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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Agreeable enough; her brothers could have taken a lesson from him (the thought of any of them with several sets of arms, however, was spine-chilling).

"That takes care of the disguise aspect, which leaves us... the wandering."

Their earlier detour on the way to the mall was still fresh in his mind - interesting that Saga, who lived here, couldn't find her own way around. Still, he figured even in wandering aimlessly, he would still get to see the place. "Lead on, then."

[[quick tag, since I will have company for the rest of the night!]]

She could never claim to possess an unerring sense of direction, because that would have been a flat-out lie. Truth be told, Saga had been getting lost in new and interesting ways ever since she had been old enough to walk five steps without tipping over. Her only comfort was that she eventually ended up where she wanted to be, and her detours took her to places she never would have discovered on her own.

"You're putting a lot of faith in me, aren't you?" She muttered, nonetheless obeying and setting off for... nowhere in particular.

Alabaster followed, keeping quiet. He was much too intent on the scenery for conversation. And while Saga's lack of direction might prove to be a good thing for seeing the city in its entirety (whether she meant to show him or not), it wasn't much good for forming a mental map, but he would try his damnedest.

While part of the duo remained silent, the other had taken it upon herself to once again adopt the role of (haphazard and slightly lackadaisical) tour guide. Whenever they passed a site that looked even vaguely familiar, she would point it out and provide an astonishing amount of detail about its history and purpose, right before she bounced off again.

He really hoped there wouldn't be a test on all of this. He'd had so much information packed into his head in the last few hours that even for Alabaster, who'd always been a fairly quick learner, it was beginning to be too much. Still, he had to admire Saga's passion for detail. Whether he would remember all of it or not later, he was her captive audience now.

"... We may have to call it quits for today." Sounding reluctant to stop now when they'd made so much progress, Saga nevertheless stopped to catch her breath by leaning against the side of an old store (whose dirty windows still offered a sale on Valentine's Cards for "That Special Flame In Your Heart"). "I know it's a lot to take in, so thanks for bearing with me... but it looks like it's going to rain soon, and that won't be good for either of us."

"It's been my pleasure, Saga," he replied with a small nod.

Alabaster was curiously inspecting the ancient display in the store window when a raindrop splashed onto his nose. It seemed Saga's prediction for the weather was indeed correct. He looked up, only to be assaulted with more drops, coming swifter and in greater numbers by the second. "We'd best hurry."

The smaller of the two nodded agreement, seeing no need for a vocal answer. Instead, she merely offered him a smile and broke into a jog, heading straight on an unerring course for the only place she could locate every time.

Other than the coffee shop, but that was just luck. When it came down to that, home was always the final goal, and she always found her way back with as much ease as it typically took to get herself lost in the first place.

Alabaster followed easily. Running in the clear air, in the clean rain, was almost more refreshing than the shower he'd taken at Saga's place. If there was one thing about this place that he would miss when he returned to Whitechapel, it would be the clear sky. The smog and ash were an integral part of the city and its Gods, he knew that, but having been without it, even for a short time, was rejuvenating. He would never in his long, long life forget the feeling of running in the rain.

Despite Saga's best efforts and Alabaster's accommodating speed, the rain proved merciless and, by the time she located the apartment, wrenched the door open, and staggered in, she was drenched.

"D-damn," she managed to gasp out, brushing dark strands of hair away from her eyes and trying to tug off her shoes, "it feels more like we swam he-- whoa!"

In retrospect, she shouldn't have left the stack of dictionaries so close to the door. Especially not when she was dripping and leaving slick spots on the floor, which led to one wrong step, and skidding, and tripping, and--

It really was a miracle that she'd survived so long on her own.

If there was one thing to be said about Alabaster, it was that he had extraordinary reflexes. (When his chief weapons were his own arms, he sort of had to have them.) A couple quick steps and he was there to steady her, an arm looped around her waist. A mechanical limb extended from his free arm, the metallic fingers gripping the doorjamb to keep his own balance on the slippery floor. His shopping bag lay forgotten just inside the doorway. "Easy there."

"I'm okay," came the hoarse, embarrassed mutter-- and anyone would have been embarrassed to have been caught around the waist with one arm still outstretched to break her fall, and the rest of her body awkwardly tensed. That tension vanished once she'd reassured herself that she wasn't about to have a grand reunion with the ground, as she'd been previously fearing.

She lingered for a few more seconds until she'd made sure she was properly braced, and then nodded to him. "I'd say you just saved me a few bruises."

"And I say think nothing of it." He righted her, and made sure of his own balance before releasing the doorjamb. "Ah-" As the mechanical limb returned to its place, Alabaster shrugged his coat halfway off. Sure enough, the mechanical hand had torn right through the fabric of his shirtsleeve. Jacket sleeves were all well and good, they were usually more spacious, and were made of thicker cloth. It'd taken him a lot of practice, but he was quite capable of maneuvering his extra appendages in a coat. Shirts, on the other hand, were far too fragile and constrictive to allow him much movement without turning the sleeves to ribbons.

He retrieved the shopping bag, still half-wearing his new jacket. "Truth be told, I was hoping I could avoid doing this. Do you have a pair of scissors?"

The sleeve was regarded with a look that could have almost been called sympathetic (or lamentation for her lost paycheck), and Saga skirted around the stack and over to the table. The scissors were located under the fruit bowl (not that she remembered why), and she was quick to return and pass them over.

"That's got to happen a lot, huh?"

"Unfortunately." Alabaster dug around in the shopping bag for a moment and located a t-shirt (it wasn't a complete loss of Saga's paycheck. He'd selected short sleeved shirts as much as possible). Not about to strip of his shirt in the presence of a lady, he relocated to the bathroom and emerged shortly, having toweled off and changed. It was a somewhat awkward being able to go around without his usual concealing coat sleeves in the presence of another person, and while she hadn't made any remark about it earlier, he'd be lying if he told himself he wasn't a little self-conscious.

Rather than dwell on that, though, he took up the scissors and began cutting the sleeves off the now-ruined shirt.

Toweling off was a good idea, and one that she was quick to follow up on, retreating into the bathroom long enough to get into a change of clothes and dry her hair. When she reemerged, it was in a pale green sweater and black leggings and hair that was still threatening to curl at the ends.

No further words were said, out of concern that she'd interrupt his concentration; she just perched herself on one arm of the couch and watched curiously.

It wasn't terribly difficult work, and Alabaster was certainly no seamstress, so all it took was a few quick swipes of the scissors to relieve the shirt of its sleeves. He went ahead and did the same to the other long-sleeved garments in his shopping bag.

"If you're not using those sleeves..." Still neatly seated and tilting her head like some kind of bird, Saga nodded towards the other couch arm where Duff was still huddled-- remembering all too late that she was the only one who could see him. "Mind if I take them? I'm pretty sure they'll come in handy."

His eyes flicked to the other arm of the couch for a brief moment, wondering what she was indicating. It didn't seem incredibly important, whatever it was, or surely she would have clarified. "By all means," he replied, handing the bits of cloth over.

She accepted them gratefully, examining them and then reaching down to set them in a faded pink sewing box positioned right against the side of the couch. If she ripped out the rest of the seams and combined some of them, she could probably incorporate them into her latest project.

"With this weather..." A sigh, tired and containing a hint of frustration. "We'll have to call it quits for the night."

He only half-heard her, since he was busy suppressing a yawn. Alabaster liked to think of himself as durable, but the day hadn't been so much physically taxing as mentally. It was beginning to take its toll on him.

"Or..." She trailed off, eyes softening when she noticed her guest was beginning to... droop a little. That was enough; she jumped from her perch and trotted into her bedroom, calling over her shoulder, "The couch is the only other bed I've got, but I'll bring some blankets out!"

Honestly, he was a little embarrassed that she'd caught that, but he wasn't about to show it. He'd dropped his guard far too much already. He supposed he couldn't really help it - she was the first person in years who didn't either hate him, or fear for her life around him (or some combination of both) - and, well, he'd be damned if he was going to admit this to anyone other than himself, he wanted her to like him. This girl he'd known for scarcely a day was the closest thing to a friend he'd ever had, which in itself was kind of sad, but he was determined for them to stay on good terms at least.

"The couch is more than enough, thank you."

"Not at all!" As cheerful as ever, the girl returned with an armful of at least three blankets, and dropped them onto the couch for some rearranging. "I should be the one thanking you for putting up with my poor excuse for hospitality."

Well, that was one reason, anyway. She couldn't exactly thank him for suddenly dropping into her life from another time and place, not when he so desperately wanted to return there, but how often was an experience like this going to come along? Alabaster was a genuinely interesting person, and she was only dejected that she wasn't going to have the chance to know him for much longer.

"That should do it," she said now, stepping back and waving her arm at the newly-made couch with a flourish. "I'll leave you to your rest, Mr. Donohue."

log > for lack of a better place to do so

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