[Open Log] November Arrivals & Greeters/Protection Force
Who: New November Arrivals, Greeters, & anyone else who happens to be hanging around the Tower Apartments to greet newcomers.
When: Month of November (Please Specify Date & Time in Thread Header)
Where: The Sector 4 Baseball Diamond, Parking Lot & Lobby of the Tower Apartments
Summary: This is your catch-all one stop log for arrival interactions! ( Read more... )
When: Month of November (Please Specify Date & Time in Thread Header)
Where: The Sector 4 Baseball Diamond, Parking Lot & Lobby of the Tower Apartments
Summary: This is your catch-all one stop log for arrival interactions! ( Read more... )
Wide green eyes scanned the baseball field, the dugouts, the signs. His mind did not process the words. Serrure shifted one knee under him, then rose, not bothering to brush off clinging dirt and grass from his hoody and baggy cargo shorts. This was not Paris. He knew that, something deep in him whispered it and he believed it.
Serrure always trusted his instincts, they had yet to lead him astray.
Now he did focus on the signs, for a split second, he couldn't read them, then his eyes blurred slightly and he could. There was something he ought to question in this, but he never did, not even when he read things that Luc gave him strange looks for. But Luc, where was he?
Or was...or was Serrure alone? He couldn't understand the black feel of despair that welled from deep, deep within himself. Alone. Unwanted. Despair. "No," Serrure said aloud. Firmly. To no one. Then again, "No." He would survive. He needed no one but himself. But first, he must know where he was and how had taken him.
The why was less important, it would come in time. Fingers twitched at his sides as he finally took the time to step to those signs and read them. Eyes narrowed as they ran over the words, corners of his mouth turning down.
"What a joke," He scoffs aloud. Then smiles, "A splendid one, though." He calls out louder now, "Hello, hello! I'm afraid you've the wrong person." When no answer, no body is forthcoming he slips hands into the front kangaroo pocket of his hoodie.
A frown creases his brow as fingertips slip over something smooth and light, but rather expensive under his practiced and knowing touch. He grasped and pulled it out, brows raising slowly. A furtive glance around reveals no one near, "A Stark Phone?" He flips the screen on and drops down the qwerty keypad. These things were expensive, why would someone casually slip one into his pocket and leave him here.
Where was here? Really?
Serrure noticed the girl then and blanched. Blood? Was that blood? Perhaps she was hur- and all good will and good intentions went out the window when he noticed the sword and the very large jewel attached to it. Well. Well, well. He could help the girl and pocket that disgustingly large rock for himself as a personal thanks from her to him.
Even if she did not realize the unintentional donation until later.
Swallowing, he approached her slowly, "Hey, hey girl? Miss? Are you okay?"
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“Who…” Dread invaded her immediately, taking a few steps backwards as soundlessly as possible, away from the signs into the outfield. She had spotted a dugout during her earlier scouting; maybe if she could reach it, she wouldn’t be seen by the boy. A boy that wasn’t there before. Like I did. Upon closer examination, he looked a few years younger and he was definitely not Japanese and from nowhere from Asia. He looks lost, she suddenly realized as she stopped her retreat, Maybe… Her line of thought had been cut when his green eyes spotted her. He looked scared and she recalled how she must look right now. Of course the blood. She wanted to shrink away from his stare, she didn’t want anyone to see her like this. Shaking like a leaf, she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the inevitable scream.
Huh? What did he ask? Once her nerves stilled, she mustered to open her eyes to stare at him in silence. He wasn’t screaming or panicking. He was worried about her well-being. The reaction was comforting that left her almost speechless.
“W…What?”
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"Maybe you didn't notice, but you seem to be covered in blood," Stuffing his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, he pursed his mouth and stepped closer to her, trying to circle her. "Are you hurt? Or perhaps that is someone else's blood. That's an awfully big sword. Hey, are you some kind of samurai or knight?" Then grinned at her, "No, you look more like a princess, far too pretty to do something gruesome."
Or so he hoped.
There were street kids he knew that would fashion- and could fashion- weapons out of anything. A toothbrush, a piece of metal with fabric and tape around one end, literally anything. Serrure himself never felt a need to carry a physical weapon when he had his tongue and words. That and a charming smile typically got him out of anything.
And when that failed, well, something usually happened to provide a means of egress from whatever situation he found himself in.
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“I, um…” She had started to answer, but she could not continue. What could tell this boy? About the monsters and the mountain and the people who tried to get her executed? And, most importantly, how could he speak fluent Japanese? It was so weird. But her appearance was weird too. She looked Asian, but she had a bronze complexion, emerald eyes and a bright red hair that looked as if her head was engulfed by flames.
She looked down, staring at her feet while tears spilled down her cheeks. She shook her head to deny any of that. She wasn’t any of that! I’m just a girl. “I’m just a high school student,” Youko managed to answer before she broke down in sobs. She was overwhelmed by the hope of someone who wouldn’t harm her.
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And then she started crying.
For a very, very long moment, all he could do was stare. Because oh god, this girl in a ripped up, bloody outfit was crying her eyes out and what was he going to do? Tell her everything would be all right? He could like, but there was something about her sobs, the way she looked down at the ground, the tracks of crystalline tears trailing her cheeks. . . Serrure ground his teeth for a long minute, resisted the urge to sigh, and looked heavenward for a moment before stepping to her and putting his hands on her shoulders.
"I don't know what's going on, or what happened to you," Serrure said as gently and honestly as possible, "But you're not alone, okay? We can figure this out together. Just- uhm- let's find you something not covered in blood to wear and, are you hungry? Clothes, food, then we figure out what's going on here. Okay? Okay."
Of course, it never occurred to him that she might not be French. He wasn't paying enough seriousness to the signs to think they were truly somewhere aside France.
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How she longed to draw a hot bath to scrub the foul-smelling blood from her. She wanted to throw herself into homework and housechores to forget the experience ever happened. She nodded, in agreement, but wasn’t able to answer. The words died when she heard the first siren.
“Huh?”
The sky was darkening around them, with the sun sinking away the buildings and the electric posts. There was something important she had to remember about the sirens… She had briefly skimmed the information. There were three sirens before it got dark.
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A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth, unlike Youko, he had not bothered to read the information. He only skimmed, really, trying to determine what the devil had brought him here and hadn't paid attention to anything he considered extraneous. There was a lot he had considered extraneous.
"Sounds like air raid sirens from a war movie," Serrure murmured, tapping a finger to the side of his jaw. Squinting into the fading light of the sky, he shrugged, "No planes. Guess we're safe. Anyway, I'm Serrure. Now let's see where we can procure you some clothes. Hope you don't mind my methods, but unless you've got a was of Francs or some plastic in those ripped up clothes- and I'm guessing no- then... well, consider it survival." He was almost too cheerful in his allusions to stealing.
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She glanced at him, trying to follow what he was trying to imply. If this was another day, the insinuation of theft would be met by immediate protest and alarm. But, his words had made her logically contemplate her problems; she could not walk on the streets like this. It dawned on her pretty quickly. People would assume she murdered someone. She would get in trouble by a misunderstanding. She also didn’t even know what kind of currency this place used, plus Youko didn't have any cash on her to buy clothes. She still didn’t have the nerve to steal, but he could… For me?
“I…” Those nicknames remind Youko of her haircolor and made her squirm by drawing unwanted attention, but she had no time for that. The word he used, survival struck her. He was right. She had to live. “Mr. Serrure,” she pronounced tentatively while she pulled herself back to her feet. “I’m Nakajima Youko,” she continued, introducing herself after the sirens had dried her tears away. “Pleased to meet you.” She bowed deeply in gratitude.
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Serrure licked his mouth then clasped his hands behind his back, that was kind of awkward and he hoped she wouldn't start crying again, "Anyway, I'll call you Naka. Unless you prefer Jima? It's just too long otherwise. And there's no 'mister,' I'm just Serrure, at your service," And gave her an oddly graceful bow.
"Consider me the Artful Dodger to your Oliver Twist, hm? Or perhaps not, if the Artful Dodger got arrested at the end. I never finished that book." With a shrug he turned slightly, glancing around, "We ought to get going before the shops close. We'll stick to the alleys and shadows until you're dressed in something proper."
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“T…That’s not it!” she exclaimed, raising her voice for the first time. She was pretty adamant to clear up this misunderstanding. She was still bewildered at his speculation. “I’m Japanese. My two parents are Japanese,” she assured him. Then she lowered her gaze, about to start to cry again. She held her tears as she continued her explanation: “My appearance is… I don’t know how it happened! But it changed! I don’t look like this at all.”
She couldn’t recognize herself in the mirror. How could her parents acknowledge her as their daughter?
“Huh.” She blinked at the reference. “I…” Naka. Jima? She let him go on with the Oliver Twists comparisons because she didn’t want to upset him. He seemed attached to the metaphors, although she disagreed with them. “Please, call me Youko if my family name is too long.”
Alley and shadows sure didn’t sound her idea of a life, but those sounded better than the woods and mountains she had been wandering on.
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Then thought about that for a second, "If you're Japanese- ah don't get me wrong, your red hair is lovely- how are you fluent in French?" Because he was most certainly not speaking Japanese. The only Japanese words he knew were 'Godzilla' and 'sake.'
"Oh- don't start crying again, okay? I'm sure it's psychologically healthy to show your emotions or whatever, but I'm ahhh not equipped to handle it, okay? So, one step at a time. Youko. Right? Youko?"
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Did he just say… French?
“Huh? But you’re speaking…”
The second siren interrupted the question she had braved to ask him and, of a sudden, a cold wave of panic bathed her. Why? Why she was so scared? She gritted her sword closer to her chest.
“Maybe… Maybe we should seek a shelter…” He had suggested living on alleys and shadows a moment ago, why was she contradicting his idea? “I…If you like.”
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"Yes. Shelter. Good idea. Shelter, then getting things sorted," He gestured to the dugout, "You think over there? Don't worry about locks, I'm..very good with them."
And tried very hard to not concentrate on the fact that she basically just told him she was not speaking French at all. He was very good at ignoring things when he had to, survival and all.
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Youma that chased after her in every world.
What happens if I can’t escape this time?
“We have to run,” she said as the sirens still rang in the air. She wasn’t sure why, but her heart was pounding fast in her chest. If she was petrified one moment, she was rushing to reach the dugout door the next. God. Oh God.
Open. She could open the door easily. It’s open.
“We’re safe.”
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Oh he dearly hoped not.
Once inside the dugout, he squinted at her, "Hey, hey, what's wrong? Come on, talk to me?" And just for safe measures, he dug around in one of the pockets of his cargo shorts and pulled out a flashlight, flicking it on to illuminate their surroundings.
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They had kept her alive.
“Aah, I…” She stood by the door until the last alarm began to ring. Something was happening outside, as if the world was winding down in a foul layer of shadows that devoured the light of the sky. This wasn’t a normal nightfall. Not at all. Youko didn’t think twice to close the door before whatever that was reached them.
“D…Did you see that?” she asked, still shaking. Please, tell me I’m not crazy.
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