Nathan, early Tuesday afternoon...
Mar. 16th, 2004 11:40 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsNathan goes for a walk. Follows this post. Sometimes you have to walk through some very strange places to start to Figure Things Out.
A coffee shop. Nathan stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, blinking at it and wondering what the odds were, that just walking and walking would bring him right to the door of a place that sold coffee. The sign was a sign, Nathan thought hazily, reaching into the pocket of his coat to see if his wallet was there. It was, which was good. Being out in public without a proper fake identity would have been a lapse, a real lapse. Funny that he hadn't thought about it before he'd left the mansion, but then, he'd been in something of a rush. Out into the open air, where they couldn't crowd him, and where there were no walls that couldn't decide whether they wanted to be walls or the canvas sides of tents or caves or not there at all.
He reached for the door, shivering as he caught the little girl out of the corner of his eye. "Go back to where you came from," he muttered shakily, feeling like a bastard. She had been running down the streets of a burning city, screaming as her skin boiled, the first time he'd seen her. That had been back on the road somewhere, while he'd been walking. What she was doing following him around, he didn't know.
Inside, the girl at the counter didn't seem to like him. He couldn't blame her, he supposed. He was fairly sure all the dead soldiers hadn't been standing around in her store before he'd come in. They were just standing there, watching him avidly. Well, a few who were missing limbs were lying on the floor or sitting down, which he could understand. He just wished they would say something, but then, all the invisible people were still shouting in his head so maybe it was better if they waited their turn.
The girl kept shooting him little sideways looks as she poured his coffee. Ignoring all the dead people, he watched her work, counting her various piercings. He was up to eleven when she turned back to him with the coffee and his change. "Do you have a pen?" he asked dimly, something occurring to him. One of the soldiers, a tall, dark-skinned man who reminded him of Bridge, grinned suddenly and nodded, as if in approval.
The girl blinked at him, as if there'd been something vaguely frightening about the question, but then looked around and came up with a blue ballpoint pen, handing it to him and then snatching her hand back. He nodded at her and then went over and sat down in one of the empty window booths. Two of the dead soldiers immediately came over and sat down across from him. They were young, probably in their late teens. Brother and sister, from the resemblance. The way they watched him, wide-eyed and expectant, bothered him, but he didn't have the heart to tell them to go away.
"Ne'ahri tuvaalo?" the dead girl inquired, pointing to the full napkin dispenser sitting on the table. Nathan nodded again, pulling out several and arranging them into a larger square on the table. That would do--for now, at least. He stopped to take a fortifying sip of his coffee, and then started to draw.
After a few minutes, the voices in his head started to get quieter. As if they were trying to let him concentrate.
A coffee shop. Nathan stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, blinking at it and wondering what the odds were, that just walking and walking would bring him right to the door of a place that sold coffee. The sign was a sign, Nathan thought hazily, reaching into the pocket of his coat to see if his wallet was there. It was, which was good. Being out in public without a proper fake identity would have been a lapse, a real lapse. Funny that he hadn't thought about it before he'd left the mansion, but then, he'd been in something of a rush. Out into the open air, where they couldn't crowd him, and where there were no walls that couldn't decide whether they wanted to be walls or the canvas sides of tents or caves or not there at all.
He reached for the door, shivering as he caught the little girl out of the corner of his eye. "Go back to where you came from," he muttered shakily, feeling like a bastard. She had been running down the streets of a burning city, screaming as her skin boiled, the first time he'd seen her. That had been back on the road somewhere, while he'd been walking. What she was doing following him around, he didn't know.
Inside, the girl at the counter didn't seem to like him. He couldn't blame her, he supposed. He was fairly sure all the dead soldiers hadn't been standing around in her store before he'd come in. They were just standing there, watching him avidly. Well, a few who were missing limbs were lying on the floor or sitting down, which he could understand. He just wished they would say something, but then, all the invisible people were still shouting in his head so maybe it was better if they waited their turn.
The girl kept shooting him little sideways looks as she poured his coffee. Ignoring all the dead people, he watched her work, counting her various piercings. He was up to eleven when she turned back to him with the coffee and his change. "Do you have a pen?" he asked dimly, something occurring to him. One of the soldiers, a tall, dark-skinned man who reminded him of Bridge, grinned suddenly and nodded, as if in approval.
The girl blinked at him, as if there'd been something vaguely frightening about the question, but then looked around and came up with a blue ballpoint pen, handing it to him and then snatching her hand back. He nodded at her and then went over and sat down in one of the empty window booths. Two of the dead soldiers immediately came over and sat down across from him. They were young, probably in their late teens. Brother and sister, from the resemblance. The way they watched him, wide-eyed and expectant, bothered him, but he didn't have the heart to tell them to go away.
"Ne'ahri tuvaalo?" the dead girl inquired, pointing to the full napkin dispenser sitting on the table. Nathan nodded again, pulling out several and arranging them into a larger square on the table. That would do--for now, at least. He stopped to take a fortifying sip of his coffee, and then started to draw.
After a few minutes, the voices in his head started to get quieter. As if they were trying to let him concentrate.
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