entrancelogs | If you could be any you, who would you be? [OPEN]

Entry tags:

If you could be any you, who would you be? [OPEN]

Who: EVERYBODY!
Where: TV Wonderland
When: June 29th - July 1st
Rating: anything from Teletubbies to Game of Thrones
Summary:
As announced this will be a catch-all post for shorter scenes, commercials, or things you simply don't want to make an entry for.

If you want to involve your character in anything and everything, leave a blank comment with them and see what others drag them into! Other characters will respond and set a random scene for the two (or three or seven) of you.

If you only have one particular thing in mind then set it up in a comment and wait for replies of anybody who wants to play along with the idea and stumble into that scene in their next response (or mark the thread CLOSED if you already have participants in mind)!

The Story:
Over the course of the event, everyone will be forced to act out various stereotypical roles and common tropes. The setting immediately around them will change randomly into settings from cliche popular media, complete with mediocre side-character NPCs who will never break character. It will become clear very quickly that they are expected to act out a particular role in the scene. They might be expected to be a tough cop, or a handsome sexy doctor, or someone’s evil twin come back from the dead, or any number of terrible tropes – and these tropes do not necessarily have anything to do with who the character is or what they do for a living. They could be the most innocent person and suddenly find themselves forced into the role of a hardened criminal.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Blake eyed the pack, smiled in reply to Martha's grin, and gestured for her to sit. On a blanket in the maze wasn't the most secure location, no, but a short foray into another plane of existence could easily go uninterrupted over thirty harmless minutes. And even if anyone stumbled upon them, they'd just appear to be sleeping, anyway. Sleeping soundly. No matter what.

"Well, might wanna hold your nose," he warned, as he unscrewed the cap on the Thermos and poured a small cup. In an effort to show her there was nothing to fear about the scenario, he immediately tipped back the tea in one shot.

The bitter root only intensified with heat and John's face screwed together, pinched tight from the taste. Ugh. It was truly awful, but its effects were swift and powerful, and he had a feeling Martha would forgive him the taste if she found the experience as enlightening as he once did.

He settled and offered over the refilled cup. "Gonna see you there, okay? We'll walk the same plane if you decide to go through with it. Works pretty quick, so drink up if you're comin'. Otherwise, lemme sleep it off."

Between Blake's warning and the face that he pulled when he took a sip, Martha was prepared for the worst when it came to the taste. She was more concerned with what came after drinking it in any case, but she reached the point of no return the moment that Blake took a sip.

She hadn't realized it was a shared experience. Martha was shocked that this root was something that actually existed in her own world; it was the sort of thing she would have expected to find on some distant planet. But maybe she needed to open her mind a little bit more. It wasn't as if she knew all that much about Eastern spirituality.

About time to find out, then. She took the cup from him and nodded. "See you there, then." Martha hesitated for only a few seconds before she brought the edge of the cup to her lips and then downed a sizable gulp of it.

The taste was even worse than she'd expected, the bitterness causing her nasal passages to burn, and she almost coughed on it -- but still, she got it down. Blake was right about it being fast-working. She felt like only a few seconds had passed and she was already getting drowsy...

It's a heavy pull of unconsciousness — a resolute tug, and along with it went the two intrepid, sherpas-less inner explorers, near-blindly climbing that mountain in a blizzard. For experiences like this, Blake had come to realization that the mind knew where to go, took care of the movement and the details, allowing for a better flow of consciousness and energy. After the fact, they would likely both feel fatigued, but in this moment, in their minds, they were free from pain or pressure, practically non-entities.

The scene that formed around them was suspiciously vivid. They remained outside, but Wonderland had disappeared and in its place was an urban park-like plot. The world was basking in the springlike weather, birds tweeting away merrily. The mid-morning sun carried a warmth, and with it smile to settle on John's face. It had clearly worked and he turned on his (fashionable) heel in order to spy for Martha's arrival.

Blake slipped his hands into the pockets of his black longcoat, slightly too big for his frame. The fine suit beneath was equally oversized, though the shoes appeared to fit correctly. It was familiar. An analog to Gotham, mixed with a half-formed memory.

"Over here," John said, voice carrying through the space extra efficiently. If she was around, she'd certainly hear him, which he imagined would lead her to the statue in the center of the plot, where he awaited her along with a particularly handsome friend.

It felt like drifting, like she was both completely aware and half-asleep at the same time. The details sprang up around her, and honestly, it wasn't what she would have expected. An urban setting wasn't what she'd prepared herself for, but the fact that it was something familiar caused her to ease into the experience more fluidly.

Her clothing was also a familiar thing. It was more or less the exact same dress that she'd worn to Lazarus' exhibition, which didn't bring back the best memories, but Martha worked to keep that under control. She didn't know how much her thoughts would influence the scene around them, and the last thing they needed was for a monster to come speeding around the city block.

She stepped over to Blake, drawn to him as if by an invisible string. It took her a few moments to notice, but there was a similar friend following after her, flitting from branch to branch as Martha headed toward Blake, walking with confidence despite her heels.

The statue earned a glance from her before she tilted her head up, taking in all the buildings around this small patch of greenery they'd found themselves in. "So... is this supposed to be a metaphor for something? How's it all work?" She was probably overthinking it, but Martha had a hard time turning her thoughts off. It was what t'ai chi hadn't come easily to her, after all.

Blake fell in line with Martha, his dark eyes shifting to take in the bird as it settled in with the robin on the same branch. It tugged his lips into something of a smile, realizing that they'd both been slotted to have birds as their spirit animals. He gestured toward the two birds so she'd take notice, though he had a hunch she was already on the lookout. "Think we found what we were lookin' for," he mused, his answer meant as something of an answer.

Blake cleared his throat and looked at Jones. She certainly cut an attractive silhouette in that dress, but he couldn't help wondering if she wasn't a little chilled. To him, the air felt cold and crisp, but there was a good chance she was feeling something entirely different.

"This is gonna work kinda... loosely. See, when I—" He paused, a hand coming up to scratch at his eyebrow. "When I did this, it was a cloud talkin' to me. Sat at the top of the mountain and looked up into—"

"Don't tell her that," the robin tweeted, chirping merrily in a language understandable only in a landscape like one of their shared minds. "You're looking for meaning, aren't you?"

Blake gestured to the birds on the branch. "There you have it. That's how it works. 'Parently we're lookin' for meanin'."

It was chilly, but not to the point that Martha felt too uncomfortable. At least not for the moment -- she was fairly distracted by everything that was going on around her. It was definitely a mind trip, the way that it felt real and indistinct all at the same time.

She glanced up at the birds, and recognized the one that was meant for her. A nightingale. A certain Jack Harkness would have found amusement in that.

Martha returned her attention to Blake as he started to explain. Talking clouds, was it? That sounded far more otherworldly compared to their current setting. She would have been interested to hear more, but that robin had something else in mind.

"Oh my god, it talks," she said, taking a half-step away out of surprise. But those birds -- they were meant to guide them, weren't they?

"For meaning," she echoed after a small pause, eyeing both of the birds as if they'd suddenly give them all the answers. But it couldn't be that simple. She crossed her arms and let out a sigh, glancing over at Blake once more. "Should we start looking around, then?" She had no idea what they would find or how it would help her find her inner self or whatnot, but they'd already started the journey. It didn't seem like they could stop now.

"If you are to look anywhere, it should be within yourself. Or each other," the robin said readily. It twittered between words — staccato little whistles forming a sweet song — tickling Blake in a particularly fond way. His given name rarely settled well with him (a throwback from his youth), but in this context a fondness for the bird and its connection to him in this spirit form allowed him to mostly see past what has been, up until now, something he didn't traditionally subscribe to.

He shifted to look at Martha, eyes following along the line of her in the most analytically casual manner he could muster. If she shot him one of those looks that said to back off, he'd adjust, correct, re-approach, but for the time being, Blake was seriously considering the meaning of the bird's words.

"So, what you're sayin' is that Martha—" Blake indicated Jones with a sweeping hand, then continued on to do the same for the Nightingale. "—shares some remarkable traits with your fine feathered friend here?"

The robin tweeted its laughter, took off from its perch, and landed squarely on Blake's head. The former cop's eyes pointed up to follow the spirit, but the angle was all wrong. Shifting uncomfortably, he steered his mind from the possibility of the bird taking a dump in his hair and tried to remain focused. Hopping forward, the red-breasted bird whistled at the nightingale. "She is independent. Clipping her wings would go against nature," he observed. "Would you agree, Martha Jones? Are you also independent? Not to be deterred?"

This was all so vague, so metaphorical, that Martha found herself struggling with it. She was going to try, though. Blake had gone to all this effort on her behalf, and she was never one to give up at something simply because it was hard. So she let out a small sigh, considering the robin's words.

She noticed the way that Blake was eyeing her, and while it was a bit uncomfortable, she was used to being give the once-over. Besides, he didn't do it with the same look in his eye that most men adopted when they were undressing her with their eyes. He was just trying to figure out what he could find in her.

Martha hadn't expected the bird to land on Blake's head, though, and she had to fight back laughter. A spirit dream probably wasn't the time to be giggling at someone else's expense, after all. Or maybe it was? She really had no idea at this point.

Before she could answer its question, the nightingale itself sang back to the robin. It was actually rather beautiful, the way it sang, but that was what they were known for, wasn't it? It hopped forward on its branch and gave a small nod. "Giving up is an impossibility, I would say. And her voice must always be heard."

Martha frowned and tilted her head up toward the nightingale. "Oi. Is that meant as an insult?"

Suddenly it was Blake's turn to attempt to quell amusement. For as odd as these experiences tended to be, there had been a particular humor to all of them; his journey with the talking cloud had left him tickled for days. A glance toward Martha and he smirked through his words. "Thinkin' they're a bit cheeky. Social commentary, maybe," he said, thinking on how he already felt like he'd learned something from the whole ordeal.

"There is no gain in holding back," the robin replied helpfully. "It's against your nature not to share your song." As he twittered his answer, the bird hopped from Blake's head to his shoulder and perched there, pecking absently at a button on his jacket.

John shook his head. Had life served him differently, he'd have no trouble sharing, but as it stood, there was a lot that brought him up well shy of social and outgoing. He just didn't connect with anyone. Not even his own spirit animal.

"Not sure what I'm s'posed to be tellin' here. Think Martha knows I keep to myself. No explanation needed."

The nightingale chirped in laughter in Blake's stead, and then flew down to perch on Martha's arm. She was forced to hold her arm out so that it could sit there, and oddly enough, its talons pressing into her skin didn't hurt in the slightest. Maybe because there was some connection between the two of them, or however this worked.

What the robin said was surprising, because it wasn't something she would have associated with Blake in the slightest. He didn't share much about anything, did he? Even now, Martha didn't know very much about him.

"Think it might be telling you that you need to open up a bit more," she said with a shrug as she once again took in the environment around them, moving away from the statue and toward some of the high-rise buildings in the distance.

"Does this place mean something to you?" she asked him over her shoulder as the nightingale fluffed its feathers.

For as little as he liked the idea, he knew Martha and the robin were probably correct. If his life had gone a bit differently, surely he would have been naturally apt to share. He was a Libra, after all, known for liking change, for meeting people, for generally being the life of the party. Libras liked being lazy and distracted, they liked being nestled in with friends, and they liked being the glue that binds. This wasn't Blake, though. Not by a long shot.

"Yeah, guess so," he offered, eyes squinting as he looked around at the city park. "Think it's like—" Blake's fingers crawl through his hair and he lets out a long breath. "—like a combination of places. Martha Wayne Memorial Park, an' the cemetery where my dad's buried an', a little patch of grass in my neighborhood. Played here as a kid."

The robin tweeted happily, wings fluttering. It flew back to its perch and preened. "That's very good," it said. "Martha is sure to appreciate the insight, isn't she? Sharing is caring."

Blake's face, a reflection of his attitude, held no amusement for the phrase. He even rolled his eyes. "Don't say that," he muttered, mostly to himself. "No one's askin' for that," he added a little louder. "Don't need to share everything."

Maybe they didn't need to share everything, but Martha was thankful for the chance to learn a bit more about Blake. It was probably a bad idea to get close to the people here, she knew. It was something she'd pondered over plenty of times already, that she was just setting herself up for loss when those she befriended disappeared or forgot her.

But it was in her nature to be curious about others, and she took some of the details to note. It sounded like Blake's father had died when he was fairly young, which she hadn't known before. She couldn't quite make out what his hometown (or home city, rather) was, but there was one small detail that caught her attention for obvious reasons.

"Martha Wayne? And who's that?" There was no relation, obviously, but if there was someone in John's life who had a memorial park dedicated to her, who shared her name, then Martha definitely wanted to know about it.

"And if it makes you feel any better, maybe we can walk a bit further and find things that would teach you a bit more about me." Martha didn't nearly have the aversion to sharing that Blake seemed to. Her nightingale nodded in silent agreement.

If there was one thing Blake could and would easily agree to, turning the spotlight from himself is quite near the top of the list. He'd never gotten comfortable with opening up to people. Those more formative years were to blame. While being bounced back and forth between state and foster care, he was afforded ample opportunities to open up, but it was a whole new set of people, a whole new family every other month.

For Blake, it wore pretty quickly and thoroughly. Most foster families lacked a general interest. Most foster families focused on the here and now. At such a young age, he received the wrong message over and over again, each time solidifying the knowledge that no one cared, no one listened, no one wanted him. They wanted their own child with family-appropriate thoughts, hopes, and dreams. Honestly, when Blake turns stoic, turns robotic, puts on a mask, it's just another defense mechanism, another learned practice, to fend off the feigned interest and the insincere acceptance.

This was different, though. In this journey, in this spiritual convergence, the whole point was for Martha to discover more insight; he'd be remiss not to oblige.

"Yeah, let's walk," he suggested easily. "Can walk an' talk at the same time. Real enlightened individuals can, at least." For a joke, he thought it wasn't that bad, but instead of laughing at his own quip, he returned to the question at hand. "Martha Wayne's kinda like my boss. Sorta. See, the Wayne family's a staple in Gotham — like the Rockefellers with New York City — and so your namesake did a lotta philanthropic stuff 'round here. 'Specially with the parks an' schools an' things.

"What I do now, too. Mean I'm chairman for the Martha Wayne Foundation, not doin' it just 'cause." He paused, and looked oddly perturbed with himself for just a moment. Meanwhile, the robin flew overhead, circling the pair as they moved from one section of the small park to another. "Would do it just 'cause — have, too — but I'm gettin' paid for it now. Buildin' parks, fixin' up schools, doin' what we can for the kids."

The robin chirped. "He's always been good with kids. You know, he'd make a great dad, but he's too afraid to consider the possibility. Just because you lost your parents doesn't mean your kids will lose you, am I right?" It landed gingerly on Jones' shoulder and puffed its feathers beneath Blake's less-than-pleased gaze.

It was true, he did get along well with children, and somewhere deep down he was convinced he could do right by any kid, but that worry over loss was bone-deep — deeper yet than his desire. He couldn't possibly face the idea of leaving his kids behind if something happened to him. And since he was the goddamn Batman, odds were in his favor that something would. In the end, it was easier to do without than to risk ruining the life of some innocent child.

He sighed and rubbed his hands together. It wasn't so much a nervous tick, but he'd certainly stiffened in the last few moments. "Guess I oughta mention I got benefit from Martha's good will: funded St. Swithin's Home for Boys all the years I was there. It's how I got the job," he added, and while it wasn't the whole truth, it certainly wasn't a lie: Blake had spent eight years there himself. As if to punctuate the scene, he gestured to his parents' gravestones as they meandered past, the dates of death separated by only three years, his mother's larger and severely aged, his father's smaller and well-kept.

Martha, on the other hand, had grown up in a stable family. Not completely stable, but at a younger age both of her parents had been around, and even after the divorce they'd both remained in her lives. Not to mention that she had two siblings flanking her on either side of the age spectrum, which was a comfort all on its own. That stability was what had given her the wherewithal to travel with the Doctor. Her independence stemmed from a place of comfort, rather than necessity.

She followed after Blake, smiling at that joke. He definitely had some shining points burrowed away under that reserved front of his, and while she'd known that even before jumping into a dream world with him, this emphasized it. She caught a bright beam of light from the sun peeking out from behind one of the skyscrapers and got the feeling that it came from him, not her.

As Blake explained, Martha kept her attention on him, nodding along all the while. The nightingale went to join the robin and soon they were flying circles around each other, mingling in their air while they did the same on foot.

She wasn't all that surprised that Blake's job involved doing good for the community. The two of them weren't so different in that sense. Humanitarians, trying to be of some help to the people around them. And Blake wasn't the kind to brag about it, either. He'd only brought it up because she'd asked, after all.

Before Martha could say anything, the robin swept down again to chime in, dropping a bombshell all of a sudden. He'd lost his parents? Blake soon explained, and while he wasn't crystal clear about it, Martha could put the pieces together. He'd grown up in an orphanage. She paused and stepped up to the gravestones, looking over them silently, solemnly.

"I'm so sorry," she said, and it wasn't as if the words were spoken purely out of obligation. She meant them.

But the nightingale interrupted then, landing on one of the gravestones. It fluttered out its feathers and bobbed its head to the side. "No point in feeling guilt about it. You know it's impossible to go back and change something like that."

Of course Martha knew. But that didn't make it any easier to swallow.

Honestly, this was the hardest part of Blake. Connecting with people on a personal level had always proved to be an elusive concept, and while it made more sense the older he was, it still didn't make enough sense that John could consider himself competent. Sometimes it just didn't click.

Thankfully, that didn't seem to be the problem with Martha Jones. She was able to pick out the details without really asking the questions, he could tell as much. And with the addition of the nightingale's statement, he's feeling confident they can finally get to the crux of the whole reason for being here in the first place: Martha.

"So, how you know that's not possible? Seems kinda like common sense, sure, but I gotta feelin' that bird's on to somethin'," he said, expression turning fond almost immediately.

The robin hopped excitedly from one foot to another. "You'll get your answers now!"

Blake shrugged in response to the bird. He can't really be held responsible for his spirit animal, can he? It isn't as if he'd had any kind of choice, otherwise he surely would have went with something a little more sleek and dangerous.

Oh, the robin definitely seemed to project all of Blake's enthusiasm for him. Did that mean that he'd been looking forward to learning more about her? Martha smiled as she turned back toward him.

It wasn't that she kept details from people, but Martha had never been the bragging type. If it came up, she would openly tell people about her life, but she wasn't going to advertise it everywhere. Not unless it was relevant, and that wasn't always the case in Wonderland.

But this was a way for both of them to open up, and so she didn't hesitate with it.

"Common sense, yeah. You'd think it would be, but not when time travel's involved." The scenery around them started to warp as she spoke, and the nightingale took to the sky again. In fact, as it flew, the sky seemed to change in its wake, opening up to show stars and swirling galaxies and different planets.

"I've been backward, forward, to other worlds, but there are rules, you know? You can't just go changing things around so that this or that never happened. It's like the butterfly effect. One small change, and everything would be different."

And no one should have that kind of power. No one could have that kind of power.

"Good thing your past isn't filled with angst, isn't it?" the nightingale called out from overhead. "Otherwise you might have been tempted!"

The way the nightingale was talking, Blake had to wonder if spirit animals possessed some grasp on sarcasm. Honestly, he hadn't met that many people in Wonderland that didn't have some kind of angst-filled past, himself included.

"Imagine that's the kinda thing a person struggles with, obvious answer aside," he said, his hand coming up to rub subconsciously at the back of his neck. He would have been tempted to go back if given the chance, would have been tempted to save his father and his mother, but that would have been the wrong choice. Things wouldn't have been the same. He wouldn't have been the same.

Expression schooled, he eyed his robin friend flying through the newly created heavens, and then smiled thinly at Martha. "Don't see stars like this in the city. You really travel up there? Space an' time an' all that? Seems like it'd be kinda... surreal. Bet you learn a lot."

For his own part, he didn't see himself ever traveling among the stars, even if the opportunity presented itself.

"He likes to keep his feet firmly planted," the bird offered as it took wide arcs in its flight around the two travelers. "It's not even a bad thing, though he sometimes wonders if he's just not that kind of dreamer."

Fortunately, Blake could be no more surprised or embarrassed at the robin's confessions. All he could do at that point was shrug his shoulders and shoot her a look that said hey, it is what it is.

Most people had something that would tempt them. Martha could have gone back and tried to keep her parents from getting divorced, but even that hadn't seemed like a valid option. Because her parents had split up for a reason, and while things got a bit mad at times, she'd long ago admitted to herself that it was for the best. She loved them both and they loved her and that was frankly all that mattered to her.

Blake seemed incredulous about her story, but Martha was quick to nod. "Is it that surprising? I mean, you're on another world right now." She was teasing a bit, because she'd certainly had to take some time to wrap her head around it at first. Then again, she had more or less been forced to believe it all, seeing how she'd ended up on the bloody moon.

Alien encounters were becoming more and more common where Martha was from, but that didn't seem to apply to Blake and his Gotham.

"It's definitely something that can open your mind, though. You meet other species who think about things totally differently!" Often, it also involved running into corrupt, maybe even evil forces, but Martha didn't want to get into that right now.

Her nightingale handled it for her, though. "Don't misrepresent it. It wasn't all good. How many times were you almost killed?"

Martha let out a sigh and shrugged. To her, it was just part of the package, and those downsides were well worth the good bits.

Blake didn't seem convinced, though, if his robin was to be trusted. Martha frowned at him, pouting slightly, though it was all in good fun. "Oh, I don't know about that. This was all your idea, wasn't it? We're dreaming right now, finding ourselves and all that. If you're willing to go this far, I bet you'd be willing to hop into the TARDIS too."

"You can't hide from her here," the robin snickered, clearly pleased to find that Martha was quick to glean and brands of knowledge. That was what this was all about anyway, right? And as they moved through the landscape and learned more of each other, it became easier for things to shift and move and reform, co-mingling the palettes of their minds. It proved to be an interesting amalgamation of bits and pieces that really did appear quite fascinating upon more intent observation.

Blake shrugged helplessly. "Must be right. Was gonna say I couldn't imagine that kinda danger's easy to come by 'round here, but Wonderland's weird in its own right. Kinda alien, too," he confessed.

As they pressed forward, a change in weather turned up the chill and each step brought them into deeper snow. A blizzard raged up ahead, and in the distance, a lone door stood mostly obscured by the fast-falling snow. John gestured for Jones to take note, but he was quickly distracted from his explaination by the robin landing on his shoulder, pressed in close to the collar of his coat, puffed up against the bitter air.

"We get outta here and you ever hop dimension — cross planes like this? Hope you'll come see me. See the real Gotham. The real John Blake."

"—the real Robin John Blake," the bird amended proudly, much to Blake's chagrin.

In a way, Martha felt bad. Being laid bare like this clearly wasn't all that comfortable for John, but this was also something that he'd suggested, so he must have realized what he was getting into.

As far as she was concerned, anyone who'd been here in Wonderland for as long as Blake had was probably prepared for just about anything a trip with the Doctor might have to offer. Not that Wonderland covered all of it, but it taught a person to be adaptable, which was really the main requirement for being a companion.

She was fascinated by how different pieces from their memories melded together in this place. She saw traces of London here and there, and her mother's home even made an appearance right before the blizzard started up.

What was this all about? Martha took note of the door as her nightingale copied the robin and flew in close against her for warmth. Martha crossed her arms over her chest to converse some heat and then peered over at John.

He really wanted her to visit him? Martha's lips widened out into a smile. "I would love to! If anything, hearing about people's homes here makes me miss the way I used to travel around." She didn't know if she'd ever be able to find Gotham, but it was something she was going to try and keep in mind.

As she started marching up toward that door, she let the robin's words register. Did it really mean...?

"Is that your full name?" she asked after a pause.

"Somethin' like that," he confirmed, ruefully, his shoulders lifting. His given name didn't really bother him, but he'd preferred John for a long time. It's what his dad called him — that or Johnny — and that had been more than enough for the young man to stick to his guns, more than enough to rebuff when the state tried to sell him to fosters as Robin or Robbie or, god forbid, RJ. No, no, none of that had flown for Blake, thereby setting one hell of a precedence for push-back he'd maintained ever since. Sometimes, even the small things were worth fighting for, right?

Which was exactly the reason they'd entered this dream state, at least on some level. To learn about the small things, take value in all things, to just be, and be together. It's an odd concept for Blake, but he's got to admit he'd take Martha's spirit realm over most. She was certainly well-adjusted and appeared to have most of her life in order.

Without much else to offer her (guidance aside), John shrugs off his heavy wool jacket, the robin taking flight in the flurry of movement, and drapes it over her shoulders, gingerly adjusting it so it would sit right against her frame. "Trust me when I say, robins are a lot more clever'n this one's leadin' you to believe." It made him laugh a little as he turned and reached out, casually clasping Martha's shoulder, his head tilting toward the door. "Think we're bein' beckoned. Anythin' else you wanna know? Anythin' I oughta be askin'?" Because they certainly wouldn't have a chance like this again any time soon.

When John shrugs off his jacket, Martha tilts her head to the side, not quite certain of what he's doing until he draws in close to place it around her. The nightingale flaps away before the coat sets on her shoulders, and while Martha isn't one for chivalry in most cases, there's something genuine about what John's doing. It's a sign that they've made it through this dream together and come out on the other side with a bit more understanding of each other. It's a token of something, and so Martha pulls the jacket tighter around her shoulders.

"I don't think so," she says in response to his questions, glancing off for a moment to properly ponder it. But there's been plenty of sharing between them already, plenty of learning, and she's reached the level of calm that she thinks John probably wanted her to find. "I just wanted to thank you for this. I didn't really know what to expect, but... it's always a good idea, to try out something new before assuming anything about it."

And maybe that's what she was supposed to get from all this. An open mind. A clear mind, not filled up with the sorts of junk that will only take her attention away from the movements of her body when practicing t'ai chi. She's ready to give it another shot, and so she starts to walk toward that door, feeling its draw more and more the closer they get.

Blake couldn't help but wonder if Martha got enough. He wasn't exactly an expert (despite what the movie-driven atmosphere had to say on the matter), and this did require some subjectivity during the process, but had Jones gained enough? Was it enough insight into herself? Was it enough that she could find a quiet place in her mind when necessary?

He had the impression she'd learned more about him than he'd learned about her, and while that wasn't a bad thing, it reminded him that he ought to seek her ought more often and maybe find something more without the aid of and herbal supplement. Really, though, if she'd learned anything at all, he could count it as a success.

"If we're bein' fair, wasn't sure what to expect either. Glad it went the way it went, though." Blake tipped his head to the birds as they settled together on a snowy branch, pressed just as close as he and Martha. "Learned I got a lot to learn, too." But who couldn't say that?

At the end of the journey, with nothing more than a door left to their shared plane, John found himself substantially more satisfied with the outcome of this than much of his own training as of late. These types of experiences were the kind that spoke to the core of a person, and as he stepped forward to the door, it felt good. Like a real advancement for them both.

"Thanks for sharin', Martha." He pressed in for a chaste kiss to her cheek, and then stepped back to hold the door for her. "See you on the other side." Where they'd awake, groggy but suitably unharmed.

Whether or not she'd gotten enough out of it remained to be seen. Martha herself felt content with the whole experience, but the actual test would be to see if there was any improvement with her t'ai chi movements. Which put a lot of pressure on her, but she wasn't thinking about any of that right now. For the moment, she was at ease, her mind not flitting to worrying about this or that.

Everyone had lots to learn, and Martha just smiled and nodded at Blake, watching as their two bird companions found some company in each other.

If they had been two different people, this whole experience might have been romantic. But even with the kiss on the cheek, Martha felt that it was platonic. Maybe a stronger bond had been built between them because of all this, but it wasn't that kind.

Sometimes, friendship counted for so much more than anything else. "Thank you for convincing me to try this," she responded before stepping through the door.

It was a disorienting transition, the world spinning around her indistinctly for a few seconds (or minutes, or hours) before her eyes opened and she found herself surrounded by green walls. Martha blinked once, twice, and then reached up to rub at her eyes and yawn. She shifted upward and glanced over at Blake, laid out next to her. "Rise and shine..."

Martha's voice filtered in slowly, like a buzz-turned-hum. It itched at the edge of Blake's consciousness, tugging him from a half-slumbering twilight. The last of that fast-acting concoction processes through his system and he soon enough, John's blinking against the invading light.

"Mmm, hey," he replied, his voice soft, smile easy. He stretched like a cat in the sun, oddly satisfied and feeling almost rested. Their experience must have been drawn from one of those quirky, independent movies because John didn't immediately want to get up and and do anything. It was only after he reminded himself of the intention behind the whole exercise that he found the energy to pop up to his feet.

His hand reached out for her, an offering to help her to her feet. "Did great, Martha," he said, only barely avoiding a yawn as the last vestiges of sleepiness fall away. For once, he didn't bother to ask, and retook a position in front of her. He followed through three familiar moves — something they'd practiced earlier — and raised almost a challenging eyebrow at Jones.

Had it helped at all? Was she more connected to herself than ever before? Only time (and a short demonstration) would tell.

If you could be any you, who would you be? [OPEN]

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