multiversallogs | thought i saw the future

Entry tags:

thought i saw the future

Who: Erik Lehnsherr and OPEN to... someone with a death wish, possibly? Anyone who enjoys talking through a door?
What: Arriving.
Where: Arrival cells, The Valhalla Inn.
When: Late Misdi night, and however many hours/days afterward.
Notes: me so angy
Warnings: None at this time.

Shunted from her purpose by a living whirlwind, the prototype jet spins and spins, her extremities breaking apart, the wind skinning her and flinging her pieces into the sea. The little bodies inside her rolling, white-knuckled, dreading the inevitable crash. Erik is affixed to the steel hull by means of his gift, and through his palms and his knees and his skull he feels every vibration, every groan and shriek of rent metal, and through his chest he feels the resonance of his friend howling in terror beneath him. He will be safe, held there, or they will all of them die together, screaming.

Erik collides with something hard, then—only him, Erik alone, the Blackbird's hull suddenly absent from his awareness—and rolls away from it purely by the rebound, confused by the loss of momentum even before his body stills. He stirs again not a moment later. It is with the drunken, but dogged movements of a stunned body yet determined to rise that he then lifts himself from the floor, aware even through the mess of dizziness that he recognizes nothing, that everything he knows is gone. A wall—it was a wall. He's in a room. A cell. The surge of emotion triggered by this realization is unnameable, and it is deep, and fierce, and it consumes him in full.
The meat of his fist is first to find the door, and again and again, then both palms banging hard, and his voice raises above them, raw, defiant of language. In a sudden cessation his forehead touches the door's surface, and he waits there, panting, hoarse. Listening for anything, any sign of a presence. He waits. Nothing. Head clearer, he now steps back from the door and gestures as though tearing it, miming handfuls, meaning to disfigure and make useless this prison that he hates. Straining hard. Teeth bared at no one. Nothing. His breath creaks loose and then comes in a sudden rush, out and back in, and with tears flowing freely from all his futile effort he goes utterly berserk.
A powerful racket follows—not merely powerful, but sustained. Inanimate groaning, squealing, slamming; a long, splintering crack; something like metallic hailstones. Each time the noise abates, the man inside the cell is temporarily silent, or gasping audible breaths, or else he cries out you can't do this or I almost had him or where are they or the most subtle I'll kill you, only to begin again.

Over an hour passes before he is worn to weakness, before his body is too weary to keep up with his will, and by then the cell door is not only seriously dented from the inside, but it has bowed outward. The entire door, still sealed around its edges, now faintly convex toward the hallway.

In Baedal, it is standard procedure not to release immediately those who arrive in the throes of violence. Such creatures are to be left locked away until they reach a manageable state, whether that means internal calm, or malnourished weakness, or death. Often, death seems most prudent. (These rooms are tiled for a reason.)
Erik shows his teeth to the first official to ask after him and, by grace of the wards, but certainly not for lack of trying, fails to drive a now sharpened table leg through the man's head. Nonplussed, the official tells him to have it his way, and leaves behind a sign on the handle of the door. It's inn standard, the same as on any rented room: DO NOT DISTURB.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

While the esteemed lady of the inn says her piece, Erik's fingers slide over the inner surface of the door, and when once again they have formed a fist he thumps it against the wood, just once, in frustration. There is no reasoning with these people. It was ridiculous of him to believe this was possible in the first place. (Well, all right, Ava's desire to help seems genuine, but he will not forgive the innkeeper for her presumed complicity in his abduction.)

"Well... then... if you mean to keep me locked in here for God only knows how long, could you at least bring me some water?" He shouldn't be raising his voice, probably, but politeness does not jive with his current feelings even remotely. There's nothing imperious about his tone, anyway. It's been...some insane number of hours, he doesn't know, but he does know he is thirsty and has a powerful headache, and he is not above consuming his own urine to survive, either, but he doesn't want to, so bring him a fucking juicebox or something, you jerks.

Edited 2011-08-15 06:11 (UTC)

There is a delay before the cell's inhabitant responds—long enough for Tommy to inquire again, probably—but he does respond, albeit somewhat wearily. Groggily, even. In fact, it sounds rather like he's only just woken up. And having indeed woken just now, on the floor, more or less in a daze, is the only reason why he doesn't immediately make a demand related to the current state of the door.

"I'm in here," he says, like a lost body waiting for rescue. It's a moment of comparative weakness he won't repeat any time soon.

There is plenty of reasoning with these people. Just most of them don't much fancy getting dead (or stuck with post-death clean up). These people are sure you understand.

If Savitri reflects at all beyond the health and safety of her people, she reflects that these things are much easier when the trapped intelligence opts not to speak. She has a momentary glance for Ava (and the sign, the sign will not be so hastily forgotten) and then looks back at the door. Like it can look back.

"You will not die in this room, Erik." Very matter of fact. Almost like she has any reason for thinking so beyond that would be a bummer. "However, you need to calm down. My name is Esha Savitri. I did not trap you in this room, but I can let you out." So pay attention.

Ava has been quiet during this exchange, her expression a bit vacant. It's happening again, you see, some random bit of foreknowledge locked inside her head suddenly gaining significance in context.

...She thinks so, anyway. It's hard to tell half the time, her information frustratingly incomplete.

But there's been an odd fact nagging at the back of her brain for a couple of days now. The man in the room directly above mine can tell when people are telling the truth. She hasn't understood, so far, why she knew this or how it was useful. This happens a lot--fragments of visions glimpsed in her childhood and memorized to be put to use later leaves her with little things like this, things she's not immediately sure what to do about.

But now it makes sense. Now she sees that maybe this situation is why she needed to know that.

Savitri's glance at her draws her attention; Ava studies her for a moment and then she hands over the sign. Here, have it back, because, "...I know someone who can help."

And then, with a hand on the door as if the touch could somehow convey through it, her voice a bit louder, sure of itself, focused on the man beyond it, "Erik. I know how to help. I need to go get someone--I'll be back in a few minutes."

She spares the innkeeper another look and then she turns and leaves, hurrying for the stairs.

"Then let—"

Ava's voice silences him with only a moment of overlap; he is quick to listen, as it's all he can do. Her interruption isn't precisely heartening, but it's something, at least. Something other than arguing with this Savitri woman through this damned door.

Speaking of that—once the girl has gone, he asks, "How long have I been in here?" Days, probably. Days without water or food or light. He feels like he's withering, slowly curling in at the edges, remaining alive only by virtue of stubbornness. (It's not an unfamiliar feeling.)

Really. Shrimati Esha Savitri, keeper of the keys and runner of the Inn (employer of the shell shocked), left on murder/suicide watch. Well. Okay then. At least this Erik is sure to be appreciative, right? She considers the sign in her hand and the things she could be doing right now. Then again, the girl said a few minutes; she can wait a few minutes.

"I can't know. If I have to guess, past some 24 hours now." Seems about accurate. Maybe it is more, maybe it is less. She has no interest in fibbing. "Do you want to know where you are?"

"No, you're supposed to say 'Who's there?'! How can you not know what Knock Knock jokes are?"

Tommy doesn't really notice Erik's distress because... well, he's running on the assumption that people are all treated like he and Kate were when they arrived. The thought that someone might not be allowed out promptly and politely doesn't even come to mind.

"Oh geez, are you from a world that doesn't have them? 'Cause that would suck. I mean, how can you get through life without ever understanding the interrupting cow?"

Since he's decided that the inhabitant of the room is probably a little dumb, the pace of his speech is actually slow for him. His words still come faster than normal, though, blurring together at the edges.

"If you're going to tell me I've been Chosen," which of course he says with no shortness of sarcasm, however weak his voice may be, "and spirited away to a brand new life in a Wondrous City," he loves it here, "I've heard that one before. So save your breath, and spare me the insult. If you would be so kind."

He's cranky. But he does appreciate the company? Sort of? ...Okay, not really, but please don't leave him in here, lady.

Lovely. He is trapped in a small room, no one will give him a straight answer about where he is, his head feels as though it's about to split apart, and now this. It's not that Erik doesn't like children, really... well, no, some children he just plain doesn't like, let's be honest here. Let us say that now is not the ideal time for fair social judgment.

Still, he tries—even though, for all he knows, this person isn't really a child at all. "...Excuse me, I didn't quite hear you the first time. The door, it muffles things a bit."

No, I was going to tell you that you are alone in a small tiled room. ... no, that would be uncalled for an hardly befitting a lady of her standing. Erik can't see it but she has now crossed her arms and she's regarding the door with a sort of bemused expression. "I would not do you the injury, sir." Honestly. "No, what I would tell you is that outside of this door there is a boarding house. Beyond that lies a city. I cannot tell you if it is wondrous, and I cannot tell you why they chose you, but I can tell you that you are not alone."

It's okay buddy, Smt. Savitri has been around. She may be a little impatient and secretly gruff but she'll keep talking at you until the cavalry arrives. Her voice may not be soothing or have soothing things to say, but at least it is something to listen to?

"Also, for your consideration." You know, while you have all this time to think about things. "You tried to kill a man before. I want you to know that we will not hold that one against you."

Elsewhere in the inn, Ava hits the floor above the one where's staying at as much of a full run as she can. Which isn't saying much when she's trying to do so across carpet in high heels. She mutters something under her breath and kicks them off, bending to scoop them up without breaking stride.

Clearly, she's done this a few times in her life.

Now it's a full run, leaving her a bit winded as she reaches the door to the room of the man who can help. "Hello?" she calls out, pounding on the door with somewhat less than her usual decorum. "Hello, sir? Are you in there? Please, please open the door, I need to ask you something. Hello?"

Please be in, please.

Charles is relaxing comfortably in his bed and reading when he senses someone approach his room. He tucks a marker into his book and walks toward the door. Whoever is trying to contact him is in far too much of a rush than he'd like to indulge at the moment, but when he peers through the peephole and takes a look at Ava he decides that at the very least he ought to hear her out.

He opens the door, smiling in greeting with the hopes that it would lessen the feelings of panic this woman seemed to have.

"Yes? What might I do for you?"

Ava flashes him a smile, there and gone, as if remembering that yes, there are social niceties to be offered. "Hello. My name is Ava. I'm sure you're going to have a lot of questions and we can deal with those at a better time. I apologize for that."

She takes a step closer, studying his face. "I need your help," she implores. "There's a man downstairs in one of the arrival rooms. They've locked him in and they won't let him out. The innkeeper insists he's a danger to others. He claims to have been in an accident just before arriving and he says he's in need of medical attention. I think they aren't opening the door because they don't believe him."

Ava pauses a moment; this is always the tough part of what she does. Usually there's time to build up to it, sort of explain herself, but not now. "I know you're capable of discerning if a person is being truthful or not. I'll be happy to discuss how I know with you at another time. Please come with me down to the arrival rooms. I think you may be able to help the man they're keeping locked in there."

She offers him the hand that isn't holding her shoes. "Please, sir, I wouldn't come barging up here if it wasn't urgent. If whatever you do to discern truthfulness is something you can do right now and you need to do it to check me out, you're free to. But only if you can do it without delaying us very long; otherwise I'll have to decline and insist you just trust me."

A pretty girl at his door and giving him her best smile? Yes please.

Charles takes a step closer to Ava and is about to reply when she continues. It's an unusual request to be sure, but he is not one to deny her. She knows about him and what he can do, that alone would be enough to grab Charles' attention. "I believe you," he says, and in the interest of time doesn't ask all the questions he would like. Instead he takes locks the door behind him and takes Ava's offered hand.

"Show me, and I'll do my absolute best to help you."

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

The man inside the cell is, perhaps surprisingly, still engaged in...not friendly, per se, but no longer openly hostile conversation with the innkeeper. The dramatic change in the tone of his situation seems to have placated him some (although it could be said that fatigue can tame anyone in time), but he is not exactly feeling optimistic, here. That Ava girl could return empty-handed, or she may never return at all, and if he is released it could be into the hands of someone not so benign as these people sound.
Still, anything sounds more appealing than remaining sealed in this damn room for even another minute.

"I would say it's nothing personal, but in all honesty that remains to be seen." In reference to his own attitude, probably. This may sound somewhat threatening, but it's the most mannerly thing he's said all day, frankly.

Charles arrives with Ava to the outside of the arrival room. He lifts a brow at the bent door and is about to inquire to the woman standing next to it regarding the person inside. Then he hears that said person.

He rushes to the door, pressing his hand flat against it as if it will help him better read what's going on inside even though he knows better. "Erik? It's Charles. I'm going to do what I can to help." He wants to make all the promises in the world to his friend, to apologize for what isn't his fault, but he doesn't make any guarantees he isn't certain of.

Turning back to the woman he doesn't know, he addresses Savitri cordially, suppressing a sudden feeling of overwhelming urgency. "This man is my friend. Whatever your concern, I know him quite well and would be happy to vouch for him. If you would please release him, I'd be most grateful."

Smt. Savitri's face is the very image of unimpressed. She looks from Charles to Ava as if to say Really? Your idea of help is a bright-eyed ferret? ... from England? (The last part may be a little hard to read.)

"Of course it's not personal." She may be staring at the latest arrivals here, but she's still speaking to Erik. If she's suppressing anything it's the inexplicable urge to get between the door and this Charles here. Responsibilities all over the place.

"My concern is the immediate safety of anyone who would open this door and the subsequent safety of the guests and staff of this Inn. Who are you that you can vouch for their lives?"

Erik's voice is suddenly much nearer the door than it was a moment ago, and far more enlivened.

"Charles?"

The man's presence is at once a relief and profoundly bewildering, by the sound of it. However, in the moments following, neither Charles's knee-jerk diplomacy nor Savitri's dutifully distrustful answer satisfy his impatience even vaguely. He will not tolerate having to listen to a debate this way—in fact, he can barely stand the idea. And so:

"It's been days," he interjects, and leaves it at that. He's only looking to cause a spark, and the grim implications in those three words should make a pretty good flint. (He feels entitled to a little pettiness, given the circumstances.)

The words have their intended effect and if Charles looked wide eyed before, he does so even more now as his worry increases and seeps into his demeanor enough to add a hint of that worry in his voice that he hadn't allowed to show before.

"My friend has no reason to cause harm to you or the city. We both arrived here from the middle of a plane crash," he's assuming about Erik here, but reasons that it's a good guess. "That is a strenuous ordeal as it is, and then to come from that only to be locked in a room? I would expected that a displeased reaction is perfectly understandable."

With a snort, Tommy flops back to lean on the door. "Sure whatever 's not like I haven't heard that one before or anything, but you sound old, so I'll let it go."

He considers things for a long while (for him, that is) then taps at the door like a small child banging the bars of the lions' cages at the zoo.

"Knock knock."

Because a good knock knock joke really isn't something you can just waste.

If Savitri is moved at all it is further towards vexation. It's not that she finds other people's distress to be inconvenient, it is rather the implication that she does.

"Do you think this is the first, you think - you care about your friend. I care about the man he would have killed. The city does not care." Not that anyone here is bitter or anything, perish such thoughts at once. "The city is in no danger from you. The city leaves us here to deal with this. How many times I have had to make decisions, I don't care to count." She holds her hand up with the intent of curbing any immediate replies and looks around.

"You, Ava. Go to the kitchen, get Sammy to give you a canteen. After he fills it with water." The lady of the inn has the voice of someone used to being heard. She also has the voice of the vaguely impatient. "You... Charles. Step away from the door. She comes back, we'll let your friend out." And if he still has the stamina to murder us all I'll hold you personally responsible. So... there.

Ava's mask of polite impassivity cracks for just an instant, her eyes narrowing for a beat (honestly, like she wouldn't think to ask for water in the canteen?) before she tilts her head and smiles.

"Erik," she calls out. It's a roundabout way of acknowledging Savitri's directions. "I'll be right back, hold on."

She leaves her shoes this time, rather than carry them down to the kitchen or have to fuss with removing them mid-jog, and back to the stairs she heads, descending, this time.

How nice it is to be addressed directly when it's his fate in question. ...It is sort of funny to be told to hold on when it's not like he has a choice, but he doesn't laugh. Not loud enough to be heard, anyway. It's doubtful a puff of breath will be audible through the door.

"I'll wait here," he says, and this glint of humour is a sign that he's feeling somewhat more optimistic—if only because his friend is waiting for him outside.

Erik feels it's perfectly reasonable to waste a joke in this circumstance. But then, what else can he do but indulge the boy, really? He could tell him to bugger off, but he's in just the sort of worn-out emotional state that he'd get to feeling a little contrite about it, and the last thing he needs on top of being locked up is even temporary guilt over snapping at some random kid.

So he sighs, and closes his eyes.

"Who's there."

This is ridiculous.

And Tommy's day just got made. Even Billy doesn't indulge him like this... there's something to be said for having a captive audience.

"Boo."

When he speaks, it's with a little bit of a giggle to it. Honestly, the way he's acting, he sounds about twelve. What a dip.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 2 of 3

thought i saw the future

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject