[closed] the wretches have gone awry, I saw them walk on by

[trephaestos]

Who: iamgettinghot and trephaestos (w. lumenrelegandus cameo)
When: After this
Where: The Clinic ['s newly established enclosed courtyard]
Format: Starting with prose, Aya's choice how it continues!
What: The blind leading the blind. A newbie wants to figure out what's going on from another newbie, rather than anyone who's actually been here for more than a week (to have been

Comments

[iamgettinghot]

She'd managed to locate the clinic, thanks largely in part to Ms. Hawkeye's careful and precise directions. Anatole wasn't quite the concrete jungle of New York City, but it was unfamiliar which made it difficult to navigate without some sort of way to get her bearings

[trephaestos]

He'd been sitting with eyes closed, head tilted back, to catch on his face any rays of sunlight that pierced the Mist. He cocked his head toward her when she spoke, without opening his eyes.

"I can't feel it," he muttered, to her or to himself. "No difference. If A is true then a colder sun or more atmospheric interference. If B is true, support of omissions or inconsistencies, in this case sensory disconnect..."

His eyes opened. They focused on her. Surprise or relief or... only registered as an uptwitched eyebrow. Eyes flickered to confirm first impression. Expression didn't change as he said, "Evidence for B."

[iamgettinghot]

His words confused her, but it didn't come as a surprise. There wasn't much about this place that didn't confuse her in some way, and after the week she'd had prior to walking through Carnegie Hall's bathroom and into some other world, she doubted the confusion would end there.

She crouched down near his chair to put herself at the same level with him so that he didn't have to look up to see her. Then again, it also alleviated some of the strain from walking around in platform stilettos.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

[trephaestos]

A slight eyebrow lift was the only change in his expression to register (surprise? gratitude? humiliation? anger? movedness?) when she knelt beside him. His eyes didn't quite focus on her. They flitted to small details-her hand, her shoulder, a strand of hair-or clear past her, like a cat perceiving other dimensions and invisible wisps.

With a sharp inhalation through his nose, he fixed his eyes on hers and answered with uncalm composure, "Yes, but I can't yet narrow down what."

He straightened a bit in his chair, obviously hating being in it, dragging his composure by its tail. "Detective Brea, if you've only just arrived, I apologize for being the worst welcoming committee it is possible for anyone anywhere to have, but may I see some kind of identification...?"