Reality Crisis

Annie hadn't been able to get back in touch with Mitchell. She'd tried, but it didn't seem to be working anymore. Maybe she was too far from the radio? That was silly, she'd reached him from Purgatory before. She'd kept walking as he told her, following the stars. But Annie had never been an outdoors sort of girl, even George knew more about being in the woods than she did, and she thought she was lost again. Once the sun had started to rise, the stars had faded, and she'd done her best to keep going straight.

She did reach a city at last, but it scared her. There were high walls all around it, and they were patrolled by men with guns. She was scared at first, worried that the men might try to shoot her

(Why should I worry about that? I'm already dead!)

but when she finally coaxed herself into moving closer, the men paid no attention to her at all. Annie was relieved and disappointed in equal measure. Relieved that this meant they wouldn't be shooting at her, and bitter, bitter disappointment that she had not yet won back that presence she had worked so hard to achieve.

Still, it was a city, and Mitchell had been going towards a city as well, hadn't he? It might be the same one. Following the armed men, Annie made her way into the city. No one saw her. No one stopped her. There were no other ghosts around. She tried waving at people, standing in front of them as they walked, but most simply passed her by without notice.

"Bloody hell!" she shouted. "Mitchell! Don't leave me here alone, Mitchell!" Annie covered her face with her hands, sobbing. Why had she been taken from Purgatory, given that taste of happiness again, only to end up like this? Moving through the world, unseen, unheard... it was Hell. Had it happened? Was she really in Hell this time?

Summary: On the outskirts of New Troy, Annie finally makes contact.
Rating: Undetermined.
Status: Incomplete; to be continued via comments

The Wilds weren't kind after dark, and there was no way that Mitchell would have been able to sleep peacefully. He was bone-weary, but he took watch instead.

There was nothing, not even the sound of insects, to distract him from the steady thump-thump-thumpthump of Faith's slumbering heart. It was a torturous reminder of how long it had been since he had last fed. It hadn't been a feeding, either-- he'd gorged himself on blood until he was crazed with it. He could still taste it, feel it on his chin and sliding between his fingers. When he shut his eyes, he remembered the hedonistic sticky slither of Daisy's body as they fucked after, covered in blood. Mitchell squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head back, wired with need and feeling guilty for it. It'd been a month, and even though he was out of the worst of his withdrawal, it was lancing through him like a pulse.

Mitchell sat with his back against a gnarled and unfamiliar tree. His knees were tucked up against his chest, and his coat was slung over his knees. The cigarette between his fingers shook, and he brought it up to his lips for a desperate drag.

The smoke puffed out of his mouth, forked like the tongue of a snake. Before it could wisp away, Mitchell inhaled it again. He flicked the ash away from his coat, careful to draw out each action. If they stretched, so did time. If he enough time stretched, he could make it through the night, and he wouldn't feed on Faith. If there was one more person in their group, he would have excused himself for a walk, but there was a bitter irony in the reality that Faith's life was entrusted to someone desperately trying not to take it. Mitchell was all she had right now, and decades ago, that might have been excuse enough to feed from her. It wasn't anymore.

Thoughts drifted to Annie, but those did nothing to ease his hurt. She'd counted on him too, and he'd let her down. Whatever freedom they had temporarily experienced, it'd been snatched away. If she was in this world, which Mitchell hoped she wasn't, he hoped she was far away-- tucked into home of someone with a never-ending supply of Pyramid tea bags, and a kind sense of humor. She didn't deserve to be wandering around alone, unable to interact with anyone she came across save for the monsters. That fate, to Mitchell, seemed like Annie's Hell.

The tip of the fag flared red-orange with his inhale, paper burning down too quickly.

George was still waiting somewhere. Nina would try and distract him, but the truth remained that he very likely had lost two mates. If this place was real, it was far away from George. Mitchell wasn't sure how to get back, and he wasn't about to try ( until he'd found Annie. )