A Time to Rise and a Time to Fall [Open to Multiple]

[andhiswife]

Greta dreams of falling (again, and again).

The path ends abruptly. Maybe there never was a path, only a deceptive stretch of ground, free of any undergrowth, that looked like it could be one. Either way, she's left standing on the edge of a sheer cliff, looking down at the leaf-strewn forest floor far below her. A small rock tumbles down, as if for the sole purpose of illustrating the length of the drop. It seems to take ages to reach the bottom, clattering off exposed roots and finally thudding to the ground.

There's a roaring in her ears like a great wind, but it isn't the wind. The earth shudders beneath her feet. She reaches out wildly for something on which to steady herself, knowing even as she does so that she'll miss; she always misses, it's so stupid. Maybe she deserves whatever comes next.

But she doesn't miss. Her hand closes around something - not a branch. An arm? Whatever it is, she isn't letting go.


[ooc: whoops, Greta's dropped into your dream. Or you've dropped into hers. Whether you want them both to be in her giant-plagued forest or in a setting more familiar to your character is up to you. Poor Greta's just gonna have to roll with it either way.]

Comments

[lottawork]

The most inconvenient aspect of willfully continued wakefulness is the inevitable collapse that follows. Blinks become agonizing stretches of time lost with escalating frequency until sheer overwhelming exhaustion overtakes Rush's mind and brings it to infuriating stillness.

Or not, as it were.

He groans his frustration immediately upon opening his eyes, sprawled as he is over densely carpeted leaves and fingers digging into loose-packed dirt. Spatial inconsistency indicates the dream's nature. Causality is a linear beast.

Rush rights himself, brushing scattered leaves from his shoulders and knees. Forceful waking is an art he has not yet mastered, unfortunately, so any attempts to generate the ideal output will be rooted in the disappointing, intellectually lazy practice of trial and error, reset and resolve. He pushes hair from his eyes wearily, preparing to better evaluate the environment of trees and gloom his mind has stranded him in, when something lands beside him with a muffled thump and seizes his arm.

"Fuck off!" he snaps out of mindless impulse, and unsuccessfully attempts to tear away in an effort that simply brings him crashing back to the ground.

[andhiswife]

Yes, it's an arm, and it's attached to someone who is very unhappy. Greta releases him as if he's burned her and scrambles back a yard or so, though not before she's brought them both crashing to the ground. At least they're still atop the cliff, which is better than the alternative.

"I--I beg your pardon," she gasps out, lifting a hand, palm out and placating. "I, er… it was an accident." Well, sort of. She definitely meant to grab something, just not an angry man.

The ground quakes again, and Greta moves away from the cliff's edge before she risks getting back to her feet. "We should leave this place," she says with a shaky nod that conveys both apology and a potential farewell (because she has enough to do without getting mixed up with yet another strange man, and this one distinctly un-charming, and there's no rule saying they need to flee in the same direction). "The giant," she adds, on the off chance he's not aware that that is the threat they're facing.

[lottawork]

He scrambles backwards wildly for an instant before it belatedly strikes him that she - she? yes, she - has released him. He has only a few seconds of startled realization to accept this new person before the entire ground tremors.

"Giant?" For fuck's sake. What sort of simulated environment is this? The Rift's machinations, obtrusively fucking with his mind and piling a flat defiance of physics on top of it? Pure fucking typical.

Rush wrenches himself upright and nearly overbalances over the - ledge with the sheer fucking drop. One arm flies out wildly to steady himself, only semi-successfully. Fuck. No. No. He's not dying like that.

[andhiswife]

Oh dear, now he's about to go over the edge. With a faint, resigned groan, Greta darts forward to grab ahold of his windmilling arm and give him a good tug back onto more solid ground. Not that any ground feels particularly solid with these great footfalls shuddering through the earth and knocking loose foliage from the surrounding trees.

She hasn't forgotten his initial reaction to being seized by the arm, and as soon as he's safely away from the edge, she releases him again. "Careful," she cautions, a bit belatedly, but she had thought it rather went without saying.

[lottawork]

He gets jerked powerfully forward, mercifully and then not when he braces himself against the nearest broad tree trunk, panting. The contact was brief. He'll live. He'll be fine.

He stares at her in furious disbelief. Careful?

"Yes," he grinds out testily, "I'll be sure to keep that in mind. How very useful."

The ground is still shuddering and making everything unsteady, which is exactly what they fucking need in addition to all else. Rush shoves away from the tree trunk, scanning the clusters of endless fucking trees for the source, then whips an accusing stare at the woman. "Is this you?" he demands incomprehensibly.

[andhiswife]

Well, there's gratitude for you. Greta's second, "I beg your pardon?!" is far less conciliatory and far more indignant. "Do I look like a giant? This," she says with a wild, all-encompassing gesture as the sound of splintering wood echoes through the trees, "is not me." Idiot.

She doesn't have time for this. Greta grits her teeth as the earth judders beneath her feet, then picks a direction that seems as if it'll at least take her away from the giant and starts marching. Once she's out of immediate danger, she can focus on finding her way back. "I suggest you move away from the loud, fearsome noises," she tosses back over her shoulder, on the off chance he might be sensible enough to take her advice.

[lottawork]

Rush's eyes screw shut in an overstated blink of annoyance.

"No," he says slowly, dragging the word out between clenched teeth, frustrated that his own lack of an ability to adequately phrase the question may have contributed to the apparent misunderstanding. He crunches over the mat of fallen leaves to fall in step beside her, delivering an equally indignant look. "I mean is this your subconscious. Because it's not fucking mine." He's quite certain of this.

[i_jones]

"Steady on," Ianto says, a little surprised - he definitely did not dream up a somewhat frantic woman - but generally reassuring as he puts his hand over hers, reflexively supporting her. In dreams, he doesn't need his cane, and he can hold up Greta just fine without its aid, which is probably the only upside to dreaming. (Downsides include being in the dreaming again.) He glances at the canyon below, looking mildly impressed by its depth and general ominousness. "Nasty drop."

[andhiswife]

"Oh! Sorry, I… thank you." Greta takes in her sort-of rescuer as she stammers out an apology, trailing off a little as his bizarre clothing registers. There's something faintly familiar about the cut of the cloth, something she can't remember, but it's so wrong for the Woods. Is he lost?

She glances back at the cliff, as if to reassure herself that it's still there. And it is. Let's just… move away from the edge a bit. Greta steers the man into a less precarious spot, then gently extricates her hand. "Sorry," she says again, at a bit of a loss. "Are you, er, here about the giant?" If not, this is a terrible time to be in the Woods. If so, it's a terrible time to be as weaponless as he appears.

[i_jones]

Garter holster. Don't put it past him. Ianto was hoping to get a closer look at that gorge, maybe hop up and fly down there or something, but most dreamers probably aren't so blasé about their unconscious Freudian desires and fears. He tries to remind himself of that, that it puts people off to treat dreams like dreams. So yeah, giant, that's absolutely why he's here in the woods, where he definitely intended to go.

"Giant. Yeah." He straightens his vest and stands a little more confidently, a little more soldierly. "I've, er, been sent to take care of it." It is something that needs taking care of, right? She does seem frightened. Hopefully he's not meant to be investigating into a giant's murder.

[andhiswife]

"Oh!" She brightens a little. That wasn't the answer she was necessarily expecting, but it is the answer she wants. If this man can dispatch the giant, finding Jack won't be as urgent, and all will come to a happy end.

There's just the matter of him still being weaponless. "And how do you intend to do that?" she asks, giving him another little once-over, as if it'll turn out he was holding a great big sword all along and she just didn't notice it before. He's not wearing armor, either. "Are you… some sort of wizard?" she hazards. That might explain the odd garb. She almost hopes he isn't, though; it's bad enough being mixed up with a Witch.

[i_jones]

Wizard? Excuse you. Men controlling pyrotechnics from behind curtains are wizards. Isn't it obvious that he's a clothie? "I prefer warlock," he says demurely, rocking a little on his heels, and it's then that he notices the tremble of the earth. Oh, that giant. How does one actually take care of a giant? He'll have to invent a spell. Harry Potter is too cliché. Something Latinate, at least. "The, er, local warlock guild sent me. Crowdhoot. I'm sure you've heard of us."

[andhiswife]

"Warlock," she repeats, because if he does have some sort of magic she definitely doesn't want to insult him. Curses are bothersome things to unravel, and she'd rather not have to do it again. "I'm, er, I'm afraid I haven't heard of you, but… anything you can do to help…" she trails off hopefully, before another horrendous footfall makes her cringe. Whatever he does, he'll have to do it quickly.

[johnny_truant]

It's sheer reflex that causes Johnny to grip the hand that grabs him. Good thing he does, too, staring wide-eyed at the steep drop. No fucking thank you. He pulls the woman back, steadying her, steadying himself even as the ground rumbles slightly. Earthquake? He's lived through plenty of those.

No forests like this in LA, though. Being in a forest again is unsettling. He remembers Eliot's dream last night all too clearly, and though that was a very different kind of forest, it's still not something he wants to look at again so soon in any shape or style. He focuses on his companion instead. He doesn't know her. She looks flustered, and who wouldn't be.

"Hey," he says. "It's okay. We're dreaming."

Funny, how much he's been reassuring people like this lately. Usually right before something horrible happens.

[andhiswife]

The thanks Greta was about to offer dies on her lips when the young man who pulled her aside calmly announces that they're dreaming. She gapes at him, makes a few aborted attempts at speech, and then finally manages, "What?"

It doesn't feel like a dream. The shudders are getting worse, though the rhythm remains the same. Footsteps - truly massive footsteps - and they're getting closer. "It's not safe here," she says, her tone low and urgent. "There is a giant in the Woods, and she's coming this way."

[johnny_truant]

So she's probably new. Her urgency is on point either way - he knows as well as anyone just how unpleasant dreams can get - and this is not the time to explain.

"A giant," he echoes. "Fantastic." He stumbles as the ground shakes again, still gripping her arm, and turns to look at the trees, through which he can indeed catch a glimpse of some massive legs rumbling toward them at a pace he's not too comfortable with.

"Fuck," he says, his composure slipping. He has about HAD it with oversized dream antagonists. He looks around somewhat frantically. There's nowhere to run, the cliff continues in either direction and at the rate the ground is shaking it's a good chance they'd trip and plummet. What can he do? This isn't his specialty. He can't bend dreams unless there's a house involved. Can he make the dream his? Sometimes that works. Often when he doesn't want it to work, but maybe they'll get lucky.

"Fuck," he says again. "Okay, um, hang on." He lets go her hand and starts inching nervously through the trees. How likely are they to evade arbitrary destruction if they just pick a direction and run? It's not like it's flat ground, there's roots and uneven footing and probably more fucking cliffs. Fuck again.

"Uhhh," he says with increasing dismay, turning back to her and legitimately wringing his hands. "I don't know what to do. What do we do? How do you deal with giants?"

Yeah, that's why she looks so panicked, because she knows.

[andhiswife]

"Yes," she says, in general confirmation of the giant's existence and general agreement that its presence is a very bad thing. She pauses uncertainly when the young man tells her to 'hold on' - does he have some sort of plan in mind? Is he going to sneak around and attack the giant from another angle? (Attack the giant with what?) Her shoulders slump in visible disappointment when he turns back to her, at an obvious loss. So much for rescue.

Well. This isn't the young lad she was searching for, but it seems he's in need of looking after, too. Greta takes him by the shoulders and steers him behind the trunk of a towering oak, keeping the trunk between them and the giant. "I don't know," she says in an undertone, releasing him and peering out through the trees. A shoe the size of their cottage swings briefly into view. She can't tell if the giant is going to walk past them or walk over them, but either way, they should probably move. Seizing her new charge by the arm, she pulls him along after her as she heads for the shelter of another tree.

"She's looking for a boy, Jack," she explains in an urgent undertone. "Have you seen him? He's this tall, blonde hair… er… trusting disposition?" She gives him an inquiring look, interrupted by a wince as the ground shakes once again.

[johnny_truant]

A giant, looking for a boy named Jack. Is she serious? She seems pretty serious, though Johnny can't help squinting at her, like, what is he supposed to do with this information?

"I - I don't know anyone like that," he starts to apologize, but there's no time to continue - the giant is still thundering around and above them, and his new friend is maneuvering him around with increasing desperation, but this isn't going to work forever, they need to do something, get somewhere. They need to hide.

He trips, half stumbling with her toward another tree, over what he thinks is a root, but it's not that, as he looks back - it's a latch. A latch on a trap door, built right into the mossy earth like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Well. That will probably work.

"Here!" He reaches up, catching her hand and draws her back. He grabs the latch and yanks up, revealing a remarkably unappealing dark hole into the earth. And stairs, of course. Of course they've found stairs.

"Just trust me," he says doggedly, half to himself, and hoists himself in.

[andhiswife]

"Wh--" Greta starts as she's caught and tugged back the way they've come. And… there's a door in the ground, a hatch that might lead to a cellar - except for the part where there's no sign of a cottage, not even a crumbling foundation. There's just that door, as if that's all there ever was.

Another crash rings out, and a panicked flock of sparrows zips overhead. They only have moments - there won't be any better shelter than this. Still, Greta looks decidedly unenthusiastic as she scrambles down after him into the darkness. "Do you know this place?" she asks, putting a hand on the wall to steady herself. She's expecting something earthen or roughly hewn from stone, so the wall's smoothness startles her into jerking her hand away.

and now for something completely different

[singthesong]

"Woah! Careful!" The Balladeer catches at Greta's arm, pulling her back upright and away from the edge of the wooden platform they're now standing on. "You don't wanna fall off there, that's a bit of a drop." There's no sign of a forest anywhere; this is a drab, fenced-in clearing behind a tall stately building. Beyond, a city is visible. It's not anywhere near the scale of New York, but it certainly still dwarfs the village. The sun is beating down on them, but the few men moving about the yard below them are still dressed formally, all in black despite the sweltering summer heat.

The Balladeer himself has a different instrument slung over his back, and seems unconcerned with the fact that they're both literally standing at the gallows. There's no noose hung up yet, but they would definitely be in the way if someone came up here.

Give him a minute, and he'll realize the incongruity of Greta being here at all.

oh boy oh boy

[andhiswife]

Oh, good, a familiar face. Greta lets out a sigh of relief, her death grip on the Balladeer's arm relaxing as she casts a glance back at the... the edge of the...

...huh. This is different.

Greta lets go his arm, the better to turn about and gawk at her new surroundings. A building towers above them, and there's a good-sized city beyond it. It's as if New York and the Village came to a compromise. She isn't sure if she should be glad it's not so bad as Manhattan or unnerved that it's different from home. What city is this?

Her brow furrows as she takes in the structure they're standing upon. Despite the lack of rope and the comparatively modern construction, she knows exactly what it is. It would, apparently, take more than four or five centuries for the gallows to evolve beyond recognition. No one is paying them any heed. There's no crowd of jeering onlookers. There's no rope. If she didn't know the Balladeer's trade, she might just as easily guess that he was here to make some repairs or something. But he's not 'the Carpenter,' and the air is heavy with grim anticipation. The sun beats hotly down atop her head, but Greta still feels a chill.

"What are we doing here?" she asks, looking up at him. He doesn't seem the least bit worried. "Where is 'here'?"

[singthesong]

"Oh, this is Washington," he explains, not quite turning to face her. He's craning his neck towards the building, as if expecting something to happen. There is more of a crowd forming now; actually, it looks as though they're being shuffled through the gate, like they've got tickets to get inside. The Balladeer ignores those people. "The nation's capital. It's only 1882, so it's not quite as modern as..."

He trails off for a moment, realizing what he was about to say. And who exactly he's explaining this all to - he turns to look at Greta with a bit of surprise. "What - where did you come from?"

[andhiswife]

Greta follows his gaze toward the building at first, but then finds it drawn to the encroaching crowds, all but tuning out the Balladeer's explanation. The onlookers seem to be in good humor, but that isn't worth much. Things could turn ugly at any moment, and she really doesn't want to be up here. She doesn't want the Balladeer up here, either. What business do either of them have on this scaffold? She's reaching for his arm again, hoping to tug him toward the stairs, when he finally turns and looks at her as if she's the only one out of place.

"I…" she pauses, brow furrowing. That's a good question. "I don't… I don't know." To be fair, it's a little hard to focus on where she came from when she's so worried about where she's going, and now she does take his arm again. "But I don't think we should be up here."

[singthesong]

"No...you shouldn't." The Balladeer continues looking oddly at her for a moment, but he takes her arm in return and starts towards the stairs. No, Greta definitely should NOT be up here. Him, he's okay, he stands up here all the time while he waits for Guiteau to be led out. It's away from the crowd, and the view's kinda nice once you get past the situation.

The stairway down from the platform is narrow and without a railing, so he steps aside to let her go down first. The execution's coming up fast now. He should...what should he do? Get her someplace else? The Balladeer has an instinctive feeling that he doesn't want Greta to watch this, but he's never just walked away from one of his stories before. Can he even do that?

He turns out towards where the audience should be. They're looking weirdly fuzzy today.

[andhiswife]

What, and he should? This can't be his execution. Even if she didn't find the idea objectionable - it's hard to imagine the Balladeer having committed any offense worthy of death - it doesn't make sense. The King or the President or whoever is in charge here wouldn't allow a prisoner to just stand calmly on the scaffold by himself, and trust he wouldn't leg it at the first opportunity. He wouldn't be allowed his instrument, either.

Is he just… looking for something to sing about? Composing some gruesome ballad about a hanging? Ugh. It doesn't bear thinking about.

But he's leaving with her, that's the important thing. She heads down the staircase as quickly as she dares. Once her feet are back on solid ground, she looks back up at him to make sure he's still following her. He's looking a bit bemused, and she shifts uneasily. "Are you all right?" This would be a terrible time for him to faint or something.