shatterverse | (no subject)

In Metropolis....

Eden McCain has a table to herself at a coffee shop - notebook papers are spread over it with titles like 'Main Character' and 'Subplot 1'. The great post-apocalyptic novel isn't going to get written any other way! She felt like dressing like a cliche artist - and is wearing a navy blue beret.

Tom Therin is whistling cheerfully to himself as he walks down the street, idly looking for pockets to pick.

On the Cooper farm....

Bridgette Dubois has a stuffed pony, a lion, and a unicorn in a semi-circle on the lawn to the Cooper house. "Whoever wants me to sing Lion King at the talent show, say aye!"

The stuffed animals are silent, but Bridgette - after checking on Marie, who claps her hands in agreement an area to her left - nods as if they actually spoke. "All right - how about Sound of Music?"

Oliver Wycliffe, dressed in white and looking thoughtful, is riding his stallion Beauregard down the road to the farm.

Dana, an extremely tired-looking young woman in ratty jeans and a T-shirt, is waiting nervously in front of the hospital, gnawing on her lip.

[ooc: Tag one, tag all, but please let me know which one you're tagging!]

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Oliver's eyebrows go up a bit. A useful talent, to be able to detect demons in such a way. He must ask Sonia about her abilities sometime.

"It is an unfortunate incident," he murmurs.

"Is there anyone else like that I ought to know about?" he asks, frowning. "I'd like to know, if there is. It's not like I can just outrun them at the moment."

Oliver thinks back. "I don't believe so. Few have her holy gifts."

'Most people here don't consider your kind demonic', he almost says.

"That's a relief," he says with a sigh. But he stills looks around carefully for a moment, to make sure there's no signs of crazy women with whips out and about.

After a few moments of silence, he decides to go for a change in topic. "Is Huxley doing well?"

"He hasn't fit in well with the herd," Oliver replies. "But they're starting to integrate him. It's just taking some time."

Edwin just sighs again. "Been trying to take pieces out of all of them, I'm sure. He has a horrible temper."

Oliver frowns.

"Yes...it's very difficult to Talk to him. He's quite a combatative thing. Needs a firm hand on him."

He's sore that he hasn't been able to make more progress with Huxley - though, honestly, he hasn't been trying all that hard.

"I've found that when all else fails, I ought to just hang on and hope for the best-or partially shift and start squawking at him. He seems to understand that well enough."

"Mmm," Oliver replies, interested by the information but not wanting to pursue it.

Until an idea strikes.

"Perhaps you visiting sometime might make him more amiable. If you can provide what he's used to...."

"Which would mainly be a familiar target to bite, to be honest. I've no idea how I would get there, though."

"You might ask someone with a car," Oliver says.

He doesn't suggest the van.

"I wonder if I could even fit in one at the moment," he says, glancing down at his leg. "...Which reminds me that I ought to ask the physician how much longer he thinks I'll be stuck this way."

"Quite an abrupt fellow," Oliver understates.

"And not as accurate with biology as I'd like...he thought I was a chicken."

All right, he does bear some resemblance to barnyard fowl in animal form, but it's the principle of the thing.

There's a split second where the corner of Oliver's lip twitches up. But then it's back to normal.

Maybe you just imagined it.

"It is a rather unusual--" demon "-- form."

"Apparently there's a good number of dinosaur-skins-mostly in Euloria. They just happen to be damned good at hiding, for the most part."

Oliver gives an absent-minded nod.

From his altered perspective he feels a 'good for them' is called for...but he really doesn't feel like saying it.

"I keep hoping one of them will show up, or someone from my dig-it would be nice to see someone familiar, even under the...odd circumstances."

Oliver takes a deep breath in.

"There was a 'skin on the farm - a few months ago. A rat-skin named Tom. No one knows to where he left, and I've seen no one from our land since yourself."

"I suppose that means that the chances of someone recognizable coming in are rather low, then." Edwin frowns, thinking.

"I've not been able to sense a pattern to who is brought here and for what reason." He shakes his head. "We might even find different versions of ourselves, from what I've heard...."

Edwin makes what can only be described as a 'bwuh?' expression. "What?"

Oliver is rather vague on this concept himself. Really, it's one of those things he tries not to think about.

"Somehow two versions of the same person can be brought here. I confess I know little more than that."