[ 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-->location]

[selfmadman]

With casual disregard Don grabs his cigarettes off the desk, slips them into his breast pocket. For the boy's benefit he gives the view on the tablet's screen—a nondescript alley—an assessing look. “I know where you are,” he says, after a moment. He reaches for the tablet; his gaze grows remote, his tone preoccupied, as he calls up the map and scans for the name Walter. “I'll be on foot. Only a lucky few here have cars.”

He kills the map. “The tram line's four blocks west if you wanna meet me.” And if he'd rather put that knowledge and his newfound mobility to another use, that's one less thing, one less terrified kid, for Don to worry about.

He switches off the tablet.

Twenty minutes later he and a handful of extras step off the tramcar. He's smoking again, snatching in quick, deep breaths.

[visual-->location]

[child-of-none.livejournal.com]

The trip is less stressful than maybe he'd thought originally. It's something familiar, something known even if the scenery and people aren't, and when he gets off his own car he's less nervous, more certain. The city's new, but it's still a city, and he rests comfortable in the knowledge that it's something familiar.

It takes a few moments for him to pick out the man from the tablet, the puffs of smoke finally giving away his position, and Walter carefully weaves his way through the crowd towards it with the kind of intuition born of habit and practice, finally coming to a stop a few feet in front of him and looking up at him promptingly, not unlike a puppy that's fetched something and then isn't sure what to do with itself afterwards.