Let's Do the Time Warp (Again)

[applesaucemod]

It's that time again, but time seems to be a bit muddled. As usual, people from all over the multiverse are being drawn into the Dreaming by the rift. This time, in addition to (or sometimes instead of) picking up the residents of Manhattan, they take them from their home universe but from a different point in time. You may find yourself suddenly encountering a future version of yourself, or perhaps you bump into a friend taken from long before you met them.

Tonight's setting is also time-twisted. You're still in Manhattan, but it seems to be closer to the 1930s. Specifically, you're in an old hotel. There's the dimly lit lobby, with chairs and tables for relaxed mingling. The bar, where tables are front of a stage, on which a band is playing various hits of the 30s. There's also an outdoor area if you need fresh air. Or you could explore the hotel, but it's mostly corridors, unless you stumble upon an unlocked room.



[Mod note: Usual dream-party rules apply. Both members and non-members are welcome to use any character, be they already in the game or no.

For game-specific characters, you can choose whether or not they will remember their time in Manhattan if they're taken from the future. You can take your character from multiple different points in time, if you want.]

Comments

[has_a_horn]

"Awful lot of keys on the wall for it to be full. Doing renovations?" Gabriel smiles back at him, raises an eyebrow. It's abundantly clear that he's fully aware Peter doesn't work here.

[fucking_ebay]

Peter's not sure what's going on here, but he's going to go ahead and take refuge in audacity. "You don't want any of those," he says decisively. "Some fucker came through and shat on all the duvets, going to take us days to clean it all out."

[has_a_horn]

Gabriel can't help but smile at that. Does Peter really think that that's a decent explanation? He quickly makes the smile work for him, makes it seem like a smile of recognition rather than amusement. "Oh, that's the B.M. Bandit. I've heard of him." He shakes his head. "Sick fuck, if you ask me."

[fucking_ebay]

Does the pope shit in the woods? Or, more importantly, on duvets?

"Yeah, he's hit all the hotels 'round here," confirms Peter, unable to believe that worked. No, really, he doesn't believe it. There's no such thing as a B.M. Bandit, or he would make it his business to know about it. "My advice? Go buy yourself a piece of arse and stay with her."

[has_a_horn]

Gabriel chuckles. "You're a kick, Peter." That's right, he knows your name. "What if I want to buy you instead?" He's not really serious, here. He might be up for a roll in the hay with adult Peter, but he'll pass on twiggy teenage Peter.

[fucking_ebay]

"You can't afford me," he shoots back, though color comes to his face as this suddenly turns more than a little queer. There's something else that bothers him about what the man just said, too, though it takes him a moment to realize. Peering uneasily at him through his fringe, Peter asks, "How do you know my name?"

[has_a_horn]

There's two ways he could go with this one. Reveal exactly what's going on and deal with Peter's inevitable confusion. Or..."I'm psychic."

He grins. "Why don't you come outta there? I'll buy you all the terrible liqueurs you want." He chuckles. "No buggery required, I promise."

[fucking_ebay]

Peter's face cracks into a half derisive, half apprehensive smile. "Piss off," he replies with a defensive little laugh. No such thing as psychics just like no such thing as magic or vampires. Peter must have given it away somehow; he just has to figure out how that happened.

He barely gives it a moment of thought before hiking himself up and crossing the counter the same way he did the first time. Booze aside, he wants to see where this is going. "Who are you?" he asks. A beat later, it occurs to him to ask, "You're not from the agency, are you?" Because seriously, he's had more fucked up things said to him by the so-called adults in charge of his living situation.

[has_a_horn]

"Lots of protective agents try to liquor you up?" He nods in the direction of one of the small tables and waves a waiter over to order drinks. "Name's Gabriel. And no. Not from any agency, with or without the definitive article."

[fucking_ebay]

That's a fair point. Peter probably ought to be a little more hesitant to accept liquor (or liqueur) from this man...but even at this young age, he towers over Gabriel's present form, and Gabriel just doesn't seem very threatening in general. "You didn't look like you were," he admits, sitting down. "Most of them walk around looking like they've got a rod up their arse -- really, how did you know?"