RP Remnant of Form

Their dreams were all the same, it seemed. For some reason, despite how impossible it would've been, Al was expecting that to be the case. They all recognised each other by title, after all. If anything, it would be weirder if their dreams were different; a string of bizarre coincidences that led to this moment. She didn't need to describe hers in detail, she just shrugged and nodded as if her answer of 'yeah, that's word-for-word what my dream was as well' was obvious.

A newcomer arrived--the Royal--and, quite unexpectedly, greeted her with a compliment. It wasn't unusual for people to be familiar with her work, local as it was, but it still came as a shock- especially nowadays. Of course, the episodes in question had been well-recieved, and the show was famous enough that it wasn't completely out of the ordinary for someone to-

"It's Ms now, actually. Long story, not yet published." She smiled, "But- thank you."

Then, the lights flickered.

Then, she noticed the woman.

Then, the plane crashed down outside.

Al jumped, startled out of her mind, unable to focus on anything anyone was saying anymore- because that was a plane crash. There was nothing else it could be. Another newcomer looked terrified. The Rebel, the Magician, they weren't freaked out at all, standing stoic as ever. Her thoughts were racing, jumping over themselves as the woman's word's echoed in her head- but not the last ones.

"The Sage." She said, forcing her voice into stillness, "She was on that flight, wasn't she?"
 
"Aha - someone's precocious," the woman said with a delighted edge, clapping her gloved hands together - muffled thumps. "But no, my dear Jester, the Sage was not on that flight - she is, at least for a few moments more."

Her wizened arm lifted, veiled eyes focusing on her watch. She seemed, at least for the moment, to purposefully ignore the others. For a second. For two. Then three. Then, inhaling slightly, she raised her eyes back to Al.

"And now she is not. Now, she is with me."

The gaze shifted to Robert, then Nick in turn.

"It's perfectly natural to want answers. Perfectly natural. We fear what we do not know. We are wary of what we cannot control." Eyes from Nick, back to Robert, then narrowing slightly. "Unfortunately, you're his pawns, not mine, so it wouldn't be much in the spirit of things for me to give you help, would it?"

Overhead, the lights hummed, dimming. The woman lifted her watch again, counting down the seconds under her breath. Then - slowly - she turned to face the only one who hadn't yet spoken.

"I'd introduce myself quickly, if I were you, dear. Time has run quite thin."

She grinned her wide, too-perfect grin. The lights went out. When they came back on, the woman was gone. Someone screamed. Then someone else. Shouts, footsteps, curses, both yelled and muttered. The terminal was full, again, and near everyone was rushing to the nearest windows to try and catch a glimpse of the tarmac outside.
 
“Thanks, love.” Aurora said, leaning close to note down Elizabeth’s number into her own phone, oblivious perhaps to the other woman’s wiggling in place. Aurora had just finished adding the number to her phone when the lights overhead went out, and there was a terrible scream from outside as an airplane fell, carrying the sage. She had just been… had the entire plane crashed because she hadn’t arrived on time? That was… insane. How many other people had been on that thing? And this old woman, how was she so casual about this?

As soon as she appeared, she was gone again, and chaos swelled in her wake. They were the pawns of someone else, and this disaster was simply what then, a part of a game?

“Holy hell.” Aurora said, her gaze turned towards the window, or really towards the crowd gathered around the window. Which one was the Sage? A middle aged woman wasn’t she? It was too much all at once, but Aurora turned her attention back to the others, her eyes falling on the last of them to join. The Nurturer by the looks of her.

“Hello dear, shame we couldn’t meet in better circumstances. I’m Aurora Hall, and it seems time is short, so please do come join us and tell us your name.” Aurora said, with a motion of her hand. “After that, it seems we’ll need to decide on what we should do next so we aren’t… late.”
 
At the Magician's hiss, Nick snapped back to look at him. "You got a fuckin' problem? I wasn't talkin' to you, so piss off." He spat.

Then, his attention was torn from the moment by the lights flickering. He noticed that people were gathered around a window, appearing to be in shock. It had nothing to do with him, however, so he didn't take much interest.

"Anyway," He purred, bumping Robert purposefully as he walked past him to the women. "It's nice to meet you guys, and here's my number. You know, you ladies don't just have to use it for business purposes, if you know what I mean.." As he took out his phone, he deleted the frantic texts from his ex-roommate on a different phone.
 
"I'd introduce myself quickly, if I were you, dear. Time has run quite thin."

The lights had gone and so was the unnatural old woman. The screams began, indicating whatever had occurred had happened in a space outside of reality, at the very least, Ada believed it to be so if the only ones that were around were from her dream. Where they were once alone together, now they were within the screaming crowd, the natural response to a plane having crashed. However Adaline had at least some direction, unnatural as it was, and would near the group who she had just witnessed to be in that empty space with her. The Rebel true to his name down to the very core it seemed was passing his phone number to the others. The Royal, The Lover, The Jester, and The Magician all gathered before her and it would seem The Royal, or rather, Aurora Hall had been the one to call her over.

"Nurturer or Adaline Wilmette.. or Ada if you wish. Uh.. Is there.. does anyone feel as if they need to like.. be somewhere right now? It's kinda hard to know what to do without a direction in mind. At least that's what I think."
 
The old woman vanished, leaving the group alone as alarms and a general panic rose up around them.

One of Robert's friends had introduced him to the concept of the NPC, a nickname for someone who didn't have an internal monologue - who lacked introspective ability, who just passed through life like they were a prop in a video game. That was how Nick seemed to him - someone programmed around a single word, Rebel, and incapable of going beyond the bounds of that title in any respect. His retort was met with an expressionless glare, and when Nick tried to bump him like a schoolboy on passing, Robert didn't give. He stood taller than the man who looked like he could've just graduated from college, if he had the ability.

Punch him in his throat, he thought, as he tilted his head backward to regard him with a contemptuous stare. Right in the trach. Do it now, you have a perfect shot.

His guts talked to him like that, urging him to do things. Sometimes he listened.

Robet Darby had been in more than his share of dirty fights over the years. He was an impatient man by nature, and Nick was obviously, purposefully pushing his buttons. Maybe a hundred people had just gone up in a fireball, and he was trying to get laid. But knocking someone out in the middle of an airport after a plane crash would be a stupid thing to do.

So, he ignored him - and the rumbling voice in the back of his skull encouraging him to show Nick what a real Rebel could do.

"Aurora. Ada," he acknowledged in turn, brushing the lapel of his suit, then adjusting the tie at his neck as he thought about their next move. His other clothes were in a duffel bag over near where he'd originally been standing, along with his personal belongings and travel bag for hygiene. He was wearing his nicer garb for the flight - he always considered air travel an occasion, and besides, stuffing a suit into a bag would wrinkle it.

He cleared his throat, mind racing. He had just witnessed a woman vanish from thin air with his own eyes - and she had apparently engineered a plane crash, as if by magic. This was exhilirating and terrifying, and he sensed that some of the others must have felt the same way.

"Whatever happens next, I'm right here with you all. We're supposed to find each other, and we've done that. So, we stick together for now. Each one of us has a role to play - a reason we're here, probably connected to our titles."

The collection of them, standing out in the open - he felt that they were exposed. They needed a safe place, an axis mundi, to return to. And he needed a drink, so terribly, a drink. He needed an altered state of consciousness for this.

He stared out past them.

"Let's get out of the terminal. They won't evacuate the airport for a single crash, but every flight will be grounded. There's an Applebees with a bar by the gate. I say we get a table. It's somewhere to be."
 
The old woman was gone just as soon as she appeared, paired with a flicker of the airport lights. Suddenly, the crowd was back, clamoring at the window for a look at the wreckage- which one of them had apparently just been on. Elizabeth placed a hand over her mouth, the other gripping the handle of her rolling bag tighter. One of them had- died? What did she mean, they were with her now?

What sort of game were they embroiled in? What was this?

Had it not been for the others, namely Al and Robert, this may have fallen apart in that moment. Elizabeth certainly was in no position to wrangle them, to direct them, to provide next steps. No, she felt like she was about to throw up. Despite her pale face and wide eyes, Nick decided to... try to hit on her. Her face screwed into something akin to disgust, and she took a half step away from him, but didn't say anything until Robert began suggesting a course of action.

His suggestion was so... mundane. It almost made her want to laugh, but the orange flicker of flame, the clamor from the crowd, the flashing lights of the fire trucks outside kept her painfully aware. "An... Applebee's? I- I guess? Anywhere but here."
 
Nick's attempts to piss off Robert seemed to be working. He could sense the tension in the air, and it felt somewhat good. It appeared that he had a bit more self-control than the others he had pissed off, and that was a good thing. Even though the Rebel had quite a bit of experience getting in fights, Robert was bigger than him. In a fair fight, he'd probably lose.

Now, he supposed it was time to take the mask off. His posture was still slouched, but didn't seem overly confident like before. Nick's eyes flicked back to the Magician, then down at the floor. He thought about the situation they were all in.

The woman said she had a rival, a man. She said that they were his, does that mean there are others on her side?

Snapping out of his daze, he listened to Robert and Elizabeth talking about what to do next. His tone had shifted as well. Instead of being loud and cocky, his voice was composed, but not cold. "Applebee's sounds fine." The Rebel added, shoving his hands into his pockets. "If you like overpriced, shitty food. You know, I used to work at an Applebee's, and none of the cooks washed their hands. The kitchen smelled like pot and booze.." Shuddering, he shook his head, trying to get that memory out of his head.
 
They were his pawns? Whose? Did the old woman have pawns herself, or was she just--and Al cursed herself for her lack of imagination as she thought this--Final Destinationing the only human actors? Their goals were clearly opposing, the woman and her rival, and the woman wanted them dead, so unless the game was to see how many dream-walking strangers you can kill in plane crashes, they'd probably be better off trying to find the guy who was on their side. It was fantastical thinking, she knew; that this was all not only real, but that there were more impossibilities beyond those they had already witnessed.

Then again, she was a writer. Fantastical thinking was kind of her job.

Still somewhat stunned by the prior events, Al could only nod silently as the two newcomers, Aurora and Ada, introduced themselves to the group. Once her time came to recieve phone numbers, she dutifully noted them down, shooting Nick with a wry gaze as he made a clumsy attempt to flirt with the middle-aged butch lesbian.

"Sure, I'll send you some scripts. My editor always says I have trouble relating to the younger demographic, maybe you can help."

Of course that was the first thing she could get herself to say. Perhaps some of her hoped that another would show up- Ada's appearance showed that not all latecomers were killed off. Were the others safe, then? Were at least some of the others safe? Was there something about the Sage that-

She shook her head, forcing her racing thoughts to a halt. There was no time for speculation like this, it would only make her paranoid. Robert was right- they needed a place to sit down and talk things through, and there were less things that could go wrong in an Applebee's than an international airport. Not that Al had been to many Applebees before, but she didn't remember them as having a tendency to crash into tarmac, killing everyone inside. No- don't think about that, you'll start to panic again. She needed to keep a clear head. They all did.

Elizabeth, in particular, seemed shellshocked. Al took a couple steps towards her, offering as reassuring of a smile as she could muster, given she was, herself, also terrified.

"Hey," She said, "We'll get through this, alright? All of us."

Al didn't believe herself, but she couldn't admit that- not even to herself. A little delusion like this was almost required. Al turned back to the group.

"Let's get moving, then." She said, "Although- we were told to meet in the terminal, weren't we? Call me crazy, but if anyone else makes it here, and we're already gone..."

She took out a notebook and wrote something down: Applebee's - Jester & co..

"...We should tell them where to find us- in case she finds them first."

She tore out the page and placed it on a table in front of her.
 
With the last of their group having given her introduction, Aurora’s gaze slid back to where the woman had been sitting. It was odd wasn’t it, the rival coming to see them before their own benefactor, and to what? Gloat? Aurora tapped a finger to her lips, though giving it thought didn’t seem to provide her any answers. Was it only the sage that died? What of the others who hadn’t arrived at this point? Did any of them start on her side already? That last thought made the skin on the back of her neck prickle a little. Had the lady simply been Death?

Nick pulled her attention from the once-empty still-empty bench as he seemed to choose this moment to try to flirt with four women at once, which was a choice lacking more than a little tact. She gave the younger man a frown as she added his number to her contacts list, and he seemed to deflate some as Robert refused to engage with his antics.

“Well, an airport Applebees’ seems as good a place as any.” Aurora said, stepping away to collect her luggage. Elizabeth looked shaken, which was more than fair really given the circumstances. She offered up a smile as she passed, and a few words to accompany Al’s. “Let’s do our best to watch one another’s backs.”

“Well, let’s get moving then.” She extended the handle of her luggage and looked back over her shoulder. The crowd was mercifully too thick to see through. “Before anything else, I think I need a stiff drink.
 

When he awoke, it was to the chime of an overhead speaker.

What he had assumed to be one, at least. Waking from sleep was often a very standard affair for Aidan Byrne; eyelids fluttering open to the clinical white and grey tones of a cell, the faint ringing of mild tinnitus creeping in the aftermath of some dream or nightmare he was bound to forget upon waking. Life felt like a dream, in a way-- a fugue state of uncountable length, days drawing into weeks drawing into months. Wake up-- white, grey, ringing. Fall asleep-- white, grey, ringing. Most nights, Aidan Byrne didn't dream at all.

Last night, for whatever reason, was different.

Standing in a circle. Eleven others.

Find each other. Midnight falls. Your time has come.

There had been a dim thought of amusement in the back of his mind, when he'd felt that thought pop into his head. Of course his time had come; his luck had finally run out. No more appeals. No more letters. No more death row-- just a time for his sentencing, and a night to think on his final words. It'd been tomorrow. Fitting, that his final night on this earth was when he'd finally started to dream with nothing but clarity.

Only he hadn't woken up in his cell. No grey. No white. Just the ringing in his ears and the echo of an airport intercom.

--M21 for Flight A4 will be boarding in thirty minutes.

"... what."

Dreaming, still. Had to be. Didn't look real; didn't feel real. Aidan blinked a second time-- slower, now-- and sat up, glancing at his surroundings with a growing sense of confused bewilderment. This didn't feel like a dream. He'd never dreamt like this. A stretch of the hands in front of his eyes confirmed ten fingers; a glance at his body confirmed he was still in his clothes he went to bed in.

His white prison uniform from the Polunsky Unit.

Fuck me.

At the very least, he wasn't in any manacles-- though the all-white sleeveless outfit hardly blended into a bustling airport. Still skeptical that this was all indeed real, Aidan looked to his left, then to his right. Somebody was asleep next to him with a neck pillow-- Walkman-like headphones over the ears. Snoring louder than a motherfucker, too. Lifting something off of someone sleeping in a busy airport was a no-go-- by now, he'd probably even been spotted on cameras. How the fuck did he even get in here?

Why was he still asking questions that he didn't need to know the answer to?

Immediately, Aidan took off to his feet, checking the signs for gates and furrowing his brow. Arrivals-- that meant he was near baggage claim. Following the directional signs, Aidan moved forward-- a bit out of place, given his lack of any carry-on or bags at all-- and slowed his pace at the carousel, looking from person to person before his gaze drifted back to the bags. Pick the one that was about to go back in for another loop-- chances are, it'd been missed and nobody would stop him when he grabbed it last minute.

Large, tan, square. Had a tag on it. Aidan stepped forward to swipe it from the carousel last-minute, popping out the handle and rolling it alongside him as he made his way to the nearest bathroom; he pushed inside, picked an empty stall, and unzipped the bag to see the contents.

Clothes-- exactly what he needed. The inmate uniform was stripped off and traded out for civilian attire-- an orange jacket, a grey t-shirt, and jeans. Boots didn't fit, so he kept on his shoes. The rest was bathroom and shower shit, and other meaningless objects. Until he pressed further-- shoving clothes and travel toothbrush aside to dig at smaller compartments hidden within the suitcase. There, hidden away behind a zipper-bag, was an envelope.

An envelope with 440 dollars in cash, and some change.

He nearly shat himself. The uniform and clothes were stuffed back into the luggage back as he pocketed the envelope, folding it and placing it on the inside of his jacket before he made his way back out into the main hall towards the gates. 440-- he could use that. Could he buy a ticket on arrivals side? No ID needed, hop on a fucking plane out of the United States? The longer he stayed here, the longer time passed with him gone from his cell-- if this was even real.

This had to be real.

Needed to think things over. At least for a moment. O'Hare was-- fuck. Not near Texas, so how long would it take to find him? A death row inmate that's just-- gone the day of his execution would be high priority. But he could take a few minutes. People were distracted, looking out at the tarmac-- something that didn't concern him. Something that wasn't going to distract him. He needed somewhere to sit down and fucking think. Make sense of all this.

He'd almost missed it, while pushing past to the exit. Applebee's. Still around, apparently. And it would certainly beat whatever shit was being served in the cafeteria, today, seeing as he wouldn't have a fucking special meal request. And a drink...

He'd been sober for over 25 years. Not by any measure of personal discipline, mind. Aidan made his way to the counter and took his seat, swiping the drink menu that was a ways down the counter. He looked over it for a moment, furrowed his brow at the options, and set it back down, looking up at the woman behind the counter.

"A... 'Pair of Jacks'. And-- water."

It was surreal. She took his order, walked away, and he was left alone.

He was free.

He leaned back in his stool, internalized the thought, and gave a soft chuckle. For what felt like the first time in years, he smiled.

He was free.
 
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With numbers exchanged, she at least felt some form of accomplishment, though it was rather difficult to feel much with all that has occurred in the last few moments. There was a snort then, the scene at hand was almost laughable, here they were complete strangers just moments ago and now they would be going to Applebee's of all places. Ada sighs with some relief however other worries would begin to plague her, at the very least, if others were to show up after they had gone there would at least be some direction for others but then, just how long would it take for the rest to arrive.. if they arrive.

"I think we all might need that stiff drink aha.." Never had she been to one, nor would she have considered it, but it was certainly something. Ada would begin to move in the direction of, nary a luggage in sight. "How about we try not to lose each other on the way over, okay? I'm not exactly thrilled being here but.. I guess it's nice to get some answers.. even if there's more questions now."
 
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"Anywhere but here," he repeated affirmatively, half-listening to Liz's words, but looking intently at Nick. After his attempt at flirting with the group, he seemed more reserved. When their gaze met, the younger man's eyes went to the floor. All of Robert's frustration and uncertainty with the situation were being focused on the weakest link in the group, and his knuckles tingled. He might not have been provoked, but in other situations, he'd lashed out at people he'd known better for much less. It was an uncomfortable fact that he'd lost his temper before, but one he'd grown to accept. He'd won fights in bars, if you could call them that - the best tactic was to strike first, hard. So, maybe they were less fights, and more bar assaults. He had that feeling welling up in him now. Thankfully, the younger man had dialed it back a bit, instead of doubling down. He didn't know what to make of that. Maybe reality was setting in.

If this was reality.

Hefting his duffel bag, he started on a march toward the restaurant.

"I'll pay for the drinks. My treat."
Earlier

At his desk, late into the morning, beyond 3 a.m., Robert scribbled diagrams into a moleskine notebook. A circle of circles, each labelled with a name - a title - as best as he could remember them. He worked with pens, not pencils, preferring the permanence.

Innocent. Orphan. Warrior. Nurturer. Explorer. Rebel. Lover. Artist. Jester. Sage. MAGICIAN. Royal.

At the bottom of the page, underlined several times, was 'Find each other.'

Descriptions of each person he had seen in the dream merited their own pages in the book, along with stream-of-consciousness thoughts he'd had about the cast. He'd tried researching the combinations of words, but had come up with nothing - at least, nothing that resonated with him, that resonated with the dream. This was beyond reason and research. He felt he'd accomplished more of substance while under the influence of anything he could find at a given time. His work had suffered, but this was more important.

Midnight falls, he thought. Clock theme - twelve names. Ominous - not a lot of good happened at midnight - but it could also mean a new beginning. The same went for 'your time has come.' That could mean death - or ascension. He'd spent years feeling dead, so he chose to imagine that this was where everything would start getting better, even if it didn't feel like it at the time.

After a brief pause, he tapped his thumbs together, staring down at the page with the main diagram - the circle.

"Hmm."

Needed a magic touch.

Though he could not consciously explain why he chose to do it, he pricked the middle of his thumb with a needle. With a slight wince, he pressed the bloody thumb down in the middle of his circle - the Magician - where it left a red print, like a wax seal.
The Present

Robert set foot in the gimmick restaurant with little caution, hungry deep-set eyes looking through the attendant and settling on a large circular booth for them to use together. With a small smile, he let the host show them to the table - and, if eventually given the option, he'd order a rum and coke for himself, in addition to whatever everyone else wanted.

He had money - good money - but he also had a feeling it soon wouldn't matter anymore.

That excited him, but he kept it to himself.
 
As they walked to the restaurant, Nick's significant lack of funds ate at him. He didn't want Robert paying for his drinks, his pride wouldn't allow it. Nick would reluctantly follow the group, uncomfortably sitting at the booth. At some point during the walk, he snuck one of his headphones in his ear, playing some music to distract himself.

When the time came, the Rebel ordered water for himself, something he learned to do from a young age. Drinks cost money, and money was something he didn't have.
 
"You got it, honey," the bartender said, moving away to leave Aidan to his own devices. Didn't even comment on his clothes. Why would she? Wasn't the weirdest thing people wore for a red-eye. After a few long moments, though - something happened. The lights flickered. Only a moment. Milliseconds after, a deep rumble shot through the restaurant, glasses rattling. Some fell to the floor with a crash.

Someone in a black outfit (manager, most likely) whispered in the bartender's ear, and both of them hurried out of the restaurant, leaving only Aidan and his sleeping barfellow to their lonesome. Overhead, a TV played Fox 32, the sound muted, subtitles lagging a good several seconds behind whatever was playing on the screen.

Currently, Aidan's face stared back at him.

[...ESCAPED FROM A POLK COUNTY DEATH ROW HOLDING UNIT EARLIER THIS NIGHT. POLICE ARE STILL...]

[...INVESTIGATING THE SITUATION. AN INSIDER DESCRIBED THE CIRCUMSTANCES SURROIUNDING THE DISAPPEARANCE...]

[...AS HIGHLY UNUSUAL.]

[...]

[...]

[...THE DOOR WAS LOCKED, YEAH? AND...]

-

The atmosphere inside the Applebee's was dreary. It was almost wholly unoccupied - not a single staff in sight - and the only other two folk who had decided to get anytizer combos at this hour were a couple of men sitting at the bar, one watching the television, one slumped over the bar. The Fox 32 anchor was wrapping up a story about an escaped convict, and was now showing pictures from a helicopter of a flaming streak of debris across a runway. BREAKING in large letters hung in the top corner.

While there wasn't anyone to take his order, Nick would notice an unguarded pitcher of ice water sitting on a nearby podium.
 
Elizabeth followed the group in the same way she had left home, the same way she had gone through TSA, the same way she had flown; trepidatiously. Nothing about this situation was comfortable, or hardly even right. They'd all been pulled together by strange dreams Elizabeth had been mostly sure were the result of stress until recently, and not even ten minutes after they'd laid eyes on one another, a plane had crashed.

It was really hard not to think about that plane crash. It could have been her, if her flight had been delayed. Would she have born the responsibility for everyone on board with her? Was that the kind of game this was? As the group approached a table, she drew to a stop just beside it, setting her rolling bag back on its wheels, laying her shoulder bag atop it, staring blankly at the table in thought. It was a blessing, a miracle, that she was alive, and that the whole airport hadn't been shut down and evacuated. It was already on the news.

Elizabeth pulled out her phone, typing out a quick message to her mom. She was okay, that wasn't her plane, she wasn't nearby when it happened. No, she didn't know what caused it. No, no one had been told anything yet. Her hand was shaking as she wrote.

"S-so what now?"
 
“A drink first, I think.” Aurora said, giving Elizabeth a gentle pat on the shoulder. She smiled, which she hoped was reassuring, as the other woman looked like she was about ready to shake out of her own skin. “But for now, how about we just take a seat, love? It’ll be easier to think once we’ve caught our breath I think.” Aurora motioned for Elizabeth to take a seat before she rolled her own suitcase over to the table so it would be out of people’s way. She turned her attention to the others with that done.

“I’ll go see if I can find any staff.” She said, before stepping away from their table. The restaurant was dead, which Aurora wasn’t certain if that was just due to the time of day or a marker for the quality of the food. Or, perhaps more realistically, due to the airplane that fell from the sky. There were a few others, some had food which Aurora took to be a positive sign, one was asleep and blissfully unaware that his plans were ruined, and one sat at the bar.

Aurora did not stand directly next to that last man as she approached the bar, but she was close still. She rested an elbow on the counter, leaning forward to see if she could see into the prep area for anyone milling about back there, but in the corner of she could see the man, and that was enough to draw the rest of her attention. It took her a moment to realize why.

“Oh! You’re the…” Words trailed off, the TV behind the counter was playing some news reports. An escaped convict, by the looks of it though it had flipped to coverage of the wreckage by the time she had noticed it. “…the Warrior, right?” She finished after a second. Her lips drew into a frown, was it just the dream or— he was vaguely familiar, and his clothes didn’t seem quite the right size but a plane had fallen from the sky, so the thoughts didn’t last long.

“Others, ah, Rebel, Magician, Lover, Nurturer, and Jester are all over at that table over there. I think you should join us.” Ah, she sounded very much like an insane person, didn’t she? But that was fine. Her gaze returned to the TV, and the still burning ribcage of the airplane. “The Sage is dead.” She added with a wince.
 

The bitch took his order, took his money, and then fucked off not even a minute later. Aidan watched the pair leave with a blank expression on his face, then took a moment to make sure they'd fully left before reaching out over the counter and groping for whatever was underneath. He managed to hook his fingers around a handle of Jack Daniels, pulling it up and getting himself a glass. Luckily, the handle had a bottle pourer spout on it already, which meant he could easily fill the glass a bit and set it the handle back below the bar. Like he'd never lifted it to begin with.

Always had been a good thief.

The bite of whiskey was unfamiliar, after twenty-five years in the can, but the memory of alcohol was potent enough to return after a single sip of the glass. Aidan sucked air through his teeth a moment, closed his eyes, and set the glass down, savoring the dull warmth that slid down his throat as he did his best to ignore the news alert on the TV. This wasn't a dream; reality was sure to follow, soon enough. How long until they found him? How long until he was strapped down on a table?

Long enough for him to enjoy a drink.

Though his enjoyment was impinged by the arrival of someone who, apparently, thought it was a good idea to bother him. He eyed her out of the corner of his gaze, brow furrowing-- a single word forced into his mind from the brief look. Royal. The descriptor followed every her appearance like a name, as if he could see the word itself flash in the air before her; a moment passed before he remembered the dream, the command, and everything else that had unfolded in the midst of his sleep.

"Mmh. Right." Something in his gut told him this wasn't some voodoo bullshit. She spouted off some words at him-- more descriptors, more titles, more bullshit that he took with a grain of salt as he stared blankly at her-- and he gave a brief nod, returning his gaze to the television and sipping his drink. Hard to believe how little he wanted to interact with these people after being in jail for over twenty years, but here they were. And here he was. Not wanting to do this.

Always some fucking strings attached, though. He should have known better.

"Don't know who that is." Aidan stated as he stood up. Not entirely meant to be a callous remark, but a simple fact of the matter-- he didn't know who any of these people were. His gaze searched the room, then found the only group in an Applebee's at 4 AM. His hand raised to point a finger in their direction while the other raised the glass for another sip. He spoke after finishing the whiskey, setting the drink down with a clank. "They over there?"
 
“Can’t say I knew who she was either, other than she’s dead.” Aurora said, her own tone also matter of fact. The fact she was dead seemed important, but the man hadn’t been there when they had spoken to the woman in black, so she couldn’t blame him for his reaction. Which… how do you even explain that to someone? Had he seen something too?

“Earlier, when the lights had gone out did you…” Aurora wasn’t quite certain how to ask, so she released her breath instead. “Never mind, we can talk about it with the rest. That’s them, yeah.” She inclined her head towards the booth, though she supposed that was the only real option for who it could have been, unless the sleeping man held all the other titles.

She began to follow the man back over, then thought better. She turned back to the bar, and rather gracelessly leaned over to pick up an empty glass which she filled with one of the taps. She didn’t really care which, at the moment, and reasoned she’d just leave twenty quid or something to pay for it if waitstaff never appeared. Though, hadn’t Robert said he’d pay? On a whim, she filled a second glass for Robert before returning to the table.

She placed the second glass before the Magician, before taking a long drag of her own. It didn’t make her feel any less insane, but the burn felt nice at least.

“Found the Warrior.” She said, with a pleasant sigh.
 
The man slouched over the bar let out a loud, rattling snore, rolling over in his sleep. There was a nametag on his lapel -

HI, I'M Mr. Phil

Beneath which was a crude drawing of a large bird scribbled in blue ink. Then - with his eyes still closed - his back straightened, sitting upright on his stool. His head rolled around to face the group.

"Yeah. Nah. She already talked to 'em, mate," he mumbled. "Prolly told 'em fuck-all. More to - to -"

Another rattling snore. Awkwardly, he covered his mouth.

"Thought there'd be more of ya."
 
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