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[though she has loved and hated him in equal measure for centuries for a long time the hate seemed to outweigh the love. currently, however, that has shifted and perhaps nothing is more telling of that than how she embraces him, how she allows his presence to offer her comfort in a way that is has not in a very long time.

soon enough he's pulling away to check her arm, something she has barely done herself so far. the mark seems to not be there -- whatever magic freya pulled to put them in that stasis seems to have extended here. she is safe from the curse.]

I'm alright, Nik.

[thanks to you goes unsaid, she is unable to quite find the words for how she is feeling in this moment.]

[ she is all right, as is he: bereft of torture and their sacrifice, suffering no ill effects of the blade. he knows it is possible; he knows it is possible to arrive here in wonderland no worse for wear, better than. he runs his thumb absentmindedly over her wrist. the warmth in her words touches him and he shifts slightly under it, uncertain how to weather the grief of it all.

what he does not truly believe is that they are all right, that they are safe. there is danger in whatever reality they inhabit. ] I suppose you have questions.

Edited 2016-08-12 12:41 (UTC)

[in all honesty, rebekah does not truly believe it either. they have lost too much to be all right and yet it seems like the words to say all the same. they are both here and for the moment untouched by the curses that should be plaguing them still.

it is not much, but it's something.]

I have a few. Where is this place, exactly? I found the device that helped me find your name and Freya's as well, but I know little else.

[ it is something. it is a comfort and a problem both: that rebekah is here to share their grief, their terror, and what haunts and hounds them to its fullest. she knows like no one else knows: she knows the truth of their future, the full horror of it. she knows it in visceral and total ways that freya and camille do not.

in ways perhaps they need not. should not.

he keeps her wrist in his hand, sucks in a soft breath hearing what she does know: who she knows is here, and who she doesn't. (camille.) he will tell her; he will. but they are words better left for later. (for him, not for her.) it's best to start from the top before he touches on timelines.

now give him like a short second to brace himself for the ensuing ridiculousness of what he's about to say. his jaw tightens and his smile is tight; clearly this is a point of never-ending frustration for him. ] We're in Wonderland, it seems. [ yes, that wonderland ] A separate dimension... from ours. [ that smile fades towards the end because he is 100% serious ]

[the future brings nothing but pain and despair for their family, misery that perhaps they've earned in some ways but it does not make it any easier to bare. the solidarity of knowing klaus has suffered through it is comforting to be sure but if she could rob him of that knowledge, she would.

it's why she does not fight his grip, the way his fingers stay wrapped around her wrist, keeping her tethered to him.

(always and forever, the curse and gift of the mikaelsons)

her expression turns slightly judgy at the mention of where they are]

You don't mean like the Wonderland in Charles Dodson's silly books, do you?

[Originals: the only people pretentious enough to use Lewis Carrol's real name.]

How is this possible?

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