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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Go crazy, the lady says. If he weren't so tense, Jamie would laugh. They passed crazy a long time ago. Now that Eleanor has left the sword-goblin to him, he's unsure what to do with it. He wants the sword, that much he knows, but he hadn't gotten any further in his planning than that.

He doesn't even like swords very much, but having one would make him feel less like a sitting duck. That's the idea, anyway.

The goblin doesn't care whether or not Jamie has a well thought out plan. He urges the wolf closer, galloping up to Jamie's right leg and preparing to skewer the unprepared man on his blade.

"Goddess. Hold on, Eleanor."

For lack of a better idea, Jamie lets loose a terrified sounding shriek, wide-eyed, and points over the goblin's shoulder. Confused, the creature actually turns and looks.

Ha!

Jamie kicks out, leaning the other way when the sudden movement threatens to unseat him, and kicks the goblin as hard as he can; all while grabbing messily for the sword. A moment of wrestling follows, a series of kicks... and the blade is in Jamie's hand, minus the goblin. Stunned, he stares at it.

"I can't believe that worked."

The goblin can't believe it either, and reaches for another weapon at his side. Jamie does a double take and swiftly slices the creature's throat, leaving a gaping wound and no worry that the goblin will attempt to retrieve his sword a second time.

The ample reinforcements coming from the left -- forcing the bike off the main road, toward a thick area of trees -- might, however.

"Me either," Eleanor replies, on the brink of laughter even at this time of peril. She stopped shooting and took full control of the bike again when Jamie commenced his action hero routine. And his kill sparks a further congratulatory cry from her: "Way to go, AJ!"

The elimination of the swordsman still leaves an angry warg galloping along beside the bike, just as intent on finishing Eleanor and Jamie as its late riders. With ruthless efficiency, Eleanor puts a bullet between the creature's eyes as it swings its gaping, slobbery jaws towards them.

It's only when the beast falls by the wayside that she spots the reinforcements approaching on the other flank.

"Fuck."

She quickly empties her magazine into the new group, dropping the two lead wolves and three other goblins. That's enough to buy them a few more seconds of road time before they are cut off. But it does leave them with an ammunition problem.

"I'm out!" she announces, frantically scanning the terrain to their right.

"Hold tight! It's scenic detour time."

As luck would have it, there's a narrow break in the trees coming up, with ground that doesn't look too rough. She aims for that, leaving the pavement and somehow managing to keep the bike upright as they speed over the grassy shoulder, through some light brush, and into the woods.

Not too rough, but definitely rougher than the road.

"See?" he grunts, wincing as they fly over a small dirt mound. "Plenty of time for... ah... sightseeing."

Jamie is actually looking forward to the woods. They won't be as exposed, even if they have to stop and leave the bike, and it's more natural for him to try to blend into the trees than hide behind Eleanor.

They cross the tree line and he exhales slowly, relieved; until he looks back to see if they are still being pursued. The answer is yes, but more troubling is the way the trees are closing behind them, like soldiers marching into place. His view is quickly blocked. Up ahead, the trees seem to be moving out of their way.

It's probably just a wood god or goddess, intrigued by their plight, but Jamie points it out anyway, fingers tightening on the stolen sword.

"The trees are letting us pass," he informs Eleanor. "And not the goblins."

Frustrated howls come from beyond the woods, the sound dampened by distance and protective foliage.

"Seriously?"

Eleanor eases back on the throttle and checks their nine for herself. Jamie's sitrep is confirmed—they seem to be in the clear for now, uncanny tree behavior notwithstanding. "Huh. Weird," she assesses. She suspects that they aren't out of the woods yet, metaphorically as well as literally. But the respite from fighting for their lives is welcome.

Ahead, the way continues to appear even when they seem to be approaching impenetrable clusters of trees and undergrowth. It's a little unnerving.

"Maybe we finally found some friendlies in this fucked up place," she hazards. "Better than Team Ugly anyway."

The Honda isn't an off-road bike, but it's not struggling much on this spongy trail of leafmold and dirt. Eleanor slows their progress even more to navigate occasional rocks or exposed tree roots without damaging the suspension. And, shortly, she brings them to a complete halt.

"What do you reckon?"

She doesn't see that they have many options. It's keep going or head into the trees on foot. Either way, she's not leaving her bike behind, much like Jamie wouldn't leave a horse.

Jamie reckons he's very glad not to be moving anymore. Scrambling off the back of the bike, he stretches his long legs and turns his neck until it pops. A sigh of relief, and he smiles at her before taking a closer look at their surroundings. The sword is still in his hand, held loosely, as if he's forgotten it's there.

His smile is different, here. Less teasing, less knowing. Almost happy.

"A wood god, perhaps," he suggests, striding through a strip of undergrowth to rest a hand on a thick, mossy trunk. He senses something, but he'd be hard-pressed to describe what. Or why. "Maybe it doesn't care for the troll and his minions."

There. Something, a weak flash of light, blinks in his peripheral vision. Cocking his head, he squints to try to see it better.

It almost looks like sunlight reflecting off of glass.

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.