arthur in a dream (i_takepoint) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2011-04-07 16:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | arthur, buffy summers |
A long fall and a short stop. (Buffy)
Arthur wasn’t afraid of heights. If he’d ever been afraid of heights, over-exposure had probably squeezed it out of his system a long time ago. He stepped up the last step of the fire escape, a sturdy, to-code construction of twisted metal that Arthur approved of for its functionality as well as its design. Only Arthur chose buildings to jump from based on their aesthetic design. This particular building had a fresh, modern look, with an open sweep in the front that curved the wings of the office toward the roof. A tall building (forty floors), the bank didn’t even attempt to be a skyscraper, focusing instead on stately grandeur and impressive stability. In true city fashion, facing opposite on the other side of the street was a Gothic cathedral, and directly to the bank’s right was a slender spiraling building made of sparkling glass.
The view was impressive, and Arthur’s previous disparaging remarks about the architect of this particular dream seemed far less apt once you got above street level. It was a long walk, but Arthur wasn’t in a hurry and there was no one in pursuit. The breeze was cold up here despite the smell of on-coming summer, and Arthur stepped out over the white roof gravel to put his hands in his pockets and survey the City’s bizarre skyline.
Meanwhile, in the gorgeous glass building next door, Buffy was dressed in professional looking slacks, a tailored blouse and heels which were affordable, impressive knock offs of some ridiculously expensive designer name.
“Miss Summers? As your attorney I think settling will be your best option. You’re lucky he didn’t press assault charges with the City PD.”
“Settle? With what? I don’t get paid to do this. I don’t even own a car. And anyway, he was biting someone’s neck. I know she said it was consensual, but it wasn’t. There was a thrally thing going on. Major thrall-age.”
The lawyer started to reply when Buffy looked out the swanky corner office window. It looked like a nice day outside. Sunny and not vampire friendly -- the best kind. She was no longer listening and stopped worrying about how much this little meeting was going to cost her when she noticed a figure, almost out of her line of site from her position a few floors below, on the roof of the building next door.
The slayer stood up and craned her neck to get a better look.
“Miss Summers? Are you listening?”
Arthur didn’t know anyone was watching. He probably wouldn’t have done anything different if he did. He watched the skyline for a few moments longer. It was a strange construction, outside of anything he’d experienced in dream-share, and for that reason it had its charm. It had worn thin for him quickly, however. Nothing really made sense here and he was making no progress against whoever was moving against him. It was better to wake up and take his chances physically with whoever took him. He sighed a little, glanced idly down at the pavement a long way away--and dropped.
After a split second of cold wind, the stomach-rolling sensation of falling took him over. The tense, careful calm of Arthur’s mind spiked with sudden terror--because he wasn’t waking up.
“--serious allegations--” That was about all Buffy caught. She wasn’t very comfortable with legal jargon anyway. With less than a second to react, Buffy rolled her weight onto her back foot before pushing off in three fast, powerful steps. No time for a running start, not if she was going to time it correctly. Buffy crashed through the glass of corner office, tackled Arthur midair and holding him in her arms, nailed the landing from her cross-building leap onto a decorative ledge.
She only had a few minor cuts from the entire ordeal and looked across the street at the lawyer’s very expensive looking, very broken looking, ceiling to floor window with a frown. She sighed and looked down at herself. “...I liked this blouse, too.”
Setting Arthur down, she steadied him with a firm grip on his shoulder. Right. Priorities. The man just tried to kill himself. “Look, whatever this is about, it isn’t worth it. Killing yourself won’t solve anything.”
Buffy brushed bits of broken glass out of her hair with her free hand, while looking the stranger over to make sure he didn’t seriously injured.
Arthur was generally very collected, but he wasn’t collected at the moment. He had cracked ribs before and he knew what it felt like, and if he didn’t have a couple now he’d have some splendid bruising. Also, he wasn’t falling anymore, though he been falling, falling and not waking up, just falling and falling and falling, and now he wasn’t and he felt like screaming for a little while just to make sure he still could.
Arthur wobbled, stepped back onto the decorative facade of the wing, and caught a gust of cheerful wind coming off the City pavement under the warm sun. He fell back against the sweeping curve of concrete and clung there. “Holy shit,” he said, after about ten seconds of shocked, pulse-pounding silence. He looked from Buffy to the tattered window about fifteen feet away. A wide-eyed man in a suit was staring out at them. “Holy shit,” he repeated.
Buffy’s brows rose, “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
Humor was supposed to make the situation feel more normal. Less holy-shit-I-almost-died terrifying. Buffy was normally a master of wit in the face of life threatening situations though she wasn’t using her best material.
With the wind and the height they were at, Buffy used both hands now to hold onto Arthur. Being a slayer had it’s perks. Not falling off ledges was one of them. Her head canted to the side as she followed Arthur’s stare to the building she’d jumped from. “Do you think his insurance will cover the damage?”
Buffy frowned. Somehow she didn’t think so.
Arthur couldn’t even comprehend how the blonde woman could think about insurance. He stared at her, and one of his hands had a death grip on her elbow. He pressed back against the building so hard he could feel his spine against it. You could see the white all the way around his eyes. “I didn’t wake up,” he said.
“I’m not an expert but I think you have to be asleep first. Next time, stick to pinching yourself.” Buffy looked around for a safe way off the ledge.
“Pain is in the mind,” Arthur replied. He was babbling, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “It’s not real. Falling, falling always wakes you up.” When she shifted slightly to see where they were, his grip on her arm re-doubled and he said, sharply, “Don’t do that.”
“Just trying to find a safe way down.” Hmm. She might have been able to throw Arthur back through the window she’d conveniently opened up, but he could still cut himself or not land right. She was very casual for being on a dangerous ledge. Buffy looked up. She looked down. Despite Arthur’s protest, she leaned forward again to look side to side.
“We can make it to that fire escape.” And she pointed to said fire escape Arthur originally used to climb up, at least three yards away. Instead of giving him an option to protest, Buffy turned, carefully scooped Arthur up like she was Clark Kent to his Lois Lane, and jumped.
Arthur didn’t even have time to protest. The woman was much stronger than she looked and she pried him off his death-clutch of the wall without so much as a by-your-leave. He made a choked half-yell as they flew over a lot of empty space.
There was a snap as the heel on Buffy’s left shoe broke, but she landed solidly with a crouch. Arthur was set down, this time on solid metal grating with side rails. The Slayer took off her shoes and hooked two fingers through the toe of each. “Come on, one foot in front of the other. You can thank me when we’re on solid ground.”
Arthur stayed sitting. He stayed sitting and he wound his hands into the railing and he decided that he was going to stay on the ground for a while after this. “You. Are insane,” he said. Arthur was generally a very cool, straight-laced young man. It took a lot to rattle him, and he was rattled at the moment.
The recovery, however, was a lot shorter than you would expect. It came from all the military training, and the fact that he had died so many times in his own mind. After all the adrenaline from the terror the mind kicks into survival mode, and it’s move or die. (Generally he would die fairly quickly as part of the op, but that was no-never-mind to the brain, which knew, somehow, that it could only die once.) “Give me a second to catch my breath. If this isn’t a dream, how the hell did you do that?!”
Buffy looked herself over again and continued finding little pieces of glass, brushing it carefully from her clothes. “I’m the Slayer. I fight vampires, demons...” Buffy shrugged. “...catch people who jump from tall buildings.”
She chanced a small, wry smile.
Arthur just stared at her. "What do you slay?" He had a look on his face. It said, 'I can't believe I'm asking this.'
“I’m real.” Though what she really said was, ‘I’m not going to repeat myself.’ “If I wasn’t, you’d be dead.”
Arthur looked unsure. His slicked hair had become dislodged in the scuffle, and he absently smoothed it back into place. His hand moved from his ear to his suit pocket, just over his heart, and then he said, “The sedative must be... it must be a new blend.”
Buffy looked confused. “Okay, I was following you with the ‘this isn’t real, it’s only a dream’ denial you’ve got going on. I sympathize, even. What do you mean by sedative?” She offered her hand to help him stand.
“The sedative keeping me--or us, maybe you, I can’t tell--asleep. I should have... I should wake up.” He took her hand, regardless, and his hand was just as calloused as hers, though not as iron-clad. There was more under the suit than denial and bones, it seemed. “Falling always--usually wakes you up.”
Buffy’s expression was a sour mix of amusement and sympathy. She was trying hard not to be patronizing, really. She took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m Buffy. It’s nice to meet you...?”
Arthur blinked. Buffy was not a common name where he was from. It sounded strange to his ears. “Arthur,” he said, recovering his aplomb with astonishing speed. “Thank you for saving my life, Buffy.” He saw her bitter amusement clearly but didn’t resent her for it. At this point it would take quite a lot to change Arthur’s mind about Buffy. “Or my mind, anyway. If this sedative is that deep, I probably won’t wake up if I die. I’ll just go deeper into someone’s--subconscious, mine, if I’m lucky. But probably not. I haven’t accumulated a lot of luck lately.” He straightened his suit jacket, and a flash of gunmetal was clearly visible before he turned and started down the metal steps.
“So I take it you’re new here?” Buffy snapped the heel off her other shoe and put them back on. They didn’t fit well, but it was better than no shoes on a metal staircase. She caught the glimpse of the gun but didn’t say anything yet. Maybe he was the Dream Police where he came from. She’d reserve judgement for now.
“Am I the first person you’ve met? Here, I mean.” Buffy followed Arthur slowly and watched him carefully to make sure he was still steady on his feet.
“Relatively new. I’ve met a few others.” He didn’t specify. “And in case you were wondering, I think there’s only one actual reality, and the rules of my world in dreaming work here as well.” He was steady; but he stayed on the building-side of the stairs and did not look down.
“I’m not here to talk philosophy or physics with you.” Buffy held up her hands defensively. “So I guess my leap through a window and catching you midair isn’t all that impressive, if this is supposed to just be a dream?”
“The rules of physics still apply in some dreams. This dream, I noticed, isn’t an exception. So far, at least.” He glanced at her. “You’re still impressive. You haven’t said what you slay yet.”
“Vampires, demons, monsters-- anything that likes to hurt or eat people, basically. Also pretty good at stopping the occasional apocalypse but that was more back home. There was a zombie outbreak here once, but it sort of fizzled.” Another shrug. “I’ve lived here almost five years now. If this was just a dream I feel pretty confident I would have figured that out by now. I take it, however, you’re some kind of dream expert?”
Arthur’s brows quirked. “You have a lot of apocolypses, then?” He paused, wet his lips, and tipped his head as they rounded on the next landing. “Apocalypsi? Whatever.” Continuing down the stairs and regaining more and more of his capable, serious demeanor, he continued, “In a way. Yes. Certain kinds of dreams.”
“It was almost an annual event back in Sunnydale. So what kind of dreams are you an expert in?” She decided against listing different kinds of dreams that came to mind-- not all of them made for polite conversation. “Say I’m real. Back home there are witches and demons and magic-- how would I know if I were dreaming or not?”
“You wouldn’t, not necessarily. Not unless you were trained to see anomalies in the world that vary from reality. I specialize in dream-share, the kinds of dreams introduced to others.” They only had a few more flights to go, and Arthur was getting more solid by the second, a hand in one pocket now and only one trailing along the railing.
“What sort of anomalies? Because in case you haven’t noticed, this whole place is sort of one giant anomaly. I get that. But how do you tell it’s a dream and not something else that’s wiggy?”
He turned on the stair to give her a look. “Like what? A witch casting a spell?” His mouth twitched.
“Are there specific dream anomalies? Like in that Matrix movie with the black cat?” After the spell Jonathan cast, Buffy could never remember the actual star of the Matrix. “...That wasn’t actually a dream, but yeah. How would I know this was just a dream and not some kind of spell? ...Don’t laugh.”
He did anyway. “There’s no such thing as a spell. And dreams are dreams; they don’t follow rules. They do, however, tend to be rather bizarre. They start, you can’t remember how you got there. You have friends, but you don’t quite remember how you got so close. Structures don’t stand quite the same as they should... it depends on the dream.”
“So by your logic, if spells aren’t real, magic isn’t real, then vampire slayers aren’t real. Which means I’m not real. Right?”
“Not necessarily. You just might be dreaming.” He gave her a steady, peculiar look. “Or having a nightmare, from the sound of it.”
“I’m dreaming that before I came here to The City that I was a vampire slayer? You do realize that would make almost half of my life some kind of dream, right?”
“Time works differently in dreams. That’s possible.” Arthur shrugged, lifting one shoulder in the Armani. “Sorry. I am not the one that reassures the dreamer. I’m bad at it.”
“Having to go through high school twice? That would be a nightmare.” Buffy smiled, apparently she didn’t need his reassurance. “You tell anyone else while you’ve been here that this is all just one giant shared dream?”
Arthur raised both eyebrows. “Possibly. They did not take matters into their own hands, if that’s what you’re worried about.” It made him think of inception, and his brow abruptly furrowed again.
“Actually, I was wondering if you managed to convince anyone yet. You are the dream expert and it’s a logical theory. Kinda comforting, actually. Instead of being trapped in a weird city-thing we’re all just dreaming and even if it feels like years it won’t matter because when we wake up we’ll be back in reality. If I could choose, I’d choose to be in a dream.”
Buffy shrugged. She didn’t mention the part where that meant she’d be dead the moment the dream stopped.
“Heck, I might even choose to believe the whole slayer gig was a dream. My point is, I bet you haven’t convinced a single person yet. Kinda doubt you will. Out of all the people you’ve talked to or shared dreams with, have you ever had so much difficulty convincing them they were dreaming? Like I said, I’ve been here five years. You’re the first dream expert I’ve ever met. Doesn’t that strike you as a little weird?”
Buffy skipped the last step of the fire escape with a hop.
“When it comes down to it, I have to trust me. I’m all I’ve got. It’s not your job to convince me, I get that. I promise I’m listening to you and I’m thankful you’re humoring me. I’ll keep my eyes open for anomalies that say this is a dream and not weird, non-dreaming place...”
She didn’t have a good description for The City.
“...I just need a little more to go on. Where I’m from magic is real. Hell gods and witches and creepy silent gentlemen that steal your voice are real. I’ve even been in a weird pseudo shared dream before-- twice-- both caused by magic, both times I could tell, both times I woke up. I’ve had love spells cast on me, turned into a rat, died twice, faced half a dozen apocalypses...”
Buffy ruffled her hair with her fingers. “I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m listening, not just because you tried to jump off a building.”
Arthur stepped down on the last step beside her. He was not a short man, thin and wiry at 5’10”, and he wore the height well despite his strange, almost childish build. Despite his attire and serious expression, he was not as old as he looked, and it was the air of capability that added bitter weariness to his air. “It is not my place to convince a dreamer they are dreaming,” he said, not entirely truthfully. “People pay fortunes to live lives they don’t have, to sleep so they can live. I am not one of those, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to lecture people who are getting their money’s worth.” After all, Arthur couldn’t support himself on extraction alone. There were years after Project Somnacin and before Mal’s funeral, after all. It had been a sobering, unpleasant time for him.
His eyes focused again, and turned to her. His hair was back in place and his heartrate had steadied, but he was still not okay. “...I’ve never been asleep this deep. If I’m asleep. But I must be.”
“I’m pretty sure no one signed up for this.” Buffy watched Arthur carefully. “Are you going to be alright?” Well. Relatively. Either he was in an alien dimension or he was dreaming and unable to wake up. Neither option was particularly good.
“I’m not dead or stuck a level down,” Arthur said, looking up from his thoughts. “Thank you.” A piece of glass in her hair glimmered and he directed his gaze upward toward the window she’d come through. “You’ll let me know if you need help replacing that.”
Buffy looked up and tried to spot the broken window. Raising her hand, Buffy shielded her eyes from the light. “I need help with a lot of things. Luckily none if it is your problem.”
“I think,” Arthur said, with admirable calm, “that considering you just saved my life, if you have problems, I might consider them mine to the extent I’m able.” He looked where she did. The sun glimmered off the shattered glass scattered over the alley. “You have glass in your hair,” he added a moment later, stepping behind her to reach for it.
To the extent he was was able. Buffy smiled. “You’re not really the hero type, are you?”
She wasn’t judging. Being a hero had serious drawbacks, dying being one of them. Fighting evil regularly, another. It wasn’t the sort of life you actively wanted for anyone. She didn’t brush him off when he offered to help with the glass in her hair.
“I’m being sued by a vampire for stopping him from biting some woman-- never thought that would happen. The City provided me with some lawyer. That was his window. I think I’m pretty much screwed.”
“Hero,” Arthur repeated, considering it as he delicately picked razors of glass out of her hair with nary a scratch. “No. I am no hero. I am a thief, an illusionist, and a security man by turns.” The shared near-death experience made Arthur unusually trusting. It should have set off his alarm bells, but it didn’t. “But I have some skills some find valuable. I am sure I can assist you with so small a thing as an assault case.” People--judges, lawyers--would pay a great deal for the dreams Arthur could spin. His clients before Cobb recruited him for corporate theft tended to bankroll in the millions, and pay him in the hundreds of thousands.
“I’d like to see that on a business card.”
He smiled, reached into a coat pocket, and produced a card. Across the clean white surface it said, in black embossed print: “extraction” and underneath that was a cellphone number. He gave it to her without another word, punctuated it with a short nod of acknowledgment, and moved off down the street toward the hotel.