http://hannin.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
hannin.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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
Now he regretted ever feeling joy at leaving behind the men he had come to think of as friends, though so many went so quickly towards the end. He turned the card over, staring at the scrawling handwriting. “You lucky bastard! I’ll see you in Hell!”
He grinned, walking away from the fountain without noticing where his feet were carrying him. He was barely aware of his surroundings, almost completely oblivious to the passing objects all around him. Only occasionally did he stop and think to look up, to keep from running into things.
He was thinking now specifically about the Fourth of July. They had barely been able to keep their eyes open, on double duty. He was more away than some, and could barely lift his feet. Then suddenly the girls showed up. Who had thought of dropping word to have them meet them right off of duty, he could only guess. But it didn’t matter. Soon, someone had the bright idea of sending music through the camp speakers. Something old and slow, “Indian Summer” he distinctly remembered, finally giving him a reprieve from “Rock’n Roll.”
He sat aside from the rest with one of those hand-rolled, funny tasting smokes that occasionally got passed around the company. He watched the others have fun, feeling light-headed and oddly content, maybe even happy, for that single, all too brief moment.
Suddenly his skin began to crawl and he shuddered bodily. Ghost? His eyes leapt away from the card and locked on a figure that was passing by not too far away from him. It was doubtful she noticed, or even cared at all about the battered war dog dragging by.
But he saw her.
One eye hidden behind thick black cloth, and he knew from the symbol on her neck what she was... His turned his face away and stared at his feet, his pale bluish eyes growing wide. More memories came flooding into his brain from a time just shy of three decades before the dance. The black uniform, the emblem of the four corners, that self-assured, self-righteous expression... These things sucked the happy memories away, replaced them with voices of the dead, screaming, crying out in pain in the back of his mind.
He felt his chest grow tight. The air felt thick, like water in his lungs. The vagabond stumbled quickly into the nearest alleyway away from the woman. And as his back hit the rough wall, the words rushed out in a sharp painful hiss.
“Unsere Ehre heisst Treue!”
He felt sick and shook as his eye darted around the alleyway. He could not even recall the meaning behind the words, only loyalty and honor. He spent so many years forgetting, moving on with this, his endless, charmed, hell of an existence. But what if that woman heard that salute? What would she think of him? Were there others like her here? Even in this supernatural city, would anyone ever think that a simple homeless man might be more than what he seemed?