multiversallogs | time takes a cigarette, puts it in your mouth

Who: Wolfgang & open
What: "Aggressively normal" may be an oxymoron.
Where: Various places -- mostly Bonetown, Brock Marsh, Griss Twist, and anywhere in between.
When: Over the period of a week.
Notes: Plz feel free to tag in at any of the points he stops at, or have your character be anywhere random and I can have him be there coincidentally! c:
Warnings: None, will update as necessary.

Good, safe, predictable routines -- this is always Wolfgang's goal, and it always winds up being easier than anticipated. Easier than the last, anyway. Baedal itself may have been a shock, but some people are better suited at rebuilding from nothing, and it hasn't taken him long to establish one of his good, safe, predictable routines.

Living in Bonetown has helped; he's found things have calmed down since he's moved there, although he's not sure why. No more cats following him home, strange visions out of the corner of his eye that are gone when he turns his head (and prompt people to ask why he's twitching so much). He still doesn't sleep much, but the dreams feel muted, and he rarely remembers them upon waking, is just left with the impression of some terrible old dread, and an even worse certainty that if he starts to remember again, he'll wish he never knew. He keeps taking his pills anyway.

Newdi to Veerdi, he works at TeeMuu, which is shaping up to be the longest job he's ever held -- the campus is so large and his position is so unimportant that nobody actually ever notices where he is or what he's doing, so nobody cares if he disappears for a bit (he gets dizzy sometimes and needs to sit down) or how long it takes him to do things as long as they get done. He likes the library the best, and has been known to ask the librarians there to hold certain volumes for him until his shift is over -- he has a voracious appetite for books. He is friendly to the other staff, but largely ignored by the students, which suits him. Next semester, he may audit some classes, he keeps thinking.

Between and after shifts, he takes odd jobs around the city. His medication is expensive, and one job isn't enough to pay for it and support himself. It's not unusual to see his head of white-blonde hair towering over everyone around him in every part of the city, going from one place to another.

After work he takes the train back to Bonetown but doesn't stay long in his apartment -- for one thing it is approximately the size of a showbox, and for another he's so restless. He stops at bars, where he drinks alone -- too shy to approach anyone else, and nervous when they talk to him -- or cafes if he has the money to eat out, which is rare.

On Sukkardis, he goes to the market, buys groceries and occasionally, when he has the extra marks, a couple little homey things that his apartment needs -- you never think how much detritus you build up in your life until it occurs to you that you need something to hold your toothbrush in, or wouldn't it be nice to have a place to store your shoes instead of in a pile on the floor. Flea markets attract his attention more than proper shops.

On Shundis, he goes to Griss Twist to meet a man about some pills. He is painfully out of place there despite his best effort at blending in -- simple clothes, hair pulled back -- but he's only cautious, not afraid. He's not as fragile as he looks.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Martel works too hard.

This is almost objective fact, at this point; between the time he puts in at the library and the fact he's slowly ascended to essentially running Hellsing's training program, he runs himself ragged and finds little time for anything that isn't work. It's easier, lately, to think forward and not back, and it can't last, he can't last like this, but as it has yet to stop him-- here he is, with one of the few things he does have time for: these small moments of oddly grudging thoughtfulness, kindnesses he dresses up in irritation.

He's not very good at being a good person, and he was never a terribly nice one, but he catches himself arranging his offices the way Vanion would and bristles at himself.

"Wolfgang," he says, briskly, carrying a set of books under his arm as he moves to intercept.

They're a matched set in raggedness, then, at least, although the considerable more responsibility Martel has is worse -- nobody cares what Wolfgang does, really, to his advantage.

Not expecting to hear his name called, he does what can only be described as an internal flail -- outwardly, he kind of jerks, he's awfully twitchy -- and interrupts whatever motion he was doing halfway to turn around. It's a wonder, since he's all elbows and knees, that he isn't constantly tripping over himself.

(He was about to put on his hat, actually. He has some strange old-fashioned habits; he takes his hat off when he comes indoors.)

With the air of someone who totally meant to do that, he says, casually, "Ah, yes?" He is as graceful as a gazelle. Also, Martel scares him a little.

While it can't be said that Martel doesn't notice his effect on the people around him (as much as this is just him, he's too consciously aware of it as a tool at his disposal to risk obliviousness), most of the time he doesn't really give a damn unless he's taking pains to tone it down. He can; he even does, often, with his subordinates and in semi-social situations, but exerting the effort to be charming is something he indulges only in small amounts, lately. Now is one of those 'not giving a damn' moments, and it's only incidental.

(Well, to him.)

"These were aside for you." Proffering the books, he taps the top title, one that he'd added after noting the sort of texts that Wolfgang usually asks for (yes, he is paying that close attention, though more by nature than interest), "You'll retain more if you ground yourself in the theory with this first."

Thankfully for both of them Wolfgang is easy to intimidate but difficult to scare off, nor does he take it terribly personally when people are short with him. And even if he were, the books capture more of his attention -- there's a look on his face, a kind of clear lightness, that people only get when they're really into learning.

As evidenced by his history of selections, his interests are sort of all over the map, although it's clear he's making an effort to get a varied foundation, rather than cherry-picking only topics of personal interest -- while it's not unusual for Baedalites to have about the equivalent of a high school education or less (and when he was in school he got very high marks) he still constantly feels like he's behind, somehow. That's ridiculous, he puts more effort into it than many of the people who actually are students here.

"Oh! Thank you," he says as he takes the volumes, looking especially with obvious interest at the top one, which he examines both front, back, and inside covers of. "I would have missed this one entirely, thank you."

"Yes, I know." Which is why he took the time to find it himself and ensure it went into Wolfgang's books; you're doing it wrong, here, this is better, feeling oddly compelled to interfere. In his view, it's the better thing to do than just finding someone else's incompetence (it isn't, even he's noticed Wolfgang's dedication, but he has to carefully remind himself to be less of a prick about it even in his own head) an amusement.

"I took the liberty-" his tone suggests this is not really unusual and that he's not apologizing for it, "-of enclosing a brief list of the most relevant sections. Start your notes there."

Martel taking liberties? Perish the thought. Anyway either it doesn't bother him to be bossed around so or he doesn't really notice -- money's on the former, Wolfgang is possibly the chillest person on the entire campus. "Oh --" And he glances over that list, clearly taking it seriously. "You're familiar with this then?"

Wolfgang does not really know what to say to this man, the one who, when he first started working here, kept giving him odd, startled looks that went past concerned (which he would have understood) right towards actively worried (which he did not). He still doesn't know what that means. It worries him he may have done something wrong that he doesn't remember.

It's a numbers game; the likelihood Martel has children he doesn't know about in Eosia is far higher than that of the idea he might not. Wolfgang, at first glance, was a startling reminder of that and while he'd very quickly ruled out the possibility, well--

You know what, he's still not thinking about that.

"Recently," he says, tipping his hand. "My education is better suited to a very different world, but I find it gives me a good grounding in familiarizing myself better with this one."

Poor Martel. It's better for everyone that no one think about that, probably, although thank God Wolfgang is nothing like him in terms of personality.

"Oh, I see," he says, and it's not some stock phrase, he actually does sound very interested -- the preponderance of universes threatens his shaky grasp on sanity (he is rarely more than a hand-span away from a nervous breakdown), but it fascinates him at the same time. How different things are, and how much there is to learn that would never be available at home -- even if much of it seems impossible and it's slow going to get him to accept that it's not.

(It's ironic, considering how easy it was for him to believe the impossible as a child.)

"Well, thank you, and -- sorry if I put you out." You know. Having to correct his ignorance and all.

time takes a cigarette, puts it in your mouth

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