somakemelaugh (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
somakemelaugh) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverviewlogs2017-07-15 09:22 pm
somakemelaugh) wrote in riverviewlogs2017-07-15 09:22 pm
[open]
who: Undertaker and whoever wants to bump into him
what: Adjusting to a life this new isn't easy
when: Night of the 15th
where: Various places around the city, ending on a random bench
warnings: A slightly uncharacteristically grumpy Undertaker. Give him a break, he's exhausted.
The one thing he appreciates about this place, other than the awkward reprieve that it's given him from the events of his own life back home, is that at night, it quiets down like the rest of his home once did - perhaps still does, even without him. It becomes a little easier to bear during the witching hours, when he abandons his communal bunk to walk unfamiliar streets, explore strange alleys, look into the windows of stores and shops that might well have come out of a novel. Silence does it for him, or at least, it does it for him for a while.
He still isn't used to it all, though he has been trying to learn. The technology, the way of the people, the nature of their problems. Not for the first time, more so recently than when he had first arrived, he wonders if this city pulled him into its confines because it felt he wanted out of his then-current life, what would happen with him now that his sense of displacement had been amplified exponentially? Probably nothing. Likely nothing. It had done nothing for him so far, short of leave him to struggle to get up to speed with a place that hadn't just jumped forward in time, it had lunged. The small, black device in his pocket was proof enough of that. Only recently had he learned how to properly use it, or otherwise shut the damn thing up if he didn't want to hear it.
He might have to start cutting his nails again to help him with that, but he had thus far refused. This place had taken so much from him, he needed the little things now to keep him grounded. His research. His experiments. All of it, gone in an instant, replaced with uncertainty and caution and suspicion. What could he really pick up again here, if he wanted to continue in his curiosity? Where could he step, how far could he push the boundaries before people picked up on what he was doing and then decided to do something about it? Not that many opportunities had presented themselves thus far to allow him to continue. The dead here were few and far in between.
And his solitude. That had been the hardest loss, and the reason for which he now wandered the streets at night, willing himself to exhaustion so that lying on one of the benches scattered throughout the city in some secluded area or a nice rooftop wouldn't seem so bad a bed. The first night was rough, until he figured out where he could go to escape his roommates. He didn't know them, didn't know if he wanted to know them right off, but he was amicable enough around them. He couldn't yet afford to make enemies, but after spending decades alone, to suddenly be pushed into a place surrounded by what amounted to strangers, he found it near impossible to sleep while they were near. Thus, the nightly walk around the city had begun and turned into a habit.
Habit was good. Habit gave him routine, something to latch onto while work was slow, gave him something to do. But it was slow, and restlessness was a constant, only ending abruptly when exhaustion hit him in the face. It was starting to affect him, with as little as he now slept. It was starting to affect his mood, his energy levels, and it was slowly getting worse. The last thing he needed was to start acting out and bring attention to himself out in the open.
As he walked, still willing exhaustion to take him, listening to the steady sounds of his boots over the ground, he considered his options. He needed something else to do. He needed a new place to stay, somewhere where he could be alone again, where he could rest in peace, and he needed to find a way to earn a little more income to get it. He needed to sort out his place among these people; the research team was a good place to start but it wouldn't last forever. He needed, he needed, he needed so many things.
His head spun. He lifted a hand to pull down his hat and run the other back through his hair before replacing it. Weariness had taken hold and become too much at last, and he knew it had happened when his thoughts started to chase each other in circles and he lost track of where he had been. A small mercy, he had come back into the present to find a bench not far from where he was. He beelined to it, dropped down to the hard seat and stretched out on his back a little more carefully than he'd seated himself. The sky in what he had assumed was the east had already begun to fade to purple and he shifted his hat over his face to hide his eyes from the light - it would wake him again sooner than he wanted, if the sounds of the city waking around him didn't do that first. Just a few hours, he thought to himself. Just a few hours' rest and he could start over again. Maybe look for new work, maybe look for something else to do.
He had been through worse. Right now, it was just the sleep deprivation talking.
what: Adjusting to a life this new isn't easy
when: Night of the 15th
where: Various places around the city, ending on a random bench
warnings: A slightly uncharacteristically grumpy Undertaker. Give him a break, he's exhausted.
The one thing he appreciates about this place, other than the awkward reprieve that it's given him from the events of his own life back home, is that at night, it quiets down like the rest of his home once did - perhaps still does, even without him. It becomes a little easier to bear during the witching hours, when he abandons his communal bunk to walk unfamiliar streets, explore strange alleys, look into the windows of stores and shops that might well have come out of a novel. Silence does it for him, or at least, it does it for him for a while.
He still isn't used to it all, though he has been trying to learn. The technology, the way of the people, the nature of their problems. Not for the first time, more so recently than when he had first arrived, he wonders if this city pulled him into its confines because it felt he wanted out of his then-current life, what would happen with him now that his sense of displacement had been amplified exponentially? Probably nothing. Likely nothing. It had done nothing for him so far, short of leave him to struggle to get up to speed with a place that hadn't just jumped forward in time, it had lunged. The small, black device in his pocket was proof enough of that. Only recently had he learned how to properly use it, or otherwise shut the damn thing up if he didn't want to hear it.
He might have to start cutting his nails again to help him with that, but he had thus far refused. This place had taken so much from him, he needed the little things now to keep him grounded. His research. His experiments. All of it, gone in an instant, replaced with uncertainty and caution and suspicion. What could he really pick up again here, if he wanted to continue in his curiosity? Where could he step, how far could he push the boundaries before people picked up on what he was doing and then decided to do something about it? Not that many opportunities had presented themselves thus far to allow him to continue. The dead here were few and far in between.
And his solitude. That had been the hardest loss, and the reason for which he now wandered the streets at night, willing himself to exhaustion so that lying on one of the benches scattered throughout the city in some secluded area or a nice rooftop wouldn't seem so bad a bed. The first night was rough, until he figured out where he could go to escape his roommates. He didn't know them, didn't know if he wanted to know them right off, but he was amicable enough around them. He couldn't yet afford to make enemies, but after spending decades alone, to suddenly be pushed into a place surrounded by what amounted to strangers, he found it near impossible to sleep while they were near. Thus, the nightly walk around the city had begun and turned into a habit.
Habit was good. Habit gave him routine, something to latch onto while work was slow, gave him something to do. But it was slow, and restlessness was a constant, only ending abruptly when exhaustion hit him in the face. It was starting to affect him, with as little as he now slept. It was starting to affect his mood, his energy levels, and it was slowly getting worse. The last thing he needed was to start acting out and bring attention to himself out in the open.
As he walked, still willing exhaustion to take him, listening to the steady sounds of his boots over the ground, he considered his options. He needed something else to do. He needed a new place to stay, somewhere where he could be alone again, where he could rest in peace, and he needed to find a way to earn a little more income to get it. He needed to sort out his place among these people; the research team was a good place to start but it wouldn't last forever. He needed, he needed, he needed so many things.
His head spun. He lifted a hand to pull down his hat and run the other back through his hair before replacing it. Weariness had taken hold and become too much at last, and he knew it had happened when his thoughts started to chase each other in circles and he lost track of where he had been. A small mercy, he had come back into the present to find a bench not far from where he was. He beelined to it, dropped down to the hard seat and stretched out on his back a little more carefully than he'd seated himself. The sky in what he had assumed was the east had already begun to fade to purple and he shifted his hat over his face to hide his eyes from the light - it would wake him again sooner than he wanted, if the sounds of the city waking around him didn't do that first. Just a few hours, he thought to himself. Just a few hours' rest and he could start over again. Maybe look for new work, maybe look for something else to do.
He had been through worse. Right now, it was just the sleep deprivation talking.
no subject
"Thank you."
He nodded in response to the last, turning and heading off, letting the other attempt some more sleep.
no subject