[ accidental visual / location: Osten ] || the bitterness of one who's left alone

[child-of-none.livejournal.com]

Walter stirs under the jacket and pokes his head out. It seems too early, it's far too quiet for it to be time to wake yet, but then it hasn't stopped him in the past. He likes the quiet, without the other boys to avoid and the timing needed to make sure he gets his spot at the table, or by the window, or...most any place he's found and tried to claim as his own, barring a few.

But as he sits up, he realizes something isn't right. There's no bed, no rows of beds at all, or even walls. He's on the ground, outside, under a trench coat. How did he get here? He doesn't remember getting sent away from Charleton, or even sneaking out after lights out...And where is here, anyway?

There's something in his pocket, and he pulls it out to regard it curiously, chewing on his lip in thought as he tries to figure out what it is. There's a button, and it makes a click that gets a startled jump out of him, and suddenly there's a lighter patch, and symbols all lined up. The citizens of Taxon who may be watching this are now treated to the image of a small, underfed, snub-nosed boy with a shock of bright red hair and more freckles than skin looking at the screen in a combination of undisguised curiosity and wariness. Walter frowns, unable to puzzle out the machine, then puts it down and gives his attention to the rest of his surroundings.


[ooc: for the next two weeks, Rorschach is now a tiny! feel free to let your muses stop by through coincidence or design, or just poke their heads in on the tablet; he'll be much more receptive to new people than usual so feel free to exploit the opportunity.]

Comments

[visual]

[selfmadman]

He'd managed two glasses of rye before it stopped being a release and became a reminder--before he could feel the past keenly as the whisky's burn. Smoking's less treacherous and he's been doing it for hours, pacing the office listening only to his footsteps and the flow of the air in and out of his lungs.

It's a while before he responds to the broadcast.

"Hey." The man onscreen looks a little rough around the edges: unshaven, his tie crooked. He draws on his cigarette with unusual intensity. His voice, though, remains calm--faintly dazed, but calm. "You just get here?"

[visual]

[child-of-none.livejournal.com]

He had been busy going through the pockets of the coat, and at the sudden interruption he flinches away from it, dropping both coat and the leather bound book hidden inside it as if burned. They aren't his, he shouldn't be touching them, he knows this, but he couldn't help it.

Settled in front of the tablet now, he switches his attention to something else. "I'm sorry," he mumbles in a rush on the chance the things belong to the man on the other side of the screen, eyes cast downwards to avoid the disapproving look he knows should be there. From what he can see of the man he's not much different than the men who would visit his mother; disheveled, the same look of simultaneous contentment and disgust. Walter writes him off as one of Them, but it's no reason to ignore his manners. "I don't know. This isn't New York?"

[visual]

[selfmadman]

Don raises his eyebrows, studies the glowing tip of his cigarette. Of course. He's been trying to shake Dick Whitman, scrub him off and smoke him out, and here's another kid too scared to raise his voice above a whisper.

"It's a little bit New York," he says, wry but not unsympathetic. "Somewhere there's a deli."

He takes another drag of his cigarette, streams smoke through his nose. "You're in a city by the name of Taxon. Go ahead"--a careless wave, the cigarette caught in his fingers--"and look through the coat."

[visual]

[child-of-none.livejournal.com]

He eyes it covetously, almost as if he's already decided it's his despite his next words, but keeps his distance from it, giving Don a doubtful look. "...But it's not mine." It's half question, half statement; he assumes the other man knows more about the situation because he is an Adult, but at the same time he doesn't remember having a coat like this one. And adults aren't always right. "Nobody will mind?"

[visual]

[selfmadman]

He gives a slight shake of his head, lets out a gust of air too leaden to pass for laughter. "No. Finders keepers," he adds, amusement glinting beneath the name of that childhood law. Don raises a cautioning finger. "Just this once."

He sits back in his chair, idly eying the tablet. "I'll answer questions when you're ready."

[visual]

[child-of-none.livejournal.com]

It's clear by the darting glances from the coat to the street and back to the screen that he still doesn't entirely trust the words, but he nods solemnly anyway. If it becomes a problem it isn't his fault; he was told it was okay. 'Finders keepers,' and while he is reluctant to trust a man who relies on things kids say (he can't help but think he only said it because he's a kid, and he's never liked being talked down to), it's still true. "Okay."

Scooting back from the screen, close enough to watch it but far enough away that he has the illusion of privacy, he starts digging through the pockets. There isn't much there, mostly lint and strange pieces of twisted metal and sugar cubes which he doesn't feel right eating. The book is more interesting, and he flips through it carefully, stopping periodically to read a passage or two. It doesn't make much sense to him, it's half mystery story and half nonsense, but he picks up on the fact that it's a diary of some kind. He knows he should probably mention it, in case it means something to the man on the screen, if only so the person it belongs to can get it back, but he doesn't. Instead he tucks it under his feet for safekeeping.

He'd had the question ready earlier, but now seems the better time to ask it. "Do you know how I got here?"

[visual]

[selfmadman]

Meanwhile, Don smokes: burns through one cigarette and lights another by its embers. He keeps an eye on the boy but doesn't pay much mind to his inventory of the coat's pockets--he's drifting between now and a then that's far too close. Dick Whitman's fear and doubt cling to him like a set of too-tight clothes.

He takes his time in answering the question, plucks a tobacco flake from his tongue. "No," he sighs. It's a glitch. He can't say that. "None of us do. But you're alive, you're not alone, and this won't last forever."

Though it might feel like it.

"What's your name?"

[Visual]

[imperial-long.livejournal.com]

Another child. Long tsks beneath his breath; this one looks not entirely unlike Dick in that same sense of a hangdog air, ready to flinch from a blow, and needing a good wash and a good meal.

Then the boy starts to move-- out of the tablet's viewframe, it seems. Oh dear.

"Hello?" says Long quickly, wishing to forestall the child wandering off. "I'm speaking to you from the machine, lad-- a moment, please."

[Visual]

[child-of-none.livejournal.com]

Walter made the connection between machine and voice fairly quickly, almost before Long said so, but he doesn't move closer until the request is made.

It isn't as if he had planned to go too far yet anyway.

He sits in front of the device again, peering at the new face with open curiosity. It's getting late, he should really start heading back to the Home before they realize he isn't there, but it's also an Adult, and he has been well trained to listen to his elders.

"Hello." The voice is quiet, certain but wary; he doesn't know why this man wants to speak with him but he knows better than to ask before he's prompted.

[Visual]

[imperial-long.livejournal.com]

Long offers the boy a nod. "My name is Mayland Long-- you appear to be just arrived. This machine is called a tablet-- for the duration of your stay it is yours, and very useful for talking to people, so you may not wish to leave it behind. What is your name?"

[Visual]

[child-of-none.livejournal.com]

There is a slow nod in acceptance of the information, but it's unfortunately not enough to tell him much of anything other that he probably isn't in New York anymore. Which isn't as upsetting to him as it probably could be; he likes New York, it's his home and the only place he's ever known, but he doesn't really like most of the people in it.

"Walter Kovacs. And I won't." He falls silent for a few moments, thinking, before asking a question of his own. "Am I dreaming?"

[Visual]

[imperial-long.livejournal.com]

Long manages to masterfully refrain from letting that simple question set him off on a tangent as to how reality is illusion, deception. The boy, he reminds himself strictly, is hardly looking for a philosophical treatise.

"Walter," he muses instead, permitting himself a small digression into name meanings instead of existentialism. "'Ruler of the army'... no, you are not dreaming, Walter. You're in a city called Taxon, very far from wherever you were before. The pleasant thing about it is that there are no lessons, and no chores."

[Visual]

[child-of-none.livejournal.com]

Well that only makes it sound even more like a dream, albeit one that promises to be much less pleasant than Long perhaps intended. While Walter doesn't particularly like school itself, he enjoys the process and the lessons themselves, the fact that there's new things to learn, not to mention the distractions it usually provides, and the idea that he's now left in a strange place with nothing to do is more than a little daunting.

"Aren't there any kids here?" It's a city, after all; cities always have kids.

[Location: Osten]

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

Once upon a time, Drusilla had lived in a cosy little house with a plum tree at the bottom of the garden. In the life after that, she'd travelled from town to town on bloody feet before finding temporary sanctuary from the tin soldiers in the Slayer's basement.

In Taxon, however, she didn't have a home. She was free to wander where she pleased.

It was during her wanderings that she found him. Her two faced hunter. But he smelled different - younger and more vulnerable - and her wide smile grew even brighter as she approached. They'd changed him. He was sweeter and softer now. Old eyes in a young face.

There was no one to miss him. She'd be able to keep him to herself.

"Are you lost?" she purred.

[Location: Osten]

[child-of-none.livejournal.com]

Walter had seen her coming, of course, given how close an eye he was keeping on the street. Granted, he had been paying more attention to the futuristic machine with the faces on it once they had started speaking, but even so. He was watching.

Her approach startled him anyway.

He had expected her to continue walking, the way most people did, only she didn't. She came closer instead, and he shrank back reflexively, eyes guarded. Uncertain. He nodded equally on reflex, because it was the right answer, although given that he was somewhere entirely knew there was little chance he would become un-lost so it was doubtful how useful the answer was.

[Location: Osten]

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

"Hush," she murmured, in the sort of low voice she'd have used when trying to coax a song out of a new pet bird. He was a nervous thing and, if he ran, she'd have to chase him. If she chased him, she wouldn't be able to resist the urge to have a little bit. The wires in her head would spoil her game before it had even started. "Hush now. You're safe with me, my pet."

Safe until she tired of him, at least.

[Location: Osten] also TYPO WHUT EVEN. /sigh

[child-of-none.livejournal.com]

Her words were confusing; he hadn't said anything, so why was she telling him to keep quiet? It didn't make any kind of sense. She seemed strange, off somehow, but he couldn't put it into words why, so he tried to ignore it.

"Who are you?" he asked, almost apologetic. She had told him to keep quiet, after all, so evidently he wasn't supposed to speak. In any event, it wasn't the most tactful of questions maybe, but it was the first to come to mind, and the most important.

[Location: Osten] *completely failed to notice it*

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

"I'm Drusilla," she replied, in the same milk and honey voice. It was sickly sweet when he was still sharp and brittle, but it was every bit as important as the words themselves. A spider was only as good as the web that it built.

"I'm going to keep you safe."

It sounded like a promise. It was a promise. It was a shame that her idea of safe didn't match up to the ideas held by anyone else.

[Location: Osten] oh! in that case... You heard nothing. /Jedi!moves

[child-of-none.livejournal.com]

'Why,' he wanted to ask, but he didn't. He had never seen her before, so the idea that she would want to keep an eye on him was strange at best. But he didn't move; experience had taught him that women were to be Minded even if what they said didn't make sense, so while he looked dubious about this development, he didn't protest its legitimacy. It didn't even occur to him to do so.

"From what?"

[visual]

[tinynarcissist.livejournal.com]

Adrian watches the boy for a few minutes before he finally makes the decision to speak to him. It's not he feels a particular necessity to make contact with other kids his age, but it's a strange place and every little bit of assistance or information helps.

"Do you know you're broadcasting on some kind of video feed? People can see you."

[visual]

[child-of-none.livejournal.com]

The interruption prompts a jerk of his head to face the new voice that would make someone's neck hurt just by watching. But the startled appearance, as if he's been up to something he shouldn't be, doesn't last long before settling into something calmer, more ordinary, but just as wary. He's only spoken with adults so far, after all, so the other boy comes as something of a surprise.

Walter nods shortly; it's something he's found out for himself by now. "I didn't mean to."

[visual]

[tinynarcissist.livejournal.com]

"I didn't think so, that's why I wanted to warn you." He speaks with the slightest accent but his English is effortless and colloquial. "Sorry for startling you. I'm trying to see if there's a way to make it ring like a telephone. Just suddenly hearing people talk out of nowhere is creepy."

Bad enough if you're paying active attention to the tablet, Adrian has to figure it's worse if your attention is elsewhere.

[visual]

[child-of-none.livejournal.com]

"...You can change it?" He seems almost eager about the idea; much like Adrian, he dislikes the interruptions, even as helpful as they've been so far.

[visual]

[tinynarcissist.livejournal.com]

"I don't know yet but there must be a way. Machines aren't supposed to just turn on and off by themselves, and there are some...some parameters you can set to make things private. Guess it's probably a good idea not to say too much that's private until we figure it out."

Adrian shrugs one shoulder uncertainly. He knows that given time, he can figure the little screens out, but he's reluctant to share that information with too many other people. Still, it's kind of nice to be able to be helpful. "I could let you know when I do, if you want."

[visual]

[child-of-none.livejournal.com]

Adrian gains a critical look for the offer, half doubtful and half outright untrusting; in Walter's experience information isn't shared, isn't offered, it's only kept, given when it's required and no more. He's therefore at a loss as to how to respond to such a thing, he can't help but think it's some kind of trick.

"You don't have to, I can figure it out," he blurts out hastily in an attempt to circumvent the whole possibly-a-trick-but-just-as-easily-not problem. It's too quick to really be believed, of course, but it's a matter of pride. More or less.