blackmagus: (♒ Jazz)
ℬ. ℱᴏʀᴛᴇsᴄᴜᴇ ([personal profile] blackmagus) wrote in [community profile] kore_logs2013-06-19 04:44 pm

Must be some kind of way out of here, said the joker to the thief...

Who: Fortescue, Jazz, and anyone who wants in!
What: Dream-sharing, both her own and the City itself.
When: Days 83 - 88
Where: Dream-space!
Warnings: Violence, humans as h'orderves, maybe some language. Will update if necessary.

1 } There's too much confusion...
The smell of diesel permeates the air, as Fortescue finds herself in a very familiar memory. It's sunnier than the actual day, but such is the way with dreams. She's standing in the utilitarian corridor that runs through a Germanian gunship, wearing her most nondescript black clothes and boots. This can't be traced back to Imperium, officially, though unofficially there's no chance it won't. They're high over the ocean on a training exercise, and it's her job to bring them down. It's a small attack fleet — two large gunships, shiny and brand new, and four smaller skirmish boats.

Her orders are simple, and so is her plan. Wreck the two largest, use them to disable three of the skirmishers, commandeer the fourth back to land.

They're full of soldiers, of course, and the first Nazi to spot her gives her a sneer and asks what she's doing aboard. Fortescue doesn't bother with a quip. She simply shoots him, before he can raise an alarm, and heads for the top deck of the airship. While a gunship is dwarfed by one other class of airship, its size is nothing to sniff at; it's just slightly smaller than a water-bound battleship. This one has the latest Germanian weaponry, two canons that utilize particle beams, and that's her destination, cutting down anyone who gets in her way. She knows how to make her foot steps near-silent, even on steel plates. Almost no one sees her coming.

2 } I can't get no relief...
It's a year earlier, and she's meeting one of her contacts in New York. Cash Gillingwater, some sort of agent in the OSS — though she's not supposed to know that last part. He has information for her, and she has some for him. They're supposed to talk business, but she's known Cash for several years. He's another ghost, like her. Nonexistent on official records. The conversation will be pleasant, at least.

New York's summer is sweltering, but the sidewalk cafe she's situated herself at has the benefit of a breeze from the very close ocean. All around her are the sounds of the city, very different from most Earths in the 1940s. Hover cars, people talking on cell phones, elves dotting the crowds, tiny personal computers and tablets. Fashion is truly all over the place, spurred by discoveries in other universes; some of it is nearly seven years past what it should be, some of it "right" but with missing or accentuated details, and some of it is its own version of "retro," almost with a steampunk feel. She herself is outfitted in a navy-colored, spangly sort of dress, but in this crowd it doesn't stand out much — which is the point.

Fortescue drinks her coffee and waits, but the memory stands out because of how isolated she feels. There are at least ten other customers sitting near her on the sidewalk, but no one looks at her. It's as though she's truly invisible.

3 } Businessman they drink my wine...
Elben Mahr Hollows, the Elven version of a City, are disconcerting, at first. The space is magical to begin with, and as such some of them become gigantic — though the same could be said of all Hollows. But the Elben Mahr like to keep things dark, and the ceilings are cavernous with small tinkling lights. If not for the comfortable temperature and the lack of a breeze, it would be easy to think you were outside. This is one of the many parties that their elite throw, in honor of the war efforts, and the leader of this particular Hollow has something that Fortescue needs to steal. She knows this memory all too well, as she dreams it too often for her own tastes; even in real life, the experience didn't end well.

The Elben Mahr are beautiful, for all their extremist notions. They're nocturnal Elves, rarely leaving Hollows except at night, with pale skin and hair that varies from deep blacks to dark browns and russet reds. Six foot on average and built lightly, they wear particularly glittery fair for this gathering and know how to make themselves look alluring.

Fortescue is pretending to be a Germanian ambassador's daughter. No one looks at her too closely, on account of being human, which makes it easy to move about the party in a little black dress and silver jewelry. She tries not to look too closely at her surroundings. They're elegant, with seating areas centered around square black marble firepits, but the Elben Mahr are infamous for their preference of human flesh. She's been cautioned to avoid the food, as normal looking as it might be. She threads her way through the crowd with a champagne flute, Jazz on her shoulders.

4 } Plowman dig my earth...
Fortescue has never had any kind of control over her dreams. Falling dreams end in her hitting the ground, and she's never had the ability to change them like some do. But this is a completely new thing. Crystal cities haven't been a facet of her imagination or subconscious before, and Fortescue is well aware from mandatory psychological evaluations that her mind is stuck in the past and places emphasis there. There are no such cities on Earth, not even constructed in elven Hollows.

Bemused, she wanders, not talking to any of the 'natives' she sees. For now, at least. Jazz threads around at her feet, his own consciousness tied with hers due to their unique bond.

5 } None will level on the line, nobody offered his word...
It's illogical, but she feels tight and small and weak and the feelings don't go away. This dream is also a memory, with some details wildly different from what happened before. She's in the government medical facility, and the door to this particular waiting room's just been closed. It's white, sterile, and somewhat uninteresting, the design utilitarian in most aspects. But even in this place, it still shows how drastic Imperian culture has been changed. There's a framed picture on the wall that's an LED display warning about the dangers of not taking something called De-Nox ("It Will Wipe You Out of Service!"), which occasionally changes to an ad about eye implants and how they can change your life.

Fortescue was a child, when she was truly in this space, and so the chair she's in feels giant and uncomfortable. A man's just left the room. She knows what he told her, as the words have never faded out of her memory. A heavy file lays on her lap, full of documents, and she stares at her feet, wondering what would happen if she told him "no" when he comes back. No one else is in the room; all of the ten white chairs are empty. The only sound is the quiet beeping of medical technology, eighty or ninety years ahead of its time, somewhere in the rooms that connect to this one. Jazz isn't present at all. Perhaps he's dreaming of something else. This is, after all, before they had met.

[ooc: Lemme know which number you're going with, when you reply! If you'd like something different from these options, give me a shout; I'm flexible. More info to be found here. Any and all are welcome. ♥]
bluesrat: (cautious)

1} There's too much confusion...

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-20 02:04 am (UTC)(link)
The entire scene is just as bewildering to Rat as a man smashing his guitar to pieces and lighting it on fire would be, and either one leaves him feeling distinctly uneasy. He doesn't quite know where he is, or why, but he does recognize a Nazi uniform when he sees one, and that sends him ducking down a corridor in a hurry. He's just lucky they didn't see him first.
Lacking spy skills, or even soldier skills, however, Rat moves down the hall on edge and is perfectly likely to blunder straight into one form of trouble or another.
bluesrat: (whut?)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-21 03:05 am (UTC)(link)
He whirls around at the familiar voice, and flattens himself against the corridor wall. In his usual shabby clothes and with his doorframe-threatening height, he stands very much out of place. "I... noticed that." He blinks at her, thrown for a loop. Not only is this a totally unfamiliar dream, but he wouldn't have expected her in it... although she seems to have a hell of a lot better idea what she's doing here than he does.

He just hopes the Nazis don't notice him, or this could take a very bad turn. He's unarmed, of course.
bluesrat: (thinky)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-25 03:14 am (UTC)(link)
"Not... really." He'll take it anyway, if she insists, but he may not be very useful with it. The long-fingered hands that are so clever on the guitar strings are suddenly clumsy, holding a gun.

He dos follow though, crouching just a little, alarmed by their surroundings, and keeps his voice to a murmur that carries less than the hiss of a whisper would. "Where are we, and how did we get here?"
bluesrat: (thinky)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-07-02 12:53 am (UTC)(link)
"...Like a zeppelin? This'd better not be the Hindenburg." He shudders, looking genuinely alarmed and more than a little unarmed. Rat is not a fighter, and he's horribly out of place here.

"What happens to us when you destroy it, and how did I even get here??"
bluesrat: (cautious)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-07-03 11:28 am (UTC)(link)
"Is that what this is?" He looks around some more, expression still a little lost. Rat has no grand secrets he's been hiding, at least in the super powers department. This man is just what he's always presented himself to be, and that means he's both a liability and very much at risk in the current situation.

"I hope we get that far. You're... a saboteur?"
bluesrat: (cautious)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-07-06 03:42 am (UTC)(link)
Unintentionally underscoring his current position of helplessness, Rat puts up both hands, a classic gesture of 'I'm not armed, don't hurt me'. It's merely part of an apology, though. "I didn't mean that in a bad way! You're... a soldier, then. Not criticizing. But... I'm not..." He glances at the cat, a little bewildered by the instruction to stick close to what he'd normally take for a household pet.
bluesrat: (thinky)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-07-07 03:10 am (UTC)(link)
As the cat presses against the wall, Rat's gaze drops to him, and he does make an effort to put himself in a similar position. Jazz probably doesn't have to worry about hitting his head on doorframes, though.

"But I... shouldn't be here at all. Are we dreaming?" This isn't the first strange dream he's had in the past few days, after all.