Collective Soul: A Far Shore
Dec. 16th, 2023 11:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsQuentin and Hope embark on an astral recovery mission.
Quentin and Hope's astral shenanigans with the police officers patrolling District X meant they transitioned from the material world to the astral plane without difficulty. As usual, they stepped into the luxurious beachside spa they had built together, and Quentin went straight to a lounge chair where a flute of bubbly awaited him. A beautiful golden sunset greeted him on the other side of the large French doors.
"All right, you fuckers, come out come out wherever you are. Daddy has other plans tonight."
"What, you wish to lure them in with the promise of champagne and caviar?" Hope crossed to the other side of the room where a buffet with various delicacies had been laid out. "I hope you don't... what in the world is that?" She stared at her sleeve.
Quentin gave her a quizzical look over his shoulder. "I know David himself doesn't have good taste, but maybe it's just really hidden and some piece of him does, and that will respond to my siren song. Might have to go with vodka sodas for Cyndi, though. What's what?"
"I do not think the alters will come swanning in here anyway. Lured by vodka sodas or not. We will have to go out there." Hope gestured at her outfit. "Usually my appearance on the astral plane resembles what I am wearing in the real world, but now it is like a non-combatant variation of my appearance when Mr. Haller and I pulled the residents from Haven. Quite curious."
Curious indeed. Before Quentin could mansplain the astral plane to her and why she might have been so dressed, he noticed the room dim. The sun outside was setting rapidly. That was even more curious than Hope's wardrobe, because the two of them had created this suite for themselves and should have had full control over its appearance. He turned his attention to the sun, willing it to rise and shine, but it did not obey.
He put down the glass and sat up. "See, that's where you're wrong, sis. We're not alone."
The instant the words left Quentin's mouth it became clear that it was not the ocean they had been hearing.
The susurration of voices had begun so gradually that at first it had been lost in the waves breaking on the beach below. Now they rose to a roar, garbled and overlapping to the point understanding any individual word was like trying to isolate a single raindrop in a storm.
Things churned in the waves. Were the waves. White seafoam shaped itself into gaping mouths as arms stretched from the eddies, trailing kelp like tattered flesh. Writhing fragments of self pouring into the oasis the two psis had created for themselves.
There was a surge, and then the roiling tide receded from the shoreline like an intake of breath.
Hope knew from experience that fighting the waves would not do a thing. At least in the astral plane. She could only let herself be drawn along the water's eddies and swirls and at some point it would spit her out and would find herself somewhere... strangely enough often where she needed to be.
Quentin's response to the impending psychic tsunami was even more resigned. Standing, he gulped the rest of his drink and untied the drawstring of his sauna robe, revealing the business suit he had been wearing in the material world underneath. Out of his breast pocket, he pulled out a crook that realistically could not fit. An umbrella popped open when he held it up.
"This is so stupid," he sighed. "David, you're so stupid. Fuck you."
The wave took him.
Quentin and Hope's astral shenanigans with the police officers patrolling District X meant they transitioned from the material world to the astral plane without difficulty. As usual, they stepped into the luxurious beachside spa they had built together, and Quentin went straight to a lounge chair where a flute of bubbly awaited him. A beautiful golden sunset greeted him on the other side of the large French doors.
"All right, you fuckers, come out come out wherever you are. Daddy has other plans tonight."
"What, you wish to lure them in with the promise of champagne and caviar?" Hope crossed to the other side of the room where a buffet with various delicacies had been laid out. "I hope you don't... what in the world is that?" She stared at her sleeve.
Quentin gave her a quizzical look over his shoulder. "I know David himself doesn't have good taste, but maybe it's just really hidden and some piece of him does, and that will respond to my siren song. Might have to go with vodka sodas for Cyndi, though. What's what?"
"I do not think the alters will come swanning in here anyway. Lured by vodka sodas or not. We will have to go out there." Hope gestured at her outfit. "Usually my appearance on the astral plane resembles what I am wearing in the real world, but now it is like a non-combatant variation of my appearance when Mr. Haller and I pulled the residents from Haven. Quite curious."
Curious indeed. Before Quentin could mansplain the astral plane to her and why she might have been so dressed, he noticed the room dim. The sun outside was setting rapidly. That was even more curious than Hope's wardrobe, because the two of them had created this suite for themselves and should have had full control over its appearance. He turned his attention to the sun, willing it to rise and shine, but it did not obey.
He put down the glass and sat up. "See, that's where you're wrong, sis. We're not alone."
The instant the words left Quentin's mouth it became clear that it was not the ocean they had been hearing.
The susurration of voices had begun so gradually that at first it had been lost in the waves breaking on the beach below. Now they rose to a roar, garbled and overlapping to the point understanding any individual word was like trying to isolate a single raindrop in a storm.
Things churned in the waves. Were the waves. White seafoam shaped itself into gaping mouths as arms stretched from the eddies, trailing kelp like tattered flesh. Writhing fragments of self pouring into the oasis the two psis had created for themselves.
There was a surge, and then the roiling tide receded from the shoreline like an intake of breath.
Hope knew from experience that fighting the waves would not do a thing. At least in the astral plane. She could only let herself be drawn along the water's eddies and swirls and at some point it would spit her out and would find herself somewhere... strangely enough often where she needed to be.
Quentin's response to the impending psychic tsunami was even more resigned. Standing, he gulped the rest of his drink and untied the drawstring of his sauna robe, revealing the business suit he had been wearing in the material world underneath. Out of his breast pocket, he pulled out a crook that realistically could not fit. An umbrella popped open when he held it up.
"This is so stupid," he sighed. "David, you're so stupid. Fuck you."
The wave took him.
