Martin Darkov - 8th generation (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theguideless) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-04-11 09:38 pm
theguideless) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-04-11 09:38 pm
air mail [OPEN]
Date & Time: 4/11, sporadic times in the afternoon
Location: across the street from the apartment bldg
Characters: Martin, all of you
Summary: it's not actually air mail it's more like fail mail
Warnings: you tell me
Martin's letters were not the sort to be sent – not conventionally, not intentionally – but the wind seemed inclined to give it a try, peeling pages out of his careless fingers as he carried them up the outdoor stairs to the floor he stayed on.
"Woh– wait, no!"
Five, six pages? He nearly forgot, his hand flexing and finding nothing crinkling against it as he raced down the steps, eyes on the sky and the kidnapped pages. He nearly tripped over his own ankle, rounding the last flight and hopping off the final three steps, landing with a heavy whuff! on the ground. With no time to spare before the pages would flutter out of sight, he hurried across the street, shuffling here and there in wait for those that had hit the wall and begun a staggering descent. He hopped a few times before – "Ha–!" – catching one in a hasty, flailing grab, doubling his efforts for another.
There's two safe, but...
He looked about, ears straining for the sound of the paper. They weren't in the air, so...where?
So Martin took to looking, scouring the length of the building opposite his home, peering around the corner and grimacing at the mess of trash and...well, papers waiting for him. Oh, no... He only gave a few messy pieces a ginger pick-through before backing away, chewing on his lip.
It wasn't long before he'd taken a seat near that corner, back against the wall and knees drawn up to make a lap for him to smooth out the pages he'd managed to catch. Some of the graphite had smudged with the effort (and his sweaty palms), leaving letters smeared and strange.
He let out a sigh, feeling some of the adrenaline shake off. These aren't in order...
He'd take up the search again, then – more than once before retreating back to the wall to think about it...and zone out a bit, getting lost in thoughts that led to nowhere and other places much farther out of reach than they had been before. It was hardly a productive use of an afternoon, but Martin had very few obligations to tend to. And in any case, those pages were a kind of obligation in his mind.
Was it three missing? Or four...?
Location: across the street from the apartment bldg
Characters: Martin, all of you
Summary: it's not actually air mail it's more like fail mail
Warnings: you tell me
Martin's letters were not the sort to be sent – not conventionally, not intentionally – but the wind seemed inclined to give it a try, peeling pages out of his careless fingers as he carried them up the outdoor stairs to the floor he stayed on.
"Woh– wait, no!"
Five, six pages? He nearly forgot, his hand flexing and finding nothing crinkling against it as he raced down the steps, eyes on the sky and the kidnapped pages. He nearly tripped over his own ankle, rounding the last flight and hopping off the final three steps, landing with a heavy whuff! on the ground. With no time to spare before the pages would flutter out of sight, he hurried across the street, shuffling here and there in wait for those that had hit the wall and begun a staggering descent. He hopped a few times before – "Ha–!" – catching one in a hasty, flailing grab, doubling his efforts for another.
There's two safe, but...
He looked about, ears straining for the sound of the paper. They weren't in the air, so...where?
So Martin took to looking, scouring the length of the building opposite his home, peering around the corner and grimacing at the mess of trash and...well, papers waiting for him. Oh, no... He only gave a few messy pieces a ginger pick-through before backing away, chewing on his lip.
It wasn't long before he'd taken a seat near that corner, back against the wall and knees drawn up to make a lap for him to smooth out the pages he'd managed to catch. Some of the graphite had smudged with the effort (and his sweaty palms), leaving letters smeared and strange.
He let out a sigh, feeling some of the adrenaline shake off. These aren't in order...
He'd take up the search again, then – more than once before retreating back to the wall to think about it...and zone out a bit, getting lost in thoughts that led to nowhere and other places much farther out of reach than they had been before. It was hardly a productive use of an afternoon, but Martin had very few obligations to tend to. And in any case, those pages were a kind of obligation in his mind.
Was it three missing? Or four...?
no subject
"Really?" he echoed his own thoughts. "I had no idea...I mean, I've never met anyone who was blind before."
Truly, he only knew the stories. Darkovs conjuring to the point of permanent injury: blindness, muteness, madness... Yet this girl – Toph? – she seemed perfectly fine despite! It was rather amazing.
no subject
"So, what kinda letter were you writing?" Too personal of a question? If it is, she'll let him say so. "Why not just rewrite the pages you lost?"
no subject
Martin stared and stared. How could he have been able to tell, had she not said so? Her eyes? They were pretty cloudy, actually, now that he really considered them...
Ah– At the question, he straightened up again, having begun to lean forward a bit to inspect. What? The letter? Martin gave the pages he had a glance.
"Oh, but...It's special, for just one person. It'd feel wrong to just let those thoughts disappear without trying to find them..."
no subject
Maybe Toph can't really appreciate what he means - she has to remember everything pretty much instantly. Names, voices, addresses, numbers. She can only recall writing a letter one time, and somebody had to do it for her as she dictated it.
no subject
Martin leaned back on his heels, feeling a shade more self-conscious. "I, I think I can get most of it down again, but...maybe not the way it was. And anyway, I'd feel strange if someone found it and read it, not knowing what it was about or who it was for..."
no subject
"....ohhhh," she said, grinning. "I see. It's one of THOSE kinds of letters, is it?"
If only she could read, because now she totally wants to know if that's true and she would toooootally steal the rest of the papers from him and run off to read it out loud. But alas, she can't. count yourself lucky, Marty
no subject
Martin blinked, stared, and blinked again not long after. He certainly didn't know what she was getting at, except that a strange twinge of embarrassment began to creep across his skin, if only because the way in which she said it seemed to call for it.
"Uh, I'm...not really sure I know what you mean," he uttered slowly, still trying to puzzle it out.
no subject
Not that Toph knows a thing about anything of that, but she can't imagine what other kind of letter would fit this situation, so that must be it. Of course.
no subject
"Wu-wait, uh," he stammered, feeling flustered and confused. "I, I do love my sister, but the way you're saying it..."
no subject
Although, now that she thinks about it, it does make her wonder a little. "Is you sister here, too? The Initiative doesn't send letters or whatever back to our worlds, does it?"
no subject
He looked down at the pages rustling against his grip as he fidgeted.
"At least, I was never told that was possible..."
no subject
Her tone signals that she thinks that's really weird, but instead of glaring at him and really demanding an explanation, she lowers herself to the floor and leans back against one of the corner's walls.
no subject
It sounded strange when she said it, but he'd hardly thought it strange at all. Martin frowned, scratching at his arm as he thought about it.
"Well, I..." Ah, the thought came back clearer suddenly. "I don't think I'll ever see her again. At least this way, I've said something, somehow..."
That was it, wasn't it? A way to feel connected. It's what Madoka did, too. Both of them finding some simple way to feel a part of the world they weren't anymore.
no subject
Ponder ponder. Asking more about the letter feels a little nosy in this situation. Can't she help somehow?
"I'll tell you what," she starts, standing up again from the dirt. "I'll point you to every last scrap of paper on the ground around here. And we'll check every one to see if it's a page you're missing. How does that sound?"
no subject
He must've missed something in her explanation. That had to have been it.
no subject
To emphasize, she pulls her eyelids down, making a silly face. Come on, dude, relax!
"So you want help or not?"
no subject
"Ouh..." He half-squinted. "I mean, if you would like to, I suppose that's..."
no subject
"Let's see...." Maybe this is harder than she thought. From what she can tell, there are dozens and dozens of scraps of paper in the vicinity. Well, might as well, just pick one and start. She leads him over to the nearest paper-like object and releases his hand so she can pick it up and hand it to him.
"Is this one?"
no subject
Martin stared for a length, still waiting for his thoughts to catch up with all the rest of him having been pulled along. He was surprised, and certainly didn't understand how she was able to make such a bee-line right for the nearest piece of paper. With his free hand, he plucked it and squinted, already seeing color and ink that was certainly not a sign of his own.
"N-no, this isn't mine. I don't think any of these over here are...I looked before, but..."