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gearsof.livejournal.com) wrote in
pullmeoutalive2009-05-18 01:19 pm
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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?
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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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?!
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Alabaster jumped a little himself, startled by Saga's sudden movement. "What? What is it?"
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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..."
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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.
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"All that remains is to figure out what this test actually entails, then," he mused, tapping the side of his mug with a finger.
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"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."
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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."
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"All right... and what's that?"
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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.
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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.
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"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.
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"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..."
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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?"
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"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."
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"To be fair," he said, quickly regaining his composure. "They are alive."
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Saga leaned back, resting her weight on her heels for a second. "You're amazing," she said honestly, giving him a little smile. "Every time I start to think I understand a little more, you say something else that I didn't expect. That means..." She blinked. "They do register sensation, then?"
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Alabaster began to withdraw his limbs as he spoke, each one folding up on itself and slipping back into his sleeves. "They do, though obviously not in the usual sense." He paused a beat, frowning. "It's difficult to explain, but suffice to say I just know."
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With the hand still against her head, she looked up at him once more. "Well, fair's fair. Is there anything you'd like to know?"
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He thought for a moment, casting a glance around the room. "I suppose the basic workings of your home would be a nice place to start." He inclined his head, considering his soot-and-oil-darkened hands. "And a washroom, if it's not too much trouble."
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At the end of the tour, Saga emerged from the bathroom and nodded to him. "The towels on the counter are for you. Feel free to wash up as much as you want. We'll probably have to look into finding you an extra change of clothing while you're here, too."
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