The Endless Dance of Empty Night [IC]

[ylvathrall]

It's a cold morning and you should be in Hell, or possibly Heaven if such a thing exists for the likes of you. But you're not. You have a headache pounding at the base of your skull that leaves you blind, and perhaps for a moment you could be convinced that this is Hell, but then it fades like it was never there, along with the nausea and the aching soreness running down your spine. You're lying on a cold, rocky shore, in a body that feels not entirely your own. The sky overhead is grey, a chill drizzling sort of rain falling on you from the clouds above. It looks to be sunset, though the clouds obscure the sun enough that it's hard to tell except by a sort of fading quality to the light. The air smells like plants that are not the plants you are accustomed to, assuming you're accustomed to plants at all.

Above all else, though, you feel a strange, alien power singing through you. You feel as full of unbridled potential as a child, who could be good or evil or anything at all, but at the same time you feel as though you are potential realized. As though you have made your choices and your choices have made you and nothing will ever be the same.

Four others are lying on the same shore. It looks like you all woke up at about the same time. Some of these others look...significantly more other than you're used to, though, and you can feel a humming sort of resonance in your bones when you look at them - like calling to like, perhaps, or perhaps opposites attracting. There's really no way to tell.

Except, perhaps, talking.

[Recherché]

The redheaded woman lying on the beach awakens choking, gasping for air for a second before realizing that she can breathe again. Her hands grasp at her through apparently feeling her own breathing. The woman lies for a few seconds simply breathing before standing up and looking briefly around at her companions. Something about them feels . . . more real than the rest of this reality.

I don't suppose you know where we are or why I'm naked? A blush creeps up her cheeks even as she tries to keep her voice steady.

[LordHavelock]

Turning over onto his back, despite the rocky shore, the rather statuesque looking young man appears to give himself a quick pat down, finishing by flexing his fingers and toes before he attempts to lift his head and look around. Brisk, hardly begins to describe the chill of the surf and the drizzle of water from overhead, but it feels distant compared to the unbound vigor coursing in every limb. No phantom sensations, and a quick check for injuries had raised no concerns. Rising with a wince as one of the rocks digs into his back, he takes a quick glance to either side, clearly unabashed at his own nudity. Running a hand through wavy, chestnut hair atop his head, the locks part themselves around his fingers into a perfectly tousled mane; all he was missing was some clingy, European bathing suit and an expensive looking sailboat in the backdrop for the image of a perfume commercial to be complete. Instead of a film crew though, his companions on the beach are similarly bedraggled, or at least, somewhat more so in comparison.

"Not my fault." He offers by way of answer to the red-haired woman spluttering. "If I were responsible for any of us winding up naked on a beach, this would be the Keys . . . Or at least Fort Lauderdale." He turned, gesturing at the gray, unbecoming rocky shoreline, "This, this is worse than Daytona."

Moving to assist the next nearest individual to their feat, he's shocked at the ease in finding footfalls on the rocks, making his way over and lending an arm with effortless grace and need for added leverage in helping them up.

[QuidEst]

The lean hyena man jerked reflexively, then started to pick himself up. Unlike the others, he was not only clothed in jeans and a gray hoodie with a pair of glasses, but he was wearing a backpack. Well, that and the whole fur thing also stood out. Once he was up, he began examining the others before feeling the back of his head experimentally. Car crash, and now he was on the shore with a bunch of naked creatures- naked to the point of being largely furless, like elves from a fantasy novel. Examination of his head produced nothing unusual. "Oookay… doesn't feel like a concussion. Coma?" He held up one hand to his mouth, exhaling deeply against it. "Well, if those are anything like dreams, no. Oh wow!" He'd gotten hit by a car, and woken up on a rocky shore with a bunch of elves (or something like that). He was pretty sure he knew what was going on.

"Oh, uh, lemme see if I have any clothes-" Vin started, about to take his backpack off to remove the hoodie, but he was interrupted by… he wasn't sure if he heard it, or just knew it.

INVENTORY
Clothing (renewed)	Sufficient clothing for you and your companions. Companion preferences not yet established; defaulting to expected preferences.
Food and drink (renewed)	Sufficient food and drink for you and your companions. Companion preferences not yet established; defaulting to expected preferences.
Money (renewed)	1 Wealth. Local currency and liquid assets with the equivalent purchasing power to the richest person in a well-off village.

Vin blinked, and his smile grew wider. Well, that confirmed it. "One second, lemme get this…" He unslung his pack, and started pulling out clothing. The attire looked like what elves from a blockbuster movie would wear, but with more concessions to practicality. "Good, looks like there's enough for everyone," he said, tossing a set of clothes to each person. "No idea where we are specifically, but I've got suspicions about to generalities. I'm Vin, by the way. Vin Barlow." Vin seemed to be brimming with enthusiasm by this point.

[Sepulchritude]

"Pittsburgh. You get used to the rain." And in fact, the woman who spoke is calmly lying on her back, one hand covering her eyes but otherwise seemingly unconcerned with her state. Heck of a state, though. The rain had washed most of the blood out of her clothes, but the right leg of her pants is torn all the way from her hip to the rolled-up cuff, and the t-shirt is a ragged fringe on that side, sleeve completely gone. Whatever had happened on the left, it's obscured by the pale green dress that had just been thrown at her.

Naturally, then, it's Vin she turns to look at first, opening hazel eyes that immediately narrow again. She opens her mouth to speak, but stops herself until she's at least not scowling. In the meantime, she actually looks down at the pile of fabric. "No one called for an ambulance, huh? Do you know why she's naked? Or do you just keep spare dresses around for special occasions?" She gestures in the direction of the female voice with the hand that isn't keeping the rain out of her eyes. There's more than a little warning in her voice, and now she finally starts to sit up.

[LordHavelock]

"Vin, and you are? Like the spirit guide or something? . . ." Catching the clothes tossed to him, he looked them over, "This is, what traditional garb or something?"

He still wasn't at all sure what was going on, but was vaguely working off the idea that after the accident with the ferry he had been taken somewhere. Maybe his family had sprung for one of those hippy-dippy healing centers, in misguided deference to what sort of life they thought he was living. Not that it explained everything, or really anything, but something like a vision quest almost fit his perception of the situation. Then the other woman spoke, and it was something more familiar. "Yeah! Or Baltimore! Exactly why I left, among other reasons. Were you all on the pier? I think I lost my briefs diving into the water after that kid, trapped beneath the planks. If anyone called an ambulance . . ." Considering a moment longer, "No wait, I mean, I wasn't hurt that bad, sure I was . . . bleeding already but . . ." Looking down, he checked his side but found no evidence of where he'd been struck in the first place.

Deciding it wasn't worth dwelling on seeing as he was here now, happy and healthy, he began donning the tunic, breeches, and pulling on the boots, draping the cloak over his arm for the moment.

"Call me 'Red', everyone does." He made sure to make eye contact with the only person among them who happened to have red hair with a wink, "For the record, I'm more of an Armani guy, but I'll take what I can get at the moment."

Rising to his feet, Red buckles his belt, and as he runs his hands upwards, adjusting his clothes, they ripple and twist gently, tailoring themselves to a perfectly flattering fit, while the tunic resolves into a rich burgundy. Unaware of the miracle of fashion happening on his person, Red merely gives himself a once over before draping the cloak over one shoulder, which becomes a half-cape, trimmed in silver. Giving a complimentary nod and warm smile, he turns to Vin: "Bespoke. Nice."

[QuidEst]

”Well, I don’t know why she’s naked. I’ve heard of Pittsburgh and Daytona Beach, but where I’m from, those places don’t have any elves, or whatever you are,” Vin answered. The woman hadn’t looked his way yet, so it was understandable that she hadn’t noticed the difference. “So, we’re from different worlds. If nobody else knows how we got here, I’m assuming we’re on a third world, gathered here. Posthumously, I think? Reincarnated in another world. As for the clothes, those were in my inventory. It says they renew, along with the food and drink.” And money, but he’d hold off before announcing he was carrying enough money to buy a small house for now. ”I don’t think I’m a spirit guide. My Super ride got t-boned at an intersection, so I’m pretty sure I got killed too.”

[Recherché]

Bridget slips on the green and gold dress after a second carefully examining the stitching. Despite the fantastic nature of it she manages to make it look natural. Turning to the other woman of the group she gestures at the back lacing.

Can you tighten up the cords here? This style gives better bust support if it's very tight and I can't reach the lacing easily myself.

I'm Bridget and if I'm sure of anything, it's that I'm not one of the fair folk. I'm from Halifax over in Canada. I like the dress though. Last thing I remember . . . I was out swimming near the pier and the currents caught me wrong. Pulled me out to sea and pulled me under. I couldn't breath and then I was here.

Bridget pauses for a second again trying to identify where "here" is based on the surroundings. This time with significantly more success.

So I think something very weird is going on here. Vin has an inventory and just created some rather expensive to manufacture clothes out of mid air. Red just transformed his clothes to give them silver trim and make them fit better. And well, I now have a sort of database in my head that gives me answers about this world when I ask it specific questions.

This world's name is Arcem. We're in an area called the Bleak Reach in the northern part of the Continent. It's relatively unpopulated. Elves are not common here. Most people here look more like me than Vin. Local tech levels are medieval but there are places with higher tech on the continent. Magic does exist but nothing that could resurrect the dead or transport someone from another plane of existence is readily available. There is absolutely no information about any of you, Vin's species, Baltimore, Canada or anything else from my world in the database.

Bridget breathes for a second after rattling off the facts rapidly

Sorry it's kind of hard to talk and query the database at the same time. And it's pretty bloody literal and won't give me answers to questions that I don't explicitly think to ask. Also it keeps wanting to dump information on me about local plants and their alchemical usages.

[LordHavelock]

Prompted by the red haired woman's words, Red takes stock of himself, noting that his outfit has changed since he picked it up, into the same color palette of his wardrobe back home; slate gray, and burgundy, and the embroidery subtly matches the pattern of his favorite tie, picked out in dark silver. As if unconvinced, he pats himself down once more, missing the tightening of laces for Bridget, the rest of her exposition passing over his head as he searches in vain for some sort of designer label or care instructions, even going so far as to check the interior of his boots (now a deep oxblood in color) for size or anything else familiar. It's disconcerting enough that he goes back over the ferry accident at the pier in his head; listening to others talk about being pulled under, car accidents, that wasn't so strange, but surely they'd just been knocked out or in shock . . . emergency response was already on the scene, surely nobody was going to have died.

"Hang on, hang on." Finally he wraps his head around a few of the other details being thrown around, "Other worlds? Elves? Magic? Inventory? . . . This isn't Gauntlet or Dragon's Lair we're talking about, we're all . . . here, in Arcem, up north? North like Connecticut or north like, Novia Scotia?"

Unconsciously, his hands check the pockets on his new outfit, looking for a mobile phone which he didn't even have on him when he leapt off the dock.

[Vhaidara]

A tall, lean man rises with a surprising amount of grace. As the sun strikes him, a small plume of smoke begins to rise, but he banishes it with a thought. Then his skin begins to sparkle. He scowls and the sparkle vanishes. He turns to the others, blood red eyes sweeping over them.

Alaron Davidson. Boston. That all sounds enormously unlikely, but at the same time, we're here and that man is part hyena, so that shows how much I know about what is going on.

He sniffs the air, his throat feeling a bit dry.

I don't suppose there's any water in that bag of yours, is there?

[QuidEst]

Vin reached into his bag, pulling out some hard plastic water bottles and an ornate bottle of wine. "Yeah, here you go," he said, tossing a water bottle to Alaron.

"Look, I dunno, maybe I've just shown up in your world and all that info is wrong, but it doesn't explain what you're all doing here together in a place nobody recognizes. As for elves, you all look a lot like elves to me. Mostly furless, long dog-like fur on your head, with pale skin and flat faces. I mean, the ears aren't very pointed, but they are on the sides folded back. I take it you're not, though."

[Vhaidara]

Alaron unscrews the cap, sniffs it, wrinkles his nose, and takes a drink. He spits it out.

What is this, tap water?

He takes a moment to recover his composure.

I at least am familiar with the concept of elves. Fictional beings, though without any kind of consistency in their characterization. And who has the almond milk latte? I can smell it you know.

[QuidEst]

Vin shrugged. "Why would I know? It just came out of my bag. You can always wait for a little dehydration to improve the flavor. And yeah, elves are fictional where I'm from too. 'Elfs' were around in fairy tales for ages, but 'elves' is more of a Tolkien thing."

[Recherché]

Hey don't knock a good Vanilla Almond milk latte. Though how in the world can you smell something from 9 hours ago? Bridget wrinkles her nose.

My world has legends of elves as well. They aren't particularly friendly stories. Lots of old folklore. I'm a human though. We're the dominant species on my world. Only sapient species actually.


Has anyone else noticed that not only are our geographies the same, but we're all from the Northeast quadrant of North America? I'm not sure whatever happened was completely random. It seems like it was geographically bounded but not dimensionally bounded if that makes sense.

Bridget reaches back to gather her hair up and out of the way. Vin, I don't suppose you have any hairpins or- Bridget's voice stops abruptly. When I woke up this morning I was a brunette with blue and green streaks dyed into my hair. What the hell is going on.

[QuidEst]

Vin shuddered, and rubbed his fur to try to warm up. Too damp in here. He saw a flash of some sort, and turned, absentmindedly waiting for the roll of thunder to accompany it. It was a few seconds before he realized it wasn't coming. Vin said. "Lemme check…" he said, something telling him to check his pockets. He held up the hairpins. "… Do you still want them? Look, here's my theory. I don't know if you've heard of 'isekai', or I think 'portal fantasy' would be the literary term, but people from one world winding up in another. I've read quite a few stories about people dying and reincarnating in a magical world with some special power. I seem to be able to pull clothes and food out of nowhere, you've got the magical database, Alaron's… smelling things, I guess? And Red did something with his clothes. In one of the stories, this would be the protagonist's… 'edge', I guess, something to set them apart and give them a tool in the new world."

[LordHavelock]

Perking up as Vin digs through his bag, and catching sight of the bottle of wine, Red dashes forward smoothly, without realizing he's making all the others on the beach look like they're standing wet cement. Without recognizing the label, he gives Vin a playful nudge and a smile, "Got anything stronger? I think we could all afford to take the edge off a bit?" He's forced to blink as the conversation catches up around him and moves forward before he can deal with what just seemed to happen in his change in relative perspective.

"Woah, woah, what are we really talking about here? You and Bridget and Al over there . . . you make it sound like something out of a Saturday morning cartoon! I mean, you're really, what, a talking hyena? Stuck in a world where we all have powers, somewhere far from home? What is this . . . ?" Stopping, he thinks for a moment, snapping his fingers. "Shoot, what's the one about talking duck with the superheroes and the crazy adventures . . . Howard the Duck!"

A sea of faces as well as the icy sea not much further off gives him pause. They really were meaning what they were talking about. Dying, winding up somewhere else, and Red had no explanation himself for the anything but natural occurrences around them, or where they might have been anywhere other than Miami, or a health clinic further up the seaboard. This meant, he had died, saving another person's life! He did it! And now this was, what, a reward?

[Sepulchritude]

The brunette had sheathed the daggers she was looking at Vin as the full scope of the weirdness had settled in, but her attention hadn't really been on the conversation. She'd stood to help the redhead with her corset without that holding her attention either, though apparently with enough muscle-memory for the task to make up the difference. Since then, she'd vaguely followed the conversation. She'd watched the gnoll explain elves, the fairy demand Perrier, and the Renny android—gynoid, really, but that always had sexbot connotations—grouse about the local 4G. But her eyes never entirely focused on them. They didn't focus on anything, until the underwear model hit Mach (something) in pursuit of wine, when her head swiveled to track him just a little bit too smoothly to seem entirely human. Cat-like, maybe? Her pupils did grow enormous for an instant. "You're all very... trusting."

But then she starts, shakes off her fugue, and offers a conciliatory smile. "Which is good! I mean, I'd hate to... This isn't... Oh hell. At least we're not in Kansas, right Toto?" She does it. She actually directs the question at Vin. "Wind smells salty. We're on the coast of something, anyway. And that's at least a three..."

She stalls out again. This time, she's staring at the rocks, clearly, and her face gradually scrunches into a worried frown. When she looks up, she looks like she's about to deliver bad news. "Folks, could we maybe take this bonding moment somewhere else? This spot is lousy with, well, probably louses, among all the other bugs." The really lovely pastel gown is still on the ground where she had been lying, still soaking up the rain. She still hasn't reacted to the ruins of her clothing, or the fact that they're torn enough to count as indecent.

[Recherché]

Bridget's eyes go black as she grabs the pins and effortlessly pins up her hair while consulting her database. There aren't any big settlements in Bleak Reach. There just aren't a lot of people up here. The weather is kinda Scandinavia-esque but there are a lot of other problems. This area has issues with dark magics and eldritch horrors. Most settlements that do exist are on the coast and are fishing based. I'm guessing our best bet for finding people would be to follow the beach south and east. Eventually I'd like to make my way over to the island of Bright Republic. They have internet, libraries for research and working toilets. Maybe we could figure out more of what happened using their resources. Or at the very least not catch typhoid and die.

The redhead shrugs looking around.

Way I figure it I don't have much choice but to trust. Vin has all the food supplies and I don't even have a utility knife.

[Vhaidara]

Not sure how I can smell it, especially if it's that old. Even if you had spilled it on your old clothes, you don't have those, and at the very least I don't seem to be in my own body. Neither do you, based on your comments about your hair.

He nods as Brigid describes the local situation

I can definitely second getting to this "Bright Republic". It sounds like there might be resources we can use to try and get ourselves home from there.

[LordHavelock]

Pacing forward, then back, more than a bit excited at the prospect of what some sort of fantasy world might have in store for them, Red laughs at Reagan's mention of Kansas. It seems to fit, with Bridget talking about 'dark magic', witches to his way of thinking, though any impact 'eldritch horrors' might have it lost on someone with not exposure to anything beyond the occasional Hollywood feature of a tentacled monstrosity.

Taking stock of the gathering bugs around Reagan, he glances around himself, "You got sugar in your pockets there? Better question, maybe Vin has some Deet."

Even though he's just checked his pockets, Bridget's mention of a utility knife triggers some chivalrous impulse and reaching to his belt, pulls a horn handled pocket knife, and offers it to her with a smile. "Here, just be careful, it's been in the family a while." It certainly looks antique, but the blade is clean and the hinge in good condition, perfectly serviceable for whittling or around a campsite needs.

"I"m game to start moving, see if there's more to what we can do than a full backpack and some fashion . . ." It registers what him only just then what Alaron has said about a final destination. "Get back? Get back to where? Somewhere we're already dead? This is a fresh start, a new world! And okay yeah, it's not exactly Narnia at Christmas time, but c'mon, you want to go back to being a working stiff at a 9-to-5?"

His tone is generally jovial, and as he becomes more animated, Red can't help but make his way up the beach, over the nearest rise and takes a quick survey of the terrain before looking back. "You don't want to bet you've got super-senses or something beyond just an uncanny affinity for Starbucks?" He calls back, "I mean, look at us! I may still be me, but I "die" and then suddenly, I'm back in fighting shape! I feel incredible!"

[Vhaidara]

Alaron smiles, revealing (unbeknownst to himself) pointed fangs.

I don't know about the life you lived, but based on your comments about places you were likely to have ended up, I can gather that you were utterly unimportant and unlikely to be missed. I, meanwhile, was in the middle of working on a project that could change the course of medical history. In short, unlike you, I have a reason to live.

[Sepulchritude]

"Tchyeah, okay Vlad." Right. Not fairy. Different kind of sparkle. This would be a great one to remember, when she wakes up. "You go on being important. The rest of us are going on down the coast. Come on, Fabio. That's northwest."Waving for Red's attention, she points toward the ocean like that's going to mean anything to him, then starts walking the other way. She steps carefully at first, trying to avoid putting a foot down where anything might crawl onto it. When that no longer proves necessary after a few paces, she pauses to take in the strange concentration, shudders visibly, and takes several more hasty steps away.

It's only once she begins anxiously brushing at her clothing that she clearly notices it, and both the walking and the escalating unease fall to the wayside. She does run a finger over the split torn up her pants, briefly, but it's her leg that gets most of her attention. Lingering, perplexed attention, at that.

"Nothing hurts. Not even a bruise. Not even when I remember there should be one..." She looks up in surprise, then goes back to poking at her thigh. "That's not how this works... It never... Oh my god; I think this is real. This is— This is real, you guys."

[Recherché]

Bridget rolls her eyes at the vampire's arrogance. Right, because we're all peons before your grace. Her voice drips with scorn as apparently Alaron has hit a sore spot.

Oh and I wasn't a nine to five wage slave, Red. I'm an archeologist. Even if I wasn't in the middle of trying to reverse engineer a late medieval castle, I have family. I have friends. I miss them. Apparently my humanity doesn't matter to Alaron here though and I have nothing to live for.

Bridget takes the blade and immediately zones out. There's a series of visions flashing through quickly. The original smith forging the blade at the turn of the century. A custom order for a military officer, one Theodore Roosevelt to carry at his side. Made the old way with forge and anvil and quenched in oil.

She grabs at her dress trying to feel the same thing but no, there's nothing there. There was no creator. No person ever took needle to thread and gifted the spark of creation into this dress.

You, uhm what's your name? Bridget points at the other woman. Can I touch your clothes for a second? I promise I'm not trying to grope you. Just your clothes.

[Sepulchritude]

"Reagan," she responds, distraction clearly evident in her tone. She hasn't even stopped prodding at— well, actually now she's begun just tracing her hip with one finger, staring at it as though she isn't really sure what it is. It takes a moment for the question to register.

"Didn't you say you... Wait, what?" And when it does, Reagan finally looks up, finally makes eye contact. Her expression is an unclear blend of confusion, amusement, searching, and... something else. It eventually gives way to undisguised mischief. "That depends," she answers. "Can you play nice? Or will I have to turn this car around?"

She does move her hand out of the way though. That is, assuming Bridget was talking about the tear, anyway.

[QuidEst]

Vin shook his head at Red. "I don't know when this refreshes, but for now it's wine and water. I don't really drink, so the rest of you can help yourself to the wine. But, it did say it was missing preferences, so… I guess let me know what you like, folks?"

The hyena chuckled a little at Reagan's sudden epiphany. "Yep. If you want some quick proof that that you're not hallucinating me or dreaming me, the prime factors of…" He paused for a moment, thinking. "… 455 are 13, 7, and 5."

"Thanks, Bridget. I'm really glad you database includes some geography. Once we get to civilization of some flavor, I've got enough money to at least cover somewhere to stay for a little while, and we can sort out what to do from there. I'm not particularly interested in trying to get my old life back, though- it had its run, and I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth."

[Recherché]

At Reagan's assent Bridget reaches down and lays her hand flat on the pants though on a sturdier portion and not on the rip themselves.

Memories rush into her of the designer in an apartment in San Francisco. The cotton farmer from India stooping over the fields. The woman in a sweatshop in Malaysia who sewed the pieces together despite her hunger. All of them created this and gave it purpose and it's spark. She pulls on that spark to mend the jeans and pull them back together. And the threads of the pants visibly begin reweaving themselves not only patching the hole but dissolving stains and abrasions and restoring the pants to new. When Bridget draws her hand away the pants are flawless.

So it turns out that database wasn't the only thing I got. She muses

[LordHavelock]

Hardly finding Alaron's retort to be anything of merit, Red busies himself with a quick pose in one athletic position, and then another, feeling absolutely marvelous. Reagan had called him Fabio, but he felt more like Mike Tyson, primed and ready to explode. Settling into a boxer's stance, he threw a few quick combination of punches, but was disappointed to find time didn't seem to quite be standing still. Wishing he had a speed bag to test himself with, Reagan's directions caused him a quick double take before he smiled sheepishly and rejoined them at a brisk trot, calling back to Alaron, who seemed to be quickly making friends: "Yeah, you and every other pre-med at Harvard when I graduated. There's no shortage of geniuses back on Earth, there's more of em every year. If Vin and Bridget are right, we could make that much more of a difference here! . . . and look good doing it!"

The mention of friend and family by Bridget though caught him off guard. His 'friends' back home were the fairweather variety; and his family . . . best not to dwell, he didn't want to bore anyone, especially not folks with legitimate concerns in the here and now, besides being dead.

"Okay, so south, east?" He asked, watching Bridget mend the jeans, "Now that is handy. Better than same-day dry cleaning. Vin! You got anything that will play some tunes to walk by?"

[Vhaidara]

Alaron raises his eyebrow at the name Vlad. These people are strange. But, strange or not, they seemed almost as lost as him, and they had abilities. And, most importantly, they had knowledge. Sp he would follow them for now, at least.

[QuidEst]

Vin was about to answer Red that he didn't have anything else, but… there was a sense that there was just more effort required. Vin reached into his pocket, concentrating on the expectation that his phone would be there, and pouring something into that expectation. Vin pulled his hand out… and there was his uPhone. "Ha! Let's see if this actually works…" He tried pressing the home button, hoping to see the light come on.

Spoiler: Songs, if he can actually turn it on.

Show

As selected by shuffle on the Amazon music songs I have downloaded for offline mode.
Sticks and Stones, The Pierces
Hit and Run, LOLO

[Sepulchritude]

"Yeah, you and me both," Reagan responds a bit abstractly, still looking herself over with clear amusement. "The hips, if nothing else." She twists briefly to give her backside a look, but this time seems a bit put out. "Well... I had the ass already. Not that I'm complaining; I'm not even sure I'd want more. I just don't understand why I even..."

Instead of finishing the sentence, she stares into the middle distance and sucks on her teeth in about the most hackneyed contemplative expression ever. It lasts precisely seven-tenths of a second before her eyes fly open and she lurches forward as though she just took a punch to the gut. Quite suddenly, she looks about to cry. And then she does. Not sobbing, no racking grief. Just an open stream of tears joining the rainwater already wetting her cheeks. She does stumble a little, but that just serves as a cue to take a deep breath and pull herself together. She looks around at the others, mouth and eyes open in incredulous shock, but no words come; she just turns and starts walking again, albeit with much less urgency.