hexaflexagons | Open DR post

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Open DR post

A fold in the universe exists in the ether of the fifth dimension. This place, because it is somehow a place, consists of nothing, exists nowhere and nowhen.

Yet you find yourself in it.

To the eye of the mortal mind, this space appears to be a white, featureless room, and the portals that have brought you here appear to be nothing but empty thresholds. How you arrived is anyone's guess. Perhaps you were transported while in the throes of death; perhaps it was something so simple as passing through a doorway in your own world.

While here, others may be transported into this dimension join you. At there mere thought of your most treasured or needed possession, the item may appear on the pedestal within. Visitors can freely go to another world contained within one of the portals if they wish, but you must have a companion for the dimensional shift to work. Otherwise passing through the thresholds will be of no effect.

This is no dream; this is no afterlife. And you are in it. What happens next is up to you.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

By this time he's peeling down the black undersuit to get to the bloodied spots that had been left on his chest—for the most part the armor had done it's job deflecting the bullets, but the spots where the bullets had hit had dented into his flesh. Someone appears, just as simple as that, faster than the blink of an eye, and he is startled as she slides down against the wall.

She appears hurt, but for all he knows she's dangerous, so he sets the bandages down on the pedestal and takes his pistol of the mag strip at his thigh. It's only a precaution. He keeps it gripped in one hand as he approaches.

Wrath's eyes are on his for a moment, flick down to the gun, then back on his. Her own eyes widen, then narrow. One hand slides across her hip, settling onto the hilt of a combat knife strapped to her thigh.

She licks her lips and tastes blood. But she's still alive, and Wrath's never been one to go down without a fight. She pushes herself back up to her feet, listing to the side, back firmly against the wall.

Waiting. He's got the ranged weapon. He's got control of the situation for now.

"Hey," he says, spreading his hands. "I don't want trouble if you don't. You look like you're in bad shape."

"Then put the gun down," she says evenly, eyes not leaving his. It's always in the eyes, what the next move will be. For all that she's in bad shape, the grip on her combat knife is very certain. "I don't like guns. They make me nervous."

He stick the gun back to the mag strip and shows that his hands are empty. "See? You can let go of your knife. I want to see how badly you're hurt."

That's not much of a putting it down. But she slides the knife back into its sheathe. Her other hand is pressed against her side, blood squeezing between her fingers. "What do you care? Who the fuck are you?"

She has a bit of an advantage should he approach, considering his upper half has been stripped of its armor. "Give me a reason not to care and I'll stop," he says. "Otherwise I don't want you to drop dead before either of us can figure out where we are and what we're doing here. ...I assume those are things you don't know. If you do I'd sure like to hear it."

As for the other question he answers after he kneels beside her. "I'm North."

...okay, good point. She's not about to tell anyone they shouldn't want to care about her. Her lips twist into a wry smile. "Fine. Good argument."

She takes a careful breath. Right out of combat, every nerve is just screaming to get the hell away from him. "I'm Wrath."

"Okay, Wrath. I have some bandages over there. Maybe it'll be enough for the two of us." He sets a hand at her side and tilts his head to get a better look. "Good-sized gash here. You feel light-headed at all?"

"If it's not I guess I'll have to fight you for it." Squinty-eyed look. "You're not that big." Her breath hisses out. "Shrapnel. Yeah. Well. I feel like I was just standing next to an artillery shell when it went. Which I was."

"Your injury is worse than mine," he says. "Come on, let's get you over there." He offers his arm for her to lean on as she arises.

"Lucky day for you, then." She glances up at him. "You look like shit. Do I look more like shit than you do?" The height difference is almost comical, really, but she's not laughing. She's also not at all shy about hanging on to North to cover the distance. He's not her enemy as such, he didn't try to shoot her, so she's not going to worry about it for now.

"My wound aren't as bad as yours." For all that a facial gash will bleed, they're pretty superficial and close quickly. And the bullet impacts were minor because of his armor.

Amazingly since the time that he'd first noticed the bandages appear, a wound pad had joined the supplies on the pedestal. "Oh," he says, kind of mystified. "Here we go."

"Yeah, but I could hope I'm still managing to be prettier." It's habit, talking like that. there's normally at least one other lieutenant around to bullshit with, or a couple sergeants she knows well enough.

She eyes the bandages distrustfully, but what kind of choice is there? Bleeding to death from suspicion sounds like a dumb way to go. "Huh."

Still leaning against North--hey, if he lets her, she might as well--she starts carefully stripping off the body armor, jacket first, to reveal a white, circuitry-laced long-sleeved shirt beneath. Well, it was white at one point. It's now mostly, wetly red. "Oh--fuck me." There are still bits of metal sticking out of her flesh, though it's mostly superficial except for the large wound in her side. "I'm going to chew someone a new asshole for this. Next-gen armor, my foot."

"We'll have to wrap this for now. Hopefully we'll be able to get you medical treatment to get that shrapnel pulled." Somehow. Until then, he puts the wound pad on and wraps it with the tape and bandages. His touch is gentle, though he applies the bandages firmly. "How did you end up here? I was in an explosion."

Gentle or not, it still hurts. A lot. Wrath takes a very, very tight grip on North's arm and grits her teeth. Her eyes are watering by the time all is said and done. "Same. We hit some... unexploded ordnance or something while we were looking for higher ground. I thought the damn wall was going to fall on me too but... here I am."

Arguments for this being the afterlife: Hot guy. (Yes, right now she just wants to punch him in his excellent jawline because god why does this hurt so much, but she can still admit the aesthetic appeal.)

Arguments against this being the afterlife: Ow ow ow.

No conclusion drawn.

"Have we been abducted by aliens or some shit?"

"If we have, I sure don't remember it happening. For me, it was instant. Explosion; room." Similarly, he's thinking this all seems too real to be some kind of afterlife. Wouldn't the afterlife be floaty and ethereal? Well, he doesn't know.

Wrath huffs a bitter little laugh. "Yeah, well, memory isn't what it used to be." She knows she's been compromised. It was plain from the first time she'd taken a minute to ask why she didn't have a family. The more disturbing thought was really how long it had taken her to notice that discrepancy.

And that she still went long stretches of time not caring about it.

"Well... first thing's first. Your turn. Let's patch up that pretty face of yours." She gives him a crooked grin that's just a little white around the edges with pain.

His face relaxes into a ghost of a smile and he hands her the bandages. "If you insist." It was humorous being complimented by someone who'd been willing to shank him not long ago.

"Better be on your knees for this." He is ridiculously tall, isn't he. Wrath knows how to do basic first aid. Whiskey made sure of that. So she knows what she's doing, and her movements are efficient as she gets the wound cleaned, gets a bandage on it, even if her hands are trembling.

Post-battle jitters.

"Okay. There's your face, gorgeous." Casual patter. It keeps everyone calm. It's habit. "What else needs to be fixed?"

"Oh, I just have these..." He gestures to the impact points on his chest, which have bloomed into darkened bruised circles. "Just a little antiseptic is all I need on these, I think."

"Understood." There is antiseptic--that was always there, right?--and some swabs. She starts getting the little impacts cleaned out, though after a moment she has to rest her hand on his shoulder, to steady herself.

Now is not the time to be considering how attractive this person is or is not. It's a response to almost dying, she knows that. It doesn't make it any easier to ignore. Focus. There's still plenty of pain to go around. She tosses the used swab aside after a moment. "There you go. Good as new."

"Thank you." He rises and begins to pull on the sleeves of his undersuit. "I don't know what to do now. There doesn't seem to be a doorway to get out anywhere."

Wrath eyes her armor, still discarded on the floor. She half crouches to pick it back up, then very carefully pulls the jacket back on, wincing as she does. "Doorways, but they're empty," she comments. She limps warily toward one. "Don't suppose you have anything to eat in one of your pockets, North," she says over her shoulder.

"Storage is surprisingly roomy in these suits, but no, I didn't think to pack any energy bars or anything. Do you want any help with that?"

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