No colors anymore I want them to turn black
WHO: Crawford and Schuldig
WHAT: Waking up in Rivelata
WHERE: The beach, then an abandoned house near the market district
WHEN: Day 195
STATUS: Complete
When he opened his eyes, he noticed one thing instantly: not that he was dry, after falling in the ocean or that this was a tropical climate quite unlike that of Tokyo... not even that the ship that bobbed on the clear waters at the edge of his vision was centuries out of style, or that his glasses were, against all odds, still on his nose...
What Brad Crawford noticed, was that he was surprised.
He lay there for a minute, unmoving, ignoring the enquiring gazes of a few people dressed in rather anachronic attire, analyzing that most unfamiliar of emotions. It was definitely surprise. He had always been one of these men with the uncanny ability to stay perfectly groomed, avoiding rainstorms and wet asphalt and other small tedious realities of life with the same eerie calm as picking winning lottery numbers when he needed money.
And he knew, with perfect certainty, that, in all the infinite possibilities he had seen in 27 years of life... he had never foreseen this.
He always knew. He knew where and how someone would die, or when to pick up imported beer to placate Schuldig before he even started an argument.
Schuldig.
The name startled him out of his introspection. Schuldig had fallen into the sea with him... he hadn't foreseen his comrade's death but then he hadn't foreseen this either.
He sat up, a bit too quickly, and his hands went to his head. He closed his eyes, counting to ten...
There was no need to rush.
At most, losing Schuldig would be an... inconvenience.
A really damnable, earth-shattering, inconvenience.
WHAT: Waking up in Rivelata
WHERE: The beach, then an abandoned house near the market district
WHEN: Day 195
STATUS: Complete
When he opened his eyes, he noticed one thing instantly: not that he was dry, after falling in the ocean or that this was a tropical climate quite unlike that of Tokyo... not even that the ship that bobbed on the clear waters at the edge of his vision was centuries out of style, or that his glasses were, against all odds, still on his nose...
What Brad Crawford noticed, was that he was surprised.
He lay there for a minute, unmoving, ignoring the enquiring gazes of a few people dressed in rather anachronic attire, analyzing that most unfamiliar of emotions. It was definitely surprise. He had always been one of these men with the uncanny ability to stay perfectly groomed, avoiding rainstorms and wet asphalt and other small tedious realities of life with the same eerie calm as picking winning lottery numbers when he needed money.
And he knew, with perfect certainty, that, in all the infinite possibilities he had seen in 27 years of life... he had never foreseen this.
He always knew. He knew where and how someone would die, or when to pick up imported beer to placate Schuldig before he even started an argument.
Schuldig.
The name startled him out of his introspection. Schuldig had fallen into the sea with him... he hadn't foreseen his comrade's death but then he hadn't foreseen this either.
He sat up, a bit too quickly, and his hands went to his head. He closed his eyes, counting to ten...
There was no need to rush.
At most, losing Schuldig would be an... inconvenience.
A really damnable, earth-shattering, inconvenience.