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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She remained in that position for an additional ten minutes, and then opened her eyes, looking more than a little frustrated.

"It's here... it definitely is... but then why can't I find it? I swear, it's doing this just to mess with me, that stupid little--"

About to launch into a tirade about the sadism of runes, she suddenly caught sight of Alabaster and stopped herself just in time. "... Morning."

"Hello," he said, running a hand through his hair. He had a fairly good idea of what she had been doing, thanks to her little rant, but decided questions could wait. In watching her, he'd gotten a little time to wake up a bit, only to come to the realization that he was quite hungry. "Have you eaten breakfast yet?"

"Breakfast?" Saga regarded him blankly, until the question actually sank in-- her stomach giving a weak gurgle helped things along. "Uh, no. Sorry, I went right into this... I didn't think you'd be waking up so soon."

"To be fair, I didn't expect to find you in here this early either." He offered he a bit of a shrug and meandered towards the refrigerator (ingenious thing. He was sort of jealous of the conveniences peppered around the apartment). He pulled the door open, taking stock of what was inside. Yes, he could probably work with this.

"Well, since you haven't eaten, I would be honored to make breakfast."

He slices, he dices, he's got about a million arms, he doesn't leave the toilet seat up, he's polite, and he cooks, to boot. Ladies and gentlemen, he does all of this and more, and he can be yours for the price of normality!

Not for the first time was she glad that she didn't know any mind readers, allowing herself only a faint smile at her mental quip, and trailing after Alabaster.

"Are you sure you want to? I mean, I'm not a great chef or anything, but I promise I haven't burned anything to date."

"Don't tell anyone," he replied as he rifled through the contents of the fridge, "but I rather like cooking."

Back when Alabaster was first becoming accustomed to his new appendages, there was only so many things he could do to practice that weren't overly tedious and boring, until the idea of cooking occurred to him. It would be a fine test of everything from precision work to multitasking. So he began simply - eggs and toast, and the like, and gradually moved to the most complicated recipes he could lay his many hands on. He found that, not only was this excellent practice for the use of his new limbs, but that he was actually a good cook. And efficient, too, once he got the hang of things.

Saga didn't have the heart (or a high enough level of coherency) to try and dissuade him from his task, and especially not when he admitted that he actually liked doing it. She settled for clearing off the table as best as she could, save for the current notes she'd been going over for nearly a week.

"My mother would love you," she remarked. "She was almost convinced people like you don't exist in this century-- which I guess you don't, come to think of it."

He began piling ingredients on the counter - he wasn't about to concoct a gourmet breakfast or anything - he figured omelets would suffice. "At the moment, and for whatever reason, I do exist in this century."

There was silence for a while, save for the clattering of utensils and cupboards and pots and pans as he located what he needed, until he finally piped up, "Is your mother a demigod, or would that be your father?"

"That would be my mother. Like I said before, my grandmother married another man-- a human one. Mom was the only child she had with Hermes, so my uncles and all of my cousins are fully human." She sat down, resting her chin in her palms. "It's just our branch of the family that's... odd."

"Odd" might have been sugarcoating it a little, but even her blithe attitude towards it couldn't erase the names she and her family had been called over the years. "Freak" and "Witch" were only two of the most commonly-used ones.

"I see," came the reply as he set to work - things happening everywhere and all at once. Mixing, slicing, peeling, grating-- this was old hat for him now, but still somehow fun. For all of the pleasure he got out of serving Grandfather Clock, cooking was the only thing he did for himself.

Funny, she thought, watching him from the corner of her eye. Most people dreamed of having an extra pair of arms to help them get things accomplished, and here she was, witnessing someone who had not just one extra pair, but several. The way he moved was fluid, as if there was nothing easier than utilizing metal arms to do at least four different things at once.

And maybe to him, that was the truth.

It hadn't been easy learning, but he had faith that Grandfather Clock knew what He was doing when He handed out His gifts. For whatever reason, Alabaster had adapted well.

He didn't bother to make conversation again, fully absorbed in his task, until he slid a fully loaded plate in front of her and took one for himself.

She might have been about to say something, but curiosity (and hunger) prodded her to try the meal first-- and after that, she was eating much too happily to be able to muster any sort of response other than little noises of delight.

"This is really good!" She finally managed to enthuse, five minutes later.

There was that characteristic arch of an eyebrow again. "I would hope so, with the way you've been eating it," he remarked, slightly amused.

"Well, you never know, you might have doubts or something." Saga shook her fork at him in an attempt to be stern. "So now you can sleep easier at night, knowing you're an amazing cook!"

"Ah, yes," his tone was dry, but there was a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "I was so worried about that." With a bit of a chuckle, he rose from the table and made himself busy cleaning up.

There was no point in dignifying that with a response, and so she didn't; she might have muttered something under her breath about never being too careful, but it wasn't anything loud enough to be heard. The notes were pulled towards her, and she once again fell to staring at them intently and ignoring a growing headache the longer she perused them.

Alabaster busied himself cleaning up the kitchen, which, he realized, was a little ironic, but he had no complaints. He piled up dishes and put things away a little unlike the way he'd prepared breakfast, his own two hands did most of the work. "I take it from your little outburst earlier that you haven't been able to find the rune?" He remarked casually, as he rinsed off their plates in the sink.

The question was greeted with a low groan of frustration, which would have been answer enough, but she decided to elaborate nonetheless.

"No. I know it's there, I just can't exactly pinpoint where it is, or even when it is, and it's being--"

Each and every time, she wished she could have had a little more forewarning but, as usual, she wasn't that fortunate. Instead, the sharp jolt of pain of senses colliding with that sudden spark of magic resulted in her just barely biting back a cry and instead doubling over where she sat with her fingers gripping her head.

Really, she couldn't help thinking dimly, there had to be a less painful way for the runes to notify her of their presence.

"Saga?" The dishes were quickly forgotten, and Alabaster was... well, to be frank, he was looking a little awkward, but plainly concerned. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened, nor did he know what to do about it. Well, standing there dumbly wasn't helping. "Saga? What is it?"

Talking wasn't the easiest thing for someone who felt as if her head was going to split open with the slightest movement, but Saga made a valiant effort, still hunched over and grimacing.

"I-it's... here. Kind of... close, but... I need... to--"

She broke off again with another wince as the pain intensified in one big swell, waiting for it to die down again before she could manage a little more coherency.

It wasn't often that Alabaster felt totally, utterly useless, but here he was just standing there. She had to mean the rune, though why it was causing her so much pain he didn't know.

The girl remained in her cramped position, breathing shallowly through her mouth, and transferring her fingers from her head to the edge of the table.

"I'll... be right back." In one quick movement, she'd heaved herself to an upright and standing position and was now wobbling towards the front door with a resigned expression that stated she'd been through this many times before.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. If this was indeed the rune, which he guessed it was, there was no way he was just going to let her wander off by herself. Not that he thought she couldn't take care of herself - she'd been doing this sort of thing long before he was here - but if this was his ticket home where was no way in hell he was going to miss it. Snatching a jacket off the back of the couch, he followed her to the door.

She was half-aware of his presence as she slipped outside, but there were other things to worry about other than a tagalong-- like walking in a straight line, or pinpointing the location. The truth was, there was only one fact that she knew at the moment, and that was that Raidho was definitely present in this time, in this city. But she didn't know whether it was going to drop something (or someone) else here before disappearing, or whether it was willingly choosing to show itself.

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