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Entry tags:
for Daine
Settling into the swing of things hasn't been half as bad as Martin had expected. Acclimation was inevitable (even if it still feels a little wrong), and having a clear task helps. John needs to stay fed, so to speak, and Martin knows what may happen if they don't see to that, so seeking out Statements has been more or less a full time job. They're beginning to develop a routine, striking a fragile balance between working together and keeping a distance. Circumstances have forced that distance to be more figurative than it was at home, which... well, Martin can't say he enjoys it; the only thing that made being cut off from John remotely bearable before was not having to see him every day, but... he's managing. And they have started to get a bit more separation now, keeping contact more to texts, which... it's better that way, and.... Well, he's managing. And while the Lonely is still very much a constant presence at the back of his mind and in his dreams, it hasn't gone after him as viciously as before, and there've been no further nightmares - at least nothing that seems to warrant John's appearance. So. Things could almost be said to be going well.
Statement collection is, however, difficult. There's no shortage of unusual people with stories in Darrow, but convincing them to share takes a good deal more care and finesse than he's ever needed before. And more often than not, the ones he gets are messy and uneven, which Martin gathers doesn't make them particularly useful. They don't have the infrastructure of the Institute or the full power of the Eye to make it all... work. John seems to be managing, albeit barely. Martin hasn't seen him for a few days now, but last he checked, he was functional, but... tired. More so than usual. Like he's holding, not getting better.
Martin just wishes there was more he could do. It would be better if he could give Statements of his own, seeing as he knows how it all works, could do it right. Of course, something would actually have to happen to him for that.
Strange city, strange people, surely there are options, if he knew where to look.
This isn't the first time he's caught himself thinking about essentially going out and looking for trouble. That's really more John's purview than his, and irony that he's even considering it after how badly he wanted John to just stop doing that is... well. It's just a thought. He has no intentions of acting on it. Not yet.
So, this morning as usual, Martin heads out with no particular object in mind. Maybe he'll poke around some of the areas John has mentioned as possible sites of interest, information gleaned from whatever scraps of Just Knowing he can get. Martin's been making a list on his phone. It's better than nothing. There has to be someone out there willing to talk. If they can just get a steady trickle coming in, that should be enough to keep John upright until they figure out how to get home.
And if they run out before then? Trapped in a city with limited resources, cut off from the powers that sustain them? What then?
He shakes his head as if he might physically dislodge the thought. Standing on the curb outside Candlewood, he looks around like he's waiting for inspiration to strike, some indication of where to go first. Movement catches his eye from above, and he looks to see a crow swooping up toward the building. He turns to track it, for a moment worried it's about to slam into a window, when it just... flies in. There's an open window on the fifth floor, and that crow just... went inside.
Martin stares, a little mystified, wondering if he's about to hear some commotion of the tenant discovering a bird in their flat, or if he'll see the crow re-emerge. But there's nothing of the kind. And as he watches, to his great surprise, another bird swoops in and enters the same flat. A pigeon this time.
He stares, bewildered. He had noticed a lot of birds around the building before, and assumed they'd made nests somewhere. But this.... As he stands there watching intently, another pigeon settles onto the sill, looking inside as if in consideration before hopping in. What really gives him a jolt, however, is the raccoon. It scurries up from around the corner and begins scaling the wall, that way he's occasionally seen raccoons do in internet videos. All the way up, with clear intent, until it hefts itself over the sill and squeezes in the open window.
That's it. There's something very odd up there. He counts the windows from his own until he can determine which unit it'll be, and heads back inside.
As he makes his way up to the fifth floor, he considers the very unpleasant possibility that he's going to find someone dead in there, being picked over by various desperate creatures. If it was just crows, that'd be more of a concern, but that raccoon... instinct tells him there's something else afoot. And maybe, if he has any luck, it'll be Statement-worthy.
He reaches the flat in question, #5A, and hesitates at the door, listening. He can hear a lot of noise inside, actually, not cacophonous, not even constant, but just... busy. Animals. A lot of them, from what he can tell, just making the sorts of ordinary sounds animals make. And amidst that, a human voice. He can't make out any words, but it sounds like a young woman.
Drawing a breath, somewhere between nervousness and excitement, he raise his hand and knocks.
Statement collection is, however, difficult. There's no shortage of unusual people with stories in Darrow, but convincing them to share takes a good deal more care and finesse than he's ever needed before. And more often than not, the ones he gets are messy and uneven, which Martin gathers doesn't make them particularly useful. They don't have the infrastructure of the Institute or the full power of the Eye to make it all... work. John seems to be managing, albeit barely. Martin hasn't seen him for a few days now, but last he checked, he was functional, but... tired. More so than usual. Like he's holding, not getting better.
Martin just wishes there was more he could do. It would be better if he could give Statements of his own, seeing as he knows how it all works, could do it right. Of course, something would actually have to happen to him for that.
Strange city, strange people, surely there are options, if he knew where to look.
This isn't the first time he's caught himself thinking about essentially going out and looking for trouble. That's really more John's purview than his, and irony that he's even considering it after how badly he wanted John to just stop doing that is... well. It's just a thought. He has no intentions of acting on it. Not yet.
So, this morning as usual, Martin heads out with no particular object in mind. Maybe he'll poke around some of the areas John has mentioned as possible sites of interest, information gleaned from whatever scraps of Just Knowing he can get. Martin's been making a list on his phone. It's better than nothing. There has to be someone out there willing to talk. If they can just get a steady trickle coming in, that should be enough to keep John upright until they figure out how to get home.
And if they run out before then? Trapped in a city with limited resources, cut off from the powers that sustain them? What then?
He shakes his head as if he might physically dislodge the thought. Standing on the curb outside Candlewood, he looks around like he's waiting for inspiration to strike, some indication of where to go first. Movement catches his eye from above, and he looks to see a crow swooping up toward the building. He turns to track it, for a moment worried it's about to slam into a window, when it just... flies in. There's an open window on the fifth floor, and that crow just... went inside.
Martin stares, a little mystified, wondering if he's about to hear some commotion of the tenant discovering a bird in their flat, or if he'll see the crow re-emerge. But there's nothing of the kind. And as he watches, to his great surprise, another bird swoops in and enters the same flat. A pigeon this time.
He stares, bewildered. He had noticed a lot of birds around the building before, and assumed they'd made nests somewhere. But this.... As he stands there watching intently, another pigeon settles onto the sill, looking inside as if in consideration before hopping in. What really gives him a jolt, however, is the raccoon. It scurries up from around the corner and begins scaling the wall, that way he's occasionally seen raccoons do in internet videos. All the way up, with clear intent, until it hefts itself over the sill and squeezes in the open window.
That's it. There's something very odd up there. He counts the windows from his own until he can determine which unit it'll be, and heads back inside.
As he makes his way up to the fifth floor, he considers the very unpleasant possibility that he's going to find someone dead in there, being picked over by various desperate creatures. If it was just crows, that'd be more of a concern, but that raccoon... instinct tells him there's something else afoot. And maybe, if he has any luck, it'll be Statement-worthy.
He reaches the flat in question, #5A, and hesitates at the door, listening. He can hear a lot of noise inside, actually, not cacophonous, not even constant, but just... busy. Animals. A lot of them, from what he can tell, just making the sorts of ordinary sounds animals make. And amidst that, a human voice. He can't make out any words, but it sounds like a young woman.
Drawing a breath, somewhere between nervousness and excitement, he raise his hand and knocks.