Alain Johns (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
atouchofka) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-04-22 06:37 pm
atouchofka) wrote in thecapitol2015-04-22 06:37 pm
Entry tags:
I'm just a stranger in a strange land
Who| Alain and OPEN
What| Alain arrives, in a rather desperate state
Where| D7 suite and around the Tribute Centre
When| Just before the Binding plot (slightly backdated)
Warnings/Notes| TBD
One moment, he was riding hell for leather in the gathering darkness, hunched low in his saddle, a bullet-graze in his thigh and his heart in his mouth. The next, he woke up in a strange room, alone, with the pulsing pain gone from his leg and the horse vanished out from under him. His heart, though, was still pounding, and although he put up no fight when he was led to the suite, he wasted no time in leaving it again. His gun was gone. That was bad. Worse, more frightening, was that the two guards who had taken him here had given him no echo of the Touch. They were cold and dead as automata, without any sense of personality. And all that might have frightened him, but for the fact that there was a more pressing issue at hand.
He had to get out. He had to get back. Blood pounding in his ears, he cast around for a weapon, and, finding none, decided not to linger and search - a gunslinger is his own weapon, Cort's voice echoed in his memory. Instead, swallowing, he set out into the strange new land, walking fast, taking in all that he could around him. The place was foreign, reminded him of nothing more than the old broken-down machines of his world, but shiny and new. And confining. Too confining. He had to get back.
In short order, he was thoroughly lost, fighting down uncharacteristic panic. He tried to reach out with the Touch, but found nothing, not even the sense of the Touch itself. That was horrifying, but he had no time to be horrified. Is this the Clearing? he thought at one point, desperately. Am I dead? But if he was dead, then who would bring the message through? If he was dead, then the gunslingers were dead, too, and Gilead's last hope with them. He couldn't be dead. It was unthinkable.
Unconsciously massaging his forehead, where a sharp knot of pain was gathering, he took a deep breath and cast around for someone to ask. The next person he saw, he approached, ignoring that dull sense of emptiness where the Touch ought to have sensed their mind. "Cry pardon..." he began, and cleared his throat.
What| Alain arrives, in a rather desperate state
Where| D7 suite and around the Tribute Centre
When| Just before the Binding plot (slightly backdated)
Warnings/Notes| TBD
One moment, he was riding hell for leather in the gathering darkness, hunched low in his saddle, a bullet-graze in his thigh and his heart in his mouth. The next, he woke up in a strange room, alone, with the pulsing pain gone from his leg and the horse vanished out from under him. His heart, though, was still pounding, and although he put up no fight when he was led to the suite, he wasted no time in leaving it again. His gun was gone. That was bad. Worse, more frightening, was that the two guards who had taken him here had given him no echo of the Touch. They were cold and dead as automata, without any sense of personality. And all that might have frightened him, but for the fact that there was a more pressing issue at hand.
He had to get out. He had to get back. Blood pounding in his ears, he cast around for a weapon, and, finding none, decided not to linger and search - a gunslinger is his own weapon, Cort's voice echoed in his memory. Instead, swallowing, he set out into the strange new land, walking fast, taking in all that he could around him. The place was foreign, reminded him of nothing more than the old broken-down machines of his world, but shiny and new. And confining. Too confining. He had to get back.
In short order, he was thoroughly lost, fighting down uncharacteristic panic. He tried to reach out with the Touch, but found nothing, not even the sense of the Touch itself. That was horrifying, but he had no time to be horrified. Is this the Clearing? he thought at one point, desperately. Am I dead? But if he was dead, then who would bring the message through? If he was dead, then the gunslingers were dead, too, and Gilead's last hope with them. He couldn't be dead. It was unthinkable.
Unconsciously massaging his forehead, where a sharp knot of pain was gathering, he took a deep breath and cast around for someone to ask. The next person he saw, he approached, ignoring that dull sense of emptiness where the Touch ought to have sensed their mind. "Cry pardon..." he began, and cleared his throat.
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Instead, he says slowly, "I'll remember it, and say thankya. Bite my tongue and smile along with him, is what you mean to say?" Hardly a new game to him, and one he thinks he can play a while, if he has to.
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"Have you got any other questions? I'm happy to help any way I can. Otherwise I'll let you explore the training centre a little."
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