actual shoujo hobo allen walker. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
debtor) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-12-07 05:36 pm
debtor) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-12-07 05:36 pm
(all open)
Date & Time: Around December 9th (forward-dated)
Location: around town, Earthside
Characters: Allen Walker (debtor) and YOU
Summary: Allen returns from his canon update and avoids all his friends like a dumbass.
Warnings: terrible hair and eau de hobo
[It's not the Moon, at least.
He remembers it vividly enough now. Had forgotten it for a year, he'd forgotten all of it — a massive, terrible gap in his memory he hadn't realized was missing until it'd all come rushing back the moment he'd returned. It'd left his head spinning for a day, but by now he thinks he's got a firm enough grasp of it. No, this isn't the Moon, but it isn't the Exsilium he knows, either.
It'd all turned to snow, Kaneis had told him...
He hasn't sought out Kaneis. He hasn't sought out any of them. Not his friends, not his comrades. He can't.
He's been gone a long time, he's sure, and if any of them are still here, they've gotten on fine without him
(better off without him.)
He can't let himself want to. They're probably not even still here.
This is how it should be.]
[But if you know him, the boy is more or less in the same state he was in a few days ago. A fraction of an inch taller, just barely thinner about the face, changes so insignificant they'd be too difficult to really pin-point; save for his hair, which is unmistakably longer and tied back in a ponytail, presently. He dons a battered old coat clearly not intended for subzero temperatures, and carries with him everywhere a worn brown suitcase (stuffed to the brim mainly with clown props. Don't ask.) He's spent his energy seeking supplies, since arriving. If there's one thing he refuses to do, it's succumb to starvation or frostbite here and now, of all times. Once he's set, he can figure out what to do next.
And he really doesn't know.
Can he still fight this war? How can he help in this world, when he's like this? He thought he was following his own path, really his own, finally, only to be thrown off it entirely. Again.
He does what he can do, what he thinks best. He stays the course. He moves through this place as he did his own world - alone. He's not an Exorcist, he's not a soldier or Transport to anyone he meets, he's wearing the mask of a nameless drifter; he tells the locals he's nothing but a traveling entertainer, just passing through town, when they inquire. It's only half a lie. He brushes off the mistrustful glances he receives, smiles genially at every unfamiliar and unfriendly face, never stays in one place long, covers his tracks and fades into the background just as he'd learned from Cross. (Easier to do when everything's so dang white.) It's second nature now. And he does well at it
except he's neglected to actually disguise himself, and you may just be able to spot him around the town.
Throughout the day he can be found within and without various shops and businesses, bartering for food or winter clothing or a room in an inn. Inflatable balls and moth-bitten shirts can only fetch you so much in this market, though, he's finding, but he haggles as hard as he can.
At one point, he wanders out into the snow, shaking in the chill despite himself, squinting into the stark landscape, but finds himself unwilling to step out too far into it like this, lest he lose himself in some featureless snowdrift and die a terribly undignified death. Possibly at the hands of a polar bear. Like that one maybe, right over there, which is getting alarmingly close...
...And in the evening, he finds shelter back in the tunnels, curled up in some dark, uninhabited corner where he can catch a few hours of undisturbed sleep, perhaps. Somehow, he manages.
He's totally got the hang of this, he's doing great on his own, don't worry.]
Location: around town, Earthside
Characters: Allen Walker (
debtor) and YOU Summary: Allen returns from his canon update and avoids all his friends like a dumbass.
Warnings: terrible hair and eau de hobo
[It's not the Moon, at least.
He remembers it vividly enough now. Had forgotten it for a year, he'd forgotten all of it — a massive, terrible gap in his memory he hadn't realized was missing until it'd all come rushing back the moment he'd returned. It'd left his head spinning for a day, but by now he thinks he's got a firm enough grasp of it. No, this isn't the Moon, but it isn't the Exsilium he knows, either.
It'd all turned to snow, Kaneis had told him...
He hasn't sought out Kaneis. He hasn't sought out any of them. Not his friends, not his comrades. He can't.
He's been gone a long time, he's sure, and if any of them are still here, they've gotten on fine without him
(better off without him.)
He can't let himself want to. They're probably not even still here.
This is how it should be.]
[But if you know him, the boy is more or less in the same state he was in a few days ago. A fraction of an inch taller, just barely thinner about the face, changes so insignificant they'd be too difficult to really pin-point; save for his hair, which is unmistakably longer and tied back in a ponytail, presently. He dons a battered old coat clearly not intended for subzero temperatures, and carries with him everywhere a worn brown suitcase (stuffed to the brim mainly with clown props. Don't ask.) He's spent his energy seeking supplies, since arriving. If there's one thing he refuses to do, it's succumb to starvation or frostbite here and now, of all times. Once he's set, he can figure out what to do next.
And he really doesn't know.
Can he still fight this war? How can he help in this world, when he's like this? He thought he was following his own path, really his own, finally, only to be thrown off it entirely. Again.
He does what he can do, what he thinks best. He stays the course. He moves through this place as he did his own world - alone. He's not an Exorcist, he's not a soldier or Transport to anyone he meets, he's wearing the mask of a nameless drifter; he tells the locals he's nothing but a traveling entertainer, just passing through town, when they inquire. It's only half a lie. He brushes off the mistrustful glances he receives, smiles genially at every unfamiliar and unfriendly face, never stays in one place long, covers his tracks and fades into the background just as he'd learned from Cross. (Easier to do when everything's so dang white.) It's second nature now. And he does well at it
except he's neglected to actually disguise himself, and you may just be able to spot him around the town.
Throughout the day he can be found within and without various shops and businesses, bartering for food or winter clothing or a room in an inn. Inflatable balls and moth-bitten shirts can only fetch you so much in this market, though, he's finding, but he haggles as hard as he can.
At one point, he wanders out into the snow, shaking in the chill despite himself, squinting into the stark landscape, but finds himself unwilling to step out too far into it like this, lest he lose himself in some featureless snowdrift and die a terribly undignified death. Possibly at the hands of a polar bear. Like that one maybe, right over there, which is getting alarmingly close...
...And in the evening, he finds shelter back in the tunnels, curled up in some dark, uninhabited corner where he can catch a few hours of undisturbed sleep, perhaps. Somehow, he manages.
He's totally got the hang of this, he's doing great on his own, don't worry.]
no subject
Days.
no subject
Well. That's better than months. Years.
He glances away, rubbing the back of his neck.]
I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to disappear like that.
[Not initially, anyway.]
no subject
no subject
A very good question.]
The same as I've always done.
[He doesn't want to talk about himself.]
I apologize for... back then, as well. The last time we spoke. [ the fever, he remembers. could she still be mad at him for it? ] I hope you're feeling better.
no subject
Avoiding questions and apologizing for things no one cares about?
no subject
Well, I care about how you're feeling.
[ here, he'll unavoid one question, ] I don't know where Tim is right now, he flew off a little while ago. I suppose there was something he wanted to look for.
[He's pretty sure he knows what, now.]
no subject
she cants her head. ]
How long have you been back?
no subject
He shoves his hands in his pockets.] No more than a day.
no subject
no subject
[He wants to come up with a reasonable excuse for why, but he can't think of one she might buy. Why didn't he bother looking for her, for any of them?]
no subject
You're a right bastard. Nymeria, come.
no subject
Cat-...
no subject
[ she lifts her chin at him, eyes flashing. ]
You're a liar. You don't care at all. If you don't, then I don't need to either.
[ giving him her back, she walks away. ]
no subject
His hands are tight fists, nails digging into his palms. He thinks, perhaps, he should let her go. She has every right to be upset.
But he can't just leave it at that, and so he still answers.]
It's not because I don't care. I do. That won't ever change.
no subject
cat was a stupid braavosi girl with no real knowledge of the world outside her canals, and its people. arya is cold as winter, and she puts no stock in the sweet words of summer friends. ]
Words are wind. I don't care for yours.
[ she doesn't turn around again. ]