taxonomites | 01 | holo | location: sanctuary

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01 | holo | location: sanctuary | ARRIVAL

Death felt hot, and dark, and loud and silent all at the same time. And it kind of tickled.

It wasn’t over like all the storybooks said it would be. There was no warm wash of air, or pretty clouds or glowing white light and the smiling face of her dead grandfather. It wasn’t even close to falling asleep. It was too bright for that. It was too much pain, too much pain to go gently into that good night. Electricity snaked through the sky, jagged scars ripped through the air and lit her up like a goddamn Christmas tree. So many metaphors, so little time. It was all of these things and more, and Gwen Raiden didn’t have the time to reflect. She didn’t even have time to be dead, apparently.

All of that—betraying Angel and Connor and Nina and Spike (well...okay, she didn't really care about Spike) and the rest, fighting the dragon Cordelia (which just might have been more forthcoming than the real Cordelia), her decision to die the way she always imagined it—all that was snuffed out with her life and now it rushed back. Here she was, in all her glory, surrounded by metal walls and a strange ceiling. She surveyed the close space, breathing hard from that whole noble sacrifice thing which tended to take a lot out of a girl. "Okay,” she said, and the word escaped her wrapped in a big, exhaled breath. “Not gonna lie. I thought heaven would be a little more…Feng Shui.”

And as death faded away like a dream, her body felt real and solid again. There was the hard steel floor underneath her boots, the silken feel of her gloves on her fingers, and finally, the dull pain in every muscle of her body that had been electrified just moments ago. Gritting her teeth and shoving it down and away, where she did not have to dwell on it, she noticed the pedestal in front of her holding a fancy little gadget on it. It looked like something once upon a time she would have been paid billions to steal. She looked at it now with uninterest and unease. “Or…not heaven. Mars, huh? Interesting choice.”

There was no door, no way out and no cool breeze she’d felt just moments ago on the rooftop...

Connor, she thought, struck suddenly with a pang of sadness and guilt that gutted her.

“Okay, I get it!” Her call echoed out to empty walls. This was Wolfram and Hart's doing. And if she had to claw her way out of here, literally striking down every cheap suit in this place to do it, she would. “And not to be dramatic, but I had a thing I was doing with...the dying. Don’t you people have better things to do than stick me in a box? Filing briefs, or something? Not a big, brooding vampire here. Just a normal, law-abiding citizen."

A fib, and not even a subtle one, but she was getting testy. She scratched at her gloved wrist, absentmindedly, and felt something like a bracelet under the fabric. “Sorry I killed your dragons?”

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Simple foods. Necessities. Gwen was wondering if panic rooms and kitchens the size of three master bedrooms counted as a necessity. What? She was a girl who liked to live in the lap of luxury. Old habits, and all. Hey, it wasn't her fault all her hard work paid off.

She shook her head, because all of this polysyllabic blabbing was making her anxious. He was her own personal little tour guide on this Disney ride, the ones she'd heard about anyway, and really she just wanted to know how to get off and have some other poor sap take her spot.

Something in his speech caught her attention. She lifted an eyebrow. "Hatching items? Do tell. And try to lay low with the robot speak, handsome. I'm a simple girl."

Long blinked once at being called 'handsome', however much of an offhand, humourous, slang usage it might have been. Six years of being human, now, and there were many elements of social interaction that he didn't believe he would ever understand...

"Yes. Well. There are vending machines throughout the city, called hatches. Except instead of snack foods, you can get... almost anything, it seems. There are limits on size, but anything from a hot meal to a warm coat. The cost of the item is automatically deducted from one's account."

Somehow she thought the explanation would be a lot more exciting. An all you can eat vending machine? It sounded like something the Chinese could invent in another ten years, something she probably would have been hired to steal had she kept up with the business.

But there was one thing. 'Almost anything.' How far did that spectrum go? There were a couple things Gwen wouldn't mind getting her hands on. Something that actually lets her get her hands on anything, for one thing.

"I see. Say, tell me something, Mr. Long. Is anybody here, I don't know, looking for a way out? Or is everyone too invested in playing Life for the aliens?"

Long laughed at that question, some actual emotion shading it for the first time since their talk had started-- a note of bitterness to his laugh, rather than the blandly polite tone he had used so far.

He shook his head at himself, the laugh dying nearly as soon as it had begun. Yes, he had tried. Assaulted the barriers with dragon's flame and his once-upon-a-time titanic strength. And made no more progress than the mortals he shared the city with.

What he said aloud was: "Yes. I think all of us, at some point or another. I have been here eight months, Ms. Raiden. The simple options have been tried. If we appear apathetic, it is because one can only beat one's head against a wall for so long before deciding subtler methods are to be preferred."

The laugh caught Gwen off-guard, in a good way. But just a few seconds of explanation and she was all to sure that there was hopelessness behind it.

'There's nothing we can do.' It wasn't something totally unfamiliar, and yet it still stung. The only light at the end of this tunnel was the possibility that they underestimated her power. She fried a hoard of dragons, for God's sake! Sure, she didn't exactly live to tell the tale (well, technically) but it was the most powerful thing she'd done. And she could do it again, if she had to.

"Subtler methods?" she asks, with unconcealed interest.

"There is a barrier around the city-- trying to walk, or fly, or dig outside of it gets one no-where," Long explained with a sigh. "It isn't solid-- there is nothing to try and break-- it is just that if you start heading outside, you find yourself unable to make any progress. You are, of course, welcome to investigate this for yourself and try to break it."

He steepled his fingers in front of his face, half-closed his eyes. "As for subtler methods... a few months ago we were contacted by someone outside the city who.... seems to be interested in our plight and in helping us escape. I have been working on a translation of their message. Of course, we have no real proof that we can trust them."

So. No metal walls to melt. That takes care of that. But she likely would see for herself.

She clenched her jaw at this, considering. "How do you know its not . . . you know, them? Playing games, seeing how the rats run the maze?" The idea at least gave her some hope, but not much. "Eight months and a brainiac like you can't unlock the door? Call me a Debbie Downer but if that's all you've got, it doesn't look good."

She sighed, and actually took a seat on the nearest Sanctuary chair. "Gee, I bet you make all the newbies feel this good."

"We don't know," Long said evenly. "That is why I said we have no proof we can trust them. But it is something to explore, to research."

He blinked slowly at her light sarcasm, probably interpreting it quite literally. "I am aware of my limitations, Miss Raiden. The entities that hold us prisoner are more powerful than myself by many magnitudes. This does not mean I have given up hope, merely that so far we have not yet escaped."

Long smiled slightly at her last words. "I don't believe in giving people false hope."

Gwen actually smiles, and it's all very warm-looking and nice but it's not because she's inspired. Tough nut to crack, this one. Instead:

"Don't think going all Dumbledore on me is gonna get me weak in the knees, Mr. Long. But, I'll tell you what. We get out of here before my hair grays and I lose my glowing looks? I'll buy a library and name it after you."

Long is from 1983. He has no idea who she means by Dumbledore, but merely offers a vague, polite smile to hide his ignorance.

The promise of a library, though-- that makes him laugh, white teeth briefly flashing in his dark face.

"You are too kind, Miss Raiden. I will look forward to your generosity. Now, a mundane question, the practicalities-- have the hatches been explained to you yet?"

His laughter sets her a little bit at ease, actually. Probably because he doesn't exactly look or sound like he gives off a good chuckle often. And he's quick to get down to business, something Gwen always knew how to do.

"I'm guessing it doesn't have anything to do with eggs." Please, do not let it have anything to do with eggs.

"No, they are the vending machines you will see around the city--" Long paused, brow furrowed.

"Oh, yes, I already mentioned them. I'm sorry, we really do need to create a standardized guide for new arrivals. I have.... given variations on this speech to many, many people so far; one slips into patterns."

He shook his head at himself. "Perhaps it would be easier if I asked if you had any specific questions."

Kind of like a robot, thought Gwen, but she decided not to tease him. And she was still kind of taking everything in. Hatches, aliens, hamsters, libraries and super gadget phones. She had her own little personal manual to work with here, and she was not going to complain.

As for questions, there was one. It was weighing in her mind a little more than she wished it to, but there it was. Among those she'd met was the undead, for one, and it was backing her theory.

"You don't think this is some kind of..." she pauses, because it sounded plain stupid. "Purgatory?" Well, she was dying when Taxon scooped her up.

Long looked startled at the question, eyes briefly widening, brows arching. And then he laughed again, sounding very amused this time.

"I don't think so! By the most common numbering scheme used in Buddhism, there are sixteen hells, or purgatories-- the Sanskrit word is translated both ways into English-- and I have studied the writings pertaining to them fairly extensively.

"In no sutra nor text is there any mention of hamsters." He grins just a little, his eyes dancing, but then sobers up and shrugs.

"No, I do not think it is Purgatory, Miss Raiden. I spent twenty-two years once as the unwilling captive of a fellow named Morningstar, and I will say this: Taxon has much better food."

She smiles just a little. Yeah, it was pretty stupid. "I only ask because I was, well, kind of...dying at the time." A statement that should be serious is delivered instead with casual offhandedness, almost embarrassed. Turns out, saying it out loud didn't make it any less awkward or easy to figure out in her head.

"Twenty-two years," she repeats, deflated. "That's...That's a long time." Was she going to be here for twenty-two years? There is a dread on Gwen's face as she considers this. "So you've...done this whole captive thing before. Now I see why you've done your homework."

"Everyone mortal is dying," is Long's equally off-hand response to this revelation. "Some of us faster than others, that is all. But I think you are not the only person to be snatched here from the jaws of a terrible fate."

He sighs, thinking of Fred (and having no inkling this woman is from the same reality as her). Sweet, hopeful Fred-- gone, and to a horrific end if the man Angel had been to be believed. And nothing to be done about it.

Gwen's further words drag his attention back to matters at hand, and he notices the slump of her shoulders.

" 'Be ye of good cheer'," he quotes. "One of the morals of the story is that neither was that captivity forever. I was freed. All prison sentences are finite eventually.

"But it is possible that my experience does lead me to accept Taxon with a bit more equanimity than I should, yes."

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01 | holo | location: sanctuary | ARRIVAL

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