Please take the ghosts from my heart

[righthemisphere]

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.

Comments

[oversight]

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.

[righthemisphere]

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."

[oversight]

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.

[righthemisphere]

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."

[oversight]

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.

[righthemisphere]

"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.."

[oversight]

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.

[righthemisphere]

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?"

[oversight]

"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."

[righthemisphere]

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?"

[oversight]

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.