applesaucedream | Saving Lives a Mile High [open to all]

Welcome to another ordinary day in Manhattan. This barely even qualifies as a dream at all, it's so like waking life. The dreamers will find that they're their own perfectly normal selves going about their perfectly normal business and thwarting perfectly normal crimes in their perfectly normal spandex outfits.

What's that? No, of course it's normal to wear spandex (or leather, for the more chic among you) and go around beating up muggers and thwarting your villainous counterparts, don't be silly. What else would you do with your afternoon, not use your superpowers to better the world? That's grossly irresponsible of you; don't you know that with great power comes great responsibility?

So get out there and make the world a better place -- and be sure not to let that disguise slip if you do make it in to work today. Wouldn't want anyone to learn your secret identity, after all.

[OOC: Characters will find themselves thrust into the role of superhero...or at least, super-powered human. Whether they'd use those powers for good or evil (or use them at all), they'll think they've always been this way (or maybe just since that time they fell in toxic waste and developed ~~cancer~~ telekinesis). Usual dream party rules apply: all players and characters welcome regardless of membership status. Characters will remember or forget the events of the dream at players' discretion.]

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"I am!" she affirms. "Mind if I ride with you?" She flits over to hover near his shoulder. "I'm pretty fast, but fast doesn't mean much when you're this small. Where are you going?"

His chest swells as he puffs an impressively peacock-esque puff, hands planted on his hips.

"Wherever the call of the distressed may lead me!" he announces fearlessly. This is, to his credit, absolutely true. Any cries of distress will surely herald the arrival of a bold, rollerblade-clad means for assistance, along with any appropriately bouncy music that might mysteriously tail him wherever he roams. "Certainly, you may join me!"

"Oh good, that's where I'm going!" she says brightly, and floats down to stand on his shoulder. Like a captain steering a boisterous, well soundtracked ship, she thrusts an arm forward and exclaims, "Let's go!"

She clings onto his shirt as he rolls onward, not moving too fast, which is just as well for her. It's not a moment before her bee sense is tingling, and she gasps and tugs on his shirt. "Over there! Someone's in distress!"

-

Jay does not want to be here. He doesn't belong here. Everyone's having a nice, normal - well, okay, incredibly weird group dream, and he's just crashed fully normal into it. This is terrible and he doesn't like it.

And now someone is coming toward him. No. No. No, no - wait hold the fucking phone is that-

NO.

How expeditious that their goals are aligned! Timman takes off again with a fervor, speed and energy fueled by the righteous need to fix everything he comes across. His miniaturized navigator helpfully directs him to the nearest sign of trouble.

Timman's face immediately lights up further, which must not have been assumed to be possible but almost certainly is. He skids to an utterly graceless halt in front of the smaller man, whipping off his sunglasses and grinning his dazzling grin.

"TROY MY DEAR BOY," he exclaims heartily.

Tim's - smiling, grinning actually, with complete, earnest, genuine abandon, wearing - what the fuck is he wearing - why is he like this. What is wrong with him.

"Who's Troy?" he blurts. "It's Jay, Tim, what are you - what is even-"

Should he be pursuing this? Maybe he should just walk away. Scratch that, maybe he should run.

A tiny woman he hadn't even noticed before flutters up off Tim's shoulder and over to him. Jay recoils in surprise.

"It's okay, Jay!" she says in a little voice. "We're here to help!" She turns back to Tim. "He's very sad because he's lost," she informs him.

Jay stares at her, then back at Tim, this nightmarishly happy person who looks like Tim. He should probably do something but his brain is drawing several blanks.

Edited 2015-07-03 17:40 (UTC)

Lost? Well, that simply won't do at all!

Timman throws an arm around the smaller man's shoulders. The insistence that his name is Jay is completely lost on him, his joviality utterly unchanged.

"Come, my boy!" he announces, jostling the other man happily. "What direction do you require?"

Oh dear god why, why, why. If he was going to see Tim again he didn't want, could never have expected it to be like this. He shrinks a little under his arm, shocked by it, the friendliness of it - he can count the times they've made physical contact on one hand, probably - a punch in the face, a tap on the shoulder, bodily dragging one or the other - another punch, and another - and yeah, he held Tim's hand recently. He doubts Tim remembers that right now. Tim doesn't even seem to know who he is, or to even be himself at all, it's more than memory, it's intrinsic. Tim has anhedonia, this person definitely does not.

"I," he stammers, completely thrown off course by all of this. "I don't - I don't know."

"He's more lost than that," says Beegirl helpfully. "Poor thing, he doesn't belong here at all."

Jay shoots her a look, re-assessing. Who is this girl? How does she know that?

Timman fixes the other man with a very careful look of controlled, eye-to-eye sincerity, stepping away laterally to take him by the shoulders.

"Troy, my dear, sweet, innocent child," he says with a tone of grave importance, "Timman only helps those who help themselves."

"Stop calling me that," says Jay, barely keeping a lid on his increasing distress. "What the hell, Tim?!"

Did he just call himself Timman. What is this. Why is this happening. Seeing him like this is a fucking affront to everything, everything Tim really is. Daniel's remark about the Rift experimenting on them comes back to him and he curls his hands into fists.

"It's okay, Jay," says Beegirl, darting in to pat his arm, somewhat absurdly. "Timman and I will go our own way. When you're ready, you'll see him again." She smiles, all knowing and wise, and Jay regards her with suspicion but he has no reason to disagree.

"Come on, Timman," says Beegirl, flitting back over to him. "There's plenty more minor distress out there!"

Truly, the tiny woman's advice is wise and reasonable. He offers the poor young man a reassuring pat on the cheek and a firm nod in farewell. And with the thoroughly uncoordinated rasp of rollerblades over cement, he scoots off with Beegirl in tow.

"Until our paths cross again, dear Troy!" he proclaims in earnest, ringing baritone, waving goodbye with an outflung hand.

Beegirl catches onto one of Timman's helmet straps, so she can speak closer to his ear.

"He seemed nice," she says pleasantly. "I hope you two see each other again soon, properly."

She doesn't tell Timman what the particulars, because frankly he doesn't seem equipped for that right now, not with all that junk in his head, blocking out his whole secret identity - let him be happy, even if it is a strange happiness plastered on top of his natural being. There will be time later for the explanation, that Jay is dead and dead again, lost and torn between running away and reaching out - he needs Tim, surely, not Timman, but all that isn't quite her business, so she tucks it away for later.

"Where to next?" she says instead.

[idk shall we open this to threadjacks or have a dumb adventure of our own design]

"To wherever we may be needed!" Rollerblading into the midday is not quite so conventionally heroic as sailing into the sunset, but Timman imbues everything with his signature triumphant flair, along with a certain amount of brightly rambunctious music.

Saving Lives a Mile High [open to all]

WRONG!!! THIS IS GREAT WE ARE BOTH GREAT

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open to threadjacking??