pullmeoutalive | 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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Normally alert and aware, it took a few minutes for Saga to register his proximity. An odd combination of blood and oil assaulted her nose, and made her stomach flop weakly in protest, but she glanced up anyway. Alabaster was hard to make out, even as close as he was, but she tried to bring him into focus.

"Sorry..." A new gold piece had added itself to her bracelet before she spoke again. "That... you... had to... see that."

"I see nothing to apologize for," came the reply. She was obviously still reeling from whet he'd just watched her do. "Do you need a moment?"

I need a week.

"No." The girl attempted to push herself up, grimacing at just how little her arms were willing to cooperate. "If I... do... I'll pass out... here. I need to... stay... conscious... until I get back." Gods, but she really hated this part of rune-hunting.

Alabaster wiped a hand off on what little bit of clean fabric he could find on his coat, and offered it to her. Now wouldn't they be a sight walking down the street like this? Well, the day was young yet, and he hoped not too many people were out and about.

Truth be told, they were lucky it was still early. People would just be getting up, and hopefully not venturing outside for a little while. Keeping this thought in mind to placate her nerves, she accepted Alabaster's hand, using it to pull herself to her feet.

... Which turned out to be a mistake, given that her unwilling knees promptly buckled.

He shifted his grip on her quickly, catching her around the waist again, and giving with her slightly so he didn't jar her around too bad. "I apologize for the mess," he remarked, but he figured it was preferable to letting her hit the pavement.

((ooc; gd it, my widget's not working. I'm trapped in Alabaster's journal. D:))

Saga's only response was a smile, faint around the edges, but genuine nonetheless. It wasn't as if she hadn't gotten messy before, and it wasn't anything that some laundering (or new clothes) wouldn't fix. Given that he could have just let her fall, she didn't mind this at all.

((awwww Alabaster wuvs you. :D))

He'd take that smile as a 'don't worry about it'.

Alabaster steadied her, letting her gain her bearings. He doubted he could fully support her for long, but he didn't think she was the type to just let him tote her around either.

Sure enough, she rested a hand on his arm, murmuring her gratitude before she shifted away and started a slow stagger back home. It was going to be rough, but it was infinitely better than leaning on him the rest of the way. Alabaster was injured, too.

It was beginning to be a theme, but Alabaster kept an eye on her in case she lost her balance again. Injured he might have been, but of the two of them, he was probably the most steady. He'd been through worse, but a beating was a beating and that boar had delivered almost as good as it got.

And so he followed a half-step behind Saga as they hobbled to her apartment - she looking exhausted and worse for the wear, and he looking like he'd had a run-in with a rabid car.

So it was that the not-so-dynamic-and-perhaps-more-bedraggled duo finally arrived at the apartment in one piece. Never mind that one of them looked as though an oil can had attacked him, and the other couldn't even stand up straight. She'd even had to pause every now and then, and now she was swaying unsteadily in the kitchen and grasping at the back of a chair for support.

"How badly are you injured...?"

"It's nothing I can't handle. You should lie down." On the positive side, he wasn't dripping oil all over the floor, his hurried attempts at field dressing earlier had paid off a little. So long as there were bandages somewhere, he could clean and dress his own wounds properly.

Saga ignored the suggestion for now (no matter how badly she wanted to obey it), opting to move past him and open a drawer under the microwave. A large roll of ace bandages lay there, which she drew out and offered to him.

"I meant what I said." She looked up, meeting his eyes as best as she could. "If I... sleep now, I won't wake up for two days."

He took them, meeting her gaze. "Then go. If anything, you've earned it." Then, as an afterthought, "I promise not to burn the place down." There was food, there was reading material. He would be fine for a measly two days.

The girl nodded; that simple act might have been her undoing, or perhaps she had just been maintaining her posture until Alabaster had assured her that he would cope. Whatever it was, she only made it two steps towards her room before her eyes closed and her legs gave out.

Hey, at least the floor was comfortable.

Alabaster had to wonder how many times she'd gone through this, only to fall on the floor and lay there for days at a time. As much as he hated leaving her there, his first priority was cleaning himself up.

When he was satisfied that he wouldn't bleed all over her, he carefully scooped her up and carried her to her bed, taking the time to bandage her own bloodied fingers and clean off what grime he could from their encounter on the street. That done, he shut her bedroom door behind him and plopped down on the couch, contemplating how to pass the next couple of days.

log > for lack of a better place to do so

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject