pullmeoutalive | log > for lack of a better place to do so

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log > for lack of a better place to do so

He had to wonder how it was that, if no one save a very, very select few could leave Whitechapel, he kept ending up elsewhere. Indeed, this wasn't the steam-driven, smog-choked section of city he called home. This was somewhere else entirely - and startlingly modern in comparison to the Victorian England he was so used to.

It was unseemly of him, but he found himself staring - tall buildings all steel and glass towered over him, and over that lay the clearest sky he'd seen in his entire life. The sun was bright, brighter that it had ever been in Whitechapel, with its constant overhang of smoke. All the better, he supposed, that he was wearing his usual attire, complete with dark glasses.

Alabaster stood alone on the street, a tall figure in smoke black stark against the clean, polished world he now found himself in. There seemed to be no one around. This city, if it was indeed a city and not some ludicrous dream, appeared to be deserted.

He reached into the pocket of his coat, fishing out a pocket watch. In this alien place, was Grandfather Clock - his God, and God over Whitechapel - still watching him through the clockface? Or had the connection been severed with his sudden disappearance?

Such things would be answered in due time, he told himself. For now, there was only the question of getting back. It wouldn't do to have Grandfather Clock's elite agent up and vanish in the middle of a rebellion, now would it?

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Saga was normally on top of disturbances. She could feel one within a second's notice and, if its proximity was threateningly close, she could move. However, this particular disturbance didn't seem to be rune-related-- and did seem to be strikingly familiar, once she'd recovered from her initial shock.

It had been a little over a month since Alabaster had returned home, and that should have been the end of it. However, that didn't explain why he was currently gracing her carpet and-- dripping-- bleeding-- leaking oil all over it.

Such curiosities could be answered later, when he didn't look as though he was ready and willing to expire where he lay. Saga didn't waste any further time, managing to lift him up enough to wrap a hand around his waist and drag him (as gently as she could) into her room and onto her bed. She paid the oil stains no mind, instead focusing on cleaning and bandaging what she could with a grim expression. He didn't look good, and she was still weak on her feet from her latest escapade. She'd just have to take care of what she could and leave the rest to him.

A murmured request to her grandfather for assistance never hurt things, either. It was just a shame that cleaning the rest of the mess fell squarely on her shoulders, which she faced now (after she had spent the last hour or two tending to her patient).

"... Well." She shrugged, grabbing some clean rags. "it kind of gives the place character."

Alabaster woke up and found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. Panic seized him for a split second, and he tried to sit up, but his body had other things to say about that. He begrudgingly settled back onto the--- bed? That's right. For whatever reason, he'd appeared in Saga's livingroom. And now, for whatever reason, he was in her bed.

Well, that was only slightly awkward.

He quickly took stock of the damage. As far as he could tell, the bleeding had stopped, and most of his wounds were fine - he must have been out for days if that was the case - but oh was he sore.

Very, very slowly, he hauled himself out of bed, frowning slightly at the dark stains on Saga's bedding, and shuffled painfully into the main room in search of Saga.

There was much to be said about oil and carpet, and yet the only words Saga could come up with were muttered under her breath and definitely not anything that should have been said in the presence of small children and the elderly.

It had taken more scrubbing and soaking than she would have liked to admit, but at least it looked much improved, and she could honestly say that people wouldn't walk in, stop, stare, and point at any dark blotches on the floor.

The sounds of shuffling alerted her to the newest addition to the household and, frowning, she pushed herself to her feet and gave him her best stern expression.

"Are you sure you're up to moving about yet? You don't look fully recovered."

He managed a weak smile. "If you're worried about my dripping on your carpet again, don't be."

Truth be told, going back to bed for another day or two sounded so, so appealing, but he doubted his mind would let him rest. No doubt he'd be dead if he hadn't been snatched away, and if that was the case, then he'd failed his God. Troubling prospects.

"You idiot, the carpet is the last thing I'm worried about!" The words escaped before she could stop them, and Saga gave up on any attempt at cordial conversation, closing the distance between them in three steps and seizing his wrist.

"Do you know," she snapped, glaring up at him, "just how bad you were? I honestly didn't think you were going to make it the first day, and I'm still not convinced you're not going to topple over at any given second, so if you're not going back to bed, at least sit down!"

Alabaster's eyebrows shot up. Half of him felt annoyed for causing her so much trouble, the other half simply marveled, Ah, so this is what it's like to have someone who cares.

He gave a small nod, and an even smaller, "All right." He headed for the couch, carefully. Every movement felt like Tommy was hammering on him again, with steel hands and iron-clad boots. Gratefully, he sunk into the couch with a tiny sigh.

It was almost nice to have someone concede so easily after years of losing fights with her siblings and hunting runes that didn't want to be caught-- but Saga kept her triumphant thoughts to herself and rested her hands on her hips, looking her patient over with steady eyes.

"I don't suppose an explanation is too much to ask for, is it?"

He regarded her for a moment. It didn't take much thought on his part - he was tired, and sore, and just didn't care, so out it came. The whole story.

The people of Whitechapel were rebelling, and while their first attempt had been nothing more than a spur-of-the-moment riot, they were planning now. Rumor had it that they had access to the plans of a certain device - a device that could kill a God (or two, as the case may be) - and under Grandfather Clocks orders, he was to intercept these plans, and if the opposition already had them, well, they were supposed to die.

But all that had failed. He had failed, in his duties to his God, and to his city. All because of one armor-plated, beast of a man that he never saw coming. By rights, he should be dead.

She listened, still standing, still frowning... and still very much confused. From his account, it looked as though he'd arrived here just as he was about to die. But why here, of all places? None of the runes were involved, or she would have sensed it, but some sort of outside force had to have been acting on the situation.

"... And you don't know how you wound up here," she said at last, now thoroughly troubled by what this could mean.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "I take it that you don't know either." He frowned. He assumed that once Saga had gained control of a rune it, well, stayed under control. Could ancient magical artifacts even malfunction? And if it wasn't a rune, then what?

"It wasn't a rune." She heard the unspoken question, and answered firmly. "Whatever brought you here, there were no runes involved. If you'd like, I can try sending you back again, but the circumstances might be different. Raidho can only return you to that exact point if it was the one who pulled you here in the first place."

"I'm in no condition to go back now anyway." There was a long, heavy pause. What he was about to say would probably be considered all sorts of unsavory things in Grandfather Clock's eyes, but he was already a failure. What did it matter? "I'm not entirely sure I want to go back."

Saga stared-- she couldn't help it. Sure, Alabaster had always found some way to surprise her, but to hear from his own mouth that he was reluctant to return to the place where his gods were? Without realizing it, she was already studying him for any signs of head trauma.

He was well aware of her reasons for giving him the look she was. Had he not been so utterly exhausted and beaten, he probably would have surprised himself - and who knows, perhaps later, after this whole incident had blown over, the notion would seem as absurd to him as it did to her.

For the moment, though, he chose not to look at her, or at anything in particular.

That was fine, too; she settled for taking a seat on the couch beside him. While still surprised, she couldn't exactly fault him for that line of thinking, either. What awaited someone who, by all rights, should have been dead by now?

She didn't say anything, just inched a little closer, as if proximity would help.

Her movement finally drew his gaze. "Saga..." He sighed. What was wrong with him? He was alive, and that should be something to be grateful for. It was hard, certainly, considering the circumstances, but he managed a small smile. "Thank you."

"I didn't do anything this time around," she demurred, returning the smile nonetheless. "But for the time being, you can stay here as long as you want. Aside from the... arms and the bleeding oil, you should be able to fit right in."

He chucked a bit, leaning back against the couch. Yes, things could definitely be worse. They could also be substantially less confusing, but beggars can't be choosers. "It hardly seems like I've been gone a month."

Step outside, Saga thought dryly. The weather will prove otherwise. Aloud, she replied, "There isn't a whole lot that's changed since you left. I got another rune, and one of my brothers came to visit but, as far as everything else goes, it's been pretty slow."

"There were no wild animals involved this time, I hope." He managed a bit of a smirk when he said it, though facing down a gigantic, angry boar wasn't an experience he hoped to repeat.

"Not this time." Saga couldn't help but wince at the memory, going on to add in a matter-of-fact tone, "Actually, I might have preferred that. My idea of a good time doesn't include almost turning into a tree. Or being blown away. Or drowning, for that matter."

Alabaster's eyebrows went up, and he regarded her with a slightly bemused expression. "My. It sounds as though there's quite a story there."

It wasn't one that she cared to remember, going from the look on her face, but she obliged him anyway. "Let's just say when a rune's got control over air, water, and earth, it's going to make things vaguely problematic for whoever's trying to catch it. And, since its earthquake idea failed, it thought I'd make a great apple tree or something."

"Ah." And that was that. It was obvious that she didn't really want to talk about it further, or at all, so he moved on to a different topic. (Usually he wasn't one for conversation, but a distraction was welcome at this point.) "I wasn't aware you had siblings."

"Three actually; I've got two brothers and a sister, and Calliope and Orion are older than I am. Loki's the youngest out of all of us." She neglected to add that her little brother most certainly lived up to his name-- watching over younger siblings was a chore on its own, but when the younger sibling could cause explosions whenever he was bored, it became less of a chore and more of a catastrophe.

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