Aleifr Bjornsson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aleifr) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
goneawayworld2020-05-04 12:30 am
aleifr) wrote in goneawayworld2020-05-04 12:30 am
Entry tags:
A Sleepless First Night
Who: Aleifr and anyone who chances upon him
What: Insomnia-Driven Wanderings
Where: Various places around P90
When: Night One
Warnings/Notes: Nothing at present, but I'll update if that changes
It’s clear fairly early on that Aleifr’s first night on Piper 90 would be a restless one.
Simply put: He didn’t like it here.
He didn’t like the fact that he was a dozens floors off the ground in some metal monstrosity, feeling the vibrations of it's slow, steady movements like the faintest tremor of one of Fenris's summer quakes.
He didn’t like the distant engine noises, or the echoing footsteps of boots on metal. He was used to near silence at night; gently whistling winds carrying the soft crackle of a campfire or the murmurs of a distant conversation. If a night got that loud on Fenris, it was either feast day revelery, or you needed to be on your feet with an axe in your hand.
He didn’t like that he was trapped here. He didn’t like that he’d been dragged here against his will on someone’s whim. He didn’t like that he had no idea why either. He didn't know if there was even an ounce of truth in the rat-faced man's story about the near end of the world, or what the hell part he was supposed to play in that design if it was. He fucking hated that there was nothing that he could do about it.
He didn’t like sleeping alone, either. Wasn’t used to it anymore.
He’d still made an effort, if only so he wouldn’t be sleep deprived while dealing with whatever tomorrow brings. He might have been able to find an hour or two if he was on his own furs, but even the bed worked against him. It was too damned soft, and no matter which way he lay he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was sinking into it.
Needless to say, sleep didn’t come. All he did was toss and turn for a few hours until he grew sick of it.
He decided he needed to do something. Walk. Memorize his surroundings, get something to eat, something to drink … Busy himself until sleep started to sound appealing again, really. Anything but lay around in that fucking bed that clearly wasn't made with someone his size in mind.
So he put on the jumpsuit that was given to him -- that at least fit -- and decided to walk the halls. It felt ... strangely dreamlike, honestly. Maybe it's the fact that he's tired, maybe it's all so alien to him that it doesn't seem real ... he doesn't know.
He doesn't want to dwell on it, honestly.
Anyone who happens to be awake can find him. He’s not a hard man to spot. Maybe they catch him as they exit his room. Maybe they find him in the halls, wandering around and trying to commit landmarks to memory so that he has some rough picture of the place in his head to navigate by.
He’s awake for a good, long while that night. Plenty of opportunity.
What: Insomnia-Driven Wanderings
Where: Various places around P90
When: Night One
Warnings/Notes: Nothing at present, but I'll update if that changes
It’s clear fairly early on that Aleifr’s first night on Piper 90 would be a restless one.
Simply put: He didn’t like it here.
He didn’t like the fact that he was a dozens floors off the ground in some metal monstrosity, feeling the vibrations of it's slow, steady movements like the faintest tremor of one of Fenris's summer quakes.
He didn’t like the distant engine noises, or the echoing footsteps of boots on metal. He was used to near silence at night; gently whistling winds carrying the soft crackle of a campfire or the murmurs of a distant conversation. If a night got that loud on Fenris, it was either feast day revelery, or you needed to be on your feet with an axe in your hand.
He didn’t like that he was trapped here. He didn’t like that he’d been dragged here against his will on someone’s whim. He didn’t like that he had no idea why either. He didn't know if there was even an ounce of truth in the rat-faced man's story about the near end of the world, or what the hell part he was supposed to play in that design if it was. He fucking hated that there was nothing that he could do about it.
He didn’t like sleeping alone, either. Wasn’t used to it anymore.
He’d still made an effort, if only so he wouldn’t be sleep deprived while dealing with whatever tomorrow brings. He might have been able to find an hour or two if he was on his own furs, but even the bed worked against him. It was too damned soft, and no matter which way he lay he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was sinking into it.
Needless to say, sleep didn’t come. All he did was toss and turn for a few hours until he grew sick of it.
He decided he needed to do something. Walk. Memorize his surroundings, get something to eat, something to drink … Busy himself until sleep started to sound appealing again, really. Anything but lay around in that fucking bed that clearly wasn't made with someone his size in mind.
So he put on the jumpsuit that was given to him -- that at least fit -- and decided to walk the halls. It felt ... strangely dreamlike, honestly. Maybe it's the fact that he's tired, maybe it's all so alien to him that it doesn't seem real ... he doesn't know.
He doesn't want to dwell on it, honestly.
Anyone who happens to be awake can find him. He’s not a hard man to spot. Maybe they catch him as they exit his room. Maybe they find him in the halls, wandering around and trying to commit landmarks to memory so that he has some rough picture of the place in his head to navigate by.
He’s awake for a good, long while that night. Plenty of opportunity.
no subject
"Good God-Emperor, what do they feed you?" Cain remarks, staring up. Then winces slightly when he hears what comes out of his mouth, but it's a little late to retract that.
no subject
"Same shit they feed you, I'd imagine."
Aleifr doesn't sound particularly amused, nor is he smiling ... but that almost sounded like a joke. Dry as a bone and just as cuttingly sarcastic, but all the same.
no subject
"You have me there." Really, he should consider himself lucky that the rather large fellow didn't take more offense. "Pardon my language, it's late. My mental faculties aren't quite all there."
Ah, the shelter of self-deprecating humor.
no subject
Once again, the flat growl of his voice and the impassive mask of the vaguely irritated scowl that seems to be his resting expression makes him a difficult read. He could be accepting Cain's excuse, he could be replying sarcastically.
Hard to tell, really.