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
When whoever it was didn't, he tried to reason with himself, seeing his mood for what it was and attempting a reign on it. Maybe it was unusual to see people resting out in the open like this. Did this world have no homeless or people milling about in the streets without direction? Surely he couldn't have been the first. So much had been built up, he couldn't fathom that in all that time, a plain street bench wouldn't have been used for a bed ever, at any point in their history.
Or that of whoever it was, for that matter.
He could more feel the other getting that much closer - to check on him or try to rob him? - than he could see it from under his hat, though at this distance it would have been clear to him. The half asleep, mischievous part of his mind briefly considered yanking his hat off his face and jerking up at the person to shout "Boo!" at them, fingers curled, grinning without mirth. But he hadn't the energy for it, nor any real motivation. The voice sounded vaguely familiar and, hidden from view, he frowned.
Frowned, then relaxed. His mind put a face to the voice, and soon after the name. "Aye."
no subject
"You scared me, Undertaker-sa... Undertaker," He clears his throat with zero grace in the middle as he cuts off the honorifics that he still hasn't shaken since arriving in Riverview. Akihiko crosses an arm over himself a little self consciously as he looks out over the street, free hand picking at the bandage on his cheek. "I almost didn't stop before I recognized you,"
He turned an amused side eye to the other, not able to glean much of anything from the unmoving black brim of the man's hat staring back at him. "Didn't you say you were on floor, uhh, 2 of communal living with me? If this is your assigned bed I'd definitely complain to. Whoever's in charge of housing." While his tone is light, it's not hard to catch the carefully but poorly veiled concern as he tries to test the waters to see if Undertaker would prefer not to actually talk about whatever adventure had led him here. But god, if Akihiko wasn't an easily concerned person, and someone on the streets when they didn't necessarily have to be... it hit a little close to home.
no subject
And was that... Ah, yes. More conversation. Seemed he wasn't meant to sleep any longer out here. With a groan and a sigh all at once, he lifted a hand and rubbed under the rim of his hat at his face, trying to will himself to come out of his groggy haze just a little more. He had a walk ahead of him if Akihiko was going to go on and fuss over him like this. He could always just vanish away. That was an option left to him, to be sure, but a part of him that was a little more awake than the rest said that wouldn't be the best idea, not in front of someone he hardly knew.
"Floor 2, yes. One of the beds there, same as everyone else who lives in that place."
no subject
"Not used to dorming with others, then?" It wasn't hard to pick up on the distaste in how Undertaker strung the sentence. Which he guessed he could understand- he was used to dorms, so while he'd never been in such a large communal space it didn't bother him too much. Judging entirely by looks, though, he could imagine that Undertaker most surely did not have to share space back home.
He paused, kicking out his foot so he could kick his heel on the ground, toe pointed skyward, before tilting his head towards the man. "..But, I didn't mean to bother you, if you'd prefer to continue napping. The cafe next door is about to open though, just a warning." And with it, one could assume the foot traffic would only increase as commuters started to get ready for their days.
no subject
Starting with sitting himself up. His body immediately protested, letting him know in no uncertain terms just where it had not appreciated him lying down for any hope of sleep. He bit back another groan, taking the hint about the coffee shop for what it was, and continued rubbing his face, accepting that he had to move. With luck, his roommates would be gone and he could plant himself in his bed now. "Not at all. You don't catch many these days comfortable enough with their own mortality to sleep in a room full of coffins."
no subject
"Most people do get pretty queasy about death. You stayed at your funeral parlor?"
no subject