tunicaintima | Supernatural AU for Roland

Distract?

[Firo eyes him skeptically. He doesn't get lost in memory, not that often. It's a conscious decision on his part, because there're a lot of times he doesn't want to remember--namely, the days he spent before turning, back before he had a wolf pelt and pack to keep him warm and before he had fangs to hunt.

So when he's asked to think, all he thinks is get me out of here. That should be enough, right?

The place obliges. The tower shakes and seems to fall around them, the stones dissembling and fading into light. When it's too bright to see, Firo squeezes his eyes shut--

--and then opens them to see a street, with people all around them.

The tower, now in full repair, looms only a short distance away. Firo doesn't notice, too busy gaping at the people all around them. All picked from his or Roland's mind, he realizes that some of them look familiar, but he can't tell why.]

[ooc: I figured we can both kind of fill in the details for the place they've constructed. Since it's a mindscape thing, I was imagining something Gilead-ish with stuff from their present smooshed in with it.]

[If he looks around far enough Firo might find the shade hunched over in the nearest deep shadow. The question of whether all that light would effect him the same here as it would outside their minds would seem silly to him, silly enough that it's not worth wondering it. Light is what it is and he is what he is, and he'd been weak enough before all this started, anyway.]

Hm. Fairly done. Does this picture work a little better for you? Are you ready to keep moving on yet?

[Because, so far as the shade is concerned, all this is just window dressing. The thing to do to leave here is just the same as it ever was. But if making it look differently keeps the boy moving then it was worth the time it took to do it.]

[Firo turns around and frowns at Roland, exasperated. Why isn't he more annoyed by what's going on? Firo can't yet accept that they're just stuck here.]

No! We're just somewhere else, we're not out of this weird place yet! We need to find a way to get out.

[Time for something else. Obviously using his head didn't work--not that he's too shocked--so he'll have to use force. His plan is simple: just keep breaking things until he wakes up back home. He turns to the nearest building, looks the door up and down, and tries to kick it in. Like before, it opens all too easily, and he falls right into it.

It's not a building on the inside. Instead, it's a woods--the woods that they meant in earlier, actually. Firo freezes when he hears a very familiar howl not too far away. So they're not home (and it's not the right time of day; in this new place, it's the dead of night rather than the morning it was back home. But Firo doesn't realize that yet). But maybe this is the real world--at least it sounds like his pack's here, and that's promising.

He takes off running in the direction of the sound.]

Come on!

[The shade notes that the boy actively wants him to stay nearby, now. Mayhap he thinks they'll only be able to get out of here together.]

[He keeps up easily, of course. Easy to do when you don't have to run, and when so much of this place is so dark already.]

Looking for another memory? It would find us, you know, if you let it. Yours would, anyway.

A memory?

[He glances over long enough to see that the shade is still there. Between breaths, he responds:]

You don't get it. That's my family!

[The howling is getting farther away, so Firo skids to a halt, crouches down, and in an instant there's a wolf wiggling out of his clothes. He can run faster like this, and now the smell of the deer they're tracking is sharper to him.

He lets out a little yip of joy when they crest the hill and see the pack up ahead, cornering a buck. Firo's too excited to notice yet that, just as with the memories before, this is way too familiar to be real.]

[And then the shade gets it. The boy can't feel all this as he can. He isn't thinking. Thinks they've escaped.]

[Well. You can't tell a person - especially a young person - a thing like that. He'll have to find out for himself. So the shade doesn't answer, only follows as silent as he'd have to be if they had in fact escaped, and he watches.]

[In swift, coordinated movements, the pack brings down the deer before Firo gets close enough to join them. The excitement in the air is palpable as they congratulate each other and the 'boss'--a grizzled old wolf with a scar over his eye--invites the others to share in their catch.

Firo yips to get their attention, but there's no reaction. It's only when he sees 'himself' mingling with the pack that he realizes what Roland already knows; he freezes in place a few paces away.

Even so, he can't keep his tail from wagging just a little as he watches. Maybe he's not truly experiencing it right now, but it is a good memory.]

[The body language of a dog - or a wolf, or most anything which doesn't communicate as a human does - is a mystery to him, so after deciding he can't figure out how the boy's taking it, he turns his attention to the scene ahead.]

[After a second, he starts to really pay attention. He never has before, out in the physical world, not to anything that doesn't register as a danger. As with the boy himself, the shade realizes he doesn't know how to read this.]

This was important?

[Firo tears his eyes away and tilts his head at the Shade. Can he really not tell? Surely, even for someone who didn't live it, this is plainly a good time.]

It's my family.

[He goes back to watching, but a second later realizes that he may need more explanation to get across just how important this is.]

It's one of the first times we hunted together. It's almost impossible to take one of those things on on your own, but we could all do it together.

[He studies the scene for a second or two. It's impossible, of course, to see his expression, if he has one, but the tone of his thoughts - his voice, such as he has in this place - sounds like he's frowning.]

You can take smaller things, can't you? As a wolf or a man. Enough to feed yourself. Is there really any need for all that?

[Firo sniffs, offended and intent on heading off any skepticism about his hunting skills.]

Of course I can. We all I can.

But this is different. Everybody gets some--it just works better when we do stuff together.

[Really, he just likes spending time with them.]

[For a few seconds, he doesn't respond. While he watches the memory a few more seconds pass. Then he looks back in what might be the direction they came from.]

We've lost the path. I don't know if that's important. It takes an able mind to determine what is and isn't in a place like this. Do you feel pulled anywhere, even vaguely?

Pulled?

[What's this guy talking about? Probably just more craziness--anybody who accepts this stuff as readily as this guy does is pretty weird.]

...My clothes are back there. I can't leave without 'em.

[He'd be stuck not being able to change back without them, which could be very inconvenient. Path or no path, Firo tries to follow his nose back the way they came, but the trail goes cold before he even gets out of the clearing.]

[The shade follows, only speaking once it's become clear the boy's having some trouble.]

Might be time to make some new ones. What would you like to be wearing?

[He's not looking at the wolf, or even at the memory of them celebrating their kill. He's looking through the trees, at the long green clearing that hadn't lain beyond the forest until just a second ago. He's looking at the fog rolling in.]

You know, I don't know what makes you think I can control this place, but--

[He cuts off his complaint, because it's suddenly unmerited. Here he is, human and fully clothed again. He doesn't remember picking up his clothes or transforming back, and the crunch of bone, flesh, and muscle rearranging themselves isn't something you just zone out for. Firo rubs his eyes and looks down at himself to make sure he's really seeing what he's seeing.

Whatever. This place is weird.

He tries to follow the shade's gaze.]

What're you lookin' at?

[From the path ahead, the trees clear. Or maybe the view was always clear. The field is green. Along one side, a river burbles quietly. Behind them there's a castle, one which ought to be very familiar. Above it all first morning's sun catches in the fog, casting the whole of the view with light, with wet, glittering motes of gold. It's hazy and, the shade thinks, impossibly beautiful. He doesn't look away from it.]

You showed me a cave where you were- What's the word? Turned? Or is that word for the bloodsuckers?

Nevermind. Your home. Was it all caves? Did your people ever dwell in the light?

[What a weird question. Firo snorts.]

Of course we go outside. We can't hunt in caves. We go to the town too, as long as we look human.

[He's not sure why the guy cares. Is he trying to dig up dirt on them? Firo reminds himself to be wary, and he tries to shift the topic to the new view before them.]

What's that?

[Only one way to find out. Firo jogs ahead through the new path. He only turns around to see if the shade is following after he's gone quite a few paces.]

[Following, almost. He's stopped in the middle of the path, one hand-shape turned palm-forward, as if wanting to run its fingers through something. He takes a few steps forward, stretching out his hand, but the sunlight won't touch him. The scene itself won't touch him: at a distance of about a foot from his shape the grass and the sun and the heavy golden mist start to crumble away from him until it seems he's standing in a morning meadow surrounded by a forest at night. He doesn't seem surprised about it. Just moves slow, staring around him.]

I didn't ask where you hunt. I asked where you lived. Wherever was home for all of you. Was it beautiful?

Edited 2016-12-18 23:05 (UTC)

[Firo turns to watch the shade in his little island away from the light. He's stunned by the way it fades and wraps around him--or maybe away from him would be more accurate.

He blinks slowly as he stares. It's hard to focus on the question when he's so curious about what else is going on. But he does tear himself out of his daze to fix his eyes on Roland's.]

The place doesn't matter. As long as we're together, then everything's fine.

[They have places where they bed down for the night--the caves during the full moon, places in town otherwise--but those are shelter. Home is something entirely different to Firo; it's more of a feeling than a place.]

Beautiful... I don't know. But everything's better with them.

[The shade stares at him a moment after he's finished, expressionlessly. Of course expressionlessly. His thoughts on that particular sentiment, though, might be hidden even if he did have a face. No particular reaction seems required, anyway; he grunts acknowledgement and heads off, the meadow crumbling away ahead of him and failing to mend behind. He leaves a trail of dark forest cutting through the scene behind him and does not, of course, head for the castle at the meadow's edge. No point. Whether he's outpacing the boy or not he moves on, makes his way quickly - maybe even hurriedly - around it.]

[Firo had expected some sort of response, so he pouts as he jogs to catch up with the shade.]

So? Why the hell'd you ask, huh?

I-

[His movement away doesn't stop but his words do, rather abruptly. In the feeling-thought which comprises his speech in this place, there's an impression of puzzlement. It's an impression says that if the shade had brows, he'd be furrowing them. Then it passes, as the sunlight passes into dark before them.]

Well, I asked because I wanted to know. What kind of reason are you looking for?

You don't know me or my pack. What's it to you what kinda place we live in? Or if it's beautiful--what are you, a freak?

[His tone is milder than might be expected with those words. He asks as if that's a normal thing to ask in conversation.]

[If it's not a normal thing to ask, he'll be hearing no different from this quarter. It's not spoken as an insult, so it does not occur to the shade to take it as one.]

Suppose I must be. Is that not the done thing anymore? Asking after a man's home? A boy's. Harder to read people than it used to be. Can't tell if I've crossed some kind of line or if you're hiding something.

I'm not hiding anything. We don't have anything to hide.

[He looks off into the light, and the corners of his frown cut even farther down his face.]

And I'm not a boy either.

[He's an adult. How could that not be obvious?]

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is it silly sappy-theme obvious-metaphor time

But of course

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