open » do you know what's worth fighting for?

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She’s cold. Her head hurts. She’s hungry. Really hungry.

But Vicki does her best to push those thoughts aside as she runs. The perks, as Damon called them, weren’t so bad. Maybe it would only get better, though she imagines it would be the latter. The brisk air of the night keeps her hair behind her as she does her best to navigate at such a speed

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[lefttogive]

John's lost count as to how many Wanderers he's seen, freshly fallen through the Rift.

Their reactions are varied, and there isn't any way to easily predict the outcome, or what approach might work best. Worry etches into his features at the sight of the running girl, and he stops in his tracks.

It isn't in him to just keep walking, not when he, as an angel, knows she is lost. He's not also a fan of the you can't go back home speech, but then, no one really is. After only a small moment of deliberation, he starts to move again.

"Hey!" he calls out, jogging up so that he may catch up to her. "Hey, it's okay."

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The unfamiliar voice catches her attention, enough so for Vicki to stop and direct all her attention to John.

Did she know him? No. But who else did she have to question right now? Her head continues to throb and her jaw clenches, causing her to speak through her teeth. She has so much to say and to ask - maybe even demand, but it’s hard to focus on just one thing. Wherever this place is, it’s busy. Busy and loud. All the voices she hears are jumbled and confusing and irritating. It’s easy to see the distraught look across her face.

"Where the hell am I?" It sounds bitter, but what about her mood wasn't? As tempted as she feels to just charge at him she keeps her distance.

Self-control. She can handle this.

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John isn't going to fault her for the bitterness.

Hell, if he was in her shoes, any of their shoes, he'd be reacting just as bitterly, if not worse. He lifts up his hands in front of him, in a gesture that's meant to convey he means no harm. He's not exactly going to blame her if she doesn't take his words for it. "I'm only trying to help here," he says cautiously, and his steps slow down but he doesn't stop walking. Talking about it in the open air is dangerous as it is.

You never know if anti-Wanderer groups are watching.

"You're in Chicago," he answers. "You fell through something called a Rift, and it takes you from your world and brings you into this one, basically. I know it's going to sound like some bad acid trip but... it's true.

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"I didn't take anything! Stop--!"

And she stops short, letting out a sound of frustration, though not quite sure what to call it. Now she was getting her real-world problems mixed up with the ones she was having...here. In this place. In this Rift, whatever the hell that was.

She moves toward him, stopping directly in front of him. It looks like she might cry but she has a strong refusal and is only letting her anger for these happenings show. And she really did have no one else but him to question, so who else would she blame?

"What did you do?"

Her words are loud and firm. Her muscles are tense and her senses are going crazy. Still, Vicki continues to look him straight in the eye. Her lips are twitching a little as she does her best to maintain some composure.

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"I wasn't accusing you of taking anything," John says calmly. "You're the one that was taken, in a way."

It's a sharp contrast to her own reactions, but it takes a lot to faze him. John doesn't take a step back when she approaches him, and he looks right back at her, straight in the eye. Unwavering. He sympathizes with her, but he has a feeling that it's not something she'd want.

"I didn't do anything. Rifts are these... breaks, I guess you can call them. In space and time. Holes in the universe and all that crap. It makes it so that people can fall into one world even when they're from another. I know it's hard to believe, but... you're here, aren't you? It's Chicago. August, 2011."

They always fall from different time periods. Sometimes they're from the past. Sometimes they're from way into the future.

None of them can ever go back.

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"Why would I be taken? You know a lot for someone who had nothing to do with it."

Her fists squeeze tight and her knuckles go white. This wasn't telling her anything, and tears of aggravation start to form in the back of her eyes. Of course. Something like this had to happen to her, right?

"It's 2009." She points it out randomly a few secconds later like it would solve anything. Subconsciously she starts pacing in front of him, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind. "I need to go home."

She wonders how many times those words have escaped her lips.

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"You're not the first one that's fallen through the Rift. Lots of folks do. That's how I know," John points out, and he takes a deep breath and waits for her to say something, since he's not inclined to give all the information out at once. It's a lot, and most don't believe it from the get-go.

He'd be a little worried if they did.

The words make him pause, and he hates this. He hates this part. "It's 2011 in this world. You can pick up any newspaper you'd like and see for yourself," he says quietly, preparing himself for the heart of the matter. It's never easy to say it, and he reckons it doesn't come close to being the one to hear it, whether one believes the words at first or not.

"I'm sorry, but you can't. Go home. The Rift only works one way."

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"I don't want a newspaper!" And she almost continues with I want to go home but can only imagine how childish that would sound. Not that she would care. The opinion of this stranger meant nothing to her. Still, she stood in front of him arguing her invalid point and it seemed to be keeping her pretty sane right about now.

"How long have you been here?" She wipes her eyes with her arm and stops pacing. A few days ago, she learned that vampires were real and that she'd become one. Today, apparently she fell through a Rift.

It was almost hard not to believe, but she didn't want to buy it all so easily.

She also didn't want to seem like a little lost girl that couldn't fend of herself. So for now, she'll just leave her general questions to him.

[lefttogive]

"No, but it's proof, and there's a lot you're not going to want or like about the truth. I'd rather give you the ugly truth than not, because it's what's going to help you, whether you realize it or not," John says, and he still does not look or sound fazed. He's insistent, but he's not going to argue back at her. He's had pretty vehement reactions in the past.

It's not something he's unused to.

"Ten years," he answers. "Give or take. I'm not a Wanderer, though. That's what you're called here, in this world. Everyone that falls through is a Wanderer. Some have been here for a really long time, some have only just arrived, like you."

Some don't make it past their first day, but that's not exactly shining endorsement.

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She stares in awe for a few minutes. It's a lot for her to take in, to grasp and process, but she'd at least like to pretend she knew what he was talking about. If her mind would settle on the words being spoken to her, and that alone, maybe she would get it.

But instead she wipes the last tears that had yet to fall from her eyes and continues to glare. She didn't need this. She didn't need this - she wasn't a Wanderer and it isn't 2011, and she'll be damned if she spends ten years here willingly.

"If I'm a 'Wanderer' because I fell through, what the hell are you?"