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

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

Long hesitates at that, his expression thoughtful.

"Yes, and no. Lately there seem to be more of them-- that is to say, more of you. Normally it is all adults."

The reaction to no lessons-- not even a hint of a smile or hope-- makes Long frown slightly and second-guess himself. He managed well enough overall with Dick, but really his experience with children is limited.

"...there is a library," he offers. "I am-- well, I suppose I am the librarian."

"Where is it?" The knowledge that there is something here besides streets and the deli the other man mentioned helps to relieve some of his concerns, gives him something to do, something to focus on other than the strangeness of the whole thing. And libraries are always good places to go, far from the noise and chaos of the rest of the world. They don't demand, they don't take, they don't judge, they just are.

But he still has a nagging question. It comes out slowly, as if he's still contemplating phrasing as he speaks. "...And why am I here if it's all adults?"

"This little machine that we are talking on? It has a map of the city; I can explain how to use it, if you like. But failing that... you will see tram lines running throughout the city, like the subway perhaps, and they have maps and signs as well-- the Metior line takes one right past the library, which is atop a hill. It's a large structure."

The question makes him pause, sigh softly. "I don't know," he admits, because he doesn't know why adults glitch into children, he doesn't know why whoever it is is here at all. "I'm sorry for that."

"Metior." He nods and commits the word to memory, fully planning on making a trip as soon as he can if only because he has nothing else to do. "I can figure out the map," he comments, but it's too sharp, too quick, clearly an attempt to assert his independence, although to what point given that he's already on his own is anyone's guess. "...But thank you, Mr. Long," he adds hastily, reminding himself that he needs to keep his manners.

Long half-smiles at the hurried assertion that the boy will manage the map. "Very well," is all he says in response to that.

"I am here- at the library-- much of each day; it's a safe place, and quiet," he offers. "You will see a number of people as you move through the city, but only the ones who have silver bracelets--"

(And here he holds up his own, to let his jacket cuff drop back and show his wrist--)

"--will be able to answer any questions in any sensible fashion. The others are..." He gropes for a word that will not be horribly disturbing. "...a little like actors, perhaps. They only know a very few lines."

He glances down at his own wrist, brow furrowing at the matching silver band he sees there before looking back up at Long questioningly.

"Actors? But they're people."

He pulls at the bracelet tentatively, trying to find a clasp or some means to remove it because if he's wearing it in the first place there must have been a way to put it on.

Again Long hesitates.

"Yes, well, they are not very helpful people," is what he ends up offering. He mentally thinks of them as dolls, puppets-- but he thinks to suggest to a child that they are in some giant dollhouse-city might be terrifying.

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

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