Day 44 - A helping hand....

[yesthatsmyname]

Who: Mary Lightly, OPEN
When: Day 44, Mid-Afternoon
Where: 123 Black-Eyed Susan Drive
What: Mary has offered to help with the food shortage as best he can - in return, perhaps, for some unwanted tins of sardines and a little help with the leak in the basement.
Rating: PG, PG-13 if people get mouthy.

Comments

I tl;dr'd really hard I'm sorry B(

[berceusedefou]

Considering the things that he and Mary had been talking about over the phone, the noble thought it the best in his shattered mind to see to it that they would be alone in their meeting. So, he hid. Just out of sight under the awning of a neighbouring house, above the flood waters and sheltered from the rain, Alfred waited. He watched Ethan leave, and still he waited. Just to be certain. Ever the paranoid, seclusive man he was on Rockfort, he had to be absolutely certain it would just be him and Mary.

When he was finally satisfied, he made his way toward House 123. Despite the rain and deep water he had to wade through, the way his uniform clung to his skin, weighed down and sopping wet, he seemed as confident as ever. Even quivering lightly as he was, he held as much of his regality as he could.

He looked Mary over, carefully examining the bloodstains on his clothes, how rumpled they were. Not as if he could say too much; Even though the town had provided him with changes of clothes, he still wore his uniform. The uniform that was pockmarked with hastily stitched bullet holes, tears, and faded stains that couldn't be properly cleaned quickly enough and had regrettably set. Still, it was something he couldn't part with, and he kept it in remarkably decent condition considering the circumstances it'd been through.

"I don't believe I ever introduced myself. I'm Alfred Ashford, grandson of Edward Ashford and direct ancestor of the illustrious Veronica Ashford."

XD Its okay! Check out Mary's journal for his notes on Alfred so far, BTW XD

[yesthatsmyname]

True, Mary's clothes WERE rumpled - but there was something else wrong with them that wasn't immediately apparent until he stood up; they were too small for him, his jacket sleeves ending somewhere in the middle of his forearms. As Alfred approached, he looked to him with the enthusiasm he looked at anyone with. Which...unless you happened to be a certain serial killer...wasn't much.

He held out his hand for a handshake, his wrist limp so that his hand flopped awkwardly downward. When he spoke, his voice was the same monotone from on the phone...maybe even a little quieter. He locked eyes with the other man, blue irises burning from behind his thick glasses.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Mary Lightly, Son of Mary Lightly, Grandson of Mary Lightly, and Great-Grandson of Craig Lightly."

Introductions finished with, he gestured into the house.

"...Please...come in."

ahahah oh man, 'melodramatic British guy' is really all you have to say about Alfred 8D

[berceusedefou]

The lack of enthusiasm was something Alfred had gotten used to, at this point. True, in his glory days he probably would have had a man imprisoned if they didn't lower their head as they addressed him with a quiet, respectful 'Lord Ashford,' but things were quite different here. People didn't seem to take kindly to doing such.

At any rate, Alfred glanced at Mary's hand for a brief moment, awkwardly unsure of what exactly he'd meant by the gesture. Surely he didn't think... ? No, that was clearly a handshake offering. There were lines. It was enough that he had come to Mary's residence and was talking to him politely. He wasn't comfortable accepting a handshake. He rather bluntly left the other man's hand to hang, drawing his own behind his back and returning only the gaze.

"I do hope you pardon my directness but I so hate to beat around the bush; You'd said you'd been murdered before you arrived here, over the phone," he stated, stalking inside the house, "Is there any more light you wish to shed upon that?"

[yesthatsmyname]

So...no handshakes with this guy, then. Okay. Good to know. He dropped his hand, following Alfred into the house. He would have to make a note of that one, but he would wait a minute until he had his notepad at the ready.

"There's not a lot of light to shed," he murmured, shutting the door behind them and gesturing to the kitchen. He sat down at the table, resting his arms atop it. He collected him for a moment before speaking...really, it wasn't like he had a whole lot to hide at this point. If he was dead, it didn't matter. If he was dreaming, it really didn't matter.

"I was pursuing a serial killer. He challenged me on my own. I took the challenge, I went to the location, and my death was staged to look like a scene from a movie. Meant to be spectated. He knew. Of course he knew. I should have thought of that." His eyes darkened a little - not anger, but...disappointment. "I was stabbed in the chest...thrown down the stairs. And I died."

[berceusedefou]

After the invitation, Alfred stepped into the kitchen and sat down opposite his host. His formal posture didn't waver when he sat in the least; His back remained straight and he neatly interlaced his fingers as he placed his hands in his lap.

"A serial killer?" Crystal blue eyes locked with Mary's with interest. While it wasn't exactly his favourite study, he did have some passing interest in the subject. And really, there was a part of him that could appreciate the killer's courtesy. It was just polite to allow others to watch the show. "And one who mimics films, at that. Which was your death from, if you don't mind the question?"

[yesthatsmyname]

The difference was at once startling and comical - where Alfred was ramrod straight, Mary was slouching, draping against the table where he sat.

He wasn't at all bothered by the interest - in point of fact, he seemed to become just a little more animated while he was on the subject. Criminal psychology was his passion...this case even more so. His own pale blue eyes burned back into Alfred's, his expression not in the slightest upset by the question.

"...Yes. Mr. Yin. One of the greatest killers out there...." He sighed, just a little - almost dreamily? - before answering the latter half of the question. "...'Psycho.' Alfred Hitchcock. When the detective is killed. At least, that's the last I could gather before I...well, before I woke up here. With my ribs still broken, and with this...."

He tugged his shirt down so that the scar in his chest could be seen - it was healed, Hope had done a lovely job of that, but...there was still the mark.

He seemed almost...proud of it.

[berceusedefou]

A grin played on Alfred's lips as he listened to Mary. Clearly, he'd stumbled upon another appreciator of the... Hobby. Granted, they seemed to be on opposite sides of the fence when it came to how they appreciated the subject, but it was still a unique find.

"Ah, Hitchcock. This... Mr. Yin has rather fine tastes, if I may." While Alfred didn't exactly care for movies (they were a frivolous distraction at best) he was capable of recognising talent. The few movies he'd had the time for he rather enjoyed, and while he wouldn't say he was a fan it was an admittedly enjoyable waste of time. "You speak rather highly of your experience with Mr. Yin," he commented, taking note of the words that had been used and that odd sigh. Seeing him show the scar cemented his suspicions.

"Do you think it an honour, dying by this man's hands?" The question, though blunt, had no undertone of accusation or even disgust. Just genuine curiosity.

[yesthatsmyname]

When Alfred described Mr. Yin as having good taste, the faintest echo of his grin was reflected on Mary's lips, diminished to a faint smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

It disappeared, however, when the question was asked. It was similar to so many he had been asked before. 'What is this sick admiration you have for this bastard?' 'Why do you look like you're having fun, Lightly?' 'Are you enjoying this? Someone is going to DIE!' But everyone who had asked these questions had received objective answers...and so would Alfred.

His eyes dropped for a moment, collecting his thoughts, then rose to meet Alfred's gaze once more, blazing with...a strange sort of passion in his eyes.

"...In a way, I do. He was...he was the best. And he chose me. Challenged me. He...." Mary was a little breathless talking about this, his enthusiasm readily apparent for once. He swallowed hard, flattening his hands on the tabletop.

"...He recognized me."

he's interested in you, Mary. *RUN*

[berceusedefou]

Alfred's heart almost skipped a beat as he listened to Mary describe his Mr. Yin. There was a flutter of jealousy somewhere deep inside, and while he would never admit to it there was some desire to be so well admired by his own victims. Of course, the men and women he'd slain were simple fools, unable to recognise greatness even as they experienced it. But Mary...

At the very least, Alfred felt some sick cat-and-mouse connection with the man sitting across from him. A new found respect for the way the other side experienced things. And so, the noble almost relaxed, leaning back in his chair and offering an eerily sincere smile.

"Your skills must be impeccable if even half the praise you offer him is true," His voice was low, calm, oddly conversational. Then he laughed softly, an unnatural sound, and added, "Pardon me, Mary. I've been interrogating you and haven't given you a chance to ask me a single thing. I assure you, I'm not usually this... Rude."

Mary doesn't run from that sort of thing. XD

[yesthatsmyname]

The attention didn't bother Mary, not at all - though the sincerity of the smile caught him a little off-guard. He was so used to being humored...it was a little alien to him to have someone genuinely interested in his opinions.

"Not at all," he dismissed with a little wave of his hand. "I have nothing to hide. I'm the newcomer here...." That having been said, he pulled from his pocket a little notepad and a pen. "...But...you said...you died, too? Twice? How did that happen?"

He wasn't really one to sheepishly approach a bleak topic.

well. Prepare for creepering then B(

[berceusedefou]

The notepad made Alfred the slightest bit uneasy; He didn't like the thought of being judged, of having things written about him to be used as a somewhat permanent marker of who he was. That was one of the many things he loathed in life; He'd had people killed for talking about him behind his back. Back then, he had cameras and microphones all over the place, watching and listening to everything. Now? All he had was his own paranoia. While it was enough to go off of in his mind it wouldn't look too good here.

The question snapped him out of his focus on the notepad. It was a fairly dire topic, but Alfred had no reservations when it came to answering. Well, except for the notepad, but... No. It was nothing. "The first time was in..." He paused, trying to find a gentler way to phrase it. Finding none, he carried on, "My own 'world.' A woman, Claire Redfield, and a male friend of hers had stormed an installation I'd owned and, pinning me against a chasm, shot me." It was far from the whole story, but it was certainly more endearing than the full tale. "I survived long enough to know how dreadful a seemingly endless fall feels on ones bones. It shatters quite a bit." He sighed wearily, rubbing his right shoulder aimlessly as he recanted the story.

"I crawled to my sister and bled out in her arms. I awoke somewhere completely different. Not here, a place before this. It was called World's End. Dreadful place; Rather like here if an apocalypse hit. There was a tower, and Gods, and a variety of different people from a variety of different places. No food, no clean water. As I said, dreadful." He paused for a breath, shaking his head. "That's where I died the second time."

"Death there wasn't permanent, however. It's hard to tell whether that's a good or bad thing, though. Either way, after what I believe was a mere three days, I awoke and found myself little worse for wear, save a scar across my chest and forehead." The hand that was rubbing his shoulder moved, first to graze over his heart and then to glance along his head as if he were brushing away a headache. "My death was for some ritual or another. The murderer took my heart and carved numbers into my forehead. Not pleasant, that."

[yesthatsmyname]

As Alfred spoke, Mary jotted down notes, listening with rapt attention to his story. Another world? TWO other worlds? He didn't quite grasp that this could be another world just yet - in fact, a faint twitch could be seen in his face at the suggestion - but for now, he didn't think too hard about it, hand scribbling across the paper. His eyes flicked between his notes and Alfred...and when he had finished speaking, he nodded, spinning the pen around on his hand. One of many useless skills.

"...And...was that when you woke up here? Or did that happen later?"

[berceusedefou]

Anxious eyes danced between the furious pen and the face of his host. The notes being recorded made him more nervous about the whole thing, more intensely uncomfortable with the situation. It was something someone in power should do. That was it, wasn't it? Mary's note taking implied that he had some power over Alfred and it made him intensely uneasy, even despite knowing it wasn't true.

Focus.

Taking a deep breath, Alfred shook his head. "I came here later. I remained in World's End for quite some time. It's hard to quantify how long, exactly; The days and weeks blurred together miserably, but... It had to have been more than a year. Perhaps two?" He sighed, remembering how dreary it was there. Miserable. Absolutely miserable. "I'm sure it's quite a difficult concept to take in, especially after having just arrived."

[yesthatsmyname]

And Mary caught the anxiety - making a note of it as well. He knew, sometimes, he had the tendency to put people on edge...but rarely, if ever, did he do anything about it.

When Alfred mentioned how strange this must be for him, he blinked in what might have been mild confusion...and he tilted his head a bit.

"...Hard to take in? Why would you say that?"

His voice was...too calm. It didn't match how tightly he was gripping his pen.

[berceusedefou]

And still the man wrote. Well. If he would not stop then Alfred would simply make him stop. No. He would realise it couldn't be about him. Not anything bad. He wasn't doing anything wrong. In fact, he was being better than usual! And despite everyone's whining to the otherwise, he was perfectly fine even then. He was, after all, a gentleman! Besides, when one considered what the subject matter was...

Surely Mary was just... Taking notes on that. It was only logical, and Alfred was silently chiding himself for being so... Foolish and paranoid.

"Perhaps not you," he began, quite a bit calmer (but hardly more relaxed), "but most people are struck with denial, anger, fear--" he paused, cracking a grin and even giggling that tiny unnatural titter. "They react similarly to the common stages of grief: The Kübler-Ross model?" The connection amused Alfred and he held a smirk as he continued, "I digress; Most people react in an immediately unsavoury way to such circumstances. The thought of a world other than their own, let alone being brought to it, is a sensory overload for them." It was for him, though he certainly wouldn't admit to it now.

"Experiencing that and then immediately being told that it's far more common than just one freak occurrence is enough to put most on-edge. Add the weight of dying, as well as being told it can last at least two years, and there are multiple worlds wherein this happens? Well," He trailed off, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders, "Most people would find it a bitter pill to swallow after only just being inoculated to this wider world."

[yesthatsmyname]

All of it made...sense, what he was saying. And admittedly, it was...interesting, having someone talk psychology with him so objectively. Mary felt something in his stomach clench, and he let out a weird, small, shaky breath, turning his eyes down towards the paper. Idly, he turned the page, starting a fresh one - and instead of writing, he started scribbing rhythmically...drawing something.

"I don't discount anything. You never know what is possible before you see it for yourself...only what is probable." His voice was even more monotone than it had been - something was...off about him, if only faintly.

He drew a circle, starting to divide it with a curvy line.