Hangin' 'Round the Mistletoe
I don't know if this is still technically the place everyone was calling Tabula Rasa, or if we've all been relocated, temporarily or otherwise. I don't know what's up with the population, all those people that aren't really there. (Maybe whoever was doing the interdimensional transport mucked up the landing, and from their perspective, we're the ghosts.) I don't know if going to that party was worth it, or if I managed to do any good, there. I don't know what to do about that whole Chase situation.
But I do know this:
I love being back in a city.
It's not the right city, it's not my city. The buildings are different. My costume is different, and actually kind of better put together than what I had assembled before everything changed to suit the theme. There are goggles. They're pretty neat. My web-shooters are different, too, now bulky brass clockwork contraptions that sit on the outside of the costume.
But they still work.
And so most nights I'm out here, and I'm still grinning like a loon under the mask as I swing from building to building through the night. I can't stick to walls any more, so I have to be careful about finding ledges and rooftops whenever I'm looking to stop and catch my bearings, but it's not like they're in short supply.
I've found a decent one right now, for instance, while I wind my web-shooters -- I've gotten really paranoid about that, since they became clockwork -- and keep an eye out for trouble.
I'm a little perversely disappointed, but that's fine, really. Everyone can be safe, and I can carry on enjoying myself swinging on. I fire a webline and launch myself off the ledge, arcing smoothly through-
SMACK.
It's like swinging face first into a wall. Only there's nothing there. I can see where I was going as clear as anything.
For a fraction of a second. That's all I get to try and shake off the shock. I don't even get to wondering what's going on because-
Because the webline just snapped and I'm high above the street with nothing to hold on to. This place may be magic, it may be filled with improbable steampunk technology, but-
(Oh shit oh shit)
-gravity is still that same old charming fellow I love to hate, and he's not letting me take a cartoon pause in mid-air to figure things out.
I'm falling.
I twist in mid-air, hit the side of the nearest building with a webline, no time for elegance or planning or technique. I just need to be attached to something. After a heart-stopping moment while I think it didn't take the line goes taut.
This time, I can see the wall I crash into, like I'm George of the freakin' Jungle. It'd knock the wind out of me, except the invisible wall already did that, I don't have any wind left to lose, and for a moment all I can do is hang on, arms feeling like they're about to just come right out of their sockets, like I'm a doll being torn apart by a toddler.
Remember when I said it was fine that I can't stick to walls any more? I was wrong. It's not fine. It's terrible. It is the worst thing, and I hate it, and I hate everything.
Also on the 'Things I Miss With Heartrending Earnestness' list: The proportional strength of a spider, as I try and scrabble to get my feet flat on the wall so I can edge up, walking myself up the wall by the line like I'm Batman.
Adam West Batman. The dorky, awkward, ridiculous one, that's what I am right now. After a couple of moments where my foot slips out from under me, I make it to a tiny outcropping I can perch on. I can see some windows, but before I try to get to one, I want to figure out what just happened.
Invisible wall. I doubt anyone invented the steampunk forcefield. Even if they did, why deploy it there? Did I just get winged by a thrown brick or something? No, that feels completely different.
I cast my gaze around. Then, with a slowly dawning horror, I look up.
"Son of a bitch."
Viscum album. In North America generally Phoradendron serotinum is used instead, but I'm looking at the original, European variety.
Mistletoe. There is a sprig of mistletoe attached to the side of the building above me. I know how this works. The standard mistletoe tradition, with an overzealous order of magic to make sure people make good on that tradition.
"You are the worst plant. The worst! I am- I'm on the side of the building! I am high up on the side of a building, what am I meant to do, hope for an amorous pigeon?!"
Okay. Okay, Jess, don't panic. It's fine. You're going to die of starvation huddled on an overhanging architectural feature in Magic Victorian London, but it's fine.
No. No, that's not right.
Exposure. You're going to die of exposure huddled on an overhanging architectural feature in Magic Victorian London.
I mean, what am I meant to do? Despite my brave words to the parasitic plant currently out to slowly murder me, I am not macking on any pigeons, also, that wouldn't work, because it is deeply stupid. Do I hope for Batman? Or any of the other costumed folks that might be taking the same opportunity I did, also reveling in swinging from building to building, rooftop to rooftop? They're bound to be out there, but it's a big city, what are the chances they're going to come down this street, notice me stuck here? A girl can hope, but I can't rely on it.
I look down at the street, at the moderately tiny people. If I can spot someone who isn't a Random Ghost Extra, maybe I can get their attention. I don't know what they'd do, from all the way down there, since blowing kisses is really not going to appease the stupid magic weed, but it'd be a start.
"Christmas is a jerk."
[She's awkwardly situated, but open to all - if your pup is street-level she'll find a way to try and get their attention. Note that she's masked up, with the goggles down. ST/LT a-ok as usual.]
But I do know this:
I love being back in a city.
It's not the right city, it's not my city. The buildings are different. My costume is different, and actually kind of better put together than what I had assembled before everything changed to suit the theme. There are goggles. They're pretty neat. My web-shooters are different, too, now bulky brass clockwork contraptions that sit on the outside of the costume.
But they still work.
And so most nights I'm out here, and I'm still grinning like a loon under the mask as I swing from building to building through the night. I can't stick to walls any more, so I have to be careful about finding ledges and rooftops whenever I'm looking to stop and catch my bearings, but it's not like they're in short supply.
I've found a decent one right now, for instance, while I wind my web-shooters -- I've gotten really paranoid about that, since they became clockwork -- and keep an eye out for trouble.
I'm a little perversely disappointed, but that's fine, really. Everyone can be safe, and I can carry on enjoying myself swinging on. I fire a webline and launch myself off the ledge, arcing smoothly through-
SMACK.
It's like swinging face first into a wall. Only there's nothing there. I can see where I was going as clear as anything.
For a fraction of a second. That's all I get to try and shake off the shock. I don't even get to wondering what's going on because-
Because the webline just snapped and I'm high above the street with nothing to hold on to. This place may be magic, it may be filled with improbable steampunk technology, but-
(Oh shit oh shit)
-gravity is still that same old charming fellow I love to hate, and he's not letting me take a cartoon pause in mid-air to figure things out.
I'm falling.
I twist in mid-air, hit the side of the nearest building with a webline, no time for elegance or planning or technique. I just need to be attached to something. After a heart-stopping moment while I think it didn't take the line goes taut.
This time, I can see the wall I crash into, like I'm George of the freakin' Jungle. It'd knock the wind out of me, except the invisible wall already did that, I don't have any wind left to lose, and for a moment all I can do is hang on, arms feeling like they're about to just come right out of their sockets, like I'm a doll being torn apart by a toddler.
Remember when I said it was fine that I can't stick to walls any more? I was wrong. It's not fine. It's terrible. It is the worst thing, and I hate it, and I hate everything.
Also on the 'Things I Miss With Heartrending Earnestness' list: The proportional strength of a spider, as I try and scrabble to get my feet flat on the wall so I can edge up, walking myself up the wall by the line like I'm Batman.
Adam West Batman. The dorky, awkward, ridiculous one, that's what I am right now. After a couple of moments where my foot slips out from under me, I make it to a tiny outcropping I can perch on. I can see some windows, but before I try to get to one, I want to figure out what just happened.
Invisible wall. I doubt anyone invented the steampunk forcefield. Even if they did, why deploy it there? Did I just get winged by a thrown brick or something? No, that feels completely different.
I cast my gaze around. Then, with a slowly dawning horror, I look up.
"Son of a bitch."
Viscum album. In North America generally Phoradendron serotinum is used instead, but I'm looking at the original, European variety.
Mistletoe. There is a sprig of mistletoe attached to the side of the building above me. I know how this works. The standard mistletoe tradition, with an overzealous order of magic to make sure people make good on that tradition.
"You are the worst plant. The worst! I am- I'm on the side of the building! I am high up on the side of a building, what am I meant to do, hope for an amorous pigeon?!"
Okay. Okay, Jess, don't panic. It's fine. You're going to die of starvation huddled on an overhanging architectural feature in Magic Victorian London, but it's fine.
No. No, that's not right.
Exposure. You're going to die of exposure huddled on an overhanging architectural feature in Magic Victorian London.
I mean, what am I meant to do? Despite my brave words to the parasitic plant currently out to slowly murder me, I am not macking on any pigeons, also, that wouldn't work, because it is deeply stupid. Do I hope for Batman? Or any of the other costumed folks that might be taking the same opportunity I did, also reveling in swinging from building to building, rooftop to rooftop? They're bound to be out there, but it's a big city, what are the chances they're going to come down this street, notice me stuck here? A girl can hope, but I can't rely on it.
I look down at the street, at the moderately tiny people. If I can spot someone who isn't a Random Ghost Extra, maybe I can get their attention. I don't know what they'd do, from all the way down there, since blowing kisses is really not going to appease the stupid magic weed, but it'd be a start.
"Christmas is a jerk."
[She's awkwardly situated, but open to all - if your pup is street-level she'll find a way to try and get their attention. Note that she's masked up, with the goggles down. ST/LT a-ok as usual.]