Ordinary Days

[Huitzil]

"'Kay."

Paul starts pushing buttons on the phone, producing soft beeps with each keypress, pausing after each set of five or six to look in a phone book opened at his side. He mutters "fucking international dialing codes..." after about twenty, "Damn it, I think I did the one for Canada..." after thirty-five or so, and "GODDAMNIT WHY THE FUCK CAN'T I JUST PRESS THE BUTTON AND MAKE IT GO?" at seventy or eighty.

He, of course, is not dialing an international number; he is sending a text message to Nathan, which reads as follows:

Code Select Expand

NEED HLP FROM AI. MAKE FAKE CC PURCHASES IN FRNCE 4 ALL F US SUVENRS TOURS TICKETS 2 PLAYS. BUY TIX TO GIB. THAT LEAV IN 2 WKS. C U THR SOONR. HUIT.

After all the buttons have been pressed and the message sent, he holds the phone to his ear and starts making nonverbal,impatient noises. After he counts out 30 seconds in his head (his estimate of 7 seconds per ring, 4 rings, and 2 seconds of answering machine message) he starts to talk... "Hi, this is Tim, just calling to let you know I'm fine, I'm layed up in France for a while though... Me and Simon are gonna stay here for a while and do some sightseeing, so we'll probably come back a couple weeks late... uh, so, call me back when you get this message... loveya, bye... wait, what time is it over there anyway?"

Then he hits the "End" button, even though he wasn't making a call, then puts the cell phone on the nightstand, turns off the light, and goes to sleep as well.

[Brian]

Both of you sleep soundly for most of the night.

However, at about 1:00 AM, Philip is finally roused from his bed by the continous beeping of the cell-phone Paul left on the nightstand.

[Dracos]

Dracos grumbles, checks the phone for a message, and picks up if it isn't there.

Dracos

[Brian]

There is a message (of a sort) on the phone: "Tracking detection warning!"

[Dracos]

"Fuck," Dracos shuts off the damn phone.  "Dammit."

Dracos frowns.  "So much for a nice night of rest..."

Dracos

[Dracos]

Dracos decides to stay up, making sure his stuff is packed and ready to go, same with huitzil's stuff.  When it's late enough to phone the hospital, he tries to get through to Ginrai.

Dracos

[Brian]

<Brian> Paul:  Currently, you are asleep.
<Brian> You are having a dream.
<Brian> You know it is a dream.
<Brian> Before you is a long corridor, linoleum tiles stretching off into the distance.  The hallway is perhaps three meters wide, and every ten or so meters down the corridor, there is a door.  They're staggered, though.  Five meters, door on the left, five further meters, door on the right, and so on.
<Brian> The hallway is lined with things your eyes won't QUITE fix on.
<Brian> Maybe it's a potted plant, and this is an office building.  Maybe it's discarded medical equipment, like an unused IV stand.
<Brian> Maybe it's a coffee table.  Or a stretcher.  Or a coffee machine.
<Brian> When you look, whatever objects you try and examine blur, and stretch, and you can't tell what it's supposed to be.
Huitzil starts walking, hands in his pockets, looking to his sides at the doors (if they have windows in 'em like he thinks they dos)
<Brian> There are windows, but someone has put white paper behind them, and taped it to the wire-and-glass screens.
<Brian> And the walls, and the floor, with it's overhead florescent lighting ... seems to be visible twice.  Once in a slightly wavery view, and once in a more drunken view, twisting around and only lining up when you look directly at it.
<Brian> It stretches as far as you can see in either direction.
<Brian> When you look down at yourself, you're wearing a blue jumpsuit, and carrying a large wrench ... or maybe a hammer ... or maybe a ledger, or a legal binder.  You're not certain, because it seems to change, even to your sense of touch.
Huitzil keeps walking, past a few more doors, and then randomly decides to open one.
<Brian> The lock rattles loosely, but does not open.
<Brian> You are barefoot, and the floor is flesh temperature.  But as soon as you touch the door handle, you hear the tapping of booted feet on tile.
Huitzil whirls around to look where the sound is coming from.
<Brian> You see nothing in the distance, as the corridor stretches on (seemingly) forever.
<Brian> You can't even tell which direction it's coming from.
Huitzil punches the door behind him one more time, then resumes his walk down the corridor.
<Brian> The footsteps seem (now that you're moving again) to be pacing you, not drawing any closer, not falling any further behind.
Huitzil stops.
<Brian> It sounds to your ears like it's a single person, approaching you at a steady pace.  When you stop, the footsteps slowly grow louder.
Huitzil starts walking again, faster this time.
<Brian> You're not able to outstrip your pursuit, only match it/
Huitzil starts wiggling doorknobs as he walks past them, not slowing down too much, just checking if they're unlocked.
<Brian> The more noise you make, the louder the footsteps sound -- however, after about six more doors you encounter something to one side of the corridor that doesn't seem to flex or blur.  There is a full-length mirror along the wall that reflects you, your blue jumpsuit, and the ... undefined blur of something you're holding in your left hand.
Huitzil tugs a bit on the jumpsuit.
<Brian> It feels like cotton.
<Brian> Your reflection tugs on his jumpsuit, too.
Huitzil glances back behind him again.
<Brian> The corridor behind you is dark.  And now, so is the one ahead of you.
Huitzil starts walking again, hurrying now.
<Brian> The mirror continues to show up, after every door on the right.  If it was something else as you approached, it turns into the mirror as soon as you glance away, or blink.
Huitzil doesn't look in the mirrors much more than a glance, and advances his pace to a light jog.
<Brian> The footsteps begin to draw closer to you, and start running at the same pace as you.
Huitzil breaks into the best run he can manage.
<Brian> You run, and you don't feel tired doing it.
<Brian> A voice whispers, "I've got you now, groundling," jovial and malicious, echoing from the same place as the footsteps.
Huitzil stops, looks around in a panic, and then slams into the nearest door, as hard as he can, trying to pop it open.
<Brian> When you look around, you see someone running towards you.  He's wearing a long coat, which flares out behind him, all black.  A pale face, black hair, black slacks, a black shirt, black shoes (leather) and black gloves complete the ensemble.  His hands are bare, and he's grinning at you maliciously.
<Brian> Please make a roll (3d6) for an EGO check.
<Huitzil> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Huitzil ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=6 ]{6}
<Brian> The door doesn't budge an inch.  But you're no longer holding ... something ... in your hand, it's a key chain, and the keys have labels like, "Old co-ed classmates," "My brother," "the quest," "Cool goons," "Fantasy inspired," "anything goes," and "old friends."
Huitzil frantically searches through the keys, but doesn't look down at them; instead, he stares in horror at his pursuer. After a few seconds, he chooses a key, and sticks it into the lock.
<Brian> roll 1d7
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 1d7 --> [ 1d7=4 ]{4}
<Brian> The door doesn't exactly open, as much as dissolve into light, a blinding wall of something you can't see through.  Your pursuer is drawing closer and looks shocked.  "No!" he yells, "you're not getting away!"
Huitzil jumps through the door/wall after one last, hypnotic look at his pursuer.
<Brian> You burst through the light, and feel as though your body were being stretched, warped, and ... now you're back in the last dream you remember, sitting across from the overweight card-geek.  He frowns, and lowers the mirror, leaving you unable to see your own reflection.  This time, it's not the Lord of the Rings card game, it's a game of chess.
<Brian> "Anyway," the card-geek says, eyeing the board in distaste.  "Your move," and then he says a name.  You know it's a name, but you don't know what name it is, only that it isn't your name.
Huitzil shakes his head a bit, as if he was trying to "shake off the sleepies", even though he knows he's asleep.
Huitzil looks down at the board, to see what kind of situation he's in.
<Brian> This isn't a standard chessboard by any means.  It has to be a thousand squares wide, and a thousand squares deep, with hundreds upon hundreds of pieces across the board.  You see, in your capture pile on the left, four pieces that remind you of the terrorists on the plane.  You're playing white, and your opponent is playing black ... but when you look, there are other colors on the field, as well.
<Brian> The pieces next to the Paul Durant figurines are a man crouching on a slumbering wolf, someone who is unmistakably Dracos standing on a pedestal of flowering vines, and as a red piece, the box-cutter kid.
<Brian> To one side you see the Bjorn Christianson piece, standing on a glowing circle of light, and near him, a white Nathan Shuker, with a golden arm, and flaming arrows.  Between them is a green Victor, blood dripping from the piece's mouth, and around them, a number of gray pieces that resemble people you've never seen before.
Huitzil starts to reach toward the red piece, looking up at his opponent -- knowing that type of person, if he can't use that piece, he'll tell him.
<Brian> He opens his mouth to say something, but bites it back, eyeing you calculatingly.
Huitzil withdraws his hand, then places it on his chin, thinking.
Huitzil glances at the card-geek's captured pieces pile.
<Brian> There's a Shade piece, if you recognize him correctly.
<Huitzil> Any others I can recognize, and how many pieces are in it?
<Brian> There's hundreds.  And you don't recognize any others immediately.
<Huitzil> "Hmmm...."
<Brian> "Well?" your opponent asks, gesturing towards a swiftly ticking clock on one side of the table.
Huitzil reaches for the BCK again, and this time, looks out at the pieces near it.
<Huitzil> "I'm thinking, I'm thinking."
<Brian> There's three nearby.  None of them are familiar to you, but there is a man with a submachine gun, a woman with a knife, and another woman, this one standing on a glowing circle like the one Bjorn is, only all three of them are black.
Huitzil picks up the BCK and moves it to capture, let's say, the glowy woman.
<Brian> As soon as you touch the piece, everything goes white, and you come to your senses standing on the balcony of some traditional-esque Japanese house.
<Brian> Below you is a yard, lined entirely in cherry petals, and more of them are snowing from the sky, to appearances.  There's also a koi pond below, miraculously free of petals.
Huitzil looks down at himself. Still in the jumpsuit, in normal clothes, kimono?
<Brian> You're wearing a high-school kid's uniform.
<Brian> A Japanese high-school kid's uniform.
<Brian> Behind you is a sliding glass door, and within, a bed, surrounded with various pieces of medical machinery.  You can't see if there's anyone in the bed behind all the machinery, but you can see BCK standing at the foot of the bed solemnly.
Huitzil takes another glance at the falling petals, then walks into the room, and stands silently next to BCK. What is he doing now, and is there someone in the bed?
<Brian> There's a girl who looks enough like BCK to be his twin, and she's unconscious, medical machinery beeping quietly to inform you that her heart is still beating.  BCK is just staring at her solemnly, though he turns and looks at you when you enter.
<Brian> "Why are you here?" he asks in confusion.
<Huitzil> "I... I don't know. I don't think I'll be here for long." He gestures toward the woman. "How is she doing?"
<Brian> "She's much better in the waking world than my dreams," he says after a moment, turning to stare at her blankly.  "This is ... I'm worse off than she is, maybe, now."  He laughs bitterly.
<Huitzil> "What happened to her?"
<Brian> "That ... other one, who I thought was your friend," BCK says, turning and spitting on the floor.  "Shattered her legs, and left her to die."  His face softens slightly.  "The tranquilizer dart was perhaps an act of mercy after that brutality."
<Brian> He turns to look at you again.  "I was sent to avenge her.  And now I find I've not only failed, I've dishonored my family in a place far from home, by playing with forces beyond my control.  Is this, perhaps, karma?"
<Huitzil> "I don't know. If it is, I wouldn't be the one to judge it. Will she heal?"
<Brian> "Given time, perhaps.  She will not walk ... not for years, without many surgeries."
<Huitzil> "You loved her. You wanted the best for her. I don't think anything in the pursuit of that could be called dishonorable."
<Brian> "Failing is not honorable.  I think ... I will not live much longer.  What I have done, even though I never intended any save ... that one to die ... will not be forgiven by my imprisons."
<Brian> He shakes his head.  "Even then, I am trapped, and people who know what I ... what WE are will find me.  They will come, and kill me."  He shakes his head again, and turns to you.  "And then when they are done with me, they will kill you, too."
<Huitzil> "If this is what I think it is, then maybe, I might be able to change that. Who is imprisoning you? The police, or... or someone else?"
<Brian> "The police for the moment," he says, eyeing you warily.  "How would you hope to change that?"
<Huitzil> "I don't know. I'll think of something. If this is what I think it is, then I will have to.
<Huitzil> "
<Huitzil> "I have a lot of questions for you, but I don't know how long I have to ask them. So I'll ask the most important one first. Where did -- do you live, and when was the last time it rained there?"
<Brian> "I lived in Tokyo," he says slowly.  "It rained the night my sister was brutalized, even though we expected snow.  Two weeks ago, perhaps."
<Huitzil> "What day of the week?"
<Brian> He frowns in thought.  "It was," he says slowly, "the ... eighth of January, I think.  A Monday."
Huitzil nods.
<Huitzil> "Okay. Now, the men who were with you, on the plane -- did you work for them, or did they and you both work for someone else?"
<Brian> "We had ... formed an alliance of convenience.  They wished to take over a plane for their work.  I wished to revenge myself upon ... that one."
<Brian> He frowns.  "I was told by them that they would harm no one, but instead take them to a safe holding location."
<Huitzil> "So, you don't know what they were trying to do? Who they worked for?"
<Brian> "They did not say, and I did not ask," he says, shaking his head.  "They smelled of tobacco, and crime.  I imagined I knew what I would need to from that alone."  He shakes his head.  "I mistook them for amateurs of the wrong sort."
<Huitzil> "I think anyone would have done the same. Okay, the prison where you are held now -- I assume you don't know where it is, but how closely do they watch you, and with how many people?"
<Brian> "I'm still in the hospital, near one of your friends, to judge by the comments from the nurses," he says quietly.  "But my French is not much better than my English.  I could be wrong."
<Huitzil> "Okay. I don't know anything about French law, or Japanese or international, but goddamnit we have to try. If you can, I want you to ask to talk to the Japanese embassy. If that doesn't work, speak to the press. Send a letter or something. Just make sure that SOMEBODY knows where you are, the government or someone else. If they try to move you, refuse. Do not let them move you, okay?
<Brian> "I will try," he says skeptically.  "But I have little hope for life."
<Huitzil> "If people know you're there, then it's harder for you to be shadowed off in the night. Don't take any pills the nurses give you, even painkillers. See if you can disconnect your IV when they aren't looking. Even if it hurts, you have to try, all right? You don't want them to do anything to you when you're drugged.
<Brian> He shrugs.  "I will try," he repeats.
<Huitzil> "Don't give up. Not yet. Just stay where you are, try to stay there as much as you can. I don't think they will move you off to prison if you're still wounded. So, as hard as it might get, stay wounded. Stay that way until we can figure a way to get you out. Or at least, make it so you're safe.."
<Brian> He blinks.  "You intend to help me?" he asks skeptically.
<Huitzil> "I intend to try. Just... just hang in there, and I'm going to try as hard as I can."
<Brian> He nods.
<Brian> "Then I will hope," he affirms.
<Huitzil> "One last thing... don't trust anyone who talks to you in there. I don't know what all the forces at work here are, but I know almost all of them are bad. Don't go with anyone or tell them anything unless... unless they say the password."
<Brian> "Password?"
<Huitzil> "The password is... is... Elbereth!"
<Brian> He looks confused, but nods.  "I understand, then."
Huitzil exclaims the last word as if it had come to him from the lips of the muse herself, unexpected by him.
<Huitzil> "Okay. I don't know what I can do, but I do know that I'm going to do all of it."
<Huitzil> "Now, I think it's time for me to go. I don't know if I can... er, 'meet' you again like this... but if I need to communicate with you I'll find a way."
Huitzil walks downstairs.
<Brian> The dream is indistinct and unsubstantial here, as though BCK hadn't built more than the room, and the view.
Huitzil walks to what looks the most like a front door, and attempts to walk out into wakefulness.
<Brian> Everything goes white ... and you feel like you're about to wake up, and then, like someone grabbed you by the scruff of your neck, and then pulled you back into a dream.  This place is different, a round stone room with no visible source of light, and two hugely tall men in golden armor.
<Huitzil> "...shit."
<Brian> Their armor is piece-meal, and looks pretty cool, but even to your eyes, not practical.  These men and their gear look like it was built for show.  One of them has straight blonde hair, the other has very slightly darker curly hair.  The straight-haired one is wearing a pair of what look like iron gloves, and the other is hefting a pretty cruel looking stone hammer.
Huitzil takes a few steps back.
<Brian> It looks like it'd weigh too much to be wielded effectively, though.  "That's about right," the straight-haired one says.
<Brian> "Somehow, you don't look quite like the interloper we're looking for," he says, squinting at you, and propping the hammer up on one shoulder.
<Huitzil> "Er, yeah, so I think I oughta just be leaving..."
<Brian> "Not quite just yet," the straight-haired one says, crossing his arms over his chest.  "Few enough people can actually enter the dreams of others these days ... who are you, and what are you trying to do here?"
<Huitzil> "I'm just some guy. I don't know what I was doing here, but now I am trying to be not here."
<Brian> "Of course," hammer-guy says.  "We're not going to hurt you.  Just tell us what you DO know of this place.  And choose a form for your tool already."
<Huitzil> "...Tool?"
<Brian> When you look, you see that you're holding the shifting, wavering, uncertain ... thing ... that you had before in your left hand.
Huitzil looks back up. "I don't know anything about this place, really. Someone was chasing me through a hallway, then I was playing chess, then I was talking to someone..."
<Huitzil> "I didn't even know it was one 'place' until you asked me that."
<Brian> "Okay," the straight-haired guy says, frowning.  "Relax for a minute.  Once we find out where you got that tool, we'll send you home, and you won't even remember that this happens.  Just like every other time you've done this."
<Brian> The curly-haired guy shrugs.  "If not you, then thousands of people just like you.  This is normal, so take it easy.  Imagine that what you're holding is going to turn into something simple, the basic form from which its potential arises.  Right?"
<Huitzil> "No, no, I think some things have happened that I'd like to remember. If it's any consolation, I'll forget it soon anyway without your interference."
<Brian> The two exchange a glance.  "There are rules that we have to follow," they say in unison, before exchanging a glance.  After that, the straight-haired guy continues, "We're not letting you go until we found out who gave you a key to get into this place."
<Huitzil> "If anyone did give me a key, I certainly don't know it."
Huitzil attempts to wake up by willing himself to be so. Oh, please, work.
<Brian> Please make an opposed ego roll, rolling 1d6 for each five points of ego you have.
<Brian> (Higher is better.)
<Huitzil> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Huitzil ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=8 ]{8}
<Brian> roll 4d6+2d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 4d6+2d6 --> [ 4d6=10 2d6=7 ]{17}
<Brian> The curly-haired guy grunts a bit, and eyes you closely.  "That's not relaxing," he says.
<Huitzil> "It shouldn't be. Mysterious men wielding large weapons saying they'll make me forget things that I quite need to remember tend to have that effect."
<Brian> "Fair enough," the curly haired one says.  "But, we've got jobs to do."
<Brian> "So ... just stand there for a bit, and we'll figure out what's going on."
<Brian> The two look like they're concentrating.
<Brian> roll 4d6+2d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 4d6+2d6 --> [ 4d6=13 2d6=7 ]{20}
<Brian> The ... something ... in your left hand seems to melt, curling into the bracelet, which you'd forgotten you had, and now is once-more adorning your left wrist.
<Huitzil> "As do I. I don't know what your task is, but mine is-- hey!"
<Brian> They stare blankly.
<Brian> "Oh," the straight-haired one says.  "Um, well.  Since that's originally from the dream, you can be here, and remember it."
<Brian> The curly-haired one nods, as your bracelet re-melts, and turns into ... something ... again.  "You're officially sanctioned."
<Huitzil> "I'm... what?"
<Brian> "You can remember it all," the straight-haired one clarifies.  "This was a misunderstanding.  As long as you wear that, the Brothers of Morpheus consider you an ally."  Both of them nod, then make a fist with their right hands and knock against their armor twice.  Then, they vanish, and you wake up.
Huitzil blindly slaps for the table/desk by the bed, and pulls out a notepad and one of those stubby golf pencils.
Huitzil writes down, as quickly as he can, "Rain, Tokyo on Monday Jan 8?"
Huitzil puts, under that: "Elbereth". Thinking for a second, he underlines it six times.

[Brian]

It's now morning.  About 7:30 AM by your bedside clock.

[Brian]

The phone rings through, and apparently they have caller ID.  "How may I help you, embassy guest?"  And then, "Oh, you're a friend of Steven's?  One moment, I'll transfer you right to him, if he's awake," followed by a few minutes of hold music (Bethoven, strings only), and then, groggily, Parthipan says, "Hello?"  He sounds healthier, at least.

Ginrai, you are currently at 6 of 8 body.

Your bullet wounds are a pair of large bruises with tiny scabbed over bullet wounds in the center.  They actually had to make incisions across both wounds to get forceps in to pull out the bullets.  At least, you're under the impression they did that, anyway, since there's tiny incision marks, and a nurse carefully removed the stitches holding them together last night, marveling that you healed remarkably, and should be on your feet by today.

One of the doctors cleaned both of the bullets, got all the traces of contamination (they're not sure how, exactly, but the bullets are scored as if they passed through a thick wire screen to reach you) and hair (you must have had dog-fur or something on your clothing when you were shot).  You have, on your bedside stand, in a small glass beaker, two bullets that were previously inside of you.

They're a bit small, considering how much the bloody things hurt.

Regardless, you've only just woken up when a nurse comes in with a phone, and cheerfully tells you, "It's your friend!"  You take the phone, still waking up (it's always been hard for you, and being shot seems to make you even sleepier), and say, "Hello?"

[Dracos]

"Hey Gin, you still alive?"

Dracos

[Huitzil]

Paul's eyes open and he moans lowly. He resituates himself as if to go back to sleep, then snaps upright, then rolls out of bed, taking the covers and blanket with him to the floor. Grunting angrily, he swats his way out of the entangling cloth, then stands up, muttering something. He walks into the bathroom, and you hear water running.

[Brian]

Prodding the area around his newly healed wounds, Ginrai nods slowly, before realizing that Philip cannot see the gesture.  Verbally (though his voice is a bit rough and dry), he replies, "Yeah ... well, I'm feeling about as good as a guy can after being shot twice.  How about you?"

[Dracos]

"Groovy man.  Up to keeping moving to Gibraltar?  We only have so much vacation time and you know the bosses aren't going to give us any more."

Dracos

[Brian]

Ginrai looks around the room, wiggling his toes experimentally, and considering the step from sitting up in bed to actually walking around.  "I can give walking a shot," he says dubiously.  "I lost a lot of blood, you know."

The nurse takes the phone away for a moment, while Ginrai (under supervision) attempts to take a few steps.  He is able to walk, but not very far before he needs to catch his breath.  After returning to the bed, he says, "I think I'll be okay.  Maybe a few more hours.  They say I have to walk around the entire ward three times, and take only oral pain medication before I can be released."

[Dracos]

"Cool.  Guess then I'll bring by some steak sandwiches and pick you up 'round lunchtime.  Then we can keep traveling.  Keep your eye on Gibraltar man.  Should be beautiful this time of year, no?"

Dracos