Not Until We Are Lost

The room was simply appointed. The clothing was familiar. The leather armor. The weaponry. All of it was achingly familiar, but although he consider these possessions his own, they seemed out of place. He'd not had a home for some time. But now, he felt disassociated from everything that had ever made him what he had been before.

Ilyien paused with a hand against the hilt of his sword, then dropped his hand to his side again. At length, he pulled on a plain jacket - one of the ones he'd worn in New Dietrich - and stepped beyond the door of his room.

Sabev's consciousness was close. He knew he should find her. Even wanted to. But there was a greater part of him that was simply weary. Weary of all of this. He'd lost his people and his position in his society long ago. Now, it felt he was losing his very identity. Without knowing it, he'd set his shoulder against the smooth, cool wall beside his door. It hardly seemed to matter what he was. Even his god had gone silent.

The sound of footsteps pulled him back to himself. He drew himself up slowly from the wall and straightened.

Clark was glad that he'd gotten a warning from Ilyien about how quickly things could change with his situation. He'd been in the process of looking for any clues about the aliens and exploring New Dietrich when just as suddenly he'd woken up on an island in clothes that again weren't his own. Worse than that, his glasses were missing. The glasses weren't the only thing he hung his secret identity on, but they certainly did help to change the look of his face and dulled the bright blue of his eyes. They also were a physical reminder to keep up the 'mild mannered' act. And ultimately, he wasn't sure how long his secrets would remain kept if he was traveling in the same crowd from planet to planet.

For the time being, he stayed away from most people and simply found a spot on the island to sleep. He ventured out to secure food and he kept his eyes and ears out for the wolf that was rumored to be roaming the island. If the wolf was as dangerous as some believed it to be, they could all be in trouble. A predator in such close proximity to his prey and the vice versa-the prey feeling cornered and like they had to fight back-it could be dangerous for all. Clark wanted to avoid anyone getting hurt and so he watched and listened.

He had no reason to cross to the other island for now and felt that his place was here, keeping an eye on these people.

At the moment, he'd gone out in search of food. There was fruit at the top of a tree. The trouble was that it was just out of reach and the tree didn't have many branches to use a foothold. He looked up and then glanced around. There wasn't anyone in sight and it wouldn't be that long to just fly up there and get some fruit. Would it? His feet lifted off the ground and he didn't stop gaining altitude until he came to the branches containing that precious fruit. From there, he started to pick. He didn't use super-speed for that because he would hate to do any damage to the tree's ability to bear fruit in the future. He simply floated where he was and picked enough fruit to last the day.

There was a lot going on.

He knew where the Doctor was, the TARDIS having been formally and somehow easily inserted into the museum where he and Annabelle had discovered the man. He knew where Annabelle was, or at the very least what she'd be up to. There seemed to be an absence of the others entirely. He'd not seen Dean in a while, which he couldn't decide his feelings about. Or the pirate, but she wasn't quite the concern as the others.

Cavan had not been alone since arriving on the planet with the evil bunnies.

The freedom went to his head a little bit, and he found himself thinking of the hobby he'd not had a chance to engage in since York. The real York, not the pretend one made by aliens to lull them into a false sense of security, thus ushering them on to Electric City and perpetual planet-hopping Hell. It was easy to get caught up in the surrounding aloneness. To realize that beyond being alone, he was in a time period in which forensics were not what he was used to. And also, it didn't matter, since they'd be eventually whisked away to some other strange place. He could leave all the prints he wanted. He could write his own name in blood across the body of his victim, and there would be very little anybody could do about it. His only real concern surrounded those he was traveling with. No doubt there were several of them that wouldn't take kindly to the things he liked to do best.

Still, Cavan found himself stalking. It was likely that he wouldn't be here, on this planet, long enough to develop the full relationship that he really preferred. He'd have to act fairly quickly. Make a day of it. Add to his collection in a more impromptu manner.

In his hand, which was in the pocket of his coat, was a silver chain. Woven into the links and held up by centers that were not made for the purpose were the little items he took off of each one. Earrings. Rings. Brass buttons. Tie clips. Zipper pulls. Charms. Whatever small bit caught his eye and he felt like keeping forever. It was a comfort that he had not lost it yet, that it hadn't been taken from him by the aliens. He didn't dare leave it in his room at the hostel, even though carrying it on his person did more harm to his nerves than good.

Cavan found a bench to sit on and watch people go by. His eyes scanning each to measure them against his current desires.

The last thing Eva remembered was Rayne. Rayne and shoes. A shopping trip turned into a covert intelligence gathering mission. After that, there was nothing. She didn't like the gap in memory, but she knew there had to be something else that went on. Considering the fact that she was now sitting in a diner, staring at somebody she didn't know.

She was less bothered by the fact that nothing was in color.

Eva adjusted her dress, deciding that she wasn't going to freak out about any of this. Not the fact that she was wearing clothes that weren't hers, not the fact that she was pretty sure somebody had given her hair curls. And not the fact that she was pretty sure that she didn't have any money to pay for the coffee sitting on the table in front of her.

She leaned forward, elbows on the table, to speak to her companion.

"So. Any idea what the fuck is going on?"

There was a gasp from the passing waitress at the f-bomb she'd dropped, but Eva made a face at her and didn't apologize. She had never been one for watching her mouth.