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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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."

... Yes, Hephaestus would definitely be interested in this man. Interested enough to descend from Mount Olympus? Who knew. Although she had only come face-to-face with some of them and only once or twice (her grandfather she'd encountered seven times, and each one had been memorable), Hephaestus had always been the one she'd felt most comfortable with. Artemis and Athena were intimidating, imposing women, Aphrodite made her feel ashamed to even look at her, and Apollo had long deemed her beneath his notice. The lame smith, however, had always made her feel welcome.

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?"

And there was something else to add to the list of things he'd never been referred to as until today. Not that it was a bad thing. Even the look on her face was a welcome change against the wide-eyed terror he'd become so accustomed to.

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."

"Then it's-- ugh, I'm doing it again." The brunette growled under her breath, pressing her palm to her forehead. "I'm sorry, I'm probably asking way too many questions right now." It was something her parents had encouraged from all of their children, but that didn't mean it was right to bombard the poor man with her curiosity.

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?"

Alabaster shrugged, a possibly odd looking motion in that he did so right as the last of his mechanical arms slid into his sleeves. Questions were bound to pop up, and he'd rather get them out of the way and be done with it.

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."

There were benefits to having an older sister who worked as a tour guide; it took only a matter of minutes to lead Alabaster around the apartment, explaining how the microwave was meant to heat up food, how the computer worked, that the vacuum cleaner was not a hostile force (even if Duff believed otherwise), and so on. She even showed him the laundry room downstairs, complete with full instructions on how to use both the washer and the dryer.

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."

He made mental notes of each and every thing, and hoped that he wouldn't have to make extended use of whatever he was shown. He also found himself wondering exactly how far away his own home was to some of these devices. A shame he had no one back home to talk to about his experiences in this new place- even if he did, he'd promised Saga not to tell, and he would hold to that.

Alabaster nodded at Saga in acknowledgment and disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Figuring there was no point in standing vigil by the door in the case of something happened, Saga retreated to the main area and plopped herself on the couch with little fanfare. Hopefully Alabaster would be fine, and wouldn't inadvertently drown himself.

"This is why you should never pull all-nighters," she told the cat (who'd resettled himself on one of the arms), pulling her legs up onto the couch and snuggling against the cushions. "You never know when a nineteenth century Inspector Gadget is going to show up in the middle of the street."

Indeed, he managed not to drown himself, though he was a long time in emerging from the bathroom. When he did emerge and meandered into the room where Saga was sitting, he was clean - probably the cleanest he'd ever been, having lived where he did for his whole life - and a pair of mechanical hands, in addition to his own, were making quick work of fastening the last few buttons on his coat. His hair was still damp, and was being a bit unruly, but that didn't seem to bother him.

Alabaster's appearance would have normally been greeted with a low whistle and an approving nod-- if not for the fact that the couch-dweller had drifted off where she sat. It wasn't that she'd done it deliberately; she'd had the best of intentions but, as she'd shared with Duff, all-nighters and surprises the entire day were bound to wear out even the toughest of souls.

Still, the man was given a welcome by the other awake inhabitant, who meowed loudly. The sound was audible for once, even if the cat himself remained unseen.

The invisible ghost cat was going to take some getting used to. He raised his eyebrows in a bit of a "glad you approve" gesture, then relocated to the kitchen. He wasn't about to wake Saga up - if she was sleeping, she obviously had good reason to, and to deny her that would only delay her work in helping him.

So, he made himself busy, with as little noise as possible. It took some figuring, but he'd gotten the stove to cooperate and went about making himself a fresh cup of tea.

Alabaster had never had much time to be idle, and on those precious few occasions there was never anyone around to witness what a sight Alabaster Donohue preforming everyday tasks was. He worked with quick and easy efficiency, a dozen things happening at once. One set of arms busied themselves with the tea, another set was peeling an apple he'd found in the fridge, another set was leafing through Saga's notes, while Alabaster himself read them. They made very little, if any, sense to him, but he liked to be informed.

He'd rolled up his sleeves, cuffing them at his elbows, showing off Grandfather Clock's handiwork. The general idea had been that of some long forgotten inventor, the basics being mechanical arms operated by wires and levers attached to the fingers. The idea looked good on paper, but was hard to execute. Grandfather Clock had taken it the next step, allowing the arms to be wielded by the user's own mind. Alabaster had gone through years of training - and more jackets and shirts than he cared to admit - before he could use them with any sort of efficiency. His arms were more steel than flesh (more of the tiny limbs lay in wait on his upper arms, hidden beneath the fabric of his coat) and were peppered with bolts and rivets as easily as one would would find freckles.

After a while, he moved to the table and sat. While he used his own hands to sip his tea on occasion, the other sets still held the notes (which he was very intently reading) and his snack (which he would take a bite out of on occasion). An odd sight if there ever was one.

Sleep rarely lasted for the busy, and Saga was as busy as they came. When she wasn't engrossed in research, she was out and about, doing a sort of patrol for anything out of the ordinary. Night was-- mostly-- the only time she slept deeply enough for more than three hours, and the rest of it included short naps to keep her going throughout the day.

It wasn't long after Alabaster had relocated to the table that she wandered in, sleepily rubbing at an eye in an unknowing likeness of a drowsy child. It took her a moment to notice that the apple he was munching wasn't being held in the same hands as the notes he was studying, and she had to do a double-take and search out the actual pair.

"... Now that's what I call multitasking."

He raised his eyes, looking at her over the top of the papers he held, and gave her an amused eyebrow quirk. "It's one of my specialties. You should see me cook."

Quickly, he finished up the paragraph he'd been soldiering through and lowered the papers onto the table. "Sleep well?"

log > for lack of a better place to do so

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