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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This was certainly an interesting turn of events. As though being dumped through time and space wasn't enough, he was now having tea with the granddaughter of a god. Hermes was at least at the forefront of Greek mythology enough that he recognized the name, and he made a mental note to do a little research when he got home - he'd never had much use for gods apart from his own, but he was intrigued by the concept.

"Well," Alabaster remarked, an edge of good humor in his otherwise no-nonsense tone. "This day is full of surprises."

"Oh, I'm sure we're just getting started." Saga raised an eyebrow, fighting back the urge to smile. "But you're not the only one surprised. I would have expected to point, stare, throw something, threaten to burn me at the stake or, at the very least, call me a liar."

She was relieved, though. It was nice to have a reaction like his, when she'd already braced herself for the worst.

"Things such as gods aren't outside of the realm of my comprehension."

He leaned back in his chair slightly, surveying the ceiling for a moment before adding, "I myself am an agent of one of the Gods of Whitechapel."

"Really now? That's a noble line of work... and probably exhausting, too." She'd perked up now, more than a hint of interest entering her voice. For as normal as she tried to appear to the outside world, at heart, Saga was just as much of a mythology buff as her parents-- especially when the subject matter was something she'd yet to learn of.

"Do you mind telling me about your Gods?" Saga leaned forward, looking considerably more intrigued than she'd first appeared. "I don't suppose they followed you here, did they?"

"Ah no. They didn't follow me... at least not that I'm aware of," he couldn't help but look slightly disappointed at that, nor could he help fishing his pocket watch out of its resting place for another quick glance. Nothing had changed, apart from the time now displayed on the clock's face. He replaced the watch and leaned forward as well, "But tell you about them I will.

The God to whom I give my services is known as Grandfather Clock, and his counterpart is Mama Engine. I know very little about Her, seeing as I'm not in her service, but she is, above all, a mother to her followers. Grandfather Clock, on the other hand, is the embodiment of order and precision - He usually keeps a close eye on his followers by watching them through the face of a clock. The Gods themselves have no physical bodies - at least, none I've ever seen - but are evident in other ways." He went on to explain how the Gods first revealed themselves to Baron Hume, promising to make his architectural dream for Whitechapel a reality. With their help, he constructed impossible towers, and factories, and feats of steam-driven and clockwork technology that, by rights, should not have been possible. The Gods were rooted in their city, and took care that their followers didn't die or suffer disease as a normal man would.

Well, not suffer disease save one. The doctors called it morbus imperceptus incrementum, though most people called it the 'clacks'. "Though I don't see it as much of a disease, myself. It's a phenomenon that defies the laws of medicine, even the laws of human anatomy, but disease makes it sound like such a dirty thing."

Throughout the explanation, Alabaster held a captive audience; indeed, save for the occasional blink and nod to indicate that she was listening, Saga didn't budge or even shift or fidget. Duff had long since bored of the conversation and his toy of choice and had fallen asleep on the table, but his housemate couldn't have been more fascinated.

The world of Whitechapel seemed like a fantasy come to life-- and probably was, knowing what gods were capable of-- and she was only disappointed that she hadn't been able to experience the place herself. The disease he'd mentioned, however... that had her concerned. And the city Alabaster spoke of sounded so controlled. People were bound to dislike being under that much control.

"People will always have differing opinions on the nature of something," she remarked, finally leaning back in her chair. "There's no point in arguing for either one, since both sides will always believe their own views. That aside, that's quite a city you live in. Your Gods are interesting, too. And one watches through a clock--"

Realization smacked straight into the back of her head with such force that she literally jumped. Precision. Order. Clocks. Time. Of course. Why hadn't she realized it sooner?!

To each their own, indeed. Still, people who defied the Gods were in for a world of hurt - Winfred Bailey and Oliver Sumner chief among them. They were all about Queen and Country, and would sooner risk their lives for a lady in a shiny hat than for a God. Queen and Country had never done Alabaster himself any favors. They could call him a traitor all they liked, but he knew where his loyalties lie.

Alabaster jumped a little himself, startled by Saga's sudden movement. "What? What is it?"

"I know which rune it is!" Unable to sit still and excited from this new discovery, Saga rose and began to pace, talking as she did. "I thought it might have had to do something with time, but it turned out to be even more subtle than that. Time itself is a journey, and there's only one rune that would contribute to that. A journey, both physical and spiritual-- to gain a wider perspective, as it were. It's rhythm itself."

She finally stopped, nodding to herself. "The rune is Raidho, and it's possible that it's the rune that sent you here and not an actual person. It must have wanted to uproot you for some reason... but to send you here, of all places..."

His eyes tracked her as she paced through the kitchen. Her excitement was almost catching but, to his credit, Alabaster remained sitting.

He considered what she was saying for a moment before speaking, "So, I was sent here because, for whatever reason, I needed to go on a journey?" If that was so, the timing could not have been worse.

She nodded, still flushed with excitement. "The runes don't typically involve certain people, but if you're the only one who arrived here, I can't dismiss that as chance or random selection. It's almost like saying that you were meant to come here, for... whatever reason that is."

"Would it stand to reason that once I've fulfilled my purpose, I'll then be sent home? Or is that too much to hope for?" Even as he spoke, he couldn't help but give her a slight grin. Her excitement was catching.

The grin was returned, as well as followed up with a nod and a thumbs-up. "It's pretty much a test, so if you can pass it, the rune should be satisfied with that. And..." Saga tapped her chin with a finger, looking thoughtful. "Maybe helping you out is my test, too. Even if the rune doesn't send you back, if I can learn enough, I should be able to do it myself."

It sounded like a win-win situation. The only constraint was time, and while he wanted to do whatever it was he was supposed to do as quickly as possible and be done with it, he doubted something as ageless as a rune worked on the same timetables he did. The only course of action seemed to be to push forward and hope for the best.

"All that remains is to figure out what this test actually entails, then," he mused, tapping the side of his mug with a finger.

"I'll get to researching," she promised, giving the stack of notes an affectionate glance. "It might take me awhile to sift through everything, but we should probably also look into finding you a place to stay for the time being. Maybe a hotel... but if we don't know how long this'll take, I guess we can't give them an approximate time period..."

"As much as I hate to impose," Alabaster remarked. He thought over his next words carefully - this girl had already gone so far out of her way to help him, and the last thing he wanted to do was put her out but... "Wouldn't letting me loose in a world that I know next to nothing about be a bit, ah, unwise?"

Cutting off a "Yes, Mommy" before it could do more than formulate in her mind, Saga chose an embarrassed nod instead. She'd been worried about exposing him to too much of her world too quickly, but had glossed over the fact that this entire city was going to be just as overwhelming for him. At the very least, he'd need someone who would understand and be able to explain things to him.

"You're right, I'm sorry." She paused and clasped her hands together behind her back, uncharacteristically bashful. "If you don't mind the ghost cat, and the occasional... odd thing happening, I'd be honored if you stayed with me for as long as you need to."

"I'm having a hard time imagining anything odder than what's already occurred." For whatever good it did, he smiled. Saga was willing to help him, get him home, and let him stay with her, he figured he at least owed her the courtesy of a smile. They were - in essence - partners on this little mission, even if they didn't quite yet know that the mission was. "Thank you," he added with a small nod.

After a moment, he rose out of his chair. "I don't want to go about surprising you unnecessarily, so I believe there's something you should see."

She very wisely kept her mouth shut about levitating objects (and the Aeolian Harp that actually needed no wind to play, and the clock in the hall by the bathroom that burst into songs from Broadway musicals whenever someone walked past it), and glanced at Alabaster as he stood up.

"All right... and what's that?"

He didn't answer her, at least not audibly, but instead raised his hands slightly - in a subdued version of what Saga had done upon first meeting him, he realized.

Suddenly, from within the sleeves of his coat there emerged a slender, metallic rod. It bent along several joints as it made its appearance, twisting like it was some sort of snake and Alabaster the charmer. The end of it split into three fingers, twisting and flexing. More arms of a similar nature slid out of the man's jacket sleeves - some of them were tipped with hands, blades, needle-fine points, all manner of things. Alabaster himself was a veritable Swiss Army Knife.

Saga jumped-- she hadn't been meaning to, but the curving, almost sinuous mass of metal and blades emerging from his sleeves would have startled anyone, and she was no exception.

It was at once terrifying and fascinating, how this metal seemed as much a part of him as his flesh, and she took a moment to study it, hand outstretched tentatively and hovering over one part of the structure.

"Can I...?" She looked up at him uncertainly.

Of all things, Alabaster hadn't expected her to want to touch it. Not that it particularly bothered him, but most people tended to shy away at the evidence that he was touched by Grandfather Clock- of course, that meant nothing to Saga. An interesting change from the norm.

"If you like but... just a moment." Some of the more deadly limbs pulled away slightly from where Saga's hand drifted - the last thing he wanted to do was stab her. One arm in particular, though, reached out to meet her own. The fingers were long, and tipped with rubber pads. A device made for gripping rather than maiming.

She hesitated, taking a deep breath before her fingers made contact with his. It was interesting to note the difference between metal and skin, between the soft pads of her fingers and the rubber ones of his. Alabaster's were probably more efficient, but Saga had to wonder if they could register sensations. Sure, not suffering burns or cuts or slamming your finger in a car door would be nice, but sometimes, that was just how you learned.

"Hephaestus would probably love to meet you," she murmured, now engrossed in trailing her fingers along the joints that comprised the arm. "And it all fits together..."

Contrary to popular belief, his extra limbs could feel. Not in the usual sense, certainly, but... well, it was difficult to explain. He just sort of knew. Any sort of pain never registered as such - it would've been foolish of Grandfather Clock to give him a weapon that felt pain and made it a hindrance - but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that whatever he was handling was too hot, too cold, too strenuous, and he would act accordingly. They were a part of him, after all.

This, however, was something very, very new. He primarily used these mechanical arms for combat, and every human touch they encountered was jarring, swift, and messy. Saga's touch was soft and tentative (and rightfully so), and--- he couldn't quite place it, but it wasn't a bad feeling. Not by a long shot.

He raised his eyebrows, very slightly, the only indication that he felt anything at all. At least, until he spoke. He found himself sounding, much to his annoyance, slightly distracted, "...What does?"

If Saga had taken notice of his tone, she chose not to mention it, and gave her head a shake to clear her mind of her own distraction and half-forming thoughts.

"Your limbs," she clarified. "It's not like I haven't seen machinery before, but it rusts, or sometimes something falls out of alignment... but this is something else. Everything's connected to something else for a purpose, and this almost feels... alive."

Suddenly realizing that she had been examining his arm for longer than what had to be comfortable for him, she guiltily withdrew her hand. "S-sorry. This is just new for me."

He felt a slight pang of loss when she withdrew her hand. All the better, he told himself. He couldn't afford distractions, and, at the very least she'd pinpointed a dangerous chink in his armor, even if she didn't realize it.

"To be fair," he said, quickly regaining his composure. "They are alive."

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