shatterverse | (no subject)

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A flash, a bang, and the number of tricky bastards in this sorry shell of a world just went up by one.

"Fuck," he muttered, the fall had crushed his lit Silk Cut. And there wasn't enough left to re-light the smoke. He got up, and blearily stared at his new surroundings. Awful lot of sand around here. Aw hell. He tapped out another smoke, and lit it. Better stretch these out before he can get to a duty free shop, or anywhere else that sells smokes.

"Shit, it's the fucking Sahara." He then exclaimed, smoke billowing out between his lips as he spoke, as he got a better look at the sand dunes. There was also that familiar tingle. Magic. or something like it. Close by, and its call was almost pulling at him like an eager sprog tugging at his coattails. Synchroncity still working for him clearly, so he started walking in the direction of it.

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There's no flash, and no bang.

There's not a single sign of transition.

What there is: a girl, where last instant there wasn't.

Stranger peers at John, an expression of intent curiosity.

"Your head," she declares solemnly after a moment, "is not on fire."

"No? Good on me then, fucking hot enough out here for it," He didn't seem that surprised about girls showing up out of nowhere, and just gave her the onceover as he smoked.

She wrinkles her nose at the smoke.

"It's a lie."

Tugging a scarf out of her pocket and offering it to him, "There aren't any flowers today."

Great, probably another of those holier than thou non-smokers. He just smirked and made sure his next exhalation gave her a good snootful of smoke.

"Be hard for them to grow here, luv. Standing in the middle of the desert." He took the scarf from her, and nodded, "Ta," before he affixed it around his head to help keep the sun off of his head.

For no good reason, she giggles.

"Polka dots."

Not that the scarf has any; it's a perfectly ordinary shade of pale blue.

"It's a bit of misfortune, isn't it?"

Madder than a hatter, well that's all right then. He's dealt with his share of crazies, and ever since Newcastle he certainly couldn't claim sanity either.

"Mebbe, now for a way out of this oversized sandbox, unless you're hiding a plane or any sort of a transport in those pockets of yours?" Maybe he knows something, maybe he's bullshitting. Hard to tell with John.

"We'll have to wait for the boots."

She looks around, shrugs, and starts walking in a randomly chosen direction.

"There's stuff this way!"

Well, depending how far you're willing to walk, there's stuff everywhere.

He shrugged, and well it was a good as any. Even though that tingling was getting insistent. The familiar itch of magic, and it was bloody strong too. Something discordant though, something broken about it.

After about ten minutes' walk she stops dead.

"They're here," she says cheerfully, holding a hand out to John. "Makes the walk quicker."

Well, when in Rome...

He grabbed her hand.

And with that same transitionless movement, Stranger takes a step

(discontinuity)

and they're somewhere else.

Beam!

"The seven leagues are just a guideline," she confides as she keeps walking. Every step is another discontinuous jump, until they're standing in a relatively cool building and she beams and lets go of his hand.

Nothing he wasn't familiar with, but still handy in a pinch.

"Well, aren't you useful? Never need a plane with you around." He smirked around his lit fag.

"Only if you like to wait. They come and go."

Also, getting to a specific destination with Stranger is like herding cats. Cats that are also magpies. And the magpies hallucinate.

"One of those transitional abilities eh? Once in a blue moon, or moon in the tenth house, innit?"

"Something like that."

She sounds wise, unless you happen to know that she's batshit insane.

He knew that you muck about with powers enough, it'll fuck up your mind eventually. Sure as the sun setting each night.

He nodded, and exhaled some more smoke. Looking to walk out the door of the building, get an eyeful of where he was now.

Stranger, on the other hand, makes a close investigation of the floor.

He stepped outside to a city surroundings. Looked American in the feel of it... actually a bit familiar. The scrap of paper blowing past saying Daily Planet clinched it.

Metropolis.

"Where are we?" she asks, cheerfully.

"Metropolis. I know of this city, usually don't bother with it since that pansy in the cape and tights usually around. Looked like he was asleep at his post."

"Perhaps he was eaten by the bugs with tentacles," she says gravely.

Then giggles.

He grimaced at that, "Strewth! If the Old Ones are busy having a tea party around here, I'm leaving."

At this, Stranger just wrinkles her nose again.

"No? Good, hope the pub's still working." Probably have to settle for that piss Yanks claim as beer though. Finding a pint's too much to hope for in most of this country. Also to get a refill on his smokes.

"There are lots!"

This is complete bullshit, but with Stranger it's so hard to tell.

And as it happens, it's true. She just has no way of knowing.

"We'll see."

Because he could really use a drink, or several.

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