OFF!" he screams, swinging his weapon around at pretty much everything that gets near him. "Holy shit get the fuck away from me!"

He's handling this well.

His blows aren't really doing much damage against the various eldritch-looking foes, but he doesn't care. Most of them seem unconcerned with him, which means they could kill him just as easily as not. He keeps running and swinging, carving himself out a desperate path, only dimly aware that he's getting spattered with blood.

[noteasybeingblue]

The sounds of mortal struggle are distinct and unexpected; what sort of human could have survived so long here, at the heart of the carnage and not at the fringes like all the others?

The noise gives Illyria pause; only briefly, however, as she has not yet completed her beheading of her latest foe. The task takes longer than she expects, possibly due to the overabundance of heads. Finally she eliminates it by crushing the body to jelly, flinging it into one of the many infernal chasms opening up around her, and pinpoints the sound of human struggle. It appears to be fighting in whatever way it is able, though how something so unskilled and so obviously terrified survived for so long is unknown.

Angel tacitly requested she get as many of them to safety as possible. The small slippery creatures are unaccustomed to such battle, she thinks scornfully. This theorem has yet to be unproven in any grand scope. In fact, she believes she is about to see it proven once more, taking note of the large, vicious colossus of a beast that does not seem to be approaching the human with an intent to destroy it, but doubtless will succeed in doing so by trampling it. Fragile things, these vermin. Breakable.

All too eager to intervene for the sake of violence, Illyria cheerfully slings the disembodied head of her last challenger to strike the creature between the eyes.

It roars, rears back on its legs, massive jaws opening in a tearing scream of displeasure, tiny eyes blazing. Illyria lunges at it. When its great maw dips to snap at her, she drives one fist into the side of its head and sends it rolling away from the unintended human target.

Illyria's shell smiles as she plants herself between the monster and its potential prey. She will enjoy this fight. And a mortal capable of lasting this long is worthy of preserving.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny's lugs are burning and his legs are about to give out, and he's only vaguely aware of something thundering closer and closer behind him (he doesn't turn to look for fear of actually shitting himself). He's not really taking stock of anything anywhere around him, so it's a HUGE fucking surprise when a disembodied monster head comes flying near him. He skids to a panicked halt and ducks, but it sails well over him, colliding with whatever it is behind him. He pivots around and, oh, a fucking t-rex, okay. He falls onto his ass and scrambles back in mindless terror even as the dinosaur reels back from the blow.

And then there's a person between them, a tiny blue-haired woman decked out in an incredibly hot leather bodysuit. She dodges an attempted crunch like it's nothing and then hauls off and punches the dinosaur in the face.

So this is happening. He gapes up at her as she plants herself between him and the roaring t-rex, apparently about to save his life for some reason. He's down for this. He is so down.

[wildmage_daine]

Daine spins around at the familiar voice, then gapes. What is he--how can he be here? Did the rift make some sort of mistake? Then again, considering the universe he came from, it might just as well be a mercy.

It doesn't matter. Seeing him standing there drives home just how keen a loss it would have been to never see him again. "Peeta!" Stumbling a little - she's not used to boots and heavier winter gear - she closes the remaining distance between them and throws her arms around his neck. "You're here," she gasps out in astonishment and relief. Then, with tentative joy, "We're really here!"

There's an unimpressed huff from behind her and the crunch of hooves in the snow. If you don't start talking sense, I'm getting the stork-man, Cloud says, giving Peeta an assessing look out of one eye. She has a vested interest in any two-legger who presumes to hug Daine. Or I might just start biting.

"Oh." Daine pulls back a little and offers Peeta a wobbly smile. "Peeta, this is Cloud. She's--well, she's family. Cloud, this is Peeta. He's a friend." She puts a slight emphasis on 'friend' in the hopes it'll put any bitey urges to rest.

Turning back to Peeta, she adds, "We're in Tortall, and it's the same day I left." She leaves it at that for the moment. It's a lot for her to process, and this is her home. She's not sure how well he'll handle the news that he's wound up in a strange universe yet again.

tw: LOTS MORE GORE OKAY

[noteasybeingblue]

The beast comes again but Illyria is ready for it. This time she allows it to close its jaws around her, fully engulfing her in its stinking mouth.

It is too dull a creature to realize that the only thing more dangerous than an enemy direct is an enemy within.

When it attempts to swallow, Illyria's fists hammer through the great shuddering wall of its throat, through the network of veins and layered viscera, until she rips open the length of its neck in a massive splitting seam and can emerge, victorious and gore-drenched. It keels to the ground soundlessly - she appears to have severed whatever faculties may pass for its vocal cords.

With this monster disposed of and the God-King free, Illyria may return her attention to the skittering thing she has saved. It does not look mighty enough to have survived as long as it apparently has, but Illyria herself is one infallible testament to how size is no indication of strength. Yet she can smell that terror reeking off it in great noisome waves. Resilient, but so easily afraid? A paradox folded into the shape of a small vermin creature.

"You have lasted long in this rabble," she states, the mild curiosity of her shell leaking over despite herself. "In the heart of the city, the hordes are greatest. Why have you not flocked with the rest of your dying species to the city's edge?"

damn girl did it hurt when you fell from OH WOW THAT'S GROSS HOLY SHIT NEVERMIND

[johnny_truant]

Johnny hears himself emit a somewhat undignified squeak when the dinosaur fucking eats her, oh fuck, so much for that. But it's not long before she's busting back out, and then all his excitement and weird, addled attraction evaporates in an instant. Oh. Oh god. Oh sick.

The smell alone is enough that he almost throws up, managing not to by some immense force of will. He stares up at her, blue-haired, blue-eyed, blue-skinned hottie covered in dino-gore, trying to make sense of her words. A burst of fire rockets down from above just nearby, startling him into talking.

"Um," he blurts. "Um. I. Just got here."

He's extremely distracted by the thing soaring overhead that just dropped the ball of fire. It looks like a dragon. Then it looks like a plane. It's both? It has an engine on its ass.

"Can I just ask, like," he says, "what the fuck is-"

He's cut off at that moment by a slime-coated tentacle swooping out of the half-leveled building behind him, curling around his waist and snapping him up off the ground. The noise he makes this time is entirely undignified.

"Oh SHIIIIT," he screams as he's hoisted way, way up into the fucking air and dangled over a legit gaping maw. Fuck this FUCK THIS FUCK HIS LIFE.

let's just put a general thread warning for gore

[noteasybeingblue]

The human is largely incoherent, and Illyria quickly realizes to her disappointment that she has wasted her time saving a profoundly unskilled warrior.

In a matter of heartbeats, the small mortal thing has been seized by the latest hungering beast and hauled screaming into the air.

Perhaps the label of 'warrior' is too generous.

She is sorely tempted to let the monster have its meal. It is the human's own fault for becoming so distractible, and only the mightiest of conquerors can be allowed last in this hellscape. And yet. Illyria has made her vow. Standing idly by to watch mortal things be slaughtered is no better than participating in the slaughter herself.

She does not mind the combat, at least. She will engage this new enemy with enthusiasm. It is simply a matter of wrapping her shell's arms around the tentacle dangling its prey overhead and pulling.

With a sickening, tearing squelch Illyria separates the appendage from its owner and casts it aside. She takes frustrating care not to damage its mortal cargo despite its loud and therefore aggravating sounds of discomfort. The detached limb thrashes on the ground, gelatinous discharge from the fresh injury puddling around it. The human will need to get clear of the great tossing, dying thing to avoid being crushed by its convulsions, but she has not the patience to warn it of such things at the present time. The tentacle's former host is giant and shrills its displeasure at this latest development. The pitch of its cry grates at her shell's ears in a frequency that Illyria finds most disagreeable.

"Quiet," orders the God-King angrily. She simply plunges her shell's fists into the beast's wound, burrowing past the ropy strands of flesh until she reaches the soft, quivering organs within.

These objects are caged. She will liberate them.

It is only when the tentacled monster's interior biology is piled in a slippery, steaming heap at its corpse's side that Illyria turns back to the mortal she has reluctantly saved. It seems it possesses no apparent skill other than an absurd amount of luck.

"Avoid the blood," she tells it flatly. "It burns the skin of vermin it touches."

tw: vomiting in the last big paragraph

[johnny_truant]

Johnny doesn't really have time to be grateful when she bodily rips the appendage holding him off the rest of the monster. Any care she takes is lost on him as from his position all he really knows is he's being tugged downward and tossed aside, his fall more or less cushioned by the writhing, twisting arm. With no small effort he pushes it off him, shimmying out inelegantly and scrambling aside as it whips around him like a big terrifying meat hurricane. Swearing in an uninterrupted shriek, lost under the creature's deafening protests, he crawls on his hands and knees out from under the thing, narrowly avoiding his own gross, squishy death.

Once out of the immediate killzone he turns and stares at the blue woman as she - she - what is she doing.

His screams of profanity, which had almost become automatic and unconscious, come to an abrupt halt as he stares, jaw dropped, at this woman - whatever she is - casually relieving his would-be killer of its internal organs.

He turns sharply, too late to avoid having that burned into his brain forever, and he throws up. It's almost a surprise, but once it's started happening there's no stopping it. The view, the noises, the smell - he keeps retching even when he has nothing left to offer up to the pavement.

He meets her advice with a dull "Oh." Vermin? Is that him? Probably.

He picks himself up onto shaky legs. "Uh," he says vacantly. "Uh, thanks."

[noteasybeingblue]

This thing cannot possibly be a warrior if this is its reaction to violence. Even the ordinaries, the unskilled mortal things, have had the chance to become accustomed to the violence and know to avoid it. How in the name of all Old Ones has this one lasted so long? Illyria would settle on the explanation of pure luck, but it seems its luck has just ran out.

It doubtless will not last here much longer, in the thick of combat as the demon lords lay waste to the city and wrestle over claims of land. Thus, the sickening responsibility for this thing has come to rest on the sole being capable of saving it. Illyria watches it right itself with vague, weary disgust. She wishes to return to her violence. That would be preferable. Yet letting this tiny thing die in the heat of battle would be tantamount to killing it herself, and she has made her oath.

"Come," orders the God-King, grabbing the creature around its wrist with one of her shell's unerring hands and pulling it across the malformed landscape. "If you wish to live you must not remain."

[johnny_truant]

"Sure, okay," mumbles Johnny. Like, whatever, right? He clearly has no other option. If this gore-covered lady wants to lead him through Hell and keep him alive for whatever reason, I mean what good is he really, then that is okay by him.

He allows her to basically drag him along, toddling after her like a dog. Or a toddler.

"So, uh," he says after a while. He's gonna go nuts if he doesn't re-assert his humanity somehow. "I'm Johnny."

[noteasybeingblue]

"I see no reason that this is relevant," Illyria answers coldly. She is missing her violence to rescue this inconsequential creature at the behest of a half-breed ally. This thing should know its place before a God-King. Clearly it does not recognize the all-powerful being in whose presence it basks.

"There is sanctuary at the city's edge," she continues, halting in front of one of the yawning hellish chasms that has cleaved its way through the ground. There is no time to skirt it. "You will not be an asset here. You will join the ranks of your unskilled brethren."

She sweeps her gaze over her newest protectorate, head to one side. It is a fragile thing but it will survive this impact, will it not?

It should.

Without further hesitation Illyria throws the mortal across the gap. She immediately follows, clearing the span of the abyss in a leap. A number of Pit-beasts cluster at the fissure's edge to chorus their discontent in allowing such seemingly easy prey to escape but Illyria does not look back at them. She turns with disdain to her newly acquired mortal to ensure it has survived its journey.

[johnny_truant]

"Oh," he says, slightly cowed by her disinterest, but not really offended, because really, why should she even give a shit? He listens to her explanation of where he's going, sure, okay, why not, and becomes vaguely aware of the gaping pit before them.

"So-" he starts to say, when she hoists him up and hurls him.

"FUCK-!" he screams as he sails right over the mouth full of hungry-looking hellbeasts, and only barely has the sense to curl up and cover his head with his arms, by the grace of whatever gods have forsaken this version of his city landing in position to roll several feet and narrowly avoiding breaking anything.

Which is not to say it doesn't hurt like hell. The pain, so sudden and un-fucking-deserved, helps knock him back into some semblance of his usual aggressive shitweasel self.

"What the SHIT, lady?!" he shrieks, lifting himself up onto his hands. "What is wrong with you?!" Ow, fuck. One of his arms buckles beneath his weight, and he slumps onto the ground again. He's covered in scrapes, some of them actively bleeding, and while he's in one piece he's not sure he can walk very quickly now.

"Fucking... look, can you just tell me what's going on?" he says, sounding impatient and also reasonably put together for a guy who just got thrown across a chasm.

[noteasybeingblue]

Illyria shoots the loud thing a look of clear, bewildered derision. It is making a great deal of aggrieved noises for something that has just had its life saved many times over. How can it not be aware of its plight? Perhaps it has not, as Spike would say, 'gotten its memos.'

"The city is in Hell," she says shortly. "As it has been for some time. How could one such as you have lasted so long without knowing?"

The thing landed awkwardly, she can see by its injuries. But each wound is superficial and thus they must continue on. She seizes it again by the arm and pulls it to its feet and resumes dragging it behind her.

[peeta_mellark]

Peeta stumbles slightly when Daine launches herself into his arms, but returns her hug warmly, even as his confusion grows. It's clear Daine knows where they are, and as she pulls away from him, the pieces start to fall into place for Peeta. By now used to being introduced to animals, he gives Cloud a wave and smile, but the matching "hello" catches in his throat when Daine proclaims that they're in Tortall.

"What? How are we in Tortall?" He glances around, half-expecting to see something that would identify their surroundings.

[johnny_truant]

"What-?!" he starts to protest, but she's already back to hauling him around. "Ow, fuck - OW! Stop it!" He tries to wrench his arm free, but, oh, he can't. She's a lot stronger than she looks. Fucking obviously, Johnny.

"Look, when I say I just got here I mean I really just got here. Like I just woke up here. Last I checked I was in Manhattan."

Wait, how DID he get here? Is this a Rift thing? He can't quite get himself to end up at the obvious explanation, so he moves past it.

"Let me go, I can walk by myself," he says irritably.

[noteasybeingblue]

Its struggles are inconsequential but they impede their progress, so Illyria releases it accordingly with a brusque flick of her shell's hand.

Its explanation warrants a suspicious look. Dimensional instability is common here in the deepest parts of the Pit. She should have anticipated this. Not only is this no great warrior in the slightest, but it is not even native to this plane. It is a dimensional castoff, one of the many scraps of ephemera ejected into this universe.

How utterly disappointing.

"Become accustomed to this." The God-King indicates the war-torn chaos that the Los Angeles has become. "Hell is angry."

[johnny_truant]

"No shit," he mutters, somewhat mollified to have his arm back. He follows her closely, trying not to look around too much.

"Who are you?" he asks in the absence of anything else to distract him from the mindnumbing terror surrounding them.

[noteasybeingblue]

It does not know her. How can it not? Has time passed enough in its universe that her ancient glory can be so easily forgotten? Perhaps it is this shell, this shape. She is not so easily recognized in this small, fragile shell.

"Illyria the Merciless," she says, drawing her shell's chin up imperiously. "God-King of the Primordium."

Those words should mean something to it. Those words should strike terror in the miserable hearts of all vermin, every tiny scuttling creature that dares challenge her.