![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
[location: Greenline - West]
Feb. 13th, 2013 04:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trojanhorstHorst Cabal (or, according to the listed name on the Taxon map that people can actually see, Horst Brauer) has had an eventful first day in Taxon. He's gotten a shiny new bracelet, sat down for tea and chitchat and househunting with a supernatural librarian, walked around a city of the future, and picked out a temporary home for himself. That last was more than a little harrowing, in his opinion -- he arrived at his new residence just near the airstrip, placed his hand on the lock, and was promptly greeted by a man and a woman and their large dog. The man welcomed him in and wished him good evening while the woman snapped the leash on the dog. They already had their coats on. "Good evening," Horst remembers saying to them, "I'm Horst Brauer. What's your name?" The man and the woman had given him bland looks and introduced themselves and their dog like a pre-scripted theatre routine. Then they'd wished him luck, and the Winslows had gone down the walkway, through the wrought iron front gate with their dog tugging them away on the sidewalk, and they very politely allowed Horst Cabal to steal their home without so much as a backward glance.
Two o'clock in the morning is awfully late to be out walking your dog, Horst remembers thinking.
He can't shake that last image of the Winslows -- the man with a smoking pipe in his mouth, the woman with a smart little veiled cap tilted jauntily on her head. Shiny white shoes and a pointelle apron. The dog's ears waving back and forth.
He'd changed the sheets on their bed before sleeping in it, even though Long had led him to believe that Extras didn't always lead full enough lives to actually use all of the things they appeared to own. It just seemed more respectful.
Then he'd wandered for a few hours, meeting a strange, otherworldy man hammering some kind of sword. That had been a long day.
Today, his second day, he can only hope will be a bit quieter. There's less he needs to do, for the time being, but he still needs to make an effort to fit in for the moment, until he eventually finds a way to escape. That in mind, he's taken back out into the city to learn a little bit more about life in Taxon.
For the past three hours, Horst has been riding the tram line back and forth. For the most part, he alternates between flipping through the pages of a large stack of magazines with studious concentration, or poking warily at the screen of his tablet as though it's a sleeping viper he expects might wake and jump out at him at any moment, or standing at one of the tram windows, staring out at the passing cityscape in obvious fascination and wonder. Occasionally, the train comes to the end of the line in one direction or the other, and Horst looks up from one of these activities for a moment, delighted that the tram ingeniously starts moving itself again in the opposite direction, without having to rotate on a turntable or hitch its cars to a new locomotive at all -- so clever! -- but then he returns to whatever he was doing the minute before with a self-amused shake of his head.
The tram makes all its regular stops quite faithfully, but Horst never makes any attempt to disembark. At this rate, it looks like he might, in fact, just as soon ride the tram for another few hours.
Two o'clock in the morning is awfully late to be out walking your dog, Horst remembers thinking.
He can't shake that last image of the Winslows -- the man with a smoking pipe in his mouth, the woman with a smart little veiled cap tilted jauntily on her head. Shiny white shoes and a pointelle apron. The dog's ears waving back and forth.
He'd changed the sheets on their bed before sleeping in it, even though Long had led him to believe that Extras didn't always lead full enough lives to actually use all of the things they appeared to own. It just seemed more respectful.
Then he'd wandered for a few hours, meeting a strange, otherworldy man hammering some kind of sword. That had been a long day.
Today, his second day, he can only hope will be a bit quieter. There's less he needs to do, for the time being, but he still needs to make an effort to fit in for the moment, until he eventually finds a way to escape. That in mind, he's taken back out into the city to learn a little bit more about life in Taxon.
For the past three hours, Horst has been riding the tram line back and forth. For the most part, he alternates between flipping through the pages of a large stack of magazines with studious concentration, or poking warily at the screen of his tablet as though it's a sleeping viper he expects might wake and jump out at him at any moment, or standing at one of the tram windows, staring out at the passing cityscape in obvious fascination and wonder. Occasionally, the train comes to the end of the line in one direction or the other, and Horst looks up from one of these activities for a moment, delighted that the tram ingeniously starts moving itself again in the opposite direction, without having to rotate on a turntable or hitch its cars to a new locomotive at all -- so clever! -- but then he returns to whatever he was doing the minute before with a self-amused shake of his head.
The tram makes all its regular stops quite faithfully, but Horst never makes any attempt to disembark. At this rate, it looks like he might, in fact, just as soon ride the tram for another few hours.
