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tampered2006-05-30 09:37 pm
hannin.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-05-30 09:37 pm
Log: In progress?
When; Sunday, late evening to the present
Rating; PG-13 (swearing)
Characters;![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hannin and anyone can join...
Summary; A mysterious vagabond appears in the city. Lost, confused, and quite soaked through, he's looking for answers from anyone/anything that will tell him what the heck is going on here.
Log;
The sounds of footsteps echoed softly in the darkness, the slow and steady rhythm of worn shoes scrapping across decaying asphalt. In the far distance, the lights of the city shone down, twinkling like fallen stars through a thin veil of fog that was rising up from the warm pavement as the cool night air settled in. Buildings with tall spires rose up into the dim horizon, stabbing towards the black above the unnatural aura that clung to the skyscrapers from the lights of the city.
It looked almost supernatural. Or it would have, had he seen it.
But his gaze was locked on the dull gravel at his feet, winding across the grassy areas of the manmade park. He watched the frayed pant cuffs move back and forth. He watched way the light barely reflected from the shabby boots, recalling for only a brief moment a time when the shoes shone black in the night as they crossed countries. And he watched the tattered edges of the long coat twist and dance as he walked the night, recalling a time before when the clothe was dyed a rich black.
Once, years ago, the clothes had been new, pressed and taken care of. But it seemed only a blink of an eye. Now they were falling apart, as ragged and worn out as their wearer. The coat even the black leather boots were now faded the same dull gray as the long disheveled hair which fell in front of the man’s face.
He was tired. So very tired.
He was sick of walking, always on the move. He could not settle, but he did not think that he could go much further.
Finally, the man’s uncovered eye lifted, catching the light of a nearby streetlight set up beside the parkway to illuminate the conveniently placed benches for the park goers. It looked comfortable, inviting him to stop … just for awhile, just for a night.
And what was one night to him?
He took another step, stumbling a bit and breaking the rhythm suddenly and violently in a crescendo of furious scraping rocks. For an instant, the loose hair tumbled from the vagabond’s face, revealing an eye much paler than its twin. Milky white, it seemed to be blind … and yet.
Quickly, the man moved towards the bench, restoring the rhythm and increasing it twofold until he reached his repose. A relieved sigh escaped his lips and he lowered himself down onto the hard wood and metal. It felt … good to sit after such a long time … a very long time.
The vagabond laid himself down on the park bench, rolling onto his side. He pulled his knees up, trying to fit as best as he could. It was too small for him to lie down properly, but it would keep him above the grass that would be undoubtedly dew-covered in the morning.
The rest felt good. He closed his eyes … and felt himself slipping, falling.
He twitched, half-asleep the instant his eyes shut, and felt himself roll backwards into … water?! He flailed and floundered momentarily managing to inhale and swallow more than a few mouthfuls of water before his head broke the surface. He choked and wretched up the water before hoisting himself out of what appeared to be … a fountain?
He shook his head slowly, dripping water from the hair matted in his face. He glanced around, confused. The city lights shone down around him like before. And yet, they were different. Different arrangements, different buildings … he frowned, knowing the most obvious answer to this most troubling question. He was in a different city.
How?
He frowned and picked himself up off of the pavement. He glanced around, shaking himself like a wet dog and spraying droplets all around him. There seemed to be no immediate danger, though it was hard to tell right now. And he had no idea how he got here.
He sighed. No more benches meant no more resting.
He rose to his feet, wearily and shoved his hands into his wet pockets before turning away from the massive fountain. It was time to move on … again.
Rating; PG-13 (swearing)
Characters;
hannin and anyone can join...Summary; A mysterious vagabond appears in the city. Lost, confused, and quite soaked through, he's looking for answers from anyone/anything that will tell him what the heck is going on here.
Log;
The sounds of footsteps echoed softly in the darkness, the slow and steady rhythm of worn shoes scrapping across decaying asphalt. In the far distance, the lights of the city shone down, twinkling like fallen stars through a thin veil of fog that was rising up from the warm pavement as the cool night air settled in. Buildings with tall spires rose up into the dim horizon, stabbing towards the black above the unnatural aura that clung to the skyscrapers from the lights of the city.
It looked almost supernatural. Or it would have, had he seen it.
But his gaze was locked on the dull gravel at his feet, winding across the grassy areas of the manmade park. He watched the frayed pant cuffs move back and forth. He watched way the light barely reflected from the shabby boots, recalling for only a brief moment a time when the shoes shone black in the night as they crossed countries. And he watched the tattered edges of the long coat twist and dance as he walked the night, recalling a time before when the clothe was dyed a rich black.
Once, years ago, the clothes had been new, pressed and taken care of. But it seemed only a blink of an eye. Now they were falling apart, as ragged and worn out as their wearer. The coat even the black leather boots were now faded the same dull gray as the long disheveled hair which fell in front of the man’s face.
He was tired. So very tired.
He was sick of walking, always on the move. He could not settle, but he did not think that he could go much further.
Finally, the man’s uncovered eye lifted, catching the light of a nearby streetlight set up beside the parkway to illuminate the conveniently placed benches for the park goers. It looked comfortable, inviting him to stop … just for awhile, just for a night.
And what was one night to him?
He took another step, stumbling a bit and breaking the rhythm suddenly and violently in a crescendo of furious scraping rocks. For an instant, the loose hair tumbled from the vagabond’s face, revealing an eye much paler than its twin. Milky white, it seemed to be blind … and yet.
Quickly, the man moved towards the bench, restoring the rhythm and increasing it twofold until he reached his repose. A relieved sigh escaped his lips and he lowered himself down onto the hard wood and metal. It felt … good to sit after such a long time … a very long time.
The vagabond laid himself down on the park bench, rolling onto his side. He pulled his knees up, trying to fit as best as he could. It was too small for him to lie down properly, but it would keep him above the grass that would be undoubtedly dew-covered in the morning.
The rest felt good. He closed his eyes … and felt himself slipping, falling.
He twitched, half-asleep the instant his eyes shut, and felt himself roll backwards into … water?! He flailed and floundered momentarily managing to inhale and swallow more than a few mouthfuls of water before his head broke the surface. He choked and wretched up the water before hoisting himself out of what appeared to be … a fountain?
He shook his head slowly, dripping water from the hair matted in his face. He glanced around, confused. The city lights shone down around him like before. And yet, they were different. Different arrangements, different buildings … he frowned, knowing the most obvious answer to this most troubling question. He was in a different city.
How?
He frowned and picked himself up off of the pavement. He glanced around, shaking himself like a wet dog and spraying droplets all around him. There seemed to be no immediate danger, though it was hard to tell right now. And he had no idea how he got here.
He sighed. No more benches meant no more resting.
He rose to his feet, wearily and shoved his hands into his wet pockets before turning away from the massive fountain. It was time to move on … again.
no subject
“Get back here, damn you!”
But the image was a lie, something brought forth by this strange city no doubt, to taunt him! He swore again and closed his grasping fingers in the water before lifting them back out... And there it was.
He had not felt it before. Perhaps because after so long fighting with it beside him, it truly had become an extension of his being... The unnamed, cursed blade. It was a demon in its own right. He sighed, watching the water drip from the semi-submerged sheath. For a moment, he was tempted to throw it back into the water.
But anger quickly turned to apathy, and a bizarre feeling of respect for the weapon that had served him for so long. He shook his head slowly and lifted it free. The weapon resembled a katana, though the blade’s length was over a foot and a half longer than the longest of its brethren. He sighed.
“I was wondering how long it would take for you to show up...” The
tsukahilt felt warm, in spite of the water, with a subtle but unmistakable pulse. “Thought I left you in a bus locker.”He slung the weapon over his shoulder by the silk ribbon that was tied tightly to the sheath, let it nestle in between his shoulder blades and against his ribs. He fumbled around in the water, beginning to feel woozy from mounting pain behind his left eye. Then, his fingers brushed against several things at once, he caught hold of one of those things and pulled his hand back quickly.
Was something in the fountain was moving, or was that just his imagination? He stared, wide-eyed and stumbled back. That was enough of that! He looked down at his fingers. There was something black and very damp hanging from an elastic strap he held… The eye patch.
He exhaled in relief and pulled the thing on, blotting out some of the more painful white after images that swam through his “blind” eye, even if it squelched a bit as he did. But there was something else in his hand. It looked like... It was a photograph of a small group of soldiers.
The photo was dog-eared and faded. But he could make out the olive-green of the soldiers’ fatigues, the military-issue tents behind them. He could even just barely make out the playing cards they held as they sat in front of the drab tents, smoking, drinking and relaxing in between trudging through the jungle, in and out of battles. The faces stared up at him, grinning and joking, one man had his tongue out as he mimed a lewd gesture at the cameraman.
And there, in between two of the soldiers sat a very familiar-looking man. He wore an embarrassed grin above a sharp jaw line on the gaunt face. His hair was much shorter above the cruel mark that trailed down his face, half-hidden by a black eye patch. He wore a strip of drab green fabric that kept it out of his eye, though only the ends could be seen as they jutted out from under the splotched helmet with the glaring remnants of the red cross that someone had tried to scrape off.
That’s like wearin’ a goddamn bullseye!
The vagabond smiled a bit at the memories... There had been a few pleasant times back then. He had not just fought. He had actually helped people... Saving lives somehow felt... Right.