[OPEN]

[evocation]

WHO: Kyna + various
WHERE: All over!
WHEN: June 2512
WHAT: August catchall! Catching up, settling in, all that fun stuff.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Will add as needed! If anyone wants a starter hmu cephalopods

Comments

[evocation]

Some of her anger ebbs when she's hit with that relief. He's just trying to protect her, as frustrated and helpless as she feels. But really, this is nothing new, right? Her hands were tied in the sim, with most of the monsters she encountered, even with figuring out why the hell she's been dragged to New Amsterdam in the first place. Why shouldn't this be an extension of that?

It's getting harder and harder to tell herself that this is a dream she has control over. Her emotions are too tangled and messy to be rational about it, and soon enough all she can focus on is keeping up with Ian's longer strides, looking for a path out. She doesn't have much luck. Every time she thinks she sees a promising alleyway, the buildings seem to creep towards each other, blocking their escape.

They turn another corner, what feels like the millionth, and Kyna nearly skids right into one of the aliens, hulking and so terrifying her blood instantly runs cold. Kyna barely has time to think before it's lunging at them. She doesn't have time to process anything but Ian's hand in hers, all-encompassing panic, and a rush of desperate protectiveness.

She doesn't do it consciously, but before she can duck away, the thing's arm passes through them—both of them—and the only reason she realizes what's happened is the glow of her chest.

"Fuck fuck fuck."

[wittingly]

Yeah, he is not even remotely prepared for that. He doesn't even get the chance to dig in his heels before he's already halfway through a fucking alien, and his eyes go saucer-wide. No time to stop, his feet skip a beat long enough to look back. Hell, a second later he throws up a wall behind them.

"What the fuck was that," he shoots at her breathlessly, steering them around a corner and slowing from a run to long-legged strides.

[evocation]

"I don't know."

She's still reeling from it, so distracted that the concrete suddenly ripping from the ground makes her flinch. God, so much for a useless power, Ian.

He slows, and she slows further, trying to drag them to a stop and grab his other hand. That might not be the best idea if their fear starts one of those feedback loops, but it's instinctive.

"We should try to wake up, right? Like the other times."

[wittingly]

He thinks it's that he put in all of his Useless Power dues for months while other people did kickass stuff like flying or waterbending or walking through walls and electrocuting shit. Week after week of changing the shape of his screwdriver mournfully in the back of a safehouse.

It's sort of like the universe is consoling him and rewarding him for his shitty circumstances.

His eyes flicker from her to the wall to make sure it's still holding, and then he nods absently. "Yeah, except that was you waking up every time, I still have no idea how in the fuck you do it."

He's always been a deep sleeper. His body's first instinct in the morning is usually 'nah'.

[evocation]

Oh, God. She can't believe he's putting her in charge.

"You totally kicked me out that one time."

That counts, right? But then maybe he'd just be trapped in here without her. But okay. Okay, sure, she can make it work. She tightens her grip on his hands, trying to anchor herself, and squeezes her eyes shut. All she has to do is block out everything else and focus, just like during a ritual. Just like last time.

And it takes a moment or so, but it works. She's waking up in her bed, blinking up at the ceiling, her heart still racing.

That must have woken Ian up too, right? God, she wishes she knew the rules for this shit. She half trips out of bed, tries to be quiet enough not to wake up Lance as she slips out of her room.

"Ian?"

[wittingly]

There's a little bit of a delay between when she wakes up and when he does — she might hear it on her way through her door, the sharp sucking intake of breath that comes from someone jerking awake from a particularly unpleasant dream. It takes him a second, but he slowly collapses back down onto the couch right before she says his name.

Not surprising, really. He scrubs at his face, manages a hoarse and quiet, "Yeah."

He's up.

Sorry.

God, he hates that fucking dream. It was a little different this time with her in it, but not much.

[evocation]

Her anger at his lack of action feels distant and distorted now in the way intense emotions in dreams always seem to. It's the fear that sticks with her, less because of her own discomfort and more because of the realization that he must dream about this shit constantly. It makes sense, and she should have thought about it before, but... Somehow, she just never considered it.

Kyna crosses the room and perches on the arm of the couch by his feet, wanting to be close but not sure invading his space is a great idea. She's quiet for a moment, chewing on her lip.

"Are you okay?"

[wittingly]

He moves in that slow, tired way post-sleepers do. One elbow after the other, and then gently hauling himself back a little so he's propped up by the other arm of the couch. He's still a little groggy, never really been a morning person. Or a... middle of the night person.

"I'm fine," he says, and it's tired but honest. He's gotten used to those. The bigger thing is, "Sorry you had to see that."