[Closed]
Who: Daisya Barry and Heine Rammsteiner
What: A chance meeting.
Where: Deserted street, housing district.
When: Nighttime. After this log.
Heine kept suspecting that he was supposed to feel relieved or happy. He didn't. He didn't feel anything but numb.
It wouldn't have been fair to say that he missed home. There wasn't anything to miss, after all. And here there was no Underground. He kept coming back to that fact, turning it over and over as though, if he could just find the right angle to see it from, it would feel like a weight lifted; it would feel like freedom. Whatever the hell that was.
Mostly, instead, it just felt like being lost. Not physically lost-he'd been in the city just long enough now to have some sense of his bearings on the streets. It was more like feeling that wherever he went, he didn't belong. And what was maybe worse-that just when he'd finally started to get used to that feeling at home, now he had a whole other edition of it here.
So he spent his time wandering around a lot, aimlessly, purposeless, not knowing what else to do. Which was what he was doing now. Just wandering.
His path had taken him from the center of the market district into its outskirts and then further on towards the residential parts of town where everything was quiet and still and by now most of the lights were dimmed or off completely. He passed few people on the streets, and when he did, he usually walked by them scarcely bothering even to take notice.
What: A chance meeting.
Where: Deserted street, housing district.
When: Nighttime. After this log.
Heine kept suspecting that he was supposed to feel relieved or happy. He didn't. He didn't feel anything but numb.
It wouldn't have been fair to say that he missed home. There wasn't anything to miss, after all. And here there was no Underground. He kept coming back to that fact, turning it over and over as though, if he could just find the right angle to see it from, it would feel like a weight lifted; it would feel like freedom. Whatever the hell that was.
Mostly, instead, it just felt like being lost. Not physically lost-he'd been in the city just long enough now to have some sense of his bearings on the streets. It was more like feeling that wherever he went, he didn't belong. And what was maybe worse-that just when he'd finally started to get used to that feeling at home, now he had a whole other edition of it here.
So he spent his time wandering around a lot, aimlessly, purposeless, not knowing what else to do. Which was what he was doing now. Just wandering.
His path had taken him from the center of the market district into its outskirts and then further on towards the residential parts of town where everything was quiet and still and by now most of the lights were dimmed or off completely. He passed few people on the streets, and when he did, he usually walked by them scarcely bothering even to take notice.