Post by Berlin Anderson on Jul 29, 2014 23:00:19 GMT -6
And of course, he would end up in Albuquerque four days after he'd wanted to be there. There'd been a major pay per view for iiW, live in the desert just outside of town; his friend Freddie had wrestled along with a few other people he had connections with, and the main event had been some sort of mad three-tiered cage made of deathmatch. It'd been insane and messy, and he'd barely had time to watch it On Demand days later...
And now he was here, and the desert was quiet. Just the locals going about their business, seeming sleepy and slow from the heat. It was coincidence he was here at all, just where the road had taken him. It shouldn't be a surprise. He had personal names for all of the places he woke up in, the different realities, and the name of this one? Place of Missed Connections. He'd missed the mark with Bert here. The girl who shared his birthday had died before he'd ever met her in person. He was silently watching one of his heroes, Larry Gowan, on a harsh downward spiral brought on by his alcoholism-- and as someone who once acted as a sober companion, he knew no one could do anything until LG wanted to be sober again, which might well be never. The girl he'd been meant to act as a sober companion for next, arranged by her cousin, he hadn't heard from. It wasn't the happiest world, this. Full of constant motion, but still dull and alone.
It wasn't in his nature to mope. Instead, he killed time as he waited on those he was traveling with this moment to be ready to leave, which given them, might take a while. Second story balcony of a hotel, feet making a neat line on the guardrail like a tightrope-walker.
“--ahem.” The sound was spoken aloud softly, as if to not startle the surprise acrobat that came into the view of the dark-haired girl that sat with her legs folded up beneath herself. Her attire was an afterthought, an old white tank-top and black spandex shorts she’d stolen from one of the cheerleaders in the last foster home she had been stuck in-- even the messy bun spoke of function over fashion. None of that impacted the force of her gaze as she regarded him with eyes that almost seemed too large to fit in her sockets, dark as pitch. Her head tilted to one side as she regarded him, a brow faintly quirked as if to ask why he had chosen to saunter into the way of the skyline she was absently sketching.
Looking down was not a thing you did unless that was a place you intended on heading, but he did so anyway. "Aah." Full black hair, moon-white face; she was high-contrast. And as this place went, definitely different. Different generally meant interesting, more often than not. He took two steps backward, clear of her light and downwind, and crouched on the rail without stepping down yet. "Pardon me. Not a lot of people outside this time of day if they can help it. You're rather quiet."
“Didn’t you hear? Only crazy people talk to themselves.” There wasn’t anything judgmental in her tone, though. She sounded more like she was imparting some kind of secret, a nugget of information for his consumption to chuckle at later. Her hand resumed its work without much ado once he was out of the way, although her gaze was no longer focused upon the scenery before her. Instead? She was sketching from her mind’s eye, her actual gaze flickering over the more colorful being before her. He reminded her of a Bird of Paradise, or maybe its half-blood offspring. If Zeus turned into a swan to bang Leda, after all… the thought was dismissed with a faint smile. “Nice hair.”
"Oh, thanks." It was generally everybody's first impression of him, and sometimes he wondered if he would be unrecognizable if he got rid of it. Not that it'd happen anytime soon. Unique features were an advantage in building a career, and besides that, he just liked the looks it usually got him. "You don't look like you're from here." You don't look like you belong here was too rude a phrasing, but maybe more the truth. Despite the loose jeans and the faded white band shirt, he probably didn't look like he belonged here either.
A sound of acknowledgement left her as her gaze dropped from him for a moment, fingers that never seemed to be entirely clean scrabbling about in the pouch beside her. A simple pink highlighter was what she withdrew, the pencil idly tossed behind herself to be gathered up later. When her gaze returned to him, he’d see her uncapping that office supply and using it to begin to put in a roughly person-shaped outline. “I’m not from here.” She paused; her lips tugged into a moue of displeasure. “Is anyone, really? Beyond the people that carved out lives here like those cities. You know the ones.”
"True. Most people seem like they came here for jobs or something. The semiconductor, the factories, lately for the wrestling. Just passing through right now myself, end up here a lot lately though." Made him wonder what the connection was here that he was supposed to make, or if he was reading too much into it. Somebody in the wrestling promotion? The person in front of him? Something he hadn't found yet? "Not a lot lives out here. Tough things that don't need a lot of resources... and humans that carve out their own. Guess that's not as modern a phenomenon as one might think."
“The wrestling is why I’m here,” came her reply as that figure, abstract and almost birdlike, continued to gain definition on the page before her. The lack of a fine point left some amount of detail to be desired, but the general lines were there-- and the spikes of his mohawk resembled tail feathers, in a way. “Once I have the money to do it, though, I’ll be doing the commute. It’s too…” Her free hand rose, gesturing aimlessly at the air that almost shimmered around them. Perhaps that would be what made the connection, revealed who it was he was speaking to. Hadn’t a woman that looked like her made a post on Twitter about the desert getting to her?
"... arid?" He made the connection finally. Sometimes slow at them, many details swarming around in his head and talking in person was significantly different, maybe moreso with her than most others. That she reminded him of a place made it all a little hazier, but that was neither here nor... "Bird on wire." He was looking at her drawing, recognizing the allusion in it. Oh, like a bird on the wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried in my way to be free.
“Mm. I was more thinking ‘Paradise Lost’, but I like your title better.” That hint at a smile grew into the full-bore thing for a moment as a few more scratches of marker finish things out well enough for her liking before a faint line trailed across the paper to the lower right corner. Swirls and lines come together to form the name of the artist before she tore the page free and extended it to the one that had turned her idle sketching into something worth remembering. It only seemed appropriate that he be the one to enjoy the reward.
His head tilted slightly, a surprised smile forming, holding it up in the sunshine between fingertips. The urge to fold it into a bird-shape and set it free was there, but here-- it'd just be a sad piece of paper on the concrete, and that would be no good. Worth more than that. "I wrestle too, though not here. First time I came out here was with a friend in the company." Shifting his feet, he stood up on the rail before jumping down, a sort of hands-free cartwheel that ended with him sitting down near her. "Men turned from birds. It's like the tale of Marya Morevna. Do you have a shadow in your closet that wants to steal you away?"
Something darkened in those already-dark eyes-- an impossibility on some levels, but yet all too easy for the woman that had possessed them for two decades and counting. “...not in my closet.” Somewhere else, then, where the schedule was regimented and the air smelled of cheap cleaner. Shaking her head, she shifted in her seat enough to be able to regard him in proper conversation. She wasn’t volunteering anything else, but at least she was in the more socially acceptable position. Besides, her neck was grateful for the change.
He could tell she wasn't comfortable with the topic, but it wasn't hard to swerve it. "One of my opponents this week looks a little bit like you, dark hair and pale skin, though she seems very different. Maybe a little shorter than you, too. And the other one's a big brute of a Batman villain. Only other match there last week was a triple threat with a big scary guy and another small person. I think they have a theme for me. Won last week, guess we'll see if that's a pattern too." He blinked, unsure if he was being boring now.
Her head tilted to one side, a faint chuckle leaving her. “...if patterns and Fibonacci sequences happen in nature, then they’ll happen even when humans try to get into them to fuck them all up.” It was a sign of approval, a clumsy show of support as she looped her legs around the leg she drew up to her chest with the sort of flexibility one might expect from a crane. “You’re… Berlin, right?”
"Mhm, that's me. Most interesting thing my mother ever gave me." Well, she didn't seem to think he was crazy. You never knew when that opinion would form, even when he tried to not say weird things. "It was Brenna, right?" At her nod, he continued. "Well... think I hear my ride leaving-- I'd stick around but it'd be a pain in the ass to get to Minnesota on time if I did. But lost things are always out there somewhere, and I'll be back around. Be seeing ya?"
“If that’s what you want to happen.” A final faint smile, sad, curled her lips. “Lost things are always out there somewhere, after all.”
And it was.
And now he was here, and the desert was quiet. Just the locals going about their business, seeming sleepy and slow from the heat. It was coincidence he was here at all, just where the road had taken him. It shouldn't be a surprise. He had personal names for all of the places he woke up in, the different realities, and the name of this one? Place of Missed Connections. He'd missed the mark with Bert here. The girl who shared his birthday had died before he'd ever met her in person. He was silently watching one of his heroes, Larry Gowan, on a harsh downward spiral brought on by his alcoholism-- and as someone who once acted as a sober companion, he knew no one could do anything until LG wanted to be sober again, which might well be never. The girl he'd been meant to act as a sober companion for next, arranged by her cousin, he hadn't heard from. It wasn't the happiest world, this. Full of constant motion, but still dull and alone.
It wasn't in his nature to mope. Instead, he killed time as he waited on those he was traveling with this moment to be ready to leave, which given them, might take a while. Second story balcony of a hotel, feet making a neat line on the guardrail like a tightrope-walker.
“--ahem.” The sound was spoken aloud softly, as if to not startle the surprise acrobat that came into the view of the dark-haired girl that sat with her legs folded up beneath herself. Her attire was an afterthought, an old white tank-top and black spandex shorts she’d stolen from one of the cheerleaders in the last foster home she had been stuck in-- even the messy bun spoke of function over fashion. None of that impacted the force of her gaze as she regarded him with eyes that almost seemed too large to fit in her sockets, dark as pitch. Her head tilted to one side as she regarded him, a brow faintly quirked as if to ask why he had chosen to saunter into the way of the skyline she was absently sketching.
Looking down was not a thing you did unless that was a place you intended on heading, but he did so anyway. "Aah." Full black hair, moon-white face; she was high-contrast. And as this place went, definitely different. Different generally meant interesting, more often than not. He took two steps backward, clear of her light and downwind, and crouched on the rail without stepping down yet. "Pardon me. Not a lot of people outside this time of day if they can help it. You're rather quiet."
“Didn’t you hear? Only crazy people talk to themselves.” There wasn’t anything judgmental in her tone, though. She sounded more like she was imparting some kind of secret, a nugget of information for his consumption to chuckle at later. Her hand resumed its work without much ado once he was out of the way, although her gaze was no longer focused upon the scenery before her. Instead? She was sketching from her mind’s eye, her actual gaze flickering over the more colorful being before her. He reminded her of a Bird of Paradise, or maybe its half-blood offspring. If Zeus turned into a swan to bang Leda, after all… the thought was dismissed with a faint smile. “Nice hair.”
"Oh, thanks." It was generally everybody's first impression of him, and sometimes he wondered if he would be unrecognizable if he got rid of it. Not that it'd happen anytime soon. Unique features were an advantage in building a career, and besides that, he just liked the looks it usually got him. "You don't look like you're from here." You don't look like you belong here was too rude a phrasing, but maybe more the truth. Despite the loose jeans and the faded white band shirt, he probably didn't look like he belonged here either.
A sound of acknowledgement left her as her gaze dropped from him for a moment, fingers that never seemed to be entirely clean scrabbling about in the pouch beside her. A simple pink highlighter was what she withdrew, the pencil idly tossed behind herself to be gathered up later. When her gaze returned to him, he’d see her uncapping that office supply and using it to begin to put in a roughly person-shaped outline. “I’m not from here.” She paused; her lips tugged into a moue of displeasure. “Is anyone, really? Beyond the people that carved out lives here like those cities. You know the ones.”
"True. Most people seem like they came here for jobs or something. The semiconductor, the factories, lately for the wrestling. Just passing through right now myself, end up here a lot lately though." Made him wonder what the connection was here that he was supposed to make, or if he was reading too much into it. Somebody in the wrestling promotion? The person in front of him? Something he hadn't found yet? "Not a lot lives out here. Tough things that don't need a lot of resources... and humans that carve out their own. Guess that's not as modern a phenomenon as one might think."
“The wrestling is why I’m here,” came her reply as that figure, abstract and almost birdlike, continued to gain definition on the page before her. The lack of a fine point left some amount of detail to be desired, but the general lines were there-- and the spikes of his mohawk resembled tail feathers, in a way. “Once I have the money to do it, though, I’ll be doing the commute. It’s too…” Her free hand rose, gesturing aimlessly at the air that almost shimmered around them. Perhaps that would be what made the connection, revealed who it was he was speaking to. Hadn’t a woman that looked like her made a post on Twitter about the desert getting to her?
"... arid?" He made the connection finally. Sometimes slow at them, many details swarming around in his head and talking in person was significantly different, maybe moreso with her than most others. That she reminded him of a place made it all a little hazier, but that was neither here nor... "Bird on wire." He was looking at her drawing, recognizing the allusion in it. Oh, like a bird on the wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried in my way to be free.
“Mm. I was more thinking ‘Paradise Lost’, but I like your title better.” That hint at a smile grew into the full-bore thing for a moment as a few more scratches of marker finish things out well enough for her liking before a faint line trailed across the paper to the lower right corner. Swirls and lines come together to form the name of the artist before she tore the page free and extended it to the one that had turned her idle sketching into something worth remembering. It only seemed appropriate that he be the one to enjoy the reward.
His head tilted slightly, a surprised smile forming, holding it up in the sunshine between fingertips. The urge to fold it into a bird-shape and set it free was there, but here-- it'd just be a sad piece of paper on the concrete, and that would be no good. Worth more than that. "I wrestle too, though not here. First time I came out here was with a friend in the company." Shifting his feet, he stood up on the rail before jumping down, a sort of hands-free cartwheel that ended with him sitting down near her. "Men turned from birds. It's like the tale of Marya Morevna. Do you have a shadow in your closet that wants to steal you away?"
Something darkened in those already-dark eyes-- an impossibility on some levels, but yet all too easy for the woman that had possessed them for two decades and counting. “...not in my closet.” Somewhere else, then, where the schedule was regimented and the air smelled of cheap cleaner. Shaking her head, she shifted in her seat enough to be able to regard him in proper conversation. She wasn’t volunteering anything else, but at least she was in the more socially acceptable position. Besides, her neck was grateful for the change.
He could tell she wasn't comfortable with the topic, but it wasn't hard to swerve it. "One of my opponents this week looks a little bit like you, dark hair and pale skin, though she seems very different. Maybe a little shorter than you, too. And the other one's a big brute of a Batman villain. Only other match there last week was a triple threat with a big scary guy and another small person. I think they have a theme for me. Won last week, guess we'll see if that's a pattern too." He blinked, unsure if he was being boring now.
Her head tilted to one side, a faint chuckle leaving her. “...if patterns and Fibonacci sequences happen in nature, then they’ll happen even when humans try to get into them to fuck them all up.” It was a sign of approval, a clumsy show of support as she looped her legs around the leg she drew up to her chest with the sort of flexibility one might expect from a crane. “You’re… Berlin, right?”
"Mhm, that's me. Most interesting thing my mother ever gave me." Well, she didn't seem to think he was crazy. You never knew when that opinion would form, even when he tried to not say weird things. "It was Brenna, right?" At her nod, he continued. "Well... think I hear my ride leaving-- I'd stick around but it'd be a pain in the ass to get to Minnesota on time if I did. But lost things are always out there somewhere, and I'll be back around. Be seeing ya?"
“If that’s what you want to happen.” A final faint smile, sad, curled her lips. “Lost things are always out there somewhere, after all.”
And it was.