10: [location] bare your faces of the veil

[hasaheart]

The change of weather and the coming of April brought a few things to the forefront of Cain's mind. One day, while losing himself in the mundane murmur of household chores, he realized it had been close to six months since he first found himself trapped in this hole in the ground.

Six months in this monstrous metro-city, and he'd succumbed to the same apathy that he at first had accused his two dearest friends of.

Six months, and what had he done to find a way out?

What had he done to set things right?

Nothing. One big, fat, glaring nothing at all. He's given in to the grind of depression, to the oppressive lack of wanting anything to do with life, and the resignation that he doesn't have what it takes to end it once and for all (whatever it is, be it strength or weakness, guts or the lack of them).

What's more, if he's been here six months, it's ten months since Adora set out for the cottage beyond the white elm with their son, hoping against hope for a fresh start.

He realized he had no idea what she had done in the years before, when he was gone. He didn't know how she'd coped, what she'd had to sacrifice in order to feed her family.

Ten months, and sometime during the following four, she'd been murdered.

He realized, with chilling clarity, that he had no idea when his wife had died. He could live without knowing what had happened, because he knew it couldn't be as bad as his mind insisted in vivid, broad strokes of imaginary paint. He could live, not knowing how. He just wasn't so sure he could cope, not knowing when.

So, against better judgment, knowing full well he shared this prison with creatures who supposedly went around feeding on the blood of mortals, Cain once more took to walking the streets in the dead of night. The claustrophobia reared its ugly face one night too many, forcing him out into the deceptively open air - and if he had to choose between potentially infected, homicidal Extras and the walls of his rooms caving in, he'd take the Extras any day.

Comments

[location: a street somewhere] lalala willpower

[aintnoconvict]

Taken together, Glitch's nosiness and tendency to fret were a powerful combination. Powerful enough to send him out after Cain, despite possible lurking horrors and the ever-present concern of the tin man's temper.

He caught up, scuffed his feet on the pavement, cleared his throat, and generally made enough noise to indicate that he was deliberately following him. This was capped off with a casual-yet-hesitant "Hey."


ooc: my desire for them to end up at the carnival is STRONG

[location: a street somewhere] fistbump of slowtimes forever? <3

[hasaheart]

He might've known his restless night time pacing wouldn't go unnoticed.

Correction: He should have known.

So it's with a tired sigh and a grinding of his jaws that he tilted his head in the general vicinity of Glitch's voice. "Hey."

((ooc: Carnival? What carnival?))

[location: a street somewhere] this thread will wrap in JULY /puts money down

[aintnoconvict]

Glitch offered a somewhat sheepish smile by way of apology. "So. Nice night for a walk?"


ooc: the fiesta!carnival *points at SOTT* :D (and sorry for the tiny tag, I'm dashing out of work ♥ )

[location: a street somewhere] well my b-day is June 5th, so let's ailm for that shall we? :D

[hasaheart]

He ground out a small sound, smack dab between wry mirth and bitter distaste. "Nice night for being quiet, too."

...

...

... "Sorry. Yeah."

[location: a street somewhere] /shoots for the mooooon

[aintnoconvict]

...ah. "Sorry."

Glitch grimaced, then stuffed his hands in his coat pockets to keep from fidgeting. Too late to tuck his tail between his legs and slink off now, the interruption had already occurred. He may just as well go with it.

"Going anywhere in particular or just...just having a think?"

[location: a street somewhere] /shoots for the mooooon

[hasaheart]

He shrugged stiffly, keeping his eyes straight ahead for the first time since leaving his temporary accommodations.

"Just thinking. Or tryin' not to."

[imperial-long.livejournal.com]

There was a café not far from the Hyperion, and between sitting in his rooms and experiencing the draft and sitting at a table with a pot of tea and a book, Long preferred the latter-- even if the fine sport of people-watching was somewhat less than thrilling in Taxon, where most of the people weren't people at all, and were very dull to watch after the first few minutes.

Still, an occasional real person wandered by-- this one as he'd prepared to pack it up for the night and head home-- and Long glanced up at the purposeful stride before recognizing the fellow.

"Ah, Officer Cain, good evening," he called.

[hasaheart]

Cain looked up, borderline startled by the sudden greeting. So far lost in his thoughts, he hadn't expected to find anyone else out and about at this time of night.

Nevertheless, he'd come to enjoy Long's company in the time they'd been acquainted. "Evening," he said, walking closer.

i swear I thought i tagged this, rargh

[imperial-long.livejournal.com]

Long had a small stack of books which he was transferring into a leather satchel.

"Late for a walk," he said to Cain with a smile, overlooking the fact that it was late for him to be out here as well-- the cafe had closed some time ago, but he had been lost in his book until the night's chill began to be felt.

I do that all the time, no worries <3

[hasaheart]

"Yeah, I suppose so," he replied, looking the books over and drawing his own conclusions. Time flies when you have good beverages and good books keeping you company, or so he was given to understand.

"Good thing you have a friend to walk you home, then."

Flaunting the good, ol'-fashioned hypocrisy of willy-nilly risking your own safety, but not that of your friends.

Re: I do that all the time, no worries <3

[imperial-long.livejournal.com]

Long smiled with private amusement but did not disdain the offer, bowing slightly towards Cain. "A good thing," he answered agreeably, and shouldered the satchel. His teapot he hesitated with-- etiquette suggested he return it to within the shop-- but the shop was closed and dark, so Long shrugged and set the cup and pot back down on the patio table.

"After all, there are perhaps all manner of awful men out and about tonight." He stepped out of the little patio area, stood next to Cain, took a deep breath of the foggy night air.

"The weather has taken a decided turn for the San Franciscan," he said, tucking a woolen scarf around his chin. "I can't say I entirely approve."

[hasaheart]

"I wouldn't know about the weather. I just know it makes my bones ache, and I might as well walk it off."

Which was only partially true; it was more his mind than his body that craved the outdoors and its deceptively open air.

"Shall we?"

[stepintoshadows.livejournal.com]

The scenery may have changed, but the Purpose had not. A city was a city, no matter if it was New York or a prison that only looked like one, and wherever there were people there was accumulated filth, scum to eliminate. The Work was never finished, never would be so long as there was breath in his lungs, blood in his veins, and vice in the hearts of men, and so Rorschach had taken to patrolling this false city not long after his arrival.

A shadow moved at the edge of his vision, bright against the gloom that surrounded everything, and he turned his head to focus on it. The shadow progressed further down the street, and Rorschach followed, intent on finding out its business. Nothing good came from skulking in the dark, and he was certain that it was no less true in this instance. He made no attempt to conceal his own passage, although neither did he call attention to it. The figure was no doubt guilty of something, he just needed to find out what first.

YAY IT'S YOU!

[hasaheart]

On a good day, only very little escaped the former policeman's notice. But this was neither good nor daytime, and his mind was too weighed down by unpleasant or plain painful memories. Or, as the case was on this particular night, what haunted him most were all the things he couldn't remember.

His wife's face, the scent of her hair... Her voice, calm and warm like sunshine.

'No, not the boy! Leave him, leave him alone!'

He walked on, shoulders and back as stiff as a pair of boards crossed one over the other, aimless and quite happily so for a good long while. He's quiet, keeping his eyes on the ground ahead as if trying to keep the rest of this so-called world out of his scope.

But the thing about walking around without a clear destination in mind is it's terribly easy to lose your way, and despite Cain's years in the force and all the training that led to them, it was only a matter of time before he too would falter and lose his way.

The head lifted from its unseeing scrutiny of the ground, the figure partially illuminated by a street lamp. His eyes were blue, scanning the area for something, any kind of landmark to tell him where exactly he were.

Then, with a sigh, he turned on his heel and walked back the way he came.

YAY IT IS! Pshhh had to happen sooner or later

[stepintoshadows.livejournal.com]

It was impossible to determine where the shadowy figure was headed. With as frustratingly little knowledge of Taxon as Rorschach had been able to accumulate so far he didn't have enough information to conclude anything for certain. He could have been waiting for a drug dealer, or any of a hundred other things.

Rorschach let out a quiet grunt of irritation; days of patrol and still no criminals to apprehend, no justice to serve. He made no move to hide or conceal himself when the figure he had been following turned around and approached him, merely stood where he was, a shadowy shape partially concealed in the semi-darkness, and silently judged, his face a swirl of restless patterns to match his mood. "Late for a walk."

trufax - and I'm amused at how damn similarly these two think XD

[hasaheart]

Funny how perspective changed things so profoundly - or in this case, how it changed so very little. Cain lifted his head to look the other man over, one eyebrow (neat but intersected by a scar) arching at the sight of the mask. Or what he assumed was a mask. Late night for a walk indeed, and it made him wonder what business a man who kept so close to the shadows had in this part of town. Made him wonder what manner of secrets he had lurking in the depths of his mind.

And what he was hiding behind the eerily animated mask.

"Bad place for it, too," he said, slowing his step cautiously. "You new 'round here, right?"

same! I don't know whether it's a good thing or a bad thing though

[stepintoshadows.livejournal.com]

The closer proximity and improved impression of the other man that it afforded did very little to change Rorschach's opinion of him. He looked like a cop, even if he wasn't in uniform, carried himself like one, and even removed from the police that had been the bane of his existence for the past decade or so Rorschach's sentiment towards them was not improved. Police were ineffectual, bound by laws that restricted their ability to carry out their purpose. More intent on catching those who did their job for them than the ones who created their necessity in the first place. Easily bought. Morally weak. Soft on crime. Useless for anything but punishing those who had done nothing wrong and releasing those who had.

He remained where he was, making no move closer or further, or even moving at all, merely looking at the other man evenly, posture outwardly relaxed but ready to spring into action on a moment's notice should it become necessary. The sneer was more audible than visible, seeing as how the mask gave away nothing but what the observer chose to see in it, although the voice that spoke was toneless itself. "Arrived recently. Haven't seen you before."

Cain finds nothing wrong with his speech patterns... or his sense of style

[hasaheart]

Cain nodded, filing that bit of information away with the recent influx of holographic arrival transmissions. Lately he'd been preoccupied, enough that he hadn't had time to do the meet and greet (or so he tells himself). He knew by experience and common sense alike that a less than calm guy made for a terrible welcome wagon no matter how good his intentions, and had left such things to others.

"The name's Cain," he offered for the sake of courtesy, and tipped his hat. "Got a place to stay yet? Proper-like?"

[location: a building stoop in Wilde]

[verylittlesugar]

She's not out walking because somebody has appointed himself as her interim father, and Mattie knows he'll fuss if he thinks she's out doing anything with even the slightest potential for being dangerous. (If only she hadn't lost her father's pistol in the river...) But she feels too cooped up indoors tonight, in these odd, silent apartments, and to be frank, she misses her friends.

Her father's coat is wrapped around her against the coolness of the night, and his hat is a comfortable weight on her head, as she sits on the steps with her arms wrapped around her knees.

[location: a building stoop in Wilde]

[hasaheart]

Had Cain any idea what manner of thoughts went through the young woman's head, he might have felt comforted by the notion that at the very least he wasn't alone in that respect. He wasn't the only one plagued by dark thoughts and bleaker prospects.

But when you're lost in your own little world of thoughts, you only rarely take a step back and consider the possibility. Such was the case with one Wyatt Cain.

He noticed the huddled figure as he drew closer, by some kind of luck or something similar. The hat and the coat made him expect a man, or a boy, until his eyes caught the hint of braided hair. Perhaps not a boy, then. And yet, that thought sparked that of the distant memory of a boy wearing his father's hat. He hoped against hope it was an actual memory instead of a figment of his imagination. It somehow felt incredibly important that it was fact instead of fantasy.

"Hello there," he said, touching the brim of his own hat in greeting. "Trouble sleeping?"

[location: a building stoop in Wilde]

[verylittlesugar]

The man's clothes and mannerisms are probably the most familiar things Mattie has seen since she arrived, and she nods and pushes her hat back so it isn't hanging over her face.

"I find I am not used to the sounds this city makes. They are peculiar."

[location: a building stoop in Wilde]

[hasaheart]

Something about her observation, or the tone of her voice tugs Cain's mouth into a recognizing smile. "Yeah, kid. You're not the only one voicing an objection."

He walks up to her, nodding in the general vicinity of the spot next to her. "Mind if I take a seat?"

[location: a building stoop in Wilde]

[verylittlesugar]

"I am not a kid." There's not much vehemence in the comment, though. Mattie's getting used to everyone seeing there that way, and honestly tonight she is feeling sort of young and alone.

He tilts her head at him, assessing, and then nods. "I do not usually converse at length with strangers, but I suppose you do not look like an outlaw." He also doesn't stink of whiskey, which should probably be more of a comfort than it turns out to be.

[location: certain half-deserted streets]

[selfmadman]

Don will never step--or stumble--out of a bar and mistake this place for Manhattan, but come nightfall it's easier to overlook the fact that the patches of light in the windows belong to people who aren't people at all, to take comfort in the sound of voices and footsteps without reminding himself who they belong to.

He walks past the man, taking in the hat and thinking nothing of it (he's at the stage of drunkenness where everything--including his intellect--is just a little softer around the edges, a pleasant blur). It's not until a few steps later that he experiences a twinge of recognition, turns.

"Evening." It's as much question as greeting.

[location: certain half-deserted streets]

[hasaheart]

Cain turns at the greeting, one eyebrow arched the other man's way as he looks him over. Narrative convention would dictate that a guy like Cain never forgets a face, but then again, narrative convention only rarely gets it right where it counts.

As it is, Cain recognizes Don, but can't for the life of him remember where from. He writes it off as a tablet thing; something he caught over the ether but didn't pay much attention to.

"Evenin'. Have we met before? Proper-like?" He might as well be civil, or aim for something along those lines.