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(no subject)

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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He let her lead the way, hand remaining clasped to her own. It was so often like this for the two of them: Jilly setting the path and Geordie following behind, more often than not to keep her safe from harm. There was no reason for it to be any different in this dream/not-dream he had found himself in. It wasn't until they set foot into the room that he finally let go. And even then, it was with reluctance.

While the rest of the house had seemed too neat and orderly to be Jilly's living space, this room had her written all over her. There was no mistaking the resident of this section of the house. He had to smile as he walked over to the wire framing and touched it carefully. This was Jilly. So similar as the comfortable and messy dwelling he had been in less than an hour earlier.

Until now, he had completely forgotten about his own semi-nude state. The linen pants were loose and thankfully covered his legs. But the lack of a shirt was... well, now that he was alone with Jilly, surprisingly awkward. It shouldn't have been. Not with Jilly, not with his best friend. But after being mistaken already for friendly actions being something more by a dangerous pirate, it just seemed... wrong.

He glanced in her direction and flashed her a quick grin, rubbing at his neck for a moment. "Um, you wouldn't have a shirt or something, would you?"

"I might."

She gave him a lopsided smile as she picked her way around piles of books to get to the closet. This, at least, was unusual for Jilly. Where normally she would have only had enough clothes to get through a week or two of painting and work, now her closet was practically full. Living in a house of women, in a place where shops charged nothing, she supposed it was bound to happen.

Mostly, though, the clothes were still her usual style--or lack thereof. It wasn't hard for her to find a shirt that would have had her swimming in fabric. "It might be a bit snug, but try this?"

She held it out to him. "Just be glad you showed up here in the summer. You're dressed for the weather."

"Thanks." He took the shirt from her and slipped one arm into a sleeve. As he pulled it over his head and other arm, he continued to speak. "I can't say I remember ever owning a pair of slacks like these. And I had my shirt on when I fell asleep. I don't know-"

Geordie stopped talking and frowned. This was ridiculous. While the shirt did feel a little snug across his shoulders, there was something stuck there. He couldn't pull the shirt down. It kept getting stuck.

"Hey, Jilly?" He pulled again, accomplishing nothing. "Is there something on my back?"

"Hey, careful! You'll hurt them, doing that."

Stepping close, she moved back behind him to carefully guide the t-shirt down over the wings. Thankfully, slits had already been made in the back...or it would have been even more of an uncomfortable fit.

"Um."

Right.

"You're not going to like it."

"Hurt what?"

It felt a little funny, having someone dress him when he more than capable of putting a shirt on himself. He tried craning his neck to better see what Jilly was doing. It was impossible.

"Jilly, I can put a shirt on on my own." A pause. "What am I not going to like? Is there something on my back?"

Rather than answering, she put her hands on his shoulders once the shirt was in place. And, turning him so that he was sideways to the small, half buried mirror on top of her dresser, she pointed.

He was confused at first as to what she was doing. But any questions regarding her answers were dismissed as soon as he saw the wings. Shiny blue and black, like the wings of the crows and ravens he would see in the trees of Newford.

The pirate had wings. Buffy. Jilly. Even him.

Geordie blinked and stepped closer to the mirror. He tried to angle his body to get a better view. Then, he shook his head.

"Right. I nearly forgot that I'm dreaming."

She looked him right in the eye, bright blues fixing on his browns, reached over, and pinched him. Hard.

"Ow!" It wasn't at all manly, but he practically yelped when she pinched him. He rubbed at the spot on his arm she pinched and scowled. "Shit. What was that for?"

She rolled her eyes at that and flopped down onto the bed, her bare feet ducking under the dust cover as she curled her knees. She wasn't sure she should be smiling. Not really. Not when she knew how impossible this would be, and how much there was that she didn't want him to face, here. But she'd missed her indignant skeptic so, so much. "What do you think it was for?"

It didn't take a genius to figure it out. It was that old cliche of pinching to remind yourself that it's not a dream. But Jilly didn't have to pinch him that hard.

"...Dreams could hurt sometimes."

He thought, anyway.

"Geordie, me lad...when's the last time you actually realized how strange a dream was while you were dreaming?"

He was trying his damnedest, but it certainly was starting to seem as if he was grasping at straws. "I'm sure Sophie does."

"But Sophie's dreams are different. They're real."

"No, they're-"

He cut himself off, shaking his head again before looking around the room. The bed. That would be a good place to sit.

And he needed to sit.

"We've had that disagreement before," he said after taking that seat. "I can't believe it's followed me into... whatever the hell this is."

"Luceti," she supplied, helpfully.

"It's another world. We're not sure why people get brought here, but there are people from all sorts of places. And...well...all sorts of times." The last is added almost gently. Now that she's actually telling him this, it resonates differently. Before, it was just a part of this world. Now. Well...

She can't help but think of Sam.

"Buffy...she's from about 20 years after us. And Jack... I guess he'd be from the 1800s. I think, anyway. I'm not entirely sure about that."

Another world. All sorts of times. Funny how a couple of phrases could bring back all sorts of memories. No longer was he sitting in Jilly's room. Instead, he stood on the corner of Stanton Street in the pouring rain, searching and looking for any sign of her. It was something he did once in a while.

But she was never there. No one aside from Jilly remembered her. Sometimes, Geordie found it easier to think he had imagined the whole relationship with Sam.

He swallowed hard and opened his sorrow-filled eyes to seek out Jilly's. "Is she here?"

"No."

Her eyes are solemn. Sad. She'd give anything to give him a different answer.

"I'm sorry, Geordie. This is...it's something different than what took her."

He hated hearing those words, even if he understood. Sam didn't have wings in that photograph. She had gone into the past and he... had wound up somewhere entirely different.

It was difficult to keep the sadness off of his face. He missed her still. Sometimes, Geordie wondered if the pain will ever go away.

"You're probably right," he replied with a defeated sigh a few seconds later, looking up to meet Jilly's gaze again. "We both saw that photograph."

"I wish I could tell you something different." Reaching over, she took his hand, squeezing lightly. "Though, who knows? You showed up here. Maybe she will, too."

He looked down at his hand in hers and gives a halfhearted, crooked little smile. Wasn't he just comforting her a few minutes prior? And here she was, returning the favor. Some dream.

"Just how long have you been here?" A beat. "Assuming this really is a here and not a dream."

She hesitated, biting her lip slightly. He really wasn't going to like this.

"It really is."

She needed to tell him. After all, it's not like any number of people couldn't fill him in if he asked. But she still found herself trailing off before giving him an answer.

He raised an eyebrow when she stopped talking, indicating that she should continue. It was a tactic of hers he recognized, attempting to change the subject when she felt it wasn't worth discussing further.

Or when she had something that she wanted to hide. He wasn't going to like her answer, was he?

"Jilly?"

She let out a slow breath.

"It's been...a little over a year."

It was closer to a year and a half, really, but she was pretty sure the distinction really wasn't going to make that big of a difference.

Over a year. A year. She was right. He wasn't going to like this answer at all.

Geordie slumps a little in the chair and places his hands on his face. He hides them there for a moment before looking at her again, feeling defeated. A year.

"How haven't I noticed?" He shakes his head. "I saw you yesterday."