tsunderebunny | Episode 1: The Day After is Always the Hardest to Handle [accidental audio/action]

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Episode 1: The Day After is Always the Hardest to Handle [accidental audio/action]

[That was some adrenaline rush.

Barnaby groaned when the distant rumble of thunder and the cold patter of raindrops on his bare skin pulled him back to consciousness. The muscles in his arms, shoulders, and back ached like he knew they would. The battle atop the Justice Tower had been long and vicious-- sleep was bliss after that beating, that rage-- He fisted a hand in the sand, and his thoughts ground to a halt.

Why was there sand?

Thunder rumbled once more, closer than it had been moments before. Barnaby abruptly sat up, his already electrified instincts snapping him into action in less than a heartbeat. He knew that there was no more reason for him to fight, but there were some habits that would never change. Not so quickly.

His momentary spark of irritation quickly gave way to confusion. Barnaby ran a hand through his sodden curls with sand covered fingers as his mind tried to register the sudden change in his surroundings. This wasn't his bed, his flat, or even anywhere in Sternbild.

Why was he at a beach?

The rain started to fall harder, prompting Barnaby stiffly pull himself up from the sand. He hadn't noticed the book that was lying on it's open pages nearby, just barely within reach of the receeding tide.]

...Honestly. [His voice was weary, exasperated.] They couldn't have bothered to put up a shelter?

[Later that day, after he's settled (after a fashion), Barnaby can be found in the shops around the plaza, gathering his few belongings and proper furnishings for his new flat, or holed up in a quiet corner of the library to peruse both his journal and any informational book that he could find. He just couldn't trust any of the evidence he had, not when it was so blatantly absurd.

It'd be wise to avoid mentioning any large, stuffed pink bunnies that he might be seen with that day. He couldn't just leave it in the shops for anyone to take!]

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[Rain or no rain, Grell is out. She has a pretty red umbrella to make her absolutely conspicuous as she sits on the edge of the item shop's roof, and she's simply watching who is coming or going when she notices the blond man with a giant pink bunny.

That.

Is such an image ruiner.

And speaking of images, she recalls that face from an earlier post made in the rain.]

I never would have guessed that the handsome voice from before could have been such a stuff animal lover. What they say about appearances being deceiving must be true.

[Barnaby stepped out into the rain and had just started to unfurl his own umbrella-- also red-- when he heard the woman's teasing voice. He kept his reaction in check, fully aware of the image he must have made for her.

His friends had the strangest tastes sometimes.

Sighing, he looked up and smiled for the woman.]

It's nothing like that at all, Miss. It's a gift from my friends back home, and I didn't want to show them any disrespect by leaving it here.

Edited 2013-05-11 12:51 (UTC)

Well then...Please forgive me my rudeness. A man loyal to his friends is a lovely man indeed.

[Barnaby is being too kind in calling her Miss already, but Grell will run with it. She's always glad to see people who have such sensibilities to them.]

I see you've come in out of this nasty rain as well. Find the shelter you were looking for?

[Grell was by no means as overt as some of his friends. As long as she didn't come on too strongly with her flirtations, she'd be fine.]

...You heard that?

[He hadn't been aware of the book at that time, and still wasn't fully aware of all of its capabilities. Barnaby huffed and looked away.]

I'm going to have a talk with Management about that problem.

Anyone with one of these little books could hear it. [She says, taking her journal out of her inner jacket pocket and waving it slightly. She sets it back where it was before and leans over a little, resting her elbow on her crossed leg and her chin in her hand.]

And which Management would you be talking to, dearest?

[He cradled his umbrella against his shoulder and pulled his own journal from his bag to examine. Salt and sand from its encounter with the sea still clung to the pages of fit, and stuck to his fingers as he opened it for further study. His name, written on it in neat, friendly letters, was a clear show that it was indeed his.]

The people who run this place, of course...[The answer was quiet, almost thoughtless, before he looked up at her with obvious questions in his eyes.]

You're saying that this book is like a cellphone?

Sorry, love - 1889. Whatever a 'cellphone' is, it's far after my time. [Not even Death Gods were that far ahead.]

And I do wish you luck talking to them - they're usually reluctant to speak with us unless they're asking us to fight their wars, causing a Shift, or apparently bringing people back from the dead.

1978. [Yeah. Deal with it.] We've had this kind of technology for a couple of decades now.

[He sighed. Of course there was a war.]

I don't appreciate being used. [Not after he retired to live his own life and make his own choices. Although the thought of people returning from the dead was a tempting offer-- he could see Aunt Samantha again, and his parents...

They probably wouldn't recognize him as the same man. He was afraid of what his parents would say.]

But, I should have known. Of course it's something like this.

[Not as modern as some people, but still modern to her.] Different worlds, different technology. [She shrugs.]

And different rules.

Unfortunate rules, even. It's a strange thing being here. Do be careful, dear.

I'm still not entirely sure about this place, but I plan to be careful.

[It was the rational way to approach the situation. He shifted in his jacket uncomfortably-- the wings, the one detail that he couldn't shake, were cramps under the seams and lines of his leather jacket.]

That would be advisable.

As would letting those wings out. Leaving them trundled up like that shall only make you more uncomfortable.

tch.

[He huffed irritably and looked away from the woman.]

I like this jacket. It's made with real leather, and I doubt it can be tailored properly.

Everyone says that as if they expect their clothing to be made of gold.

A tailor is a tailor. It's their job to tailor properly, or they would lose said job.

[Grell shrugged and pushed off the edge of the roof, landing next to Barnaby.]

There are two tailors in town - so long as one of them hasn't been Shifted out of here. I'd suggest looking into them.

[He couldn't help but note the woman's impressive grace as she leapt from the roof and landed beside him. Only their umbrellas divided them, but only because they would have been damaged otherwise. Barnaby couldn't tell if she was just a very athletic woman or another person with special abilities, as it seemed common so far during his brief exploration.

One word in her entire explanation caught his attention.]

Why are they called 'shifts' anyway?

The Malnosso like to call them that. I just call them "annoying."

[Grell shrugged and then paused, looking at Barnaby a little closer.]

...

Do I know you from somewhere? You seem terribly familiar.

[He eyed her back, suddenly confused.]

I don't believe so, Miss. You'd be a hard woman to forget.

Well, aren't you a handsome flirt.

[Grell smiles and steps closer, leaning the umbrella back a bit.]

I could have sworn you were familiar though - and I do try ever so hard not to forget pretty faces.

[He hadn't intended it to be flirtatious, but he felt that he would insult the woman by admitting that. Instead, he returned her smile.]

It takes a little practice, but I make it a point to remember everyone I speak to.

[She knew something, or there were more problems than he wanted to admit.]

Lovely practice, that. Good in case you need to know everyone and anyone.

Name?

[Grell knows why she might know someone without them knowing her. She reaches into her jacket, pulling out a black leather folder to peruse the stacks of paper inside. Unlike the journals, this folder has no name on it and is rather nondescript.]

Barnaby Brooks Jr.

[He watched her leaf through the folder.]

Miss, what are you looking for?

Not looking.

[She stops on a page and looks up at him, then back down the page. Definitely him. Same name, same looks.

But that date is all wrong.]

Finding.

You're quite the fashionably late sort, aren't you? He's waited a year to see you again and here you are - just a moment too late.

[His eyes narrowed, suddenly wary of this woman. Of all of the people she had to mention--

There was only one man who could be mentioned like that.]

What are you talking about?

What? Don't you remember?

I suppose it has been quite awhile. Normally it only takes one week, but here you are, a year later. They all gave up on seeing you again, you know.

[He bristled at the mention of memories. There were some things that he wasn't willing to talk about, and that was at the top of the list.]

I still don't know what you're talking about. Please, speak clearly.

I'm not sure how much more clear I can be-- [She checks the folder and snaps it closed.] --Bunny.

If you're still unclear, that's less my fault and more the fault of you being dead for a year.

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