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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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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.

"...If he knew her, he should've just said so."

Buffy huffed and fell back to the same side of the room inhabited by her intrepidly censored pirate. "Maybe then I wouldn't have threatened so much almost bodily harm."

Although the Slayer had a protective streak of her own, she needed no reason to harbour any suspicion after what looked like a very obviously delighted reception from her once-sister and still-housemate.

"I'll replace them, by the way," she quietly addressed Jack on the subject of his poor M&Ms. Patrolling was hungry work. A girl needed her protein.

He barely has time to do little more than open his arms to intercept Jilly's hug when he finds himself falling back on the couch. For such a small woman, she makes quite an impact. He winces a little as his wing hits against something and a shooting pain goes through him. Whatever was sticking into his back before is now back.

But the hug is returned without hesitation (because why wouldn't he hug his best friend, even in a dream?), if not a little slower than usual. That uncomfortable sensation of something pushing into his back returns

Strangest. Dream. Ever.

"Um," he says when he finally has a chance to breathe in and speak. Geordie laughs, a little nervous. "I guess I'm as real as anything else in this dream."

A dream Jilly's really going to have a laugh over in the morning.

"You threatened him bodily harm? He's just a bloke on a couch.

A bloke Jilly is currently being all huggy and kissy and cuddlesome with..."

And if Jack felt a twinge of jealousy about that, he wasn't going to reveal that to the slayer. Or anyone, for that matter.

"I can hear you, you know."

But it's said with a laugh. She should let Geordie go, but she can't seem to untangle her arms from around him.

"And you're not dreaming, Geordie, me lad."

Well.

For the first time since she tackled him to the couch, she looks back at Jack and Buffy...and quickly remembers why that was a bad idea. She does her best to look only at Buffy. "He's not, right? And I'm not? It's a new cycle?"

He feels real. She's never had a dream that was so utterly clear. But she needs to hear it from someone else, just to be sure.

"Exactly," she hissed back at Jack. "A bloke. On my couch. In the middle of the night! Need I remind you that I'm the one who's had Nina stab me and then that space-man guy pull a gun on me and then..." Well. Kiss her. But that was one thing that, like Jack's slight twinge, she wasn't racing to share.

"Frankly? I think I'm entitled to a dash of stranger-in-my-house suspicion."

With all the ease of flicking a switch, Buffy turned away from her pirate and addressed the question posed of her. Her arms folded over her chest and she smiled -- finding Jilly's happiness infectious.

"No one's dreaming, sweetie." What endearments she rarely spared for lovers, she always spared for friends. "We're due for a new batch this month and he's obviously one of them."

"Except me," Geordie butts in, reminding everyone in the room - and himself - that this could not be real. Because that naked man still has wings and, he had noticed when hugging her back, so did Jilly.

And Jilly Coppercorn certainly did not have wings. For all her talk about fairies and animal people, she was as human as him.

Very carefully, he moves Jilly on his lap just enough to see the other two people in the room. She doesn't seem willing to let go of him yet and well, who's he to argue?

"I'm dreaming. All of you and all of this, because there's no way this could be real. I really shouldn't have had that last beer at the Roses."

"Erm -- possibly, Jilly, you shouldn't be lap-sitting?" That was the prudish response to the situation from Captain Jack Sparrow, whose romantic relationship with the artist had transformed into something six million times more complicated after that particular Valentine's shift.

"And we're real. I'm real. Right down to my enormous saguaro."

Lap-sitting.

Kissing.

Oh. Well... that was an easy enough one to fix.

"It's not like that."

She does shift, though, sliding down onto the cushion next to him without actually breaking his hold on her. "He's my best friend."

Best friend or not, she was ignoring his protests about the beer. Geordie wouldn't be Geordie without skepticism. It only made her more sure this was real.

"Buffy...Jack...this is Geordie." Those words were said with pure awe.

She'd been here a year and a half. She'd given up on seeing someone from home a long time ago.

Saguaro. She tried to hide a very real and very lively giggle. The Slayer would deal with him later.

"Hi, Geordie. Trust me, if I'd have known you were on the guest-list? I would've rolled out a less sharp welcome mat."

There's a look in Jack's direction, even if Geordie would prefer not to look at the naked man. He raises an eyebrow, not exactly challenging but certainly skeptical. What did he care if Jilly was on his lap? And why would he ever think she'd kiss him? The idea was laughable. Or at least had been ever since that trip to Tyson seven years ago.

With a sigh, he lets go of Jilly and uses his hand to scratch at his temple. He's not exactly sure he believes any of this. Not a dream. People - Jilly - with wings. The scythe that still sits on the chair nearby. It definitely sounds like a dream to him.

"So... saying this isn't a dream," he begins and then quickly glances at Jilly. "Not that I believe that. But if it isn't, who are you guys? And where are we?"

"I am the pirate, Captain Jack Sparrow, and these are my women."

Might as well be wicked about it.

"Jack.

He's kidding."

She hesitated. "Mostly."

Buffy? Oh. Buffy didn't speak. Buffy didn't need to speak. Buffy just had to look. And although she looked at Jack quite specifically, there was an air all about her of self-possession. A presence, if you will.

Let no one doubt who was the defacto den mother of the house.

(But if she had spoken, she probably would have once again demanded that the pirate go grab some clothing.)

Edited 2012-09-05 01:45 (UTC)

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