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Who: Geordie Riddell, Buffy Summers, Jilly Coppercorn, and anyone else in House 7 who might want to jump in!
What: New feather arrival.
When: Saturday, Sept 1. Night.
Where: House 7
Summary: Geordie wakes up in not quite the same place he fell asleep.
Rating: PG/PG-13 at most, for mild swearing.

As gigs went, tonight's had seemed especially good. He hadn't planned on playing at the Harp and Roses that night, only to watch Amy play alongside a traveling band. But the music had been too good to resist. And of course, he had his fiddle with him.

Hours and mugs of ale later, it had seemed a good idea to follow Jilly home. The hour was late, he still revved up from the music and she from that crazy dancing she and her friends were so found of. It'd be easy to get lost in the streets of Newford, streets that weren't nearly as safe as Jilly liked to think them to be. It wouldn't be the first time he crashed at her place or her at his. Better to keep an eye on her, however inebriated that eye was, than let her wander the streets late at night alone.

Barely a word is said as they clamber up the stairs to her loft. The hour is late and the tiredness is starting to seep into his bones. Her old, beat couch sounds more and more appealing by the second. Once inside, he drops his fiddle case to the floor and kicks off his boots.

He's out the second his face hits the cushion...

...and still fast asleep when he appears on the couch in House 7 sometime later. He yawns and turns off his back to his side but doesn't open his eyes. Whatever it was poking into his back doesn't seem to be such a bother anymore.

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But Buffy Summers was there to make a bother of herself instead. The Slayer had just come in from an evening's patrol -- her boots were muddied and she left them by the front door, not wanting to trek dirt through her bedroom by climbing through the window instead. Besides, a glass of water would not be amiss before she fell into bed next to her still tensely adored pirate.

However, bed was not a destination she managed to make. A yawn disturbed her post-patrol rituals and Buffy froze halfway between the door and the kitchen. Every sound was easily accessible in Seven's relatively open-concept layout.

There was someone on the couch. A male someone, from the sound of it. Keyed up and anxious after another night of having not found Drusilla, she approached the furniture with utter care. Did Jack just fall asleep on the...?

Nope. The shape wasn't right. And the face neither once she got close enough to scrutinize the appearance softly illuminated by moonlight streaming through the front window. Buffy spun her red-metal'd scythe about and used the wooden stake end to not-too-gently prod the stranger's shoulder.

Every muscle was taught; she would take no risks.

It felt like something was now stinging his shoulder. He had already turned to his side to avoid whatever was pressing into his back. Jilly's couch wasn't necessarily the most comfortable of couches, but Geordie had been spent many a night sleeping on it. He was used to it by now.

But not this.

It was too early. And he did not want to wake. He swats at the stake absently, as one would an annoying insect, and turns onto his stomach. Because that's all it is, isn't it? Jilly wouldn't be this mean.

Edited 2012-09-03 02:23 (UTC)

"...Get up before I haul you up."

Unfriendly? Just a little. But she was a bristling protective sort and she didn't often find strangers sleeping in her house.

She gave the man another poke.

There's something in that tone that's unmistakable. When he pushes at the insect again, he frowns. Slowly coming back to consciousness, it's clear that there is something wrong with this insect.

It feels like wood.

He blinks wearily, lifting a hand to rub his eyes. His vision is a little blurry and he can't quite make out the face of the woman in front of him. For a moment, all he sees is the halo of blonde hair surrounding the face. "...Sam?"

The Slayer stepped back, lifting her scythe -- just in case. But the young man was sluggish. Hardly a threat. Inch by inch, the weapon dropped.

"Sam? Is that who you are? 'Cause, well, I gotta tell you -- Sam, you possibly picked the wrongest house ever to couch-creep in."

"No. No, I'm not Sam."

The words are slow as he rubs at his eyes again, then slowly sits up. He blinks again, vision narrowing in on the woman. That California girl look is there, that blonde hair. But it's not Sam. How could he ever mistake the two?

He looks around quickly, taking in the fact that somehow, his own clothing seemed to have been replaced by plain slacks. And this room definitely isn't Jilly's. Well, there's one conclusion to draw:

"I must be dreaming."

Understanding blooms instantly. Buffy sighed a pair of dubious words -- mostly to herself. "New Feather."

Feeling a little more secure, she tossed the weapon aside. It bounced almost comically on a lounge chair's cushion. Should the visitor turn into a threat, she still had her strength behind her. That ought to be enough.

"I really should start getting paid for this, y'know. Considering how often I seem to be leading the welcome wagon." Her hands perched on her hips. "You better stay sitting. You aren't gonna like what I'm about to tell you."

He watches the weapon bounce on the cushion, eyes transfixed. Is that what the woman had been poking him with? Maybe he should be a little grateful that she hadn't chosen the scythe end.

Some dream. He can't recall ever having one this strange.

When she places her hands on her hips, Geordie sits up a little straighter. But he does what he's told and remains sitting. "Really, I think I'd prefer to wake up."

Edited 2012-09-03 16:16 (UTC)

"...Wouldn't we all."

She took stock and tried to ballpark an age -- not that such ballparking ever helped in Luceti. The man could be ancient for all she knew. "First of all? You're not dreaming. That's a promise."

It's not a promise that Geordie particularly likes. He looks around the room again, trying to make sense of... of anything really. But when his eyes settle on the scythe again, he decides once again that he's better off sitting.

That skeptical look, though, doesn't go away. For all he puts up with Jilly and her tales of the strange, for all that he knows Christy truly believes in his theory of conceptual reality, Geordie thinks it all ridiculous.

He shakes his head in disagreement. "No. I'm fairly sure this is a dream. People don't just wake up in strange places with pretty women threatening them with a scythe."

The sound of voices woke her. It wasn't all that uncommon. In a house as full as seven was, there was a good chance that people would be up late, talking in hushed tones in the living room. Jilly woke up every time. Still half asleep, she rolled over in the darkness and listened to the hushed tones through the door, waiting to slip back into dreams...but something about these voices stopped her. Second by second, sleep fell further away as she tried to figure out what had caught her attention

She couldn't hear the words, but there was no mistaking that cadence for anyone but Buffy. The other voice was lower. Male. But...it wasn't Jack. It was Jack. It wasn't Archie. It was too soft to put much else to it, but...

Rubbing her eyes, she pushed back the covers and slipped out of bed. If she couldn't sleep, she might as well go see what was happening.

The door opened quietly and she padded out to the end of the hallway.

Okay. That inspired some guilt over her initial aggression; however, she was a woman once burned! Or...twice burned, maybe. New Feathers had been appearing out of no where and doing her bodily harm since the good old days and so she could never be too too careful.

"People do. At least, they do here. Think of this town as the lost and found of the univ--"

"P-pretty? Did you just say...?"

Oh. Flattery. Buffy the Vampire Slayer's most keenly felt weakness.

He nods, ducking his face for a moment to hide the bashful expression. Announcing a girl's attractiveness to her wasn't something Geordie did often. Rarely was more like it. But she was that gorgeous kind of Californian blonde that reminded him of Sam. And this was a dream. It wasn't like he'd remember it in the morning.

"Yeah." A shrug. "Well, you are."

Jilly wasn't the only one to awaken, but for Jack it wasn't the muffled sounds of voices in the living room. He'd simply gotten cold without his bedmate. When he emerged into the living room, Jack was a hairy grumbly sleepy-eyed stark-naked sook.

"Woman -- come back to bed. Need someone to warm me all --"

He stopped as he saw the stranger.

".....Up."

Edited 2012-09-04 03:07 (UTC)

Quiet as it was, the voice was familiar. It made her brow furrow as she started to step into the living room to get a better look at him, but Buffy's small form was in the way. And, before the familiarity could really register, Jack came stumbling in. Oh God.

She whirls away from that particular view to fixate on the couch and their new visitor, only hoping to forget what she just caught a glimpse of, when Buffy moves just enough for her to see who was sitting there.

Geordie.

And, for a minute, it's as if the world stops. She can hear Jack trailing off. She can see Buffy and Geordie turning to face him. But it all felt far away...because Geordie Riddell was on her couch and this couldn't possibly be real, could it?

"I am?"

Sorry, folks. Buffy was still momentarily hung up on the compliment. But not so hung up that she couldn't spare a quip: "W-well...gee, mister home intruder! If you're so convinced you're dreaming, I sure hope you're not expecting it to be one of those dreams."

Edited 2012-09-04 03:20 (UTC)

Except then arrived the very naked pirate.

"See? Now this is way more likely to be one of my dreams. Only I don't remember ever dreaming about anyone like you before..."

Edited 2012-09-04 03:21 (UTC)

"Because if it was one of mine, right about now there'd normally be some kind of--"

Buffy stopped talking. She could hear her voice prattling on and that was never a good thing and then there was a sound of someone behind her and she whirled about and...

"Jilly."

Edited 2012-09-04 03:21 (UTC)

"...Hi."

The briefest of beats before: "Jack. Pants. Now."

It's... a lot to take in at once. First, there's the dream girl with the scythe implicating that this is some kind of sex dream. Sure he's been guilty of them in the past - hello, red blooded American male here - but he doesn't remember them being this strange.

Or dangerous.

They're usually much more romantic. And he's about to reply as to such when -

Edited 2012-09-04 03:22 (UTC)

Oh. That's a very naked man whose joined them in the room just now and even as he quickly averts his eyes... are those wings?

...Okay. He definitely doesn't remember his dreams ever being this kinky. And now he's really, really hoping that he doesn't remember this in the morning. Because -

"...Jilly!?"

He stands quickly, hands dropping from his eyes to stare at his best friend.

Oh god, how is he ever going to explain this to her in the morning?

Jack forgot about pants for a moment and very conveniently ignored Buffy. He did manage to grab hold of an odd little candy dish to cover his shame.

It was a ceramic saguaro candy dish. He had no idea where it came from, or who ate all the peanut M&Ms that had been in residence on it.

"You know Jilly? Who the devil are you?! Were it you what ate all my M&Ms, including but not limited to the green ones?!"

Edited 2012-09-04 03:33 (UTC)

"Oh my god."

Whatever answer he might have come up with, Jilly wasn't waiting to hear it. She doesn't even spare a glance for the Slayer or the pirate as she practically vaulted herself around the chairs and coffee table and tackles him to the couch.

It's a chaotic and messy tangle of limbs and wings in the dark, but somehow she manages to get her arms around him.

"Tell me you're real! You're really real and you're really here."

...Which...doesn't really offer a lot of answers for anyone looking on.

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I apologize for slow. Seeing my dad today.

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