caveofsapphires | smaller patch of fading sky [ open ]

smaller patch of fading sky [ open ]

WHO: EVERYONE. All PCs thus far will be in this log, through active tagging or implication.
WHAT: THRILLS. SPILLS. Hiking trip toward the Diamond City.
WHERE: The Overworld.
WHEN: Forward-dated to May 1st (Tuesday) through May 7th (Monday).
WARNINGS: May contain violence or other mentions of physical harm. This is not summer camp.
NOTES: More information can be found on the OOC post here. Please read it!

Gathered in the morning haze, Sleepers were brought to the mouth of the Cave with plenty of supplies and equipment. Compasses that would point them toward the City. Backpacks full of clothes and food, medical kits, tents and even weapons. Stun rifles and knives — to fight off any unwanted company, they said. ("Watch out for their bite," Ryan had commented. "Those fuckers are downright feral.") The straight and narrow path would get them there in six days if they kept a good clip. They were sent off just like that. Refusals to leave were met with a wall of guard force officers blocking the entrance back into the cave city. No way to go but forward, unless someone was particularly stalwart about remaining.

From the exterminator's station near the mouth, leaving the Cave was as simple as a short hike upward into the fresh air of the Overworld. Dust and an uncomfortable sort of heat pervaded the atmosphere, light winds stirring up the sand and teasing the meager bits of vegetation that had grown. No matter what direction you looked... it was all wasteland, cracked ground and desolate emptiness. Jutting up from scarred ground were boulders and small spires made entirely of glass and patches of stone; instead of reflecting the harsh sunlight, they seemed to absorb it and only add to the muted loneliness of the atmosphere. As far as the eye could see, there was no life to be found.

With no other option, the Sleepers eventually made their way onward.

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"Downing," he said, slowing his pace to stop and shake hands. There's a moment where he looks to move as if he's going to clasp Gabriel's forearm as a warrior might, but he before it happens he moves to shake hands. He hasn't let it show to anyone, but it bothers him intensely that the wires and gears that were once woven through his arm aren't there; there's no physical discomfort, but the ache remains. "And yes, I'm new."

Izaya doesn't even question it, moving to remove his own pack in order to locate some material with which to follow the other man's advice; he fully intends on keeping it close to his chest, not wanting to risk drawing too much attention to himself and being dragged off for 'rehabilitation', but he's disinclined to believe the story they've been fed so far. He doesn't doubt his 'dream' life existed, not even for a moment.

"Unreliable knowledge, perhaps, but it's better than no knowledge at all," and he begins to wrap his face and head just as the other man had before him.

He couldn't help but smile a little at that. "Yes," he said, "it would. Convenient, too." He didn't see it as likely that the more fuss they made, the less they'd be affected by the punishment for it - that seemed overly sloppy for what they'd seen of the authority figures in this place so far - but it was a nice thought. He would hang on to nice thoughts, improbable though they might be.

Was it significant that he couldn't remember much? A girl and a young man, a decent amount of shouting - he'd been sad for her, which in retrospect was ridiculous, but felt perfectly natural. They can't have made him feel it; everything else had worn off.

Breathing in the stagnant air, Aziraphale felt face-deep in an oven. He'd wished for the sky a while ago, but he'd wished for it with rain, or stars, not this horrible oppressive heat. With a sigh, he pulled the compass out of his pocket and fiddled with it, watching the needle spin as he turned it. "Sorry," he added. "For even bringing it up." His lips twisted. "And for not fighting."

Everything about Mal was entirely relaxed, mouth curved in a pleasant smile, limbs stretched out on the rock. She blinked under the hand covering her face. Interesting.

"I suppose it would be interesting," she mused, "though improbable. Why present us with another crack in the story, a living thing from our dreams? If this is all some sort of story, if they want to use us for something, why present us with more doubt of their version of things? I wouldn't count on finding anyone, no matter how happy it might make you."

Her smile widened, revealing teeth.

"Well, I want to be a good citizen, of course, and go to this . . . coffee shop I'm supposed to work at, and pursue an education, and be Milena." She laughed, sounding delighted, and turned her head to look at Re-l. "Really, I'm just as curious as you are. I'd like the real truth, but the truth of this place is just as fascinating. We're going to repopulate a dying civilization, apparently, by our exalted presence. I'm flattered. Tell me more."

Rolling into a sitting position, she pulled the sack of coffee beans out of her backpack and popped several into her mouth, grimacing as she made a face. It wasn't right, not exactly, because the sucking was so important to the whole facade, but it would do for the trip. She just hoped the beans would last.

"The moisture trapped will keep your lips from cracking." Losing water in a desert is bad enough, but losing blood could attract whatever is out there. Doul sincerely doubts that the desert is as empty of life as it first appears.

"Downing. Huw Downing."

Twisting up his face, Liam looked at Aziraphale long and hard before he shook his head. "None of this would have happened if it weren't for those bastards who took us in."

Truth be told, he was exasperated with Aziraphale. Not exactly angry or bitter, but the sort where Liam wasn't entirely sure what to do with the man. Begrudging people who didn't fight wasn't his style, but that didn't mean it wasn't frustrating when they felt bad for being themselves. If this were like old times, he would have disappeared from Aziraphale's view until he had a better idea of what course to take... but that was the entire problem now, wasn't it?

He took another sip of his drink before capping it and putting it away. "If you'll recall, we're both equal parts to blame for bringing it up, anyway."

The sun was slipping lower and lower. Re-l couldn't claim much - or any - experience in estimating time, but it was definitely getting late. She moved into a more upright position and packed away the rest of her food.

"I don't expect to find anyone," she said, her voice cold. It was something of a sore point. "Expecting is not usually helpful. Although I don't agree that it would confirm the dreams. If their dreams were different, wouldn't it confirm this world instead?"

She was tighening the straps on her bag as Mal spoke, and when the laugh came her hands stopped for a moment, gripping the rough fabric tightly. Then they moved again, and Re-l moved with them, standing up. She stood over Mal - Milena - and looked down at her, watching the dark-haired woman pop the coffee beans into her mouth.

"Of course," she said, with no emotion at all in her voice. "The life they offer us is so very appealing." She swung the bag on her back. "It's probably unwise for us to spend too much time with any one person, just in case they are tracking us. And I wouldn't want to get you involved. I'll leave first."

She turned away and began to walk across the desert, her face perfectly blank, her eyes on the distant horizon.

Surely there's some Bas-Lag equivalent to teaching your grandmother to suck eggs, perhaps teaching a Cactacae to turn to the sun or a Scabmettler to bleed. Either way, it's a safe bet that it's what Doul is thinking as he follows Famine towards the building.

"I'll take your word for it," he shrugged; it was better than nothing after all, and as things stood he wasn't at all certain he was cut out for a journey like this. He may have been fast, skilled in parkour, and knew his way around a fight if he absolutely couldn't avoid it, but he'd done enough research since arriving here to know that the kinds of things they may run into out in the desert are far beyond his level of expertise; intelligence had always been his forte, not physical prowess. Nor was he unaccustomed to relying on anyone else, but on this occasion he knew he was going to have to get used to it; in all likelihood he'd need the rest of the group if he was going to survive.

"Toshiyuki Kaneko," the name still felt strange and unfamiliar on his tongue, but he managed to say it as smoothly as though it really did belong to him, nonetheless.

Well. That was a very efficient dismissal.

Mal didn't say anything, watching Re-l go. She crossed her legs on the stone and let a bean rest on her tongue, relishing the bitter taste. It was a shame; she'd been interesting, clever, viciously sarcastic. Prickly. Not that Mal had a problem with prickly. Prickly people tended to be fascinating, and smarter than they had a right to be.

After a few minutes, she packed up and followed after Re-l. It would be easy enough to keep an eye on her in such a small group, and Mal had been intrigued enough to focus her attention. The woman had revealed a great deal before suddenly shutting down.

It would certainly make the journey a lot more interesting.

Shrugging in acknowledgment of Liam's words, Aziraphale looked away, not sure how to articulate what he meant. If he had, it might not have gone over well. He'd had millennia as a field agent to gain a sense of personal responsibility for humanity, but on a grand scale, never personal. His few run-ins with individuals outside the context of helpful nudges in the direction of holiness had been brief and routine. Otherwise, his interactions had been limited to Crowley and the host. Feeling an emotional connection to a human being was an entirely new experience.

He felt responsible. He couldn't help it. But he was also beginning to feel that perhaps he shouldn't. It was confusing, particularly for someone who'd spent thousands of years in a rigid state of certainly.

"Well." He straightened his back and smiled stiffly, retreating into formality. "It's good to know that you're all right. Hopefully things will be a bit better where we're going."

Oh no, he wasn't going to get off that easily. Liam realized he might not be the most welcoming person right now, but there was something he'd wanted to ask once he realized they were outside the Workers' reach. Something they couldn't punish him for, and something he should have already known.

"Yes, let's hope. Since we'll be travelling together, I ought to ask: what's your name?" he asked abruptly, before the man would get his chance to pull back entirely. "And don't tell me it's John Gates."

That caught him off guard, enough that he let out a surprised laugh. "Oh," he said, "I never - " He supposed he hadn't.

He glanced up, looking for Famine. The likelihood that the man would recognize him from name alone was silly, it wasn't as though they'd exchanged cards, but he'd caught sight of him earlier and felt obliged to keep an eye out. And it wasn't as though his name could pass for anything but the name of an angel. At least Gabriel could get away with it.

"Aziraphale," he said, "it's Aziraphale," and laughed again, squinting at Liam uncertainly.

Liam raised a brow, head tilted as he took in the name. The paranoia was easy to assume as looking for Workers ready to crawl out of the glasswork instead of directed at any of the Sleepers.

"That's certainly unique," he said after a small laugh. "Me? I've got nothing on a name like that. Whatever the case, it's a pleasure to meet you, Aziraphale." Holding his hand out to shake and make it official, he added, "You already know mine, yeah?"

"Unique is a word for it, yes," Aziraphale said, his odd laughter resolving itself into a genuine smile. He shook Liam's hand, feeling a certain level of calm returning. "And you're Liam. It suits you better anyway."

"I've always thought so," agreed Liam, studiously ignoring the period of time where he did not. That was over, and to acknowledge it would only leave a sour taste in his mouth. He paused, looking around for emphasis, then smiled. "Looks like we're home free."

Aziraphale followed Liam's gaze. "Ah, yes," he said, raising an eyebrow at the surrounding wasteland. "Home free. Absolutely. Not to mention safe, and air-conditioned."

It could be - had been - worse, though. Things were looking up, in a very unexpected way.

"Pretty sure I'd take this for a few days over having my head fucked with," Liam admitted easily. He wasn't eager to say how, but the fact that they'd shared the experience made the event itself easier to talk about. "Not forever, but I know how not to look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Mm." Aziraphale gave a short nod. It was nice to be able to speak relatively freely. It was nice to say his name, too, he realized with some surprise. "It's an odd place to feel safe, but . . . I do feel safer. Not to mention - " He smiled. "No more crystals, and all that sky."

He might not have much of a personal connection with Heaven these days, but open sky still made him feel just a bit closer to home.

Up the stairs were several rooms off to both sides. However, the hallway to the right caved in only two doors in, ceiling open to the warm sky outside. The visible doors were surprisingly in tact, one splintered and cracked under the weight, while the other only seeming to have jammed with the tilt of its frame. It didn't appear as though the floor itself had fallen under the pressure, but who knew what adding to it might do?

To the left seemed much safer, four doorways all readily apparent. One of the doors was in shreds. One had fallen into the hallway and snapped in half at some point, the upper half propped against the wall while the lower rotted on the floor. Another in the far back hung halfway off its hinges, while the furthest out seemed to be in the best of repair. Peering in through the visible doorways would confirm that these were indeed the bedrooms.

"Aye." Liam laughed, glancing upward with something of a rueful look. "Could use s'more colour or clouds, but it's a sight for sore eyes. Those crystal lights were driving me bonkers."

The change in colour was still bothering him, but there was nothing to be done about that now. Better to keep his mind on the current and not borrow more trouble than he already was.

Gabriel decided, there and then, that it would probably be a bad idea to bring up the fact angels could mess with peoples' memories. Gabriel hadn't usually done it because he wanted people to remember what he did to them, but that kind of mental manipulation was still pretty easy.

The irony that it was now happening to him wasn't lost on him. It did start to make him wonder, again, if this was a construct specifically for him.

"No," the archangel admitted grimly after a moment. He knew it was there in some objective fashion because, unlike his first rehab, he knew what it was the rehab did; not only that, but the Doctor had explicitly called him on the dissonance of his knowing the landscape from a time when, according to his real memories, he shouldn't have been able to know anything about. But he couldn't see the memory's edges. It blended so seamlessly in with the rest of him that it took effort to even maintain the knowledge that, yes, it had to be false.

That, of course, made things even worse. The fact that anyone he came across could have had memories planted and not realize it, could confuse their past with whatever these people wanted them to believe... They seemed to be unsupervized for the trip to the city, but what about when they got there? Would these things continue? Or had anyone even gone ahead of them in the first place? "Do you recall any part of the, ah, the procedure they used? To give you these memories?"

The sun was strong, though, and he lifted a hand to his brow after asking the question, paused, and patted Gabriel on the shoulder, uttering, "Come, let's find some shade." There weren't many options, but one of the taller spires had enough for the two of them to get some protection while the group sorted itself out to make the long trek.

"At least it makes sense, more or less, in a . . . big, empty, dangerous sort of way." Aziraphale looked up, squinting, at the sun, and beamed. "And there'll be stars tonight, I should think."

"That, Aziraphale," said Liam, pointing toward the man with a keen eye and twisted lips, "is an excellent point. I'm looking forward to that. It's been far too long already."

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