| Logs |
2009-05-05
| Dreams |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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The Rhythm of the Falling Rain
Jason has a fitful night, with some difficulty sleeping, after his strange dream. He awakens the next day aching and sore. Jason rubs his forehead, and goes into the bathroom. Yep, he looks just like he feels. He might as well have slept on the ground, for all the comfort the bed was. He showers, though. Never know when you're going to get your last shower. "How am I going to get this person to talk to me. I still don't know if they actually hear me... and if they do, are they going quiet because they see me as a threat? Or because they think they're hearing voices..."
When he looks at the bedside clock, he realizes it's later than he'd intended -- it's well after dawn and closer to noon. The light coming in through the frosted bathroom window is not as bright as he would have expected, though. Jason hnhs. "Better get going, before they charge me for another day." Toweling himself, he goes to the window beside the front door, and peers out into the parking lot.
Glancing out, he sees a heavy, ominously looming and darkly cloudy sky. The asphalt of the parking lot is streaming water, and a torrential downpour is bouncing off the cars in shimmering curtains of rain. The flashing neon OPEN sign for the motel is dimmed by the intervening water, but he can still barely make out the words painted underneath it: the hotel's name, and its proud proclamation of having AC and home-cooked meals in the attached little restaurant.
Jason stares gloomily at the weather. "Crap." He ponders the weather. Walking in the baking sun is one thing. He's be soaked through if he tried to go anywhere in that, though -- probably catch hypothermia. That said... he's not at home, and not on vacation. Staying in his room feels... unhelpful. "Are you trying to tell me something, Wakinyan?" he asks the Great Thunderbird.
Lightning spears actinically through the distant clouds towards the ground, and dances inside the thunderheads in a lovely display of internal pearlescent glowing. Shortly thereafter the thunder growls in a low, distance muted rumble. Past that, however, there's no other comment.
Jason listens to the lightning crack and the thunder roll. "The thunder rolls. Snake eyes," he says to no one in particular, as he slowly dresses. He looks over at the TV. "This is only going to get worse," he commiserates with the blank box. "With no one here, I am just going to keep talking to myself, like that muttering person in my dreams." He takes stock of his things. "No umbrella. Well, that was an oversight. At least I have a rain slicker, though. Which, honestly, would do me better. The rain would come in sideways under an umbrella." He remembers, from his glance outside and his tired trudging to his room last night, that he can probably dash all the short way to the restaurant while remaining under the overhang. "Thank goodness for small favors."
Jason turns on the TV then, curious to see if he can get the local weather -- if the signal even comes in, what with the storm.
It takes a bit to find a channel that's not a static mess, but eventually Jason does. It's playing a soap opera. Jason snorts. "Excellent. Considering the way modern news is, this is just as sustaining. Except no weather." He puts on his coat. "Well, let's hope the locals are better informed than you, little box. Cover me. I'm going in."
The attractive blonde woman in the soap is clinging to the blow-dried black haired man is nearly in tears, "But Nigel, I love you! How can you leave me?!" The man is a slightly wooden actor; he holds her and intones, "I know, Annette, but what would your husband Fred say if he found out? Or my wife? How would you feel if they knew?" The woman sobs once, then lays her head against the man's chest and whispers tragically, "No, no!" Then she looks directly at Jason and adds sadly, "Oh, if only we could have some cherry crumb pie on sale today!" The man, nodding in silent agreement, also looks at Jason -- and then static eats that channel as well.
Jason stares at the TV. "I think I just felt a piece of me die," he murmurs, shaking his head. He considers for a moment. "Still. Pie. Never a bad suggestion. But I don't think that goes well with breakfast." He opens the door cautiously, wary of wind gusts. The wind is whipping fiercely along the mostly open plains, and Jason can feel it tug impatiently at the door he's carefully holding. He gets out safely, though, and with a quick dash makes it into the restaurant.
The dim little restaurant is basically a tiny "hole in the wall" that doubles as a bar at night, although right now it smells good and feels cozy inside. The decor is "Southwestern clutter": some old and slightly dusty native style blankets hung on the walls, crowded in with a moth-eaten mounted jackalope head and a few nicely made but clearly touristy items for sale. Jason spots, in his first glance, a few large dreamcatchers, velvet paintings of Indian children, some painted leather-like shields with fake bows and arrows attached -- stuff like that.
The same soap opera is on the TV above the bar, and a shabby, scruffy older white man is seated at the bar, watching it and nursing a cup of coffee. A plump middle-aged woman with warm coffee-colored skin looks up and smiles, "Heya, hon, c'mon in and stay dry. What can I git fer you?" The windows are fogged due to the rain, which means Jason doesn't notice the hand-lettered sign until he's inside:
Special today: home-made cherry crumb pie!
Jason stares at the sign for a good half-minute. Okay. Now I'm officially creeped out. "Huh? Oh, yeah, food." He smiles good-naturedly at the woman. "Something lunchish? I mean, you can't really tell, but I think the morning is over. What do you recommend? Oh, and coffee to start. I need help waking up. The rain makes me sluggish."
The comfortably plump woman, whose nametag sports both a cute little heart sticker and a handwritten "Maria," beams at Jason, "You jes' c'mon over and siddown a spell!" She's already pouring a hot coffee for him before one of the stools at the bar, and she slides a simple one-page menu into his hands as he seats himself. Placidly she adds, "Cherry crumb pie's on sale t'day, 'n I make a mean southwestern omelet if I do say so myself."
Jason laughs. "You sold me -- but the omelet before the pie. It just feels wrong, having the dessert first." He looks at the menu. "And OJ, please. Need to ward off scurvy."
There's a slight Hispanic accent or lilt to her words; it takes Jason a moment to realize that. She chuckles, patting his hand in a motherly fashion, "A' course it does, hon -- you look like a good boy, so you'd know that!" She pours him a glass of cold orange juice, then adds cheerfully, "You jus' hang on 'n I'll have a nice, pipin' hot omelet out for ya inna minnit or two." She turns towards the big stove, deftly whipping together the elements of Jason's meal and humming contentedly to herself. The white-haired older man glances at Jason, giving the younger man a wary assessment before he returns to his coffee and the TV -- he seems almost entranced by it. On the screen, the handsome but wooden Nigel is trying to deal with the histrionics of both Annette and a brunette who is apparently his wife.
Jason doesn't want to distract the woman from her cooking -- although he's quite becalmed by her easy-going, earthy nature -- and looks at the older man. "Any word on when the rain is going to stop, sir?" he queries politely.
It takes the weather-beaten older man a moment to realize Jason's speaking to him, and when he does he shushes Jason firmly, whispering loudly, "Don't be inneruptin' th' spirits, boy! They's speakin' t' us through th' TV t'day!" Maria glances over her shoulder and amusedly calls, "Now, Jed, don't be spookin' my customers! You know that's impossible, unless your spirits are in New Yawk City while that show's bein' filmed." The older man glares from under bushy white eyebrows at the woman, muttering something about the younger generation and disbelievers -- then he turns back to the show.
Jason would normally also dismiss the man's words -- except not only is he not a disbeliever, but he's already had one weird moment today. So he focuses on the TV to see if it will favor him with another odd 'coincidence.' "Tell me you know something about muttering people and gates," he suggests quietly to the box.
The TV seems almost disgustingly normal as it goes to an advertisement for a grinning, false-feeling car salesman in nearby Flagstaff. The old man, though, turns his faded blue-eyed gaze on Jason, staring at the younger man, "Don't know nuthin' 'bout gates, but I know 'bout th' local legends." He has a gulp of coffee as Maria looks over with a faint smile and patiently rolls her eyes. The man continues darkly, "Mos' 'mportant thang, boy -- watch out fer Lawyer Rona!" Maria winces amusedly as she dexterously flips the omelet, then transfers it to a plate as she calls, "That's La Llorona, Jed, an' you know it!" The old man wheezes a chuckle, then does his best to look spooky as he adds, "She kilt both her li'l kids 'bout two hunnert years 'go now, 'n cain't git inta Heaven cuzza that! Now she wanders th' roads 'n rivers, searchin' fer her lost babies." He shakes an arthritically bent finger at Jason, adding, "If ya see a woman 'tween th' hours a' midnight t' three inna mornin', walkin' 'long all 'lone inna long white dress 'n carryin' a lantern, sobbin' 'n callin' fer her lost li'l ones, don'choo go near her! She's like t' take ya instead, t' try t' pass ya off as hers t' Saint Peter at th' pearly gates!"
Jason is actually interested, unlike the average movie teenager, who'd probably end up dead because he didn't listen -- were this a movie. "Why did she kill her children?" he asks as he quietly accepts the omelet.
The old man is hunched over, staring into his coffee cup and muttering to himself. Maria slides the plate before Jason -- the omelet smells delicious! -as she smiles and adds, "Is just a local legend. Apparently she want to marry a white man, but he din' wan' her two daughters coming along in the package deal. She drown them for love of him, but when she tell him what she'd done for him, he leave her in horror, and she drown herself in grief over him an' her daughters. The version I hear has her kneeling next to a stream with her arms in the water up to the elbows, feeling around for the bones of her lost babies." She laughs, adding, "Made-up ghost stories for children! She's supposed to have a horse's head too -- heaven knows why! Hot sauce?"
Jason accepts the sauce. "That's so horrible." He grimaces. "Sounds like something out of Brothers Grimm, only more modern," he comments, spurting some onto the omelet and trying again! Guk! "Little less hot sauce," he murmurs, taking a swallow of juice. What's worse is one can't really be sure if things have changed since then. People do crazy things. "And this happened around here?" His brain is still working... this is entirely outside of his experience. He knows a little about Aztecs, and about the Pueblo Indians, and Spider Woman, but nothing about a woman with the head of a horse, let alone the ghost of one. But maybe she doesn't fit in to extant myth.
Maria chuckles, "Depends who you ask, hon. I've heard tell it was here, or in Mejico, or further east in Flagstaff. Each storyteller will swear to you they've got the real, true story. I've even talked to a nice lady from Phoenix who swears she saw La Llorona there. She spoke to her, asking if she was lost, and La Llorona turn to look at her and has no face at all!" The plump woman smiles again, crossing herself, then slips a hand into her apron pocket and pulls out a small, black, roundish, semi-translucent stone that she sets down next to Jason's plate, "Like the APache Tears. You ever see before?"
Jason shakes his head, looking at the stone in wonder. "That's lovely. Some sort of crystal?" He had a things for geology when he was younger... he knows amethyst, malachite, adventurine, turquoise, agate, chalcopyrite, onyx, and a whole mess of quartzes, but he's not familiar with this stone.
The pebble appears to be dark obsidian and feels warm and smooth to the touch. Maria turns to clean the stove, cheerfully adding over her shoulder, "They say is the tears wept by 'Pache women for their men what jump offa 'Pache Leap, jest outside a' Superior." She adds, "Thassa town jest east a' Phoenix. About 75 braves get cornered by a platoon a' US cavalry, an' legend say they leap instead of bein' murdered an' captured." Jed adds darkly, "Plummetin' eight hunnert feet -- t' their deaths!"
Jason doesn't say what he's thinking: it wouldn't be polite. Sure, because being enslaved, tortured, or just plain shot with bullets and dying slow deaths would have been so much better. "Is there an Apache rez around here, then? Or does the story linger even after the people have... moved on." he queries carefully.
Maria smiles and sighs quietly, "There are some still around." The older man is clearly still on the previous line of conversation -- he mutters, "Tha's th' Superstition Mountains fer ya, though. Gotta be careful there! Folks git lost, niver come out 'gain. They'll find yer headless body years later, like th' Spaniards were allus doin' -- 'r th' lizard men'll gitcha, 'r you'll git lost inna labyrinth unner th' mountains. Those tunnels reach alla way t' South 'Merica, y'know!" Maria laughs comfortably, still cleaning the stovetop. Jed is clearly warming to his subject; he snorts, "Sure, don't lissen t' me -- but don't blame me when y' lose time 'n space while yer there inna magnetic whirlpools! 'R when y' git cursed fer stealin' th' petrified wood, 'r when th' world serpent comes outta Window Rock 'n eats ya up whole!"
Jason barks a laugh! "I think you're safe. The world serpent only eats gods. Or honking huge trees," he assures the man. He continues eating... nothing like good food! "Where's Window Rock, though?"
Jed glares at Jason, his bushy eyebrows working, "Oh, yeah, make fun a' ol' Jed -- 's easy t' do when y' ain't niver even seen it! Mark my words, though -- this 'un's jest a baby. Still growin', y'know. Comes out t' hunt at night sometimes, slips through th' Window Rock t' reach this world." He sits back in his chair, nodding to himself, and adds loftily, "Th' Navajo know -- it's their snake."
Jason sips at his coffee. "Told you this, have they? Don't mess with the Navajo, or you'll be snake food?" he queries, only half kidding.
The old man shakes his head cannily, "Nah, nah, now yer makin' fun. Y' wanna find out 'bout th' spirits here, yer gonna hafta show y' really mean it." He nods firmly to himself, staring resolutely across the bar with his coffee cup in his hands. Maria snorts amusedly, re-filling the cup.
Jason isn't quite sure what to make of the old man. He has a hard time figuring out if he's wise, senile, or both. "I mostly walked here from Vegas, sir. Could say I'm on a mission to find the spirits. Not saying you don't know... just curious how you know," he explains in a more conciliatory tone. Only problem is, so far they've only told me to eat cherry pie.
Maria has turned to continue cleaning the stove, humming quietly to herself. The old man glances over pointedly at Jason's now-empty plate, then sighs lugubriously and rubs his stomach. Something clicks in Jason's head. "Why don't we have pie. Together. On me. And you can tell me about Window Rock," he suggests.
The old man brightens, and Maria turns around, a suspicious look on her face. Jed smiles sweetly at her, and she puts her hands on her hips, turning to Jason, "You sure you wanna do this, hon? You don' gotta, y'know." Jed looks deeply wounded, hunching up like a kicked puppy.
Jason gestures to the window soaked in rain. "I'm not going anywhere. And a little storytelling backed up with cherry pie doesn't seem like a bad way to spend the time," he drawls. "Besides. 'Do unto others' is the name of the game, hmm?" He holds up his hand. "I solemnly promise, there are no hidden cameras. I'm honestly curious."
Jed beams sweetly at Maria until she smiles at Jason and shakes her head amusedly at the older man -- at which point he grins wickedly at Jason, giving him a thumbs up. Maria is already turning to cut some pie, "Awright then, hon. Two slices comin' up! You want 'em warmed?" Jed eagerly rumbles, "Yes please!"
"What the man said," Jason replies agreeably. He cocks an eye towards the TV, curious if there are any other insights from the spirits of Soap Operas past.
Jed is as good as his word, rambling cheerfully on as he devours his generous slice of pie, "I 'member lookin' through one a' those quarter telescopes at th' Gran' Canyon, lookin' at th' wreckage a' th' two airliners that crashed there inna late 50's 'r so. Huge tragedy, huge. Th' mass grave's in Flagstaff, y'know, but they say th' ghosts still roam roun' th' wreckage -- can hear th' pilots callin' out, th' people screamin', alla that..." He shakes his head sadly, having a few more bites of pie, then adds, "Window Rock's jes' north a' th' highway at th' eastern border a' th' state. Sacred capital a' Navajo lan', y'know. Like two hunnert foot high sandstone amphitheater with a 50 foot hole inna middle. Navajos say tha's where th' giant serpent exits when huntin'. We know th' snake's still there 'n still growin', cuz it knocked out some rocks coupla years ago, made th' hole li'l bigger. It mus' be awful hungry, y'know?"
Jason listens to the old man talk. Something comes to mind -- it's a little like the importance of 23, but perhaps it's relevant -- the Navajo associated snakes with storms, the symbol of 'lightning people.' He does a quick calculation in his head from playing around with his GPS earlier... yikes! The eastern border is over 200 miles away. Well, maybe he can catch a ride. "Is it accessible to the public, then, or do Park Rangers and such keep people away?"
Jed cackles a laugh, then leans over to whisper to Jason, "Whut they donno won' hurt 'em, yeah?" He sits up again, nodding to himself, then firmly adds, "Don' steal nuthin' from th' Petrified Forest neither, now, y'hear? Spirits'll curse ya! They don' like folks takin' their bones. 'N watch out fer th' Skeleton Man walkin' through th' night with 'is lantern flickerin' insidea his ribs -- 'n stay 'way from th' Superstition Mountains! Too easy t' move through time there, 'r t' git lost inna tunnels unnerneath 'em."
Maria comes over and refills Jason's coffee cup, smiling fondly at the older man, "Jed filling up your head with stories? Don' mind him now -- he don' mean no harm. If you're looking for fun places to see, go see Montezuma's Castle. Is not really a castle an' Montezuma never was there, but is kind of eerie on its own. Tiny little apartment complex thing built way up high onna cliff -- only way up is by rickety ol' ladders. Nobody know why they built those twenty rooms -- or why they jes' leave quietly after two, three hundred years. Think they be all gone by 1400's, from what I read." She seems faintly nostalgic, although she laughs quietly when Jed growls, "They's hidin' from th' world snake, woman -- ever'body knows that! They jes' don' wanna admit it."
Jason does seems a little overwhelmed by it all. Who knows which of these stories are real, and which are just made up? Hell: succubi and sphynxes and minotaurs were just made up. How does he know which ones become real? "Why do they call it 'Superstition Mountains'? Is that like a home for superstitions, like the castle was a home for the native folk?" He looks sidelong at Jed. "And, well... world serpents."
Jed shakes his head, hungrily finishing up the last crumbs of his pie. Maria chuckles quietly, "Oh, lotsa superstitions come outta the mountains -- stuff 'bout the magnetic fields cause time an' space to warp, or the veils between the worlds be real thin there or something, make folks go mad in there." She waves a hand vaguely off to the south, adding cheerfully, "The mountains are dangerous in their own right. No surprise folks don't come out sometimes, y'know? Only take a few kids find some scattered bones an' no skull, an' they sure there is beheading monster or something, insteada bears 'r whutever."
Jed glares at Maria, "Oh, yeah? Whut 'bout JC bein' abducted by th' lizard aliens?!" She placidly replies, "JC is cheerful drunk an' you know it, Jed Smith." Jed snorts angrily, firmly scraping his fork over his now spotless plate to get every last crumb. Maria smiles at Jason, "Had 'nuff to eat, hon?"
Jason can't help but wonder. Could this be what he was supposed to find -- the Mountains, or maybe Window Rock? Window Rock sounds at least a little safer; he's not exactly an experienced mountain climber, and he doesn't have access to a helicopter. "Hmm? Oh... that pie was lovely, Maria," he assures. "I should quit while I'm ahead, though... eating something because it tastes divine is an easy way to get fat, and I've got enough of that," he assures wryly. He scratches his chin. "Is there anything recent? I mean, with the finding of bones or skulls or what not? Or other weird events in the last couple weeks?" Like Earth-shattering kabooms.
Maria beams, patting Jason's hand in a motherly way again, "Why thank you, chile! Lemme gitcha th' bill then." She turns to the cash register, listening, then snorts amusedly, "Recent? Oh, there's always the brother of the cousin of the best friend of whatever who swears they see the ghosts on London Bridge in Lake Havasu, or who's dyin' to tell you all about their sighting of eight foot tall skeleton man or whatever." She smiles at Jason, laying down the bill, "Here you go, hon. Tell you whut -- whyn'tchoo go visit Gran' Canyon, or Montezuma's Castle? Those at least are real, y'know?" Jed growls and mutters at that, slurping his coffee loudly.
Jason gets this thoughtful look on his face. "I never have seen the Grand Canyon... the South Dakota Badlands: yes, but the Canyon's likely even more impressive," he murmurs almost dreamily. Of course, it's also a good hundred miles north... but Phyx didn't exactly give him a travel itinerary. "Where's the 'castle' at, though?"
Maria smiles, "Not too far -- 'bout 50 miles south a' Flagstaff, hon."
Jason makes a mental note of that. "Thanks, 'preciate it." He counts out money and leaves a generous tip... and then, as an after thought, he asks, "Hey, either of you folk ever heard of a Father Bermudo?"
Jed mutters, but Maria smiles again, "Oh, sure, the good Father stop here reg'lar like when he can." She adds proudly, "He say my Dutch apple pie's near sinfully good!"
Jason nods agreeably. At least the Father existed, and wasn't some ghost -- with, yannow, a ghost car. "Don't care for him, Jed?" he queries. "I figure you'd be happy for protection from ghosts and serpents and all that," he adds.
Jed snorts dramatically, and Maria smiles a bit sadly again, "Father Bermudo is trying to persuade our Jed to go with him to shelter in either Flagstaff 'r Phoenix, but Jed always on about how he was raised an' he gonna die inna desert." The older man glares fiercely at both the other two there, shaking his fist -- and looking uncommonly like an old buzzard for a moment, "Don't need no smirkin' city folk laughin' at me b'hind my back! Like th' quiet."
Jason says, "Nothing wrong with that, Jed. I understand feeling a tie to a certain place. Although dying in the desert is not my first choice." Maria chuckles. Jed resolutely stares into his coffee mug.
Jason takes his farewell from the two and heads back out into the storm. He stays under the overhang, of course, but he does just look out into the bleakness first, as if straining to see if any horse-headed women are watching him. The rain is still a dense, constant presence, but it's not the coldly lashing curtains of only a few hours ago. Jason finally goes back to his room, pondering his options. Prior to meeting Diana, he would have loved to see the Grand Canyon. But somehow he doubts he'll find what he needs to there. Everyone knows about the Grand Canyon. It's a huge tourist attraction any time of year. The castle or Window Rock sounds a better choice -- and the castle is closer. He might even make that in a day, with luck and a ride. So, Camp Verde it is -- when the weather clears.
That decided, Jason hunkers down and takes a break. In retrospect, it was the exercise that took it out of him, and the rest will likely do him good. "And who knows, maybe La Llorona, or some Apache braves will stop by for coffee." he confides in the snowy TV screen. He does feel self-conscious, though. Here he is, the white guy in a strange land, seeking native supernaturals. Oh yeah, they're gonna love him. "Be lucky if a blushing bride doesn't offer me the corpses of her drowned kids." He shakes his head... that story made him angry.
Jason dozes off after a while -- his body is clearly still recovering, and the room is quiet and oddly cozy with the thunder of rain kept safely outside. He awakens with a start at the suddenly loud roar of engines. "Protect the goslings! I'll start the hovercraft!" he barks. He shakes his head. "I mean, what?"
The snarling roar gets louder, in the odd Doppler effect caused by rain and speed -- then just when it sounds like it must be about to burst into the room... it dies out. Jason wipes the sleep from his eyes, flopping his feet onto the ground and peering out the window. A car maybe? His brow knits. Cars aren't usually that loud... but motorcycles are. A moment later three dark figures stalk past the window, shockingly close to him. It appears one of them actually turns and looks directly at him, in fact. Jason stares right back, unafraid -- well, mostly -- taking a step forward and trying to make out more detail.
The glistening wet black figures quickly pass the window, but Jason recognizes them as the three bikers back at the rest stop where he left Father Bermudo. "Looks like the Father's not the only one that's a traveling man. Although... that's not uncommon with bikers," he mumbles, blinking blearily and wondering. If a supernatural was covered head to toe in black leather and a helmet, how would he know they were different from a human, even with the Sight? Not everyone is Phillip or Phyx, after all.
Jason hesitates another moment -- then he goes to his door and opens it, peering out to see where the bikers went. The last one in line is ducking his head to enter the office even as Jason looks. He can hear the little jangle of the bell on the door as it closes behind the man. In the other direction, when Jason looks that way, are three wet, mud-splashed motorcycles -- clearly heavily laden, old, and well-cared-for. Staring at the bikes, Jason gets the oddest sensation -- as if he's watching three tired horses, heads hanging and relaxedly hipshot as they wait for their riders to return and care for them. Jason is hesitant -- then, disappearing behind his door for only a moment, he puts on his shoes and goes out to get a closer look at these weird 'bikes.' "With my luck, those guys are Famine, War, and Pestilence..."
The bikes are dirty, but even so the rain is sluicing off the worst of the mud. Underneath -- in the dim, lurid yellow flicker from the little lights over each door -- Jason can see custom paint jobs. The saddlebags are actually custom-made panniers crafted onto the bikes, and tarps are tightly tied over the extra gear on the back. Leather decorations and chrome fringe much of the bikes, and Jason can see what looks like a raging fantasy warrior in a horned helmet and with a bloody axe blazoned across the side of the nearest bike.
The wind is a fickle beast -- it switches direction and he's suddenly and abruptly sprayed with cold, hard rain. He gahs! "Fricking... doh!" He's backed up against the wall of the motel, trying to get under the full protection of the overhang. "Okay. Not my smartest move ever." He can't help but wonder, though. Some Indian warriors used to decorate their horses with art, just as they painted themselves. "They sure take good care of you guys," he says to the bikes.
As he stands there, the lightning flashes again, and for a moment he's dazzled. When he blinks his vision clear he sees a black horse with a rippling mane lashing its head around towards him -- ears pinned back in fury, teeth bared, and eyes wide and crazy with rage! Jason flattens against the wall! "Gah! Uh... look, if you want an apple... or cherry pie! I could get you pie!" he stammers. Even with all he's seen, an angry warhorse -- or nightmare -- would take anyone aback! "The storm is not my fault!"
From the office there's a tinny jingle -- then an angry roar, "HEY!"
Jason was edging away from the horse, back towards his door... and then the furious cry would make him jump if he weren't thoroughly braced against the wall. "I didn't touch him!" he calls back insistently. "I was just looking at the paint job!" There's the sound of heavy strides swiftly coming his way. When Jason looks back at the horse... there are three wet, dirty bikes there. Jason relaxes only slightly. No more angry horse -- just angry leather-clad men. "My situation has not improved," he mumbles, Connery-style. He straightens up, at least -- instead of being crouched -- pulling his wet shirt from his chest.
A moment later there's an astonishingly tall man in black leather glaring down at him, helmet dangling from one black-gloved fist. His hair and bristling beard are wild and scarlet, and in the weird light even his eyes seem to glow scarlet. As he lashes one hand out for Jason, one of the others intercedes, growling quietly, "Easy," before snapping, "Get lost, kid," to Jason.
Jason grabs at the offer like a life-line. There's no question he's curious, after what just happened... but he's also scared and unwilling to push his luck. "Getting lost engines engaged," he replies, heading for his room without turning his back on the bearded man. "But you should think about getting him under cover. He doesn't look happy," he blurts.
The big man snarls down at Jason as the smaller man backs away, his gloved fist lashing out again. As Jason ducks away he feels it impact sharply against his shoulder, spinning him around in a powerful shove. There's a sharp, "No!" from behind him, and scuffling -- followed by a muttered, "Stupid fuck." Jason bites his lip... fuck, that was painful! And he didn't even connect properly. I really should shut up more. He flees to his room.