entrancelogs | just look at the state of you, babe.

Entry tags:

just look at the state of you, babe.

Who: Caitlin Snow + Dorian Pavus; Caitlin + friends; Caitlin + YOU!
Where: Gardens, Library, Kitchen, Dining Room, Tea Room, etc
When: June 13 and beyond
Rating: PG-13; just to be safe, there may be intense imagery.
Summary: An already broken Caitlin arrives in Wonderland and is saddled with dealing with it and her baggage.
The Story:

june 13; arrival ( closed to dorian pavus )

[ She has to keep running.

It's the singular thought keeping her upright, keeping her awake. She has to warn them, she has to find the friends she has left, before Jay finds her. Caitlin's sure this is a trick; a cruel joke to punish her for warning the police a few nights ago. (Of course, telling her Barry's dead could have been a trick and a punishment too, but it would go against him saying he couldn't hurt her. An almost promise that's now broken because she left.) But even if it's a trick, she has to keep going. She can see the ruined spires of STAR Labs in the distance, even in the dark, and she's so close, so close...

And then the world becomes blindingly bright and markedly less ... urban. ] No.

[ There's hedges and a fountain and flowers everywhere. It isn't right. No, this isn't where she was a moment ago. She turns on the spot, squinting in the bright light, searching for ... something. They didn't miss any breaches. Did Zoom have someone else who could open them? ... no, if he did, he would have come after Barry sooner.

Her breath comes in heaves and pants, bordering on hyperventilating, something more than just being winded. Her clothes are dirty, looking as if she's worn them for a week or more. Her hair is dirty and knotted, her face drawn and streaked with dirt and the trail of dried tears. When her legs start to shake, she gracelessly sits right where she is, flopping down before drawing her legs tight to her chest.

Apologies to whoever finds her. ]

june 13-15

[ This space reserved for cast/canonverse mates. Will fill in once deets are sorted. ]

june 13; post-arrival thread ( closed to iris west )

[ It's a time-honored cliche, that doctors make for the worst patients. It certainly isn't an absolute, and it isn't even really a fair majority that it applies to. But being a cliche didn't make it not true. And for Caitlin, it's incredibly, borderline painfully true.

It isn't that she tries to be difficult. She's had to handle her own share of difficult patients, she knows first-hand how it can fray someone's nerves and rattle a less-secure professional, even how it can sometimes become a distraction. Every difficult patient has an excuse for why they behave the way they do, it's just that hers is real and true.

It's why she's making her way out of the clinic as soon as the initial exam is over. Dehydrated, malnourished, sleep deprived — she doesn't really need someone else to tell her these things. She's acutely aware of them, the dangers they pose. That she should stay and lay down. There isn't time for this. There has to be some way out of here, there just has to be.

As she steps out into the hall, her eyes go wide and she looks like she's been struck. ] Iris?

june 16 and beyond ( open )

[ It takes a few days to coax Caitlin out from beyond the relative safety of familiar faces, their rooms, and hers.

She's struggling, sometimes visibly, with adjusting. There's moments where she feels on the verge of panic and nearly seeks out a secluded space to fall apart and calm herself down in peace. Then there's moments where she's perfectly fine, almost happy (but never quite), where she feels closer to normal. Even then, there's something about her eyes that gives away what's just beneath the surface: they're too wide, they track every movement around her. There's a sheen of fear hiding in them.

It's not all terrible. The library quickly becomes a place to find her regularly. If she has to be away from the safety of friends, then she'll choose the second best option, the safety and familiarity of books. Too much solitude, though, leads to too much thinking, which leads to slipping back into that terrified place. It's touch and go, really.

She also avails herself to the kitchen, sometimes at odd hours of the night. Cooking for herself is such a routine part of her life, so it helps with regaining her footing. Sometimes, she's lazy and opts for the dining room or the tea rooms, though it still feels odd to have food and drinks come out of thin air. (She tries not to think about it.) ]

[ want a specific location not listed? feel free to ask through PM or at

lovedbythesun ]

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[He retracts his hand almost immediately, knowing well enough when a gesture is unwanted, though her sudden and almost alarming reaction has his frown pulling deeper, concern now overshadowing all else.]

I'm sure I don't.

[His tone is even, patient; whatever she's experienced before coming here, it's left her wild, panicked. There's little he can do to ease that.]

Perhaps you could tell me on the way to somewhere other than the gardens-- the clinic, for example. [She looks like a healer's attention might not be amiss. Food and clean clothes also come to mind.] First things first, I suppose. Can you tell me your name?

I'm not hurt.

[ Her words come in that tone used when someone who's visibly upset says I'm okay or I'm fine. It's also just as true: the only visible injuries are the bruises circling her wrists, but there's also the bruising on her shoulders and her back, courtesy of her doppelganger's attempt on her life.

She takes a steadying breath. ] Caitlin. My name is Caitlin Snow.

The bruises on your wrists say otherwise.

[He can only assume that there's more where those came from, but he doesn't press the point for now, instead hoping to keep her focused on the present, to help drawn her down from her heightened panic.]

Dorian Pavus. Whether or not you feel you're hurt, I still feel the garden might not be the best place to talk-- especially considering you're unlikely to be pleased with anything I have to tell you about this place.

[ As he mentions the bruises, her eyes drop to her wrists, as if she's seeing them for the first time. She isn't, she hasn't been that out of it to not see the dark marks, her left wrist more dappled than the right. If the sleeves of her shirt came down any further, Caitlin would pull them into place to hide. ]

Is the news that bad, that it'll ruin the pretty scenery?

[ She tries for joking in her tone, and falls just somewhere in tired. ]

Okay. Dorian? [ Testing it out, seeing if he's okay with being on a first name basis. ] I'm going to need some help.

Difficult enough.

[She might want some place more comfortable to sit down, and having something to drink on hand-- alcoholic or otherwise-- might not be amiss, either.

He nods in agreement, holding a hand out to her. First name basis is just fine by him. He won't touch her again without her permission, but:]

I'm more than happy to assist as much as you need.

[ There's something in the way he says those words that gives her a nervous flutter in her stomach. Difficult enough. Those aren't words that precede anything good.

She doesn't hesitate in taking the hand he offers her, using her grasp to leverage herself to standing, albeit on shaking legs and unsteady feet. Asking for help is near the top of her list of thins she hates, but even she isn't stubborn enough to try and walk on her own right now.

She lets him take the lead. ]

So where are we, exactly? Something tells me I'm not in Central City anymore.

[He does his best to be discreet about aiding her; the fact that she'd declined help at the start and didn't ask for it now was very telling, but he carefully links their arms together, a silent offer for her to lean as much of her weight on him as she needs in order to move forward.]

No, I'm afraid not. You're in Wonderland-- that's what the locals call it.

[ If she was more cognizant of herself at the moment, she would thank him for his help even as she acts like she doesn't need it. Later, when she looks back on this, she'll feel guilty and terrible and seek him out to properly apologize and express gratitude. But for now, she'll avail herself to his assistance, using him as a living crutch. ]

Wonderland? [ She can't hide how incredulous she finds it. ] As in, Alice's Adventures in... ? No, that's—that's a story. A children's book.

So I've been told, though no such book exists where I'm from.

[He remains as even-toned as he can manage, knowing full well just how insane the story itself tended to sound to new arrivals, even if they weren't familiar with the work in question. He continues helping her along without hesitation, keeping her moving forward as best he can.]

There are a number of theories concerning the relationship between the two, but there's no doubting how the natives think of this place.

[ It's slow going, sure, but she's still going with his help. Being on her feet and focusing on what he's saying, both help to keep her from sliding back into her panic. Of course, moving just reminds her of how tired she is, how long it's been since she's slept for more than an hour or so. ]

Natives? You mean like... the Queen of Hearts, the March Hare, Mad Hatter? Those sort of natives?

[ It sounds ridiculous. But... a year ago, she probably would have said that being on an alternate Earth sounded ridiculous. And before that, people with superpowers would have sounded absolutely crazy. ]

How did we end up here?

Precisely. The Cheshire Cat and Dormouse have made appearances, as well, along with a set of twins. The Queen of Hearts seems to be the most troublesome person on that list, although the Duchess is worth noting, as well.

[He's still not entirely certain who's side she's on. Caitlin's next question is more difficult to answer, and he offers her a smile that's equal parts sympathetic and indulgent.]

Magic, if you can will yourself to believe it.

[ A set of twins. Tweedledee and Tweedledum, no doubt. The Queen of Hearts being trouble isn't any sort of surprise; anyone who yells about decapitating people couldn't be anything but trouble. She'd have to think on the Duchess later, as she couldn't recall anything about her. ]

Magic. [ Her echoing of the word is laced with disbelief. ] Magic isn't real; there's always some science behind it. I've traveled between worlds, and it takes a breach, a hole in the fabric of the world to do it.

I find they go hand-in-hand quite well, myself.

[Good luck convincing a natural-born mage that magic isn't real-- but there is a process to studying and testing magic theory, and given that he's largely responsible for the development of the magic that allows time travel back home, he's willing to be open-minded.]

I've been practicing magic all my life, and while it may not be as easily defined as science, they remain separate without being entirely different-- close cousins, perhaps, but magic is most certainly real.

Maybe it is in your world.

[ One would think she'd be more willing to believe in magic. A dear friend's sister was brought back from the dead through an artifact that could be considered mystical. But she's convinced there's science behind it, a real explanation instead of hocus-pocus. ]

What else is there, here? Not that magic isn't fascinating, but I have a feeling there's more to tell.

I'd like to believe that there's at least a touch of it to be found in most worlds, if you look hard enough.

[It's so much a part of him that he can't even begin to think that there's a place that might have no trace of it at all; magic courses through his veins just as well as blood.]

I think you'll find that the more you investigate here, the more you'll find that magic has touched nearly every corner of it-- magic and memory, to be precise. Wonderland has a habit of siphoning them away over time, bit by bit.

Memory?

[ With that, she stops moving forward. Stops walking. She's still on her feet, still shaky. The idea of this place taking away something so precious, her mind can't wrap around it at the moment. ]

I'm going to— [ Her voice cracks. ] I'm going to lose my memories by staying here.

Not right away, at least. Cold comfort, I realize.

[There's really nothing to make that fact any gentler, any easier to swallow. The loss of one's memories is the ultimate violation, theft of what helps to make a person who they are.]

I've been here a year, but I've not lost any yet. [That he can tell, anyway.] It's entirely possible we'll find our way out before you lose any, as well.

I'm afraid my luck never seems to run that way, unfortunately.

[ It's an incredibly cold comfort. As if she had an injured hand or foot, and the surgeon assured her that they wouldn't have to amputate right away. Her memories are just as vital. What would they take first? She wouldn't even recognize that she'd lost something.

She nods slightly, before taking another step, signaling that she's ready to continue. ]

So memory loss, magic, can't go home. Is there more?

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just look at the state of you, babe.

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