Tiered Norse (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
canislaconis) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
accordancy2012-10-22 10:39 pm
canislaconis) wrote in accordancy2012-10-22 10:39 pm
001 - At the crossroads one more time
[When he wakes, he's still only half-aware. Sprawled on the bed, one arm strewn over the empty mattress at his side, his first thought is that Salem had gotten up, for some reason. Blearily, he peeked open an eye to see if she was still in the room. And, for a moment, the only hint that something was off was the vague sense of uneasiness in his stomach. But it nagged enough for him to keep staring, trying to piece together what was off.
Slowly, the wrongness began to take shape. The empty bed was cold. The covers were undisturbed. The furniture, impersonal and empty, didn't make up the familiar sillouhettes that made up their quarters in their cramped apartment. And, as he propped himself up, a low growl starting in his throat, even the smell was wrong.
She wasn't here.
Here wasn't here. Or, at least, it wasn't where it should be.
He doesn't speak to the grimmoire. It doesn't even occur to him that there would be one to speak to. In seconds, he's up on his feet and stalking into the halls, his bare feet practically silent against the floor. With his teeth bared--fangs showing--and no sunglasses to hide his pale, wolfish eyes, there's no question that he is neither human nor remotely happy.
Hello, Accord]
Slowly, the wrongness began to take shape. The empty bed was cold. The covers were undisturbed. The furniture, impersonal and empty, didn't make up the familiar sillouhettes that made up their quarters in their cramped apartment. And, as he propped himself up, a low growl starting in his throat, even the smell was wrong.
She wasn't here.
Here wasn't here. Or, at least, it wasn't where it should be.
He doesn't speak to the grimmoire. It doesn't even occur to him that there would be one to speak to. In seconds, he's up on his feet and stalking into the halls, his bare feet practically silent against the floor. With his teeth bared--fangs showing--and no sunglasses to hide his pale, wolfish eyes, there's no question that he is neither human nor remotely happy.
Hello, Accord]
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Yep. Yeah, no, I get that a lot.
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Get....what?
[it should be sarcasm. It would make sense. But there's something purely genuine about the question.
He's having a little trouble keeping up.]
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[...she looks awkwardly up at the ceiling.]
Unless you're Tabby, but I'm pretty sure hers are because she's missing half of her brain.
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[...that made sense, at least. And he actually straightens a little, as if that might make his expression a little less blank. But he doesn't say much else right away. He has a lot to think through, after all.
He's not sure what steampunk is. Or...alternate dimension. But he can piece it together enough to know she means....wherever they are. He could ask her to explain, of course, but he has the feeling that won't get him any closer to knowing what's going on. So he moves on to his next question.
Which is why he's there.
She's already answered that, so he has to take a moment to quietly work that through before setting it aside. If she doesn't know why she's there, then she probably doesn't know why he's there, either. She doesn't seem to be one of their kidnappers. Or...did she say aliens? Maybe he could ask her about that. But he's not really sure she actually said aliens. It had been in the middle of everything else, and there'd been a lot he'd been trying to figure out. She could have said something entirely different and then it wouldn't really make sense to ask about it.
It's an unreasonably long time before he presses his lips together in a thin, considering line and finally asks:]
...Who's Tabby?
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She's a gross vampire that got brought here. Her mouth looks kind of like a lawnmower. [she brings her fingers over her mouth to illustrate. like a big, pointy beartrap! horrible.]
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[it's not disbelieving. Just....taking it in. He's heard of vampires, of course (supposedly there were a few at Adrian Institute), but he's never really run into one.
There's another awkward pause as he sets that detail aside, quietly weighing how Krista had been talking to him and how she didn't seem to be giving off any indicators of being responsible for his presence there. Which, really, just leads to a long moment of being stared at intently by a line-facing werewolf...but, finally, he manages to find words for what's going through his head]
The person...[wait. Just in case]...people I was with before...
[...]
Are they here, too?
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Probably... not. I mean, I don't know for sure--I think there are a couple of people here who showed up together, but... [she shrugs.] Pretty much everyone else is... just them.
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Hopefully. Maybe.
His brow furrows slightly. Processing. All the processing.]
...A lot of people have...shown up?
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[...!!] Hey! Do you know about the journal things?
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Are those journals? Or things like journals? What would that even be?
...she very nearly gets another, long, blank look...until he realizes he should probably answer. So he shakes his head. King of eloquence, right here.]
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[and she'll just... walk back in the direction that he'd come from! she's going to try and find his room without asking, because of reasons.]
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He doesn't demand an explanation or ask where she's going or attempt to regain control. Really, other than the lingering tension in his shoulders and the way his gaze warily darted from side to side as they passed potential ambush points, he'd mellowed completely from when he'd first run into her]
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Wait. [she... um, awkward pause.] ...what's your name...?