shatterverse | (no subject)

Current Location: US 34, Western Iowa

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(no subject)

It starts the usual way: A flash, a bang, a person standing, disoriented, near a long stretch of deserted road.

But this man falls to his knees-

(thousands of voices; screaming, crying in his head; anger and despair and everything in between, and he can’t fight, can’t ignore, can’t resist them; stop, stop, Goddess why won’t it STOP)

-and clutches his head, letting loose an agonized shout of surprise.

Then it's over, and it's like it never was.

Jamie lowers his hands, noticing in a detached manner that short strands of blond hair come away in his fingers, and sits back on his haunches, blinking. The last thing he remembers is laughing at a joke -- a bad one, with three tavern wenches and a statue -- and climbing a ladder to get at the apples high in an Olau tree. His shirt still smells like the orchard: sun and fruit and green, growing things. Had he fallen? Is this a fevered hallucination brought on by his broken body and healing magic gone wrong? Grace never could get the hang of it. She’s probably given him an extra thumb.

No. All’s right with that.

Digging his fingers into the earth beside the road, he watches it sift back to the ground. It's chunky and rough, but not dry. Even so, it's clearly not the smooth, dark soil of Olau. Jamie sniffs his hand, frowns and pulls himself to his feet. The road crests a hill to the west. Maybe there's something on the other side to explain what's happened; maybe not. Nothing to do, he supposes, but to start walking.

He'll get back to the pain (voices) in his head later. When the mood strikes.

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It's nice to see Jamie in his element, but there are more pressing matters to take care of.

Eleanor stays put on the gently idling bike, her feet planted in the soft earth on either side to keep it vertical. One hand delves into the right hand pannier and retrieves a small box of bullets, which she then proceeds to press one-by-one into the empty magazine of her pistol. She works with well-practiced speed, and no more than thirty seconds later the slide clunks back into its normal place, chambering the first round.

"Anything's possible, I guess," she concedes.

Noticing Jamie's preoccupation, she peers through the densely ranked trees in the same direction.

"Gingerbread house?" she queries. From her angle very few details can be picked out, but the block of contrasting light is almost certainly a building of some variety. Given what they've been through so far today, her suggestion is reasonable.

"No. That would be silly."

Frowning, Jamie takes another step into the trees.

"It looks like a small village. I think I see-" He puts a foot on an exposed root and pushes up, craning his neck for a better angle. His upper torso quickly disappears into the foliage.

Jamie has a lot of experience climbing trees.

"Yes! I see people," he calls back.

"Yeah?"

She sounds vaguely interested.

"Normal people?"

It's worth checking. For all she knows, they might have stumbled upon a commune of dark elves, or a coven of witches.

Her gun now reloaded and returned to her rear waistband, Eleanor removes a crumpled soft pack of Marlboros from the front pocket of her jeans while she waits for his report. She gives the pack a shake and flicks the bottom, presenting one of the four remaining cigarettes through the tear-hole. In short order, it's plucked out, placed between her lips, and set alight by a Zippo.

Ahhh, that's the stuff.

"Well," says Jamie, "they walk upright and appear to have the appropriate number of limbs, but more than that is hard to say from this distance."

There's a rustling sound, followed by a pause.

"Although it doesn't seem too far to walk," he adds at last, somewhat hopefully. Sniffing the air, he pokes his head out of the tree to eye Eleanor, and examine her cigarette. A curious look crosses his face.

Thwack.

It's followed closely by surprise, as he goes flying through the air and lands on his back in the soft earth, sliding until his head thumps against the bike's front tire. A shower of leaves accompanies him, making it hard to tell what precipitated his fall.

"Unngh."

Eleanor tracks his comical flight and landing with raised eyebrows. Judging that he's not in any major pain, she leans forward when he's come to a complete stop, with her head canted slightly and a wry smirk on her face.

"You alright there, AJ?"

"I meant to say, probably not the best idea to play around in trees like these. My bad."

The fall robs Jamie of breath. A full minute passes before he can speak. Until then, he pulls himself up on his elbows and stares blankly at Eleanor. At least she didn't assume he fell from his own carelessness. In her shoes, he probably would.

"The tree," he wheezes eventually, "hit me."

It's almost petulant. Trees usually love him! As much as a normal tree can, that is.

Eleanor takes a languorous drag from her cigarette while Jamie recovers, and continues to look mildly amused. Despite the fact that she didn't see the blow, the sound effect and his angle of exit did suggest some kind of defensive strike by the tree.

"I'm guessing it didn't like being grabbed and trodden on," she surmises.

Without warning, a thin leafy branch stretches out from a different tree and gives Eleanor's bare shoulder a vicious slap.

"Ow!" she cries. "Hey! What the fuck was that for?"

The bough withdraws just as quickly under the girl's withering scowl.

"I've got fire here," she warns. "You don't wanna be messing with us."

"I wouldn't joke about fire," Jamie suggests, smiling as he stands and brushes himself off.

A glance up the path tells him nothing new. It's clear, with no known impediments, unlike the forest around them. To him, their next move is easy: if the magical trees or forest spirits want them to go a certain way, then that's the way they go.

He climbs silently on the back of the bike and makes himself comfortable. "There's probably another path that cuts over to the village. I'm sure we can find it."

Still glowering, Eleanor nods her agreement.

She rubs irritably at the reddening area of skin where the branch whacked her—just above a tattoo of a heart with a dagger thrust through it—then works on finishing her smoke. She's in no hurry to move off.

"Maybe."

She certainly doesn't want to try getting through on foot at this point. Not after those random acts of aggression from the trees.

Expression softer, she glances back at him. "You think we should check it out? Did it look safe?"

"If I say yes, would it really make any difference here?" he says, not unkindly, eyes roaming over her face. "It looked like contact with people who might be able to explain. I'm willing to take the risk if you are."

The moment seems to call for reassurance of one sort or another, so he gives her side a gentle squeeze.

"Next time you light one of those, you might offer a pull to a lad who's had a hard day."

He smiles.

Without any real change in expression, Eleanor curls her free hand around his comforting grip, absently reciprocating the gesture. She also squints towards the village again. Unenlightened by the view, she shrugs.

"I'm game. If things go to shit, we've got my gun and whatever we can do with your pig sticker."

He'd seemed pretty adept with the sword once it had come into his possession, and if push comes to shove, she could use it too—firearms weren't the only weapons her parents schooled her in. After another lazy drag, she passes the last third of her cigarette back to him, trapped between her first and index fingers.

"Sorry," she says. "I know your sister smokes sometimes. Should've figured you did too."

"She does?" His eyebrows shoot up. He takes the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, examining it as he did the dirt earlier. "I've never known her to-

"Oh."

An alternate version of his sister is curiously more difficult to swallow than another of himself.

"I don't make a habit of it," he explains several seconds later. Done eyeing the smoking cylinder of tightly packed paper, he takes a drag and seems to savor the sensation. "What is he like? Your alternate Jamie?"

"I don't know him," Eleanor admits. "We didn't get to talk at the party, and before that I hadn't seen him since we were kids. He was kinda drunk, spent most of his time messing round in the lake with Grace and some other random chicks. They were all over him like a bad rash."

She gives another shrug.

"Happy-go-lucky? Bit of a ladies man? I dunno."

Jamie laughs out loud, but he neither confirms nor denies any such similarities. Smirking, he passes back the cigarette, which probably has one good drag left in it, and wipes his hands on his worn trousers.

"I'd much rather mess around on land than in water."

"Yeah?" Eleanor says, returning his smirk with interest.

"Good to know."

She takes a last hit off the smoldering butt, before crushing it out on the sole of her boot and depositing it in the tiny ashtray under the bike's front console. It's a tight squeeze—the little container is nearly overflowing already.

"I'm usually up for anything. Solid ground is fine. The odd knee-trembler in the shower can be a blast. And hot tub sex always rocks."

"I wouldn't know" is said.

I wouldn't mind trying it is implied, if his tone, warm eyes and cheeky smile are any indication.

"Ready?"

"Sure am," she verifies, looking very pleased with his reaction.

"Keep an eye out for any cut-throughs. Fuck knows where this trail is gonna lead us."

Without waiting for a reply, she slips the bike into gear and starts them motoring carefully down the pseudo-track once more.

Most of her attention is taken by the route ahead, and by the task of keeping the ride as obstacle free as possible. If there are any potential ways to the village, it's more than likely that she's going to miss them. So Jamie does need to keep watch.

And keep watch he does. Feeling oddly relaxed, Jamie turns his head back and forth, searching each side of the path for some sign of another route heading off into the trees. But the path stays straight and narrow, with no sign of a way to the village.

Narrower, he ammends silently. It looks as if it's getting harder and harder to navigate.

"Stop!" he cries suddenly, lifting a hand from her waist to point. "There's the village again."

Frowning, Jamie notices that the perspective looks just as it did before.

Eleanor doesn't need to be told twice. The trail is getting very claustrophobic. All manner of branches now criss-cross above it, often obstructing the bike's forward motion or necessitating ducking maneuvers to avoid them. And far too many well-girthed tree trunks are now within arm's length on either side. If they go much further they are going to have to fight to gain ground.

She brakes and drops the bike into neutral. "Good thing," she comments over the rumble of the engine. "We're running out of path."

Observing the view, she then comes to the same annoying conclusion as Jamie.

"Shit. We're in the same place. The damn trees sent us in a circle."

And there's still no way through.

"A circle." Incredulous, Jamie stares at one particularly menacing looking tree, then back at the village. "But how? We didn't-"

How doesn't matter. What matters is that in the few seconds he'd turned his head, a branch had ruffled his hair with a sharp Whoosh. It felt like a warning.

It felt too close for comfort.

"You're taunting us," he accuses coldly. "Why?"

Part of him truly expects an answer. Jamie has never felt anything but at home in the forest, and he's no longer amused by any of this.

Nor is Eleanor.

"Unless you wanna become part of the compost round here," she tells Jamie, "we probably shouldn't stay to find out."

The trees respond by looming closer still, their canopy screening off the last traces of sky above. And at ground level, underwood shifts and grows until the way forward is fully blocked for the bike. They are now surrounded.

"C'mon! Let's see if we can get through on foot. Might be our only chance."

Engine cut off, she hops out of the saddle and prepares to push the bike into the boscage between them and the village. She'll use it as a battering ram against the shrubbery if need be and worry about the tires later. But, she hopes it won't come to that.

It might.

As soon as they leave the rapidly dwindling clear space behind, the branches start moving. At first it's a mere hint of motion just out of their line of sight, but the further they go, the bolder the swipes become. The trees toy with them, pushing them on, wielding leaves that feel sharper than they should and flinging limbs into their path.

Soon it will be a full out attack.

"Mithros," Jamie mutters, ducking and weaving. He's curiously unwilling to use the sword for anything but a bit of a shield.

Slapping, whipping leaves become gnarled finger-like branch tips, clawing and stabbing at their skin and clothes. To Eleanor it's reminiscent of a certain nightmarish scene from her favorite fairy tale. But here and now it's all too real.

"Argh. Motherfucker!" she cries out as a particularly cruel limb scratches her forearm and draws blood. With both hands occupied on the bike's handlebars, she's pretty much defenseless against the onslaught. Thankfully though, she does still have her helmet on. She takes a moment to drop the mirrored visor in order to protect her face.

"For fuck's sake fight back!" she shouts to Jamie.

"Chop the bastards up or we're never gonna make it!"

Face set in an unhappy frown, Jamie ignores her, pushing into the blows and trying to keep them clear of Eleanor. His shirt and skin suffer for it.

He ignores her right up until spindly twigs grab his collar and send him spinning into the grasp of another tree, then slap his face like a giant hand, leaving the taste of blood in his mouth.

Grimly, Jamie lifts his sword, takes a deep breath and goes on the offensive. It's not pretty. He lacks his mother's talent. But it's knowledgeable -- as if he knows well in advance just what angle will do the most damage, so style doesn't matter much to him. Chopping, hacking and driving forward, quiet as the grave, he begins to make headway.

Not much, however.

Jamie's sword work doesn't critically wound any of the trees. It does serve to anger them though. Before long their attacks start to intensify and become even more violent. Eleanor takes a heavy clout to the helmet, and while she's off-balance, a spear-like branch follows up with a nasty jab into her upper thigh. She yelps again, and more blood flows, darkening the punctured denim below the point of impact.

That's the final straw.

Fuming, she leans the bike against her uninjured thigh and digs into the nearest pannier bag. From it she draws a can of hairspray and pops off the lid.

"Skewer me will you?" she yells at the forest.

Flicking her Zippo open, she sparks it and holds the flame up to the nozzle of the aerosol. One depressed button later, and a roaring cloud of fire jets away from the can.

She sends it in a sweeping arc (nowhere near Jamie) scorching and burning any branches that are within range.