Welcome to Gaia! ::

Lucas waited by the library that afternoon, hands in his pockets, absently rubbing the scar against the rough scratch of his jeans in a subconscious gesture. He was nervous to be heading to the Otherworld when the first time he'd gone before a full moon, it had felt like his body was ripping itself apart. Now, he was a Moonwalker, but he didn't know if that mean he could only walk there during the cycle of the moon or...or what. Or anything. That's why they were doing this, after all.

His hair was down, his shoulders rigid, his eyes sharp - he looked every bit the predator he was in the Otherworld, unaware of his disposition but unable to help it all the same. It was one thing to go himself, but to bring Rylan was untested and a perfect situation for him to be scared. For a man that didn't deal with fear, it was easier to push it down and squash it beneath a facade of clenched jaw and tightly pressed lips, to give off the aura that he was ready and composed.

There was no way to prepare, not knowing what the world would be like on the Otherside, even if they were in close proximity to their destination. He'd seen the ripple of a rift some distance from the library, but it was easier to meet in a known location than to describe a vague place for a thing Rylan couldn't see.

He turned his head when he heard the familiar voice, his dulled eyes warming and brightening as Rylan toyed with his jaw, unable to repress the easy smile that formed at seeing the firefighter's own. "Don't worry, I've got a metal plate in there. Harder to break than most might realize." Lucas offered a crooked grin, resting his hand over Rylan's forearm and giving him a gentle squeeze. "I've been psyching myself out to do this for a while, it's nice to have company. I just wish I was more confident in this." Fingers slid up to the hand against his jaw, gently curling around some of Rylan's fingers and tilting his head to the side. "C'mon. I saw a way in down the block."

Lucas wouldn't insist on holding Rylan's hand, no matter how worried or scared he was - the man had a reputation to uphold, and he himself looked like a vagrant he wagered. Instead, he tried to keep his smile in place as he lead the man down the block under the mid-summer day, dodging small throngs of people walking, offering idle talk of 'how was your day?' and 'you're looking as handsome as ever, guess you got your beauty sleep' and eventually skirting down the fringe of a quiet neighborhood.

Rubbing his hands together, he exhaled shortly between his lips. "It's gonna look weird," he almost said by way of apology, "but it's safe." He knew Rylan couldn't see the swirling, rippling shine of blue that he could, that it looked like he was staring with misgiving at the air between the side of a house and a culdesac. Reaching out both hands, he slid them into what seemed like thin air -- and pulled. His arms visibly strained with the effort, but after a moment, a rip in the fabric of the world appeared, the werewolf pushing the boundary until it filled the portal that he could see.

He held out his prosthetic hand to Rylan, his smile faint as he put one foot into the portal. "Onwards and upwards, Chief." And he stepped inside, feeling the world's subtle shift that the place on the other side was not exactly where he'd just been a foot away: the sunny, clear sky was replaced by a grey duller than his uncertain gaze had been, the soft pattern of drizzle tracing over his shoulders, the world more -- skewed, quiet, a pale sort of echo to the vibrancy of their world.

The dread settled on him, and with it, the small, repressed piece of panic he'd been denying began to bubble in his chest.

"Orange is good," came the slightly off reply, the only real indication that he was on edge. He had no idea if he was 'allowed' here, even as a so-called protector between worlds, there was too much he didn't know to have any confidence in standing there. Lucas used his hands to close the portal, but his mind was already reeling - expecting the feel of the fluid shift of limbs, the fur, the teeth --

And it happened. One moment, Lucas was side stepping the portal, his proverbial hackles raised, and the next, the shift came over him. It was fast like it always was, a ripple of dark fur and a lowering of position that happened in the span of a few heartbeats. The man was gone, and in his place, a very large grey wolf that was predominately black in color, at least three feet in height. He tilted his canine head, looking up at Rylan -- and you could almost see the man in the beast, the panic that made the wolf rear back - prosthetic leg and all - with a sharp whine --

And he was a man again, gripping his own chest, legs bowed like he was bracing for impact. Both hands pat down his shirt, looking down at himself, and then sharply back to Rylan. "Holy s**t?" It was a question, because he clearly had no answer.

True to Lucas form, the brief moment of terror was chased away with a sudden, wide, s**t-eating grin, joy flitting through him like a warm trickle of water. "I can control it? Holy s**t!" And, continuing to be true to form, he laughed and leaped - a wolf once more before he hit the ground, circling Rylan, his tail wagging fast enough to send water cascading in every direction. He uttered a canine whine of contentment as he all but wiggled between Rylan's legs, panting and taking off down the street to kick up puddles.

He stopped just as the fog was getting too thick to see and looked back to his unfortunate boyfriend, tail still going, ears turned towards him expectantly.

The wolf snorted, whuffling softly under his breath as he circled Rylan again, and before the second one completed, he was back to his feet and walking alongside the fireman. "I can understand you just fine, but you can't understand me. It's all wolf speak and wiggle and howl." Lucas grinned, and this time, he did take Rylan's hand, threading their fingers together. Even if it was brief, he was going to hold onto his brief moment of control - over himself, over knowing he had his very capable boyfriend there he could rely on.

"I'll have you know, I have excellent hearing as a wolf." An excuse, and an obvious one by the way his grin didn't temper in the least. "But as far as I know where we're going - and I do, we both do - we should be okay." In theory. Not really. But be damned if his optimism was going to be blanched just yet.

Besides, the library was just a few minutes of walking and he had no idea what they'd find inside. If they were going to discuss any plans, now was the time to approach it. "I don't know if we can bring anything back, but -- it's worth a shot. And if not, I hope you have a good memory. I didn't exactly bring anything to transcribe any books that may be of use and aren't...water logged." Grey eyes turned upwards, and was met only with yawning grey in return. What a place.

Gently squeezing Rylan's hand, he smiled at the procurement of a pen. "We'll figure it out. We always do." Tilting his head, Lucas couldn't help but smile more widely at seeing the soldier in Rylan surface -- he cut a hell of a figure. Unfortunately for the firefighter, Lucas liked that type of thing. He may have been out of the Army longer than Ry was out of the Marines, but he knew that look and he knew the intent. He'd just been here enough to believe that anything with ill intent would make itself known more than the likelihood of a sneak attack. That just didn't seem like the Otherworld's style.

At the library, he felt a little less confident, but not enough to slow down. Lifting the hand he held, he pressed a chaste kiss to it before letting Rylan go - they'd both need to be ready, even if all they faced was a bunch of soggy books. Lucas cast a brief glance to the other - ready? - before setting both hands on the closed doors. Setting his weight into his legs, he heaved them open, half expecting to find the library in the same condition as Blackfriars.

The Library stretched out before them, unbelievably vast. It seemed to swallow them both as they made their way forward, up the steps, footfalls jarringly intrusive in their unnaturally quiet surroundings.

He pointed to the island that looked as if it had been lifted right out of his own house. "Look," he said, almost in a whisper although there was nobody else around. "I think that's a sign for us to go there."

They must pass through two other islands to reach Rylan's kitchen. As they do, snippets of scenes from the past or the future or who on Earth knows play.

The first island they pass is an unfamiliar room, decorated in an antique style. There's a large, stiff-looking loveseat in the swirls and curls of art nouveau, in which sits a dead ringer for Mr. Liam Noor. He's dressed for an Edwardian-era re-enactment, and someone nearby who looks remarkably like Sunny Shore if Sunny were to be white, blonde, and blue-eyed is dressed to match. "It's just not done," she says. Her words aren't exactly accented, but there is a crispness to them that is unfamiliar to Lucas and Rylan's listening ears. "To raise a boy that way--"

"I'̛l̶l̷ ҉c̨ar̨e f͏or ͟hi҉m̀ ̡a͞s I̕ s̛e̶ȩ f̨i͟t," says the Liam lookalike. "H͏e͟'s mine͟ t̡o raise̛."

But then they are through, and on the stairs again, until the second island where--

It's Sunny. Her hoodie has been replaced by a cotton dress and her hair is snarled into knots. She looks naked without the royal purple of her oversized coat; her bloody fingernails dig into the ground as she bares her teeth in a growl at someone nearby. This scene is frozen in time, in amber, a predator just before the pounce.

And then they're in Rylan's kitchen, and what had seemed so familiar from afar is different closer up. Oh, it's similar enough, but it's all... older. No microwave. No coffeemaker. The appliances look like modish throwbacks, and the print on the curtains--subtle enough to go unnoticed from afar--looks like it popped right out of a guidebook to 1960s decor.

A dish on the counter holds a familiar wallet. There's an old-fashioned bookbag next to it.

"Be careful, Ry," the were advised softly. He could hear Aleksy's warning that everything here wanted them dead -- could hear Autumn's tearful story about manipulative fae. "Don't take it all as truth."

He didn't miss the displays, though -- watching Sunny, mostly. Torn between the need to make the images disappear and the need to make sense of it all. The snarl painted the image of kin. How did the red-head put it once? If he tried to make sense of it all, it'd kill him?

Something like that. Lucas didn't disbelieve it.

Once in the not-kitchen, he hung back, feeling out of place. This part wasn't made for him -- or so he assumed. "So much for orange alert," he teased lightly, glancing around the dated chunk of the past. He waited by where they'd stepped in, watching, unconsciously holding a fist so tight that the knuckles of his left hand were straining white.