Rafael van der Valk: feels important.

witch

Turning from the Fianna he strides into the trees, the thick underbrush. There are no well-beaten trails here. What paths there are cannot be seen, only sensed by those familiar with the woods. Rafael is not familiar with these woods. He goes into them and the clouds overhead and the thick boughs create a darkness all around him, rich with the scent of earth and rain and lush forest. He leaves behind the tribe of stag and the smell of their beer, their wine, their sweat, the blood of the meat they shared, which he can still taste between his teeth.

He comes upon a door. All is darkness. His hand -- or his brow -- touches it first. Flat door, thin. No more forest. Suits and coats and slacks, shirts hanging, sweaters nearby.

Rafael is standing in his closet in the dark, hand pressed against the door. Through the crack beneath he can see what daylight shines through his bedroom from the windows. He is utterly naked, which he was not when he saw Devon to his front door. Which he was not, when he was back in time.

wolfman

Wolf snaps through time again. Comes unhinged, slips back into his life at another point like a record jumping tracks.

Wonders what happens while he's gone. If his body just carries on without his consciousness, or what. It was night, last time he was in this timestream. Now it's -- morning? He's getting dressed. Maybe. His hands brush against shirts, jackets, trousers. He grabs lounge pants off the shelf and steps into them, pushes open the door.

Daylight makes him wince. Wolf goes to his bathroom. Cups water to his face, scrubs. Washes his hands and rinses his mouth and turns the faucet off. Looks at himself in the mirror, almost expecting to see someone else.

Doesn't. It's just him, shadowed jaw and glowering eyes, scars and muscle. He pushes upright, walks out of his room.

witch

Sun's up now. Opens his closet door from within -- after he's put on some pants. It's mid-day. And he scrubs his face, feels strange. Can still taste blood that isn't there. Looks in the mirror and walks out of his room and finds Devon coming up the stairs.

Her hair is wild, tousled. She is wearing fishnets and black off-brand Uggs and a drapey little short jersey dress in black, covered with flowers drawn as though sketched in chalk. A red flannel as a jacket, an unnecessary studded belt on her hips. No makeup though. Not even the soft kind.

Looks up at him with wariness and shock and

relief.

"Are you okay?" she asks, tight. "Can you hear me?"

wolfman

He's standing at the top of the stairs. Wraps his hands around the rail, looks over -- starts to, anyway, but then girl's coming up. Asks him the strangest thing.

Wolf frowns at her. "Yeah?" He lets go the rail, faces her. Wolf's not stupid. Wolf knows time has passed. Wolf remembers what she said last time,

heard him in the bathroom, moving around, even when he wasn't there.

"How long have I been checked out?"

witch

She left. Left because it wasn't safe for her here.

But there she is, halfway up the stairs, looking up at him with care and wariness both.

Devon just shakes her head. "Not sure. Came by last night. You were wandering around naked. Didn't answer when I said your name." Her brow furrows. Uncomfortably: "Let you be."

Which means she didn't touch him. Didn't get in his eyeline. Kept her distance and her wits. No whiskey bottles lying around, nothing like that. She stayed over though. Kept an eye on him. Even though she shouldn't.

wolfman

Wolf's brow knits harder. He flexes his hands on that railing, cords in his forearms standing out. Releases. Comes down the stairs toward her, and if she doesn't back away,

though he wouldn't blame her if she did,

he comes right to her. Wraps his arms around her, squeezes her against his body. Still feels the same, big and hard and warm. Still feels real enough, even if his mind keeps slipping.

"Shouldn't have come back," he says when he lets her go. "I'm going to the Sept. Gonna have some wolves keep an eye on me. Was going to go in the morning, but must've checked out soon as I went to bed." He thinks a moment. "How long's it been since last time we talked?"

witch

Devon doesn't back away. So long as he is looking directly at her, recognizing her, she stays where she is. Comes up another step or two, meets him when he wraps his arms around her. She smiles faintly, flickeringly, to herself. It only lasts a moment. Her arms slide around his middle.

She shrugs at his shouldn't have. Keeps holding him, one hand wrapped around her opposite wrist behind his back. Holds him rather tightly, is what we're saying.

"A couple of days," she says softly. "Hadn't heard anything from you. Wanted to... see if you were all right."

wolfman

Couple days. Wolf is troubled. "Only felt like a few hours to me," he says. "Maybe not even."

Untangles from her, then. Not completely. Leaves an arm around her shoulders; starts down the stairs. Is suddenly and gnawing aware of hunger, thirst. An ache in his back where he slept wrong, or perhaps slept somewhere unsuitable.

"I'm okay," he adds. "Need to eat though. Can you drive me to the Sept after?"

witch

So troubled. She doesn't want to quite let go of him. She buries her face against his middle, reluctantly loosening so they can walk downstairs together. Her arm wraps around his back, like she's going to support him down those narrow stairs. Not like he's weak, though. Just losing his mind a little.

Devon breathes in deeply and nods, as their steps hit the ground floor. "Yes," she says quietly. "That building downtown, right? The triangular one?"

wolfman

"Yeah."

Wolf senses -- something in her nearness. It's not quite the same as seeking his presence, seeking his proximity. Or at least, it's not just that. Feels a little like she's protecting him. Supporting him. Trying to help him. Makes him uncomfortable. Wants to tell her he's fine. Doesn't need her to act like he's an invalid. Just needs her to --

drive him. Because he's afraid he might zone out again.

"Could have my driver drive," he adds. "Just... rather it be you."

witch

"I know," she says, as they walk to the kitchen. "Rather it be me, too."

If she senses his discomfort she doesn't say anything. She just walks with him, holding him, as they head over to the island, the fridge. She stays near him even when he goes to start looking for something decent to eat. There's some leftovers in there, dishes to heat up that his staff has left for him.

Devon takes a deep breath before she slips away, letting him use both arms effectively. She leans against the kitchen island, watching him. Pushes her hand into her hair, brushing it back. "You came down middle of last night," she says, watching him. "Sat on the floor and ate a bunch of raw meat."

wolfman

Inappropriate little rush of laughter escapes him before he can stop himself. Reins it in a moment after. Gravity of the situation settles. His laugh dissipates into a frown.

"Least I'm still eating," he mutters. "Was eating in the other world, too." Thinks. "The other you fed me porridge."

witch

Strangely and perfectly, Devon laughs with him. It was terrifying at the time. Naked ahroun, hunched on the floor, eating blood-drenched beef, his eyes staring, unseeing. It was horrible.

But he's here now. And so they both share that rush of bizarre, tension-alleviating insanity. She exhales heavily when they stop. She turns a bit where she leans on the island. He mentions, again, the 'other' her. Devon looks curiously at him. "How do you know she's me?" she asks, frowning.

wolfman

Wolf's over by the fridge by then. Has the door open. Pulling out food by the stack: pot of roast, bowl of mashed potatoes. Package of sliced turkey breast. Cranberry sauce! Couple hardboiled eggs. Jug of juice.

Glances at girl over his shoulder. Frowns; seems like such a silly question. "She looked like you," he says. "She knew magic. She had a fucking cauldron, Devon, pretty sure she was your past life or your ancestor or something.

"Older than you though." He thumps the last thing down -- it's a gallon of milk -- and closes the fridge door. Comes around the island and wraps his arms around her waist, lifts her to her tiptoes and kisses her neck. It's a rough, coarse, impulsive sort of affection. "Stronger. Cockier too, not like you're such a humble little dove yourself. Didn't seem afraid of anything though, the other one."

witch

From the island, Devon frowns at him. The way he looks at her. The tone of his voice. She doesn't say anything. Leans there, after he informs her that cauldron = Devon's past life. She just frowns at him, and is still frowning at him when he comes over intent on putting his hands on her, arms around her, to kiss her.

"That's weird," she says, pulling away from him, visibly uncomfortable.

wolfman

Wolf halts. Doesn't go wrapping her up in his brawny arms, doesn't try to get close. He's good at that: seeing when he's not wanted. Putting up his guard. Survival skills, all.

Pulls up a stool at the breakfast bar instead. Opens up those containers of leftovers, cold cuts. Starts eating indiscriminately. Drinks from the bottles.

"What is?"

witch

She stiffens at his approach, the look in his eyes, and he stops. Walls go up as fast as he can lay those bricks down, and he moves away instead. Goes for the food, instead, not looking at her anymore.

Devon watches him for a few seconds, unspeaking. "You talked down to me," she says, without straining for the words. Keeps them quiet, though. She's wary of him. What might make him... go away. Or worse. "Talking about someone who isn't me, who you think is sort of me... coming over to me like that."

She shrugs, tight and uncomfortable. "Felt weird."

wolfman

Wolf's not looking at her. Wolf's looking at his food, which he's scarfing down. Until she speaks, anyway. Then he pushes the roast around the pot. Stabs it with his fork.

Looks up. Realizes suddenly he hasn't even offered her any food. Not that he doesn't want her to eat. Just assumed she'd know she could. Everything he has, he'd share with her. Thought she'd know that, even though he himself didn't know that until ten seconds ago.

Pushes the pot toward her. Nods toward the silverware drawer. "Fork," he says.

Silence goes on a while, uncomfortable. Then he adds, "Didn't mean to talk down to you. Know that isn't really you, too. Same way whoever's body I'm in while I'm back there isn't really me. But think maybe it's connected to you, same way I'm connected to that knight. Ancestor. Past life. Something."

witch

Fork.

Devon huffs a small laugh, trying not to. She doesn't open her mouth for it. It lives in her closed mouth, behind her lips, and makes her shoulders twitch. He's such a damn caveman sometimes, she thinks. But she doesn't go for a fork. She ate earlier. Besides: he's eating everything cold.

She moves around to lean on the island opposite him, while he eats and eats and chugs milk from the gallon jug. She listens.

"All right," she says, when he's done. Is quiet again for a while. Then reaches over, slow but not quite hesitant, and squeezes his forearm. "What else were you saying about her? About what's happening?"

wolfman

Does look at her a little later, when she asks about what's happening. Looks at her a long time, trying to decide if she believes him now. If she's just humoring him; what. She doesn't get a fork so he pulls the pot back, keeps eating.

"Told you about the rite, yeah? And how someone fucked it up, and this Silver Fang bigshot ended up failing his part of the ritual. Got all pissed, blamed it on the Fianna. Kinda felt like he was gonna blame it on the witch. The one that reminded me of you.

"Talked him out of stomping into the village, maybe taking it out on them. Went into the village instead. Talked to the witch. She was about as suspicious of me as the Fang was of her. Convinced her I was there to see justice done, though. Nothing more or less. Wasn't going to start a war or kill a bunch of Fianna or whatever. The opposite, actually.

"So she told me where to find the local Fianna pack. And fed me porridge." Pauses to chew, to swallow. Shovels another bite in, talks through a full mouth anyway. "Was heading over to find the Fianna when I came back here.

"Maybe when I was eating last night," he adds, "that was when I was eating with the witch."

wolfman

Wolf's forearm doesn't budge under her hand. Hard as wood, stiff as rock. Isn't until she lets go that he moves, finally, turning his hand over. Catching her hand briefly. Returning that squeeze without ever looking at her.
Does look at her a little later, when she asks about what's happening. Looks at her a long time, trying to decide if she believes him now. If she's just humoring him; what. She doesn't get a fork so he pulls the pot back, keeps eating.

"By the time I went back again I was already at the Fianna camp. Talked to their Alpha. Convinced her I wasn't going to fuck with her people too. She told me it was some stupid cub that fucked up the rite. Just a dumb teenager prank. Got himself lost in the Umbra too.

"So I told her I'd find that cub for her if she disciplined him for what he did. Told her maybe that'd keep the tribes from going to war on each other over this. Fangs would see the Fianna would punish their own for messing with a sacred rite. Fianna would see a Fang was willing to risk his own neck to save one of theirs. She agreed. I was walking away when I came back here.

"They fed me too." Wolf laughs a little, food-muffled. "Hospitality and all. Maybe that's when I sat on the ground eating raw meat."

witch

Doesn't squeeze him long. Feels like he's ignoring her, resisting her. Maybe punishing her for stiffening up. And she frowns, sliding her hand away, only to have it caught. She becomes still, looking at him, but he doesn't look at her. By the time he does they've parted, and she can't figure out what his deal is. She leans on the island, arms crossed, brow a little furrowed, but she listens.

This version of her, who she doesn't want to think about being a past life or an ancestor or anything because it weirds her out, fed him porridge. Her mouth tugs a little. It fades.

"Do you think all this really happened?" she asks, quietly. Pauses a moment, adds: "In the past. Before us."

wolfman

"Like in a ... back to the future, time paradox way?" Wolf grimaces, shakes his head. "Don't know. Maybe it's just an Umbral echo. Parallel universe. Who knows. Or maybe it really did happen, but it was fated, and I'm just doing what I'm supposed to.

"Don't know." Wolf repeats it. Shrugs. "Don't think about it. Too confusing. Just doing what I think I should. Feels important that I do it, though."

witch

"Why?"

It's quiet. She's anxious. And doesn't know when he'll vanish again, right before her eyes, into himself. Look at her and not see her. Look at her and not know her. Her guard is up. It could be any second.

"Said you had to go back, before. Why's it so important?"

wolfman

Wolf shakes his head again. Slower this time, but emphatic.

"Don't know. Or ... don't know how to say it. But it is. I can feel it."

witch

To be supportive, she might say all right to that. Show him how she accepts it, like he does. Just trusts that his instinct is correct, that this is the right thing to do. She might tell him how she admires him for wanting to do the right thing, for trying. But it would be hollow. She doesn't want him to go.

To that end, she might ask him to please not go. That if it's even real it was centuries ago. How can it matter? Maybe it's already predestined. Maybe it's just an echo, like he says. What difference does it make if he lets himself slip away again, back to this medieval body in a medieval land, talking to a her that isn't her, trying to help wolves who are long, long dead?

But that would be hollow, too. She's not that girl.

The truth is, Devon's most prevaling thought is that Rafael is losing his mind. That his sanity is cracking, like porcelain, like all Silver Fangs eventually crack. Only for him it's some horrifying version of madness, where he isn't just sick with occasional ennui or something gross like habitually pulling out all his own hair and trying to eat it. No, for him, it would be something like slipping in and out of reality, believing wholeheartedly in both, never recognizing that he's just gone insane. That none of it is real.

That the only witch he has is right here, looking at him, feeling rejected in favor of a delusion, which feels more important to him than staying with her. That she's standing right in front of him, thinking that maybe he never really wanted to stay with her at all, that's not what his kind is made for, only because of what he is, he won't just abandon her. He'll stay here, thinking he loves her, while he checks out of his own skull for days at a time.

Devon doesn't say anything, or quite know what to do, so she bends her will towards keeping her eyes dry.

"Finish eating," she says softly. "Drive you to the sept after."

wolfman

[DIS. IS. EMPAFEE!!!]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 8) ( success x 1 )

witch

[She's worried -- a mix of sad and scared. And feels distant. Doesn't want him to go, though.]

wolfman

Never pretended to be wise in the ways of the heart. Never pretended to understand a look, a glance, a touch the way some do.

Understands enough, though. Sees her fear. Her worry. Her sadness, and her unwillingness to let him go again. Into the past. Into the umbra. Into the delusion, if that is what it is.

Thought hasn't even occurred to the wolf yet: that maybe this is madness. But then, if it was madness, it never would occur.

"Hey." Wolf speaks softly, gruffly. "What's the matter?"

Rafael van der Valk

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

feels important.

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