Roleplay: Hela x Rory

Dated: September 13, 2026

The Watch Tower

Rory stumbles and staggers into the watchtower through the broken set of doors. He is soaked to the bone; his longish brown hair plastered and wet strips against his cheeks, his worn and faded denim jeans heavy. He's got on a T-shirt under a heavier, all weather jacket that has seen better days and is also soaked. As he steps inside, he blinks, blurry and bloodshot eyes and looks around. He's holding some kind of cigarette in his right hand, though how it was dry enough to be lit little alone smoked is a curiosity.

Hela has been through what Rory had, albeit by the fact that she no longer dripped and was merely at the stage of uncomfortable damp, it had been at least an hour ago. Her first thought when her face had lifted from the lake water outside had not been where she was, how she had got there, but to leave the water...quickly...and find darkness. This watchtower had been mere steps away on dry land and had been the first and only place she had gone to.

So here she was, in the corner of the watchtower where sunlight through the window or holes in the wall, did not touch. In her time in the shadows, she had thought, the questions of where she was, how she had got here, had certainly started to form but she wholly believed she was back in her world, that this perhaps was some trick by a cheeky mage. Her recollection of the moments prior to being here were insignificant; she had been at home, maybe just about to make a cup of coffee? Not to drink but just for the comfort. There was no comfort here.

She sat in the dark corner, on the floor, back against the cold wall as she had only her impossible questions for company until another stumbled in. An eyebrow arched and immediately she rose to her feet, wary. A pause as she did not know if he were invading her space or she his? Friend or Foe? So many questions; were there even answers? A throaty sound came from her first, a second to compose herself and bury her doubt before she asked, "Who the fuck are you?"

Rory 's eyes widen; they are only starting to adjust in the difference in lighting between the area outside and the dappled and darker interior of the old tower. The place smelled. Hell, he smelled. Everything smelled, and Rory felt a prickling behind his eyes as something at-first shapeless moved through the darkness. Danger. A cold hand closed around his chest, and he held up his bare hands, palms facing Hela, in a warding-off gesture. "Who whoa now, don't bite me. I'm not trying to hurt you. Name's Rory. I woke up in a lake over there. Who are you?"

Hela hadn't expected to be presented with someone possibly just as confused as she. A tilt of her head to one side in thought before she swept back a somewhat tangled lock of hair behind her ear and she paused, needing to think about her words before they left her. "I am not going to bite you." That much she was certain of. Head straightening, arms folding in front of her chest, though a flinch of minor regret flickered across her face as it only caused her cold damp clothes to press against her. "I also woke...appeared..whatever in the lake." That she could admit to. None of this information was personal, her name was. Perhaps she had been transported here because of what she was, what she had taken from the clock tower in Solol, had the cultists done this to punish her? Was this Rory sent to hunt her? "I am Emma." a lie, but it would suffice for now. "Where exactly are we Rory? I am not good at geography, not a vast traveller...."

Rory lifted his cigarette-free hand to scratch at the back of his neck, resisting the urge to shove it into his shirt and peel away the sodden fabric from his chest and shoulder. Sticky clothes always made those scars itch extra terribly, and they were itchy as hell already. He retreated a step from "Emma" just to make himself feel better by forcing some distance. "Fuck if I know," he says, taking a long drag of his cigarette. "Not in London, that's for damn sure. Were you at Katherine's party too? Hell of a party..." How long had he even been at that party? He'd been drunk very quickly even for a werewolf, and after a certain point it all got bleary.

Hela was not able to mask the surprise that claimed her face as it becomes clear that she was not alone in her confusion. "London?" she parrots. "Katherine?" next. A firm shake of her head comes soon after. A glance to the vast open window, to the view upon the purplish tinted lake. Was London somewhere out there? "Never heard of it, never heard of her." She too took a step back, just to ensure she remained where sun light did not touch. "I just..." A deep breath in, what was meant to be a controlled exhale failed as it wooshed out instead "Fuck." That summarised the situation just nicely. "I was at home. Just home. Nothing significant. Solo, you know of it? And I was just going into the kitchen and then suddenly...lake. I was in that fucking lake. It was daylight and ...well here I am and I don't know how." Hazel eyes snap back to Rory "Are we dead? Is this what being dead is like?"

Rory without ceremony, pulls back the sleeve of his coat. Then he plants the end of the cigarette against his skin. The ember flares, and a couple of minutes later he hisses and pulls it back. "Not dead I don't think. You're not supposed to feel pain after you die." He shows her the little burn on his arm, which is already starting to fade. "Soho?" he repeats. "I've heard of Soho, but not Solol. London's in uh...England? The United Kingdom? You've never heard of it?" He blinked at her, slowly, a bit disbelievingly. Was she American? Rory had heard Americans were bad at geography but they couldn't be that bad, could they? He couldn't place her accent, either. "I was at a party. Football, you follow? Manchester United beat the brakes off of Liverpool, had to celebrate."

Hela lifts her hand with a pointed finger as if she were just about to interject at Rory's minor self-harm, but she was not quick enough so no protest was uttered. "Hmm." she says to buy her time to digest his words. Relaxed enough now to believe he was not going to attempt to slaughter her immediately, her back pressed against the wall to lean upon it. "Well...do we really know what is on the other side of life truly? I have never been dead before...Well, I have but not like this type of dead...." A shake of her head as she self-dismisses herself, not wanting to go into are the undead dead versus standard edition dead. "I have never heard of that. The United Kingdom of what? What kingdoms are united?" Pinching the bridge of her nose briefly ton try to ebb away the headache that was threatening to come "I don't know what a football is. Is that like a Gala Ball? Big dresses, dancing? But about...feet?" A wrinkle of her nose in disgust. Mysteries and the unknown just continued to pile onto the internal mountain of questions and then she sighed "Do you have a spare cigarette? I am gagging. I dont have any on me and I have to wait until night fall until I can find out where we are, nearby shop and all that."

Rory stares at Hela for a couple of heartbeats. He looks into her eyes. If this woman is bullshitting him, she's doing a very good job of it. He scratches at his neck a little more and takes another drag of the smoke. "I've never been dead before either. Close, but never quite made the trip." It wasn't sometimes for lack of trying, and his heart flutters in a nervous sort of way. What if he had attempted again? What if he had succeeded? This wasn't the Heaven the Christians talked about. Emma didn't look much like a singing angel, and if this was Heaven, then he wouldn't already need a drink so fucking bad. "You really don't know, do you? You're not fucking with me." He sucks int a breath. "Ah, the Kingdoms of Great Britain and Northern Ireland: that's England, Scotland, Wales and some counties in Northern Ireland that didn't want to secede with the rest back in the twenties. Football is ah...literally, foot to ball. You've got two teams and uh...you kick the ball back and forth to try and keep the other team from scoring." The more he rambled on like a moron, the more unreal this situation felt. "You some kind of vampire?" he quetions quietly. "With the whole darkness and all. I had an ex who was a vampirie for a little bit."

Hela stared at Rory, not because of this geography lesson. Honestly it was nothing new to her that there were places she hadn't heard of. She had not lied that geography was not her strong point, nor that she was not much of a traveler. It honestly didn't help that somehow it felt like there was always a new city or country being uncovered in the world...her world. It was the football. "Oh." she says. Unsure how to really respond to such a thing. "Sounds riveting," though her flat tone said the complete opposite.

Then she glanced down at herself, then back at him. "Do I look like a vampire?" Her arms unfolded, and she rubbed her palms over them instead. "And your ex was a vampire for a little bit? Is that something people recover from in Lon...dome?" She had forgotten the name of the place he was from already. "Like influenza?" Interesting. "Something like that though, not quite but close." Then a smile, a little forced, after all she had not quite gotten what she wanted. "You completely ignored my request for nicotine." She held a hand toward him expectantly. "Give me a cigarette, Rory. Then we can we are dead, have lost our minds or what the hell has happend."

Rory looks at Emma again, something shifting subtly behind his eyes. "Kinda, yeah," he answers her first question with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "They mostly look like everyone else, just a little deader. And what I mean is ah...she hadn't been one for very long when I was dating her. Baby vampire, whatever they call them. Newbie." She smiled at him, but Rory didn't smile back. "Just another bump on the road of life." He doesn't appear too fussed about it, whatever it might happen to be. He fishes around in his pocket and eventually comes out with a half-empty, crumpled pack of Mayfairs. They were, somehow, still dry, and he fished one free and offered it to her. "You need a light too?" There might be peace between them, but it is uneasy peace, a tenuous pause between strangers.

Hela took the cigarette from him with a small nod of thanks and quickly confirmed with a slight air of impatience, "Yes. I need a light too." It wasn't rude...not quite. Her attention shifted toward the broken doorway again, expression tight as she looked at the daylight beyond it. She could see pieces of the outside from where she stood, but not enough, and certainly not enough without risking stepping into the light herself. "Have you seen anyone else?" Attention then snapped back to Rory. "Anyone at all. Before you came in here. People, animals, something...anything?" A pause as she gestured vaguely toward the entrance with the hand holding the unlit cigarette. "And can you do me a favour?" She did not wait for his confirmation. "Stick your head out the door and tell me what you can see." Then the cigarette was put between her lips, hand outstretched and expectant to be in receipt of the matches or lighter he might favour her with.

Rory bites back a retort, but eventually he snaps his fingers and the cigarette lights itself. He retreats back towards the doorway and rests his shoulder against the stone arch that frames it. He had mostly shut the door on his way in, but nudged it open a little further. He doesn't fully put his back to Hela, but shows her his profile so he can use some of his body to block more sunlight from filtering into the tower. He takes a whiff of the air, and finds his nose more alive than his eyes. "I smell people, but don't see anyone. Human, maybe? Some kind of cat?" He squints, as if that will

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