entrancelogs | Please take the ghosts from my heart

Entry tags:

Please take the ghosts from my heart

Who: Raleigh & you!
Where: Outside in the freezing cold. Naturally.
When: January 4th
Rating: *finger guns*
Summary: Someone come save this lost n00b.
The Story:

He wakes with a gasp. A gasp and a shiver and the grasp of his copilot around his shoulders. She’s hugging him so tightly he can’t breathe. He can smell the scent of her hair. Of her drivesuit. Of the metallic grind from Gipsy core as she detonated. But Raleigh never woke to find Mako shaking the life back into him. He remembers falling. He remembers strange forms and faces as Gipsy fell through the rift and into the Antiverse before exploding. He remembers the rush and whir of his escape pod and his vision black around the edges from giving up his oxygen line. He remembers jetting back through to the other side and—

-and he feels like somewhere Mako is holding him but when he opens his eyes that certainly isn’t the case.

Rals, hey Rals- His brother’s voice.

It’s over, Yancy. You can sleep now. It’s over, I’ll be there soon.

But he opens his eyes and squints through his visor and all he sees is white. Raleigh remembers capsule release by his right hand and groans as he pulls it up and over to the left. The glass ejects from over him with a loud hiss and lands three meters to the right with a splash.

Water. Huh. Okay, that’s something at least. It’s with another groan that he hauls himself up to sitting and slowly takes in his setting. A lake he thinks, or close enough to some shore that he’s not sure. But he can see the pebbled bottom of the icy water and rolls himself unceremoniously over the edge to make his way towards shore. The water’s edge is gentle but freezing. The bright sky is as white as the snowfields around him. The air is bleak and bites with every breath he takes and it feels like he’s stealing them. It feels like a dream, he feels like he’s drifting. This isn’t Hong Kong, this can’t be real. But this isn’t death. Not yet. This isn’t the end. Not for him. That would be too kind.

Curling his hand into a fist he finds the sudden appearance of a device. It’s unfamiliar but he knows what a communicator looks like and flips it open. It wasn’t there a second ago but logic was never his strong suit and nor was the divide between reality and..something else.

“Mako,” he whispers and looks up to the icy sky, then towards the looming presence of a grand estate – the likes of which he hasn’t seen since he was a child. He turns towards it, then, trudging through the snowbanks, a figure in black against the bleak horizon brave.

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What's Alex doing? Alex is being lamentably stupid with a side of asking for it. After running into the flesh-eating wood-beast from hell, he hasn't been one for venturing outside of the mansion. But with the end of the holiday parade came the promise that freakish things like that have since faded into the ether, and that's just fine by him.

He checks the dark lines in pen on his hand. January...fourth. January fourth. Everything here feels way too goddamn impermanent for him to keep track on anything as common as paper, so he's taken to marking the date on his skin. Better to keep track. Harder to lose everything that way.

Alex shivers, drawing himself deeper into his coat. Dumb fucking idea, coming out here. Except, wait a minute - someone else is out here too. Well thank fuck for dumbasses. They're like a multiversal constant, who knew?

And this is a someone who landed in some kind of - freaky futuristic escape pod deal. Well, shit, did they get an astronaut landing here recently? He certainly looks the part.

"Hey!" Alex calls at the guy cutting a slow steady path toward the mansion, his breath misting thick and gray against the cold. "Last I checked, Mars is that way!"

Raleigh doesn't respond at first. A, because there's a ringing in his ears that he can't quite kick and B, he can hardly hear through his helmet to begin with. It's more that he feels the energy of the other man and that's what makes him look over.

Then the relay kicks in and then oh, right, people. A person!

It feels almost comical against their surroundings - as does the way his body lurches awkwardly when he moves - freezing, screaming joints resisting any change of direction.

The temperature is severe between the inside of his drivesuit and his screen is fogged up, nothing else to do then the remove it, he guesses.

A little beat up, a little worse for wear. Something is probably broken but he hasn't taken an inventory.

"That's not where I'm supposed to be going!" He calls back, squinting against the way the sun reflects through the gloom and holding his helmet at his side. White, everything white, it hurts. And it hurts in the way you would when you're hallucinating in a dentist's chair. the light is an examination light and he's going to wake up in medical annny minute. Any minute now.

Ohhhhh shit, here Alex thought he'd better start with something indirect and low-key, and this guy's starting to look a little punch-drunk around the edges. He probably shouldn't even be in the cold like this.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Alex advances, still keeping a fair distance because he has no idea where this guy came from, what if he did come from space and has his fair share of moon viruses or something like that, it's a valid worry considering the kind of shit they deal with here on the regular, but he eyes the other guy a little warily and tries to piece together what the hell kind of world he came from.

"You're in Wonderland, pal. Get it together." Maybe a little on the harsh side, but until they can get something established by the way of communication, that's all Alex is giving him for now.

He absolutely shouldn't be out in the cold like this and to be fair, given where he's just been a moon virus- or something similar- might be a valid concern.

"..What?" No, really, what the shit did you just say. "Wonderland?"

Raleigh blinks a few times as he processes that and then tries to make sense of it. Maybe it's the brain damage. but the harder he tries to think and squints the more his head hurts, and the more his head hurt the louder the ringing in his ears gets.

Alex scrutinizes him skeptically. Well, shit, he's not equipped for this. One-liners and vague advice is like, his thing here (does it count as his thing when he's only done it to one or two people?) but this guy's clearly not in a good state of mind to take stuff like that in stride.

"You, uh, you should probably sit down or something." Yes, truly the pinnacle of doctor's advice. Alex makes an equivocal hand gesture toward the side of his head. "Look a little rough there. Hit your head or something?"

Does Alex have sympathy for the brain-damaged? Yes, possibly, but don't you dare try to get him to admit it. While he might not know what to do here exactly, he's not about to leave this guy completely in the lurch. Alex doesn't do that. They're all in the same shitty boat here.

"Yeah-- I think," Raleigh grits and vaguely gestures to the escape pod behind him in the water, fingers curled around the hard plastic of the communicator in his hand.

He isn't sure where it's some from but it might be helpful, if only for something to grasp.

"Bumpy ride." A beat. He resists the urge to jam an armored finger in his ear to clean in.

"Sorry, did you say Wonderland?"

"Uh-huh." Alex feels like an absolute dick for it, but he's not about to help the guy hands-on if he's still got no idea where he came from. Moon viruses, man. He's seen the B-movies, all right, he knows how the sci-fi horror films go down. "Wonderland. I'm being legit here. You're stuck here now, no way back, watch yourself, etc. It's less fun than it sounds."

Looks like Astro-Boy here has already picked up one of those communication doodads. Well, good. Means he's not totally helpless, and Alex can wash his hands of this whole obligation real damn soon. He's not cut out to play tour guide, all right? "Where'd you come from, anyway? Space?"

He's only being partially sarcastic.

As far as welcome wagons go, it looks like Raleigh's stumbled into the wrong guy. Or the wrong guy went stumbling out into the cold for stupid reasons and got himself lumped with a newbie. Sorry bro. It's probably best to just walk away. He's a big boy. He'll figure it out. No hard feelings.

But, okay. Wonderland. He saw the Tim Burton film when he was a kid and even the cartoon from before he was born. Trippy shit, worm holes and mind tricks and monsters... yeah okay it's making sense now.

Clearly he's trapped in some sick video game level and this is his own personal Hell. He's dead and this is madness and.. fine. fuck it. He doesn't care anymore.

"Not quite," He says and looks down at himself. At least nothing is missing and the cold is numbing his electrical burns for the moment. "But I see what you mean. This is a drivesuit. It's military."

And through it all there's a little note of smugness, Sassy Mr. Bigdick. But man, if you only knew about his ride.

"I was just on the bottom of the Pacific, you recognize that ocean or am I on my own here?"

Oh, good, you hear that everyone, it's military. That little bit of snark takes Alex off-guard, considering he was all ready to assume that Spaceman was suffering from some post-concussive disorientation or something. But hey, the man's got some bite left in him. That means Alex can get out of here even quicker than he'd originally thought, right?

"No shit." Alex narrows his eyes. He's not one of those unlucky suckers who's forgotten everything of home. Not yet, anyway. "Not everyone here's from the same damn planet, all right? I figured I should ask."

No actual confirmation on that statement yet, but he's met witches and skeletons and shit like that just doesn't come from the Earth he remembers.

"You gonna be good to go, or should I call someone to get you outta here?" Because if it's all the same to him, Alex is in no way prepared to take responsibility for newbies. At all.

Yeaaaaah well. Sorry kid, it's been a long day.

Raleigh looks at him and then around, arms flailing out a little bit. Yeah, because he's so good.

"Uh?"

Like, wow. You got somewhere to be so badly you better go. But, as it beginning to be his motto for the day, whatever. It's hard to be completely disorientated and irritated and believe he's real all at the same time. This is hard. Everything hurts.

"I guess I just-" he points towards the house. "That way?"

Alex tosses him a lazy thumbs-up. "Got it in one."

Look, he's gotta nip stuff like this in the bud. Can't get a reputation for being helpful or something, god. That would just ruin everything.

He almost makes those his parting words, but halts with a sigh because, c'mon, even he's not that heartless. He swipes a hand through his hair and points wearily in the same direction. He can sum up a basic tutorial, right? Can't just leave the poor bastard to freeze.

"Big mansion. Can't miss it. Got all sorts of rooms inside, food, clothes, whatever you need. Pick a room and if it's not taken it's yours. And, uh, don't freeze to death. Got it?"

Nailed it.

No, god forbid someone was helpful. Reputations to consider and everything. Alex will forever be that One Guy.

"Yeah, I'll um. I'll try."

A pause and he rallies (ha) himself to start clomping towards the house. Man, drivesuits are not designed to be in snow.

"Thanks."

Let's be real, Alex makes a habit of being That One Guy to people. It's kind of a personal goal of his, at least until it starts making him enemies.

"No problem." And with that, he's off.

What's that? Introductions? Pshh, who's got time for those. As far as Alex is concerned, this guy can just be Spaceman in his head. He's got places to go. Forests to, potentially, skirt around and avoid exploring.

And frankly, Spaceman is probably safer not knowing anything about Alex Kralie.

Rough day.

The blustery cold does Blake just fine. Might as well match his mood, anyway. Exiting the mansion, he turns up the collar of his uncharacteristically cat fur dappled peacoat and trudges through the neverending blanket of snow. Lost, but pretending on a purpose, he aims his quickened stride for the path he knows well by now.

At first, and for a long time, he's alone, by himself with his thoughts and dragging along a dark cloud everywhere he goes. It's three years now and still there's no running — not from here, not from people, and certainly not from himself. And no matter how many times he tries to convince himself it doesn't matter, or that only some of it matters, John somehow always gets wrapped up in the people around him, tied tight to people who are destined to leave and to forget.

Upon his return, he doesn't feel any better, but he's tired and the creeping exhaustion will eventually do him good. It's the only reason he crosses paths with people in the first place. Heading back to the main grounds of the mansion, he catches sight of a couple of people — one he recognizes and one he doesn't — and he tells himself not to get involved, but...

Well, he's John Blake. And even when he's feeling downright anti-social, like he could bite the head off of someone for just looking at him, there's still a good cop under all that ire — a good person trying his best to serve and protect. Even a rough day can't wipe all of that away.

It's the only reason he goes back, the only reason he circles around and waits until Alex leaves before coming up on the new arrival.

"Hey," he says, his voice quiet. "You okay? Hungry, maybe?"

Hungry, now there's a concept. When was the last time he ate? When was the last time he'd slept and not just passed out from world-hopping Gforce?

The fact he was even wondering should have been enough of a tell. The fact he was still giving delayed responses was enough of a tell. The fact he was accepting all of this and not in a straight jacket in a padded room right now.

Well, he supposed he could be.

It was all turning into a quiet, numb resignation that maybe he never came back from the Antiverse at all. Or maybe he tried and ended up in some other dimension with no way to get back.

Great.

In any case he nods slowly, taking a small breath and holding it for a beat before giving it back with a puff. Relying on the kindness of strangers isn't something he's used to. Suddenly he feels like an orphaned teenager all over again - only this time he's completely alone. No clothes, no siblings, no beat up old truck to camp in. It's a harrowing thought but he should be used to it. This is just the beginning of one more thing. At least the cold is nothing new.

"Yeah..Thank you."

There's no picking up on tells when you've got your head all wrapped up in the world. If Raleigh's putting off any heavy signals, they're all heading right past John. No matter, though, because it belies his own lingering vulnerability.

Without a word, he gestures for the man to follow him into the kitchen. He tells himself not to get too involved — had can feed someone without adopting them — but even as he quietly and privately broods, he still finds himself glancing in Raleigh's direction as he quickly cobbles together some simple sandwiches.

"Bologna an' cheese," he finally says, then gestures to a second sandwich on a separate plate. "Peanut butter an' jelly." He's not about to choose, but he'll eat what's left, assuming Becket isn't hungry enough for both.

John drifts away a moment, and when he comes back, he adds two cold bottles of water to the mix. Miserable of otherwise, it's important to stay hydrated.

Water, actually, is absolutely perfect. Raleigh watches quietly and then smiles at the comfort food. It's like being a kid again.

"A man after my own heart," he says with a laugh and gestures for the peanut butter. "I don't think I remember the last time I had this. Haven't seen bread in a while."

After being on rations for so long, the idea of a fully stocked kitchen is almost overwhelming. Actually, it's completely overwhelming, but he's grateful for it all the same.

Raleigh takes a bite and savors it, kicked right back to twelve years of age and eating picnic sandwiches in Paris as they scuttled along the Champs-Élysées determined to get into the Louvre before closing. He remembers chasing pigeons around a park with an oval lake in the middle and little old men selling boats and long paper straws to fill their sails with wind. He remembers winning exactly three times before a duck got in the way and ruined his streak.

The rest of the sandwich is gone immediately, chased with the water he needs.

It feels like a comedy -- eating PB&J in his drive suit in the middle of an enormous kitchen.

"Thank you."

If nothing else, John would find himself agreeing with Raleigh on most days. When things are nominal, Wonderland has a way of disarming a person. When he'd first arrived he'd had stars in his eyes for all the choices afforded him. Now, years later, it's the simple, inalienable things that keep him going from day to day.

"Mm," is his lackluster response. It gnaws at him, though — everything Becket's said — so before he has a change to take a bite of the remaining sandwich, he has to ask, "Where're you from that bread's not available?" As far as he knows, it's a staple for most modern civilizations, and from the look of this guy's armor (or whatever it is), he's certainly not coming here from medieval times.

After a moment, and considering what he'd just seen, Blake opts to push the second sandwich in Raleigh's direction. The way he ate the late one suggests a deeper hunger than the former cop might have initially imagined.

He takes it with a nod of thanks and a small grunt of pleasure. It's also a kick back to his youth and he isn't going to say no to food. There is plenty, after all.

"Alaska-" Because he figures it's obvious he's American. "2025," He answers between bites. "GMO wheat crops went bad and then our water got poisoned. The yields are so rationed it's rare to see bread anywhere these days."

Which he never quite understood because, just as Blake thought, it's a staple - but corporate greed and water rationing had a way of ruining even the most basic food stuffs.

"Unless you're military," he adds on a second thought. "Open sea-ports. Only place rations aren't in full force."

Edited 2016-01-10 17:28 (UTC)

John lets out a low whistle and shakes his head back and forth. It's hard enough these days to imagine Gotham in his time, let alone extrapolate into the future. And, in fact, having to consider a life without bread after three years of living with plenty (and 29 years of more-than-enough before that), seems almost too much of a stretch at this point.

Frowning, he lingers at the counter for a moment and then gestures to Raleigh's strange suit. "That what this is? Military?" He can't imagine someone going into battle in armor like Becket's, but then again, he can't quite say what war would be like in the future. Of course, if someone were faced with his armor, John would expect the same strange thoughts on the matter.

"That's right," He says and nods, swallowing a mouth full of bologna. "It's called a Drivesuit. I'm a pilot."

That fact is nothing secret. Sure, it doesn't inspire quite the same awe as Blake's suit would but hey, we can't all be a super hero.

But actually, now that he's thinking about his suit and warming back up a little he can feel the all too familiar sting of electrical burns across his body. They rub every time he moves, he's wet from the waist down from trudging to land and, come to think of it, what exactly was he planning to do about it. He can't live in his Drivesuit forever.

"I'm gonna need to get outta this.."

Blake's eyebrow cocks up a bit at Raleigh's words, but instead of responding how he might normally — with a joke or an offer — he just nods and shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

"Just about every room's got access to a closet. You can pull some clothes outta one. Kinda like magic," he says rather too nonchalantly. "Most rooms'll be open, too, so you can claim one for yourself, get a shower, get some sleep." It's not the grand tour some people are looking for, but he has a feeling this guy's a bit too tired for all that grandeur, anyway.

Must be a bad day for the both of them.

Raleigh considers this for a few moments and nods slowly. "Alllright.."

Because that made any sense, but hey. Given the day he was having you could tell him the sun was green and he might consider it.

"And if I needed bolt cutters and a power drill.. where would those come from?"

"The, um..." Blake gestures. "The closet." Did he not say they were magic? Maybe he should have elaborated, all things considered.

For a second, the former cop tries to convince himself it's time to let Raleigh go off and find things out on his own. The urge to kick that baby bird from the nest is particularly strong right on the heels of loss, but John's never quite been good at that.

Finally, he sighs a little and pushes a hand through his hair. "Is that really what it's gonna take? A power drill an' bolt cutters?" Rhetorical question, right? John just moves right on, closing some of the space between them. "Lemme help. Least I can do."

Right. Of course. Magic closets again. The answer to every problem in this place.

"Appreciate it," He says and shifts, happy to follow Blake to an empty room. "I can't put this on, myself. There's a whole team with power ratchets.."

Is this over sharing? It might be. It might just be important information. Hell if he knows at this point but the sound of his of voice is grating.

"Sorry, what was your name again?"

Again? John smirks. He hadn't mentioned it the first time around. "It's Blake. John Blake."

He doesn't go much further than that, though. Getting pleasantries through his now-tough exterior is akin to getting Raleigh out of that drivesuit without the power tools.

Reaching into the impossibly expansive closet, John digs around until he finds what he's looking for. Out comes a large drill, which he promptly sets aside before moving away from the door. A smooth gesture and he pats Becket on the shoulder. "You try. Think hard enough, it might actually have the right tool for the job." He doubted bolt cutters would be as useful as whatever tool was intended to remove the heavy bolts on the pilot's suit.

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Please take the ghosts from my heart

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