( closed ) fade out to black

[misterlawson]

Date & Time: December 30th, 3313
Location: ~5 miles out from the Transport Pad, Pub Stables
Characters: Richard Lawson & Stanley Lucerne
Summary: Richard hits the limit for what distance he can roam; Stanley is the unfortunate who witnesses his fade to black.
Warnings: Character death/disappearance.

The yak in the stall next to him chewed cud with a rhythm almost lulling to Richard's senses. His canteen of alcohol, hard earned in menial labor that he was only good at for being able to haul things from point A to point B, rested under the outer furs of his ragged, second-hand coat. There wasn't much left in it anymore. He fumbled it out, hands shaking, pausing halfway through the motion.

Richard couldn't remember what he was doing, or why. Concentration was getting progressively more difficult. The edges of his vision turned dark, as if he were about to faint, but it never follows through. Only his heart sped along, skipping beats here and there.

"I'm Richard Lawson," he said out loud, hand tightening around his canteen. "I'm from the United Earth. I was born... I was... I was born to..."

He couldn't remember. Worse than it had been back when he'd been going through detox, where time lost definition, and memory and illusion merged into some unholy amalgamation of true and not true. Worse than then.

He didn't know when he'd started crying, but as he tried to pull himself to his feet in the straw filled stall, he knew that he was. Snot was leaving a cold trail down his lip. He rubs the back of his gloved hand under his nose.

"Transports, transport...ation, transported through time, time, time... Out of time. Running out of time?" He asked the question looking at the yak, which didn't even have the courtesy to look back his way. No, Richard thought, even the damn Yak had better things to do than pretend to care about his life, or the lives of anyone other than the Yak.

"You're an ass," he stated, knees threatening to give out again. With a huff of air, he started falling again, catching himself on the stall divider. "A furry... fat... ass!"

Comments

[lazyinlove]

"I think it's a buffalo." Responded a human voice. A young man, tallish and slender and shivering, in a ridiculous sweater with lights sewn into it.

His tone is soft, uncertain. Clearly the man rambling to himself in the barn stall isn't too well. He's seen his father do this before when he's too drunk, so Stan approaches with caution. The tears on the man aren't a surprise, but they do make him frown a little.

He doesn't know this man. He's not usually in this barn, but the darkness came more quickly than he'd expected when he was sent out with a message that morning. The problem had been the tip, maybe. That had brought him to the pub, and the questionable stew. But it was hot, and thick, and lumpy. Lumpy was good for feeling full and warm in this shitty weather. So he'd bought the stew, and then he'd help get a fish hook out of someone's hand, and then there had been spirits.

He was warm and pleasantly tipsy, but not out of it by the time the barmaid had snuck him back to the stables to sleep it off, and thus he'd come to be where he was now. Observing an unfamiliar man falling apart a little. But not a stranger. Stan might not know who this guy was, (Richard Lawson?) but the guy knew about him. About all of them. Which reminded him of something else. It felt like a blow to the stomach to think about that, though, so he shoved it aside. Now, just to figure out what to do with this guy.

"Take it easy, Dick. You want some water?"