strangetrip | GP: April Fools!

It didn't take any sort of precognitive abilities to predict some kind of shenanigans on the first of April. Many of the people stuck in the bubble world of the Madonna Inn were from times and places where April Fools' Day pranks were normal, expected... (in many cases) minor annoyances. And then there were the residents who remembered the strange egg hunt from a year ago, and the sometimes confusing explanations of the two holidays falling on the same day and how that related.

Also, life at the inn could be interminable. After a while, people started hoping for some kind of strangeness to happen, just to break up the monotony of being trapped in a kitschy no-snow globe.

So, no. You didn't have to be a mutant fortune teller to expect some kind of joke being pulled. But Emma was, and even she had no idea what was coming, other than it was going to be frustrating and topsy-turny, and the visions she'd been getting from the tarot – and way more reversals than was usual or healthy in her experience – were even less clear than usual.

She definitely didn't foresee waking up without the powers that were as much a part of her as her heart. Or just as suddenly having powers she had no idea how to control. But she did, and she had*, and she was far from the only one. The same thing was happening to people all around the inn.

(*Not to worry. The singe marks should be gone in a day or so. Right?)

[Powers swap GP! Tag in. Tag around. It's a time for out and about at the inn coping (or not) with powers gained (or lost).]

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Jag felt him coming, a bright fox headed for the stables. But the horses didn't mind him, and neither did Jag. He leaned against Sevara, a hand sliding along her spine, and let Mildmay's memories of Emma wash through him. He could see her in the other man's mind, and his heart clenched. Jag opened his eyes when Mildmay called out his name, and pressed a kiss to Sevara's shoulder before pushing away from her, and pushing up onto the stall wall to straddle it. "I'm here."

He made no move to get down on the other side of the wall, though. It felt safer from Mildmay's feelings up here, even though that was a lie.

Mildmay nodded a greeting. "Food," he explained, lifting the basket a little. "Emma sent it." That was probably as obvious as the basket. "Said you might be out here, and not wanna go back inside." Mildmay wasn't exactly sure why, but the way Jag was watching him... it felt a little like the way Felix could get when he 'wasn't himself'.

"She's struggling," Jag said, ignoring Mildmay's unvoiced questions. For now. Questions were fine. They didn't burn, for now, but the thought of Emma warmed, and gave Jag something to feel for himself. Concern. Love.

"Who ain't?" Mildmay answered, taking a moment to set the basket down outta the way of any curious horses.

"She'll be okay." He huffed quietly. "Least everybody'll be well fed."

Jag's gaze followed the basket, and he was looking at it unseeing as he said, "She's been staying out of my way." Or he'd been staying out of hers? Maybe both. He longed for her, and he was terrified of feeling her. Would he ever be ready for that?

Wasn't on Mildmay to say she was or she wasn't, but he didn't think she'd sent him out here 'cause she was too busy cooking.

"She stays outta a lotta people's way. Maybe more now 'causea the..." He trailed off, waving a hand to get at the fucking weird hocus shit going around.

Mildmay didn't have to say either way; he was here instead of Emma. Jag knew. Still, he nodded, scratched at his shoulder, and wished he could be there for her, the way he would normally try to be. "Cheers," he said, quietly. "For bringing the food."

A small jerk of his chin took the place of any 'you're welcome'. He wasn't even sure what Emma had packed, but she had to know what Jag liked, right?

"Least she's letting me do something today. Yesterday she kicked me outta the kitchens." Easier, talking about himself than Emma, who wasn't here to speak for herself. Or Jag. At least freezing shit could be kinda funny looking back on it after.

Jag shivered before he could help it, at the thought of that cold. His body language closed off a little more as he shrunk in on himself. "I miss my fire," he said, quietly, gaze unfocused, before he blinked and looked up at Mildmay. "I'm glad she has some now." Glad. Was that right? It was a simple word, but nothing was simple. Still, the fire would keep her warm.

MIldmay wasn't sure glad was the word he'd go with, but he could kinda see how it might feel that way to Jag.

"This is fucked," he said instead. 'Cause it was, for just about everybody. Then quieter, "I ain't meant to be no hocus."

"That's never mattered," Jag replied in a whisper. None of them were meant to be here, to start with.

Ain't that the fucking truth. And not just here neither. Wasn't any part of Mildmay's life he could look at and say anybody'd be meant for. Even the parts he knew he deserved, it was only 'cause of what'd come before.

But he didn't say none of that. He just nodded, and let a quiet settle over the stables, before, "I'll let you get back to it."

A pause, considering. "Anything you want me to tell her?"

Quiet was never really quiet anymore, although it was better here than in the other buildings. Still, Mildmay was here, and what he didn't say was perhaps even louder than his words.

Until that question, and possible answers took over. Thank you and I'm sorry and I love you. He swallowed, then answered with the simplest one, "Thank you. Tell her thank you." Simplest, at least on the surface. But it contained so much more.

One heart beat, and another, a just long enough pause to recognize when a few words were meant to say a whole lot more. Mildmay did it a lot himself, so he knew it when he heard it. Then he nodded. He'd tell her.

And with nothing else for them to say, and not much use for words anyway, he headed back to the kitchen to deliver Jag's message and stick to the familiar as much as he could when things were fucked so topsy-turvy.

GP: April Fools!

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