and in a burst of light that blinded every angel-
In spite of all his faith in the strange and fantastic, Fletcher Hadley never thought that wishing he could be somewhere else would actually work.
Not twenty seconds ago, he was charging into a mess of bodies-most alive, some already dead; most demon, some human-Claymore raised high above his head, ready to to swing and spill blood in the name of ( Read more... )
Not twenty seconds ago, he was charging into a mess of bodies-most alive, some already dead; most demon, some human-Claymore raised high above his head, ready to to swing and spill blood in the name of ( Read more... )
Comments 75
She'd been hunting monsters and being her badass self, rifle in hand, when the blast that comes out of nowhere has her landing on her ass. At least the monster she'd been ripping a new one into was dead by that point.
Still, she's not pleased. It killed her groove or something.
"The hell?" she asks, snatching a leaf off her hair and straightening in place. She turns to the side and jumps back a little. There is a stranger there and he's--she has no idea where he came from, either.
What even, world.
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Fletcher turns his head and blinks at the young lady, clearly dazed.
He says nothing to her. Instead, he lifts a hand and places it on his face, the universal gesture for IS THIS REAL LIFE? as well as HOW AM I NOT DEAD RIGHT NOW?
Because he seriously does not have an answer for either.
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She glances over at Fletcher, and offers a hand up to him.
It's not like she expects an answer. This is the Rift, and she wants to fucking tear it apart one day, but coherent answers need not apply.
"You okay there?"
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But since there is no battle...
After a few seconds pass he drifts from Jo, walking over toward the explosion's epicenter. When he finds his sword lying there, unharmed and normal-looking, he lifts his hands and takes a large step back.
"Okay. What the fuck."
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Little steps at first, eat properly, look after herself. Drag herself out of rock bottom. She's going to be a better person, and not a monster.
Until a shower of splinters rains down on her. She springs to her feet, glancing around with wide eyes. And then... well.
There will lots of staring. Lots of it.
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Fletcher's gaze is currently resting on the spot where that tree used to be, also known as the spot where he sword still is. He can see it glittering in the sunlight, which makes absolutely no sense.
Nothing at this moment in time makes any sense.
He sighs to himself and runs both hands through his hair, shaking his head. This is the part where he wakes up, right?
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Dylan bites down on her lip. She's sure she's imagining him. Because she knows for a fact that he's not meant to be here. He's meant to be back home in Scotland. But he's... right there.
She's worried her mind's playing tricks on her again. This is worse that her other self. She steps toward him, still wide-eyed.
"Y-you're here," she utters, "I thought... you weren't coming back,"
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More confusion. Just what he needs.
"Sorry, what?"
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Thankfully for his wiener mobile, Shawn isn't anywhere near this particular explosion, but here's the thing. When explosions happen in Chicago, you don't drive away -- you drive towards. You never know what kind of interesting things could be happening.
Exciting things are happening. Shawn clearly needs to be there.
By the time he gets to the scene of the explosion, the smoke has cleared, and there's a very confused man standing in the middle of it. Shawn's intuition -- which really isn't intuition and just Shawn making assumptions -- draws the conclusion that this man must be a new Wanderer and therefore has earned one of Shawn's excellent free hot dogs. He'll fix him one, wander his way over, and say with a smile.
"You're in Chicago. Hot dog?"
... The narration apologizes infinitely, Fletcher. Infinitely.
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Not that he thinks hot dogs are particularly delicious.
Nor is he sure that's what Shawn's actually trying to do. For all he knows, the guy could just be a weirdo who has a Thing for handing out hot dogs to confused-looking people on the street.
But food is food (he hopes), and since Fletch didn't have any breakfast this morning on the account of war breaking out, he wolfs it down.
"Thanks."
Pause.
"Chicago, you said?"
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"Yup. You've just fallen through a Rift in time and space. It's May 14, 2011, and you just missed out on weirdo rift week. Congrats."
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This guy's not one to ease in on the details, is he?
The delay in response from Fletcher's end is roughly a minute long this time, as he stares at Shawn with the most unblinking of eyes.
"Sorry, what?"
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