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
The protective charm was gone. Vanished or washed out on arrival - it doesn't matter. It was a horrifying realization that cemented in the fact that he wasn't going to sleep that night. Even if he knew for certain he'd be safe, his body was all too used to the nightly ritual he'd done for two years. His eyes would stay peeled open until dawn, no matter how long he stayed in bed.
His fingers reach up touch the rune carved into his skin, wondering what the hell he was going to do now, until a shadow passes the corner of his eye. The New Hires' rooms had their doors left open, making it easy to see inside (and vice-versa). An all-too-attentive tension grips his face even as he recognizes the face of the man he spotted.
no subject
It's the unblinking gaze of a wolf across the ice, weighing the object of it's attention as a potential threat, and it's not something you see in the eyes of most people.
The man had struck him as hardened and capable at least, and very, very dangerous at most when they'd met in the cafeteria. Right now, the pendulum's swung very decisively towards the latter.
So Aleifr stops and meets the man's eyes.
"Can't sleep?"
His voice is casual. A touch tenser than conversational, but the man will find the same, unblinking intensity in Aleifr's eyes.
no subject
He really didn't need to say anything to answer that question. The tense lines in his face looked more ready for a long fight than for any hope of lying on a bed. It was unlike the calm disposition he had earlier that day. Something was definitely wrong - at least, in his mind.
Guts takes small solace in the fact that it was man at his door, instead of something worse. If he's lucky, a lack of sleep will be all he has to deal with tonight, on top of everything else.
He slowly allows his hand to release its tight grip on the sink and rises to meet him. Guts recognizes him - it was hard not to, on size alone. The way with which he carried himself reminded him of a mercenary soldier. The guy wouldn't look out of place cleaning blood out of his armor after a long castle siege.
"Don't like sleeping without my sword," he says quietly, gaze easing once he realizes there's no threat.
no subject
"Old habit?"
'Do you expect to need it on any given night', in as many words. It's possible the man simply feels uncomfortable without a way to protect himself -- Aleifr would too -- but the way the man spoke made him believe there was something more to it.
no subject
Once the threat is passed, he just looks weary. All too weary.
"Evil spirits follow me."
Again he grasps the back of his neck, to double check that it isn't bleeding. It's been a while since he's had to give that warning, he only just realizes.
"You should stay away from here."
no subject
Curses, omens, and spirits are not taken lightly on Fenris. Even a child knows that such things are dangerous - even in the hands of a gothi who knows their craft well. If they're not treated with care, if they aren't minded to keep them sweet or hold them in check, they're as lethal as a summer storm on the open sea.
"What manner of spirits?"
no subject
"Ghosts stuck between our world and the next. Demons, too, if they get a whiff of me."
Now that he thinks about it - he should really move away from the sleeping quarters to some emptier part of the Rig. If any spirits pursue him here, people might start having a really bad day because of his curse. So, he'll attempt to slip out the door.
no subject
"Wights ..."
If it's true ... it's incredible that this man's still drawing breath.
Explains a good fucking deal too.
no subject
That's probably a better place to be. He's thinking it'd be a good time to head outside, even if its cold as balls. He liked this idea better than sitting nervously in his room, anyway.
Guess there's going to be two dudes wandering the hall, now.
"The less people around, the better."