Frank likes the warehouse. The cold expanse of it and the quietness helps him think. There's s scent of metal in the air and each sound from within its walls is magnified with an echo. At the moment its nearly empty, nothing but windows and crates that hold only possibility.
With the area to himself, Frank pushes a smaller crate next to a larger one in order to climb to the top. From here he perches, watching the city from this view. There's so many people, and yet he can't be bothered to think of any of them as people. They're all targets or collateral, guilty or innocent.
When a single footstep signals a reverberating echo, Frank wheels toward the sound. Still atop the large crate, he withdraws a pistol, aiming it directly at the newcomer. It's not as powerful of a weapon as he likes, but he's making do.
"Who's there?" Frank bellows the question. Even amid the echo, he's going to make damn sure that he has no reason to be ignored.
The whole world smells like iron, sharp and oddly sweet. Inga likes it. No stink of shit or billowing smoke, no banners flying in the wind to mourn a dead man as if the gods themselves hadn't decreed his death. This place is strange, buildings reaching up toward the sky, carved out of stone she doesn't recognize. And this place, filled with boxes and shadows, and a man standing above her.
She's wearing her armor still, axe in hand and shield on her back. Her horse is gone. A shame.
The man is pointing something at her. Inga tips her head left, then right. Then laughs.
It echoes in her helmet.
"No one."
Inga doesn't raise her axe just yet. She's curious about the object the man holds with such seriousness.
Well that's one way to disarm a man who had thought he'd seen everything. Frank leans forward to get a better look and, no, his eyes aren't playing tricks on him. This is a fully grown person in armor. Maybe someone was pulling a prank, maybe this was one of those historical reenactors.
"You've got to be fucking with me. Don't play dumb."
He keeps the weapon trained on her, not seeing anything funny about the situation.
Play? Whatever could he mean? A knight does not play. The gods disapprove. Her king often said so before she cut his head off. Sometimes Inga thinks she can hear it still, his nasal disapproval hissing in her ears. When that happens, she remembers the way his skull bounced off his throne and finds herself comforted.
This man is different. Strange. Perhaps a god made flesh.
Inga ducks her head and removes her helmet for a better look, tucking it under her arm. The man isn't wearing armor. His clothes look very thin indeed, though oddly cut. "If you insult me, I will have to hurt you," she tells him kindly. "Honor demands it. Unless you are a noble son. Then it is forgiven. But if you are a noble son I might take your head just the same. Are you a noble son?"
At this Frank is even more taken aback. He gives a noise that is half cough, half grunt in reaction. "Never been anything noble in my life. But you're also not back at home, so don't know how far those rules are gonna take you."
Seeing an actual person underneath the helmet puts things into a better perspective. She is real, this place is real, and it's all happening.
Inga tips her head to the side, watching him. His speech is rather odd and to her ears, stilted. "Honor ought to be the same, even in the underworld. But it is not and here we are. What are you holding?"
If this was a trick, she was definitely committed. A real person, definitely, but what was she doing? There was still so much to filter though, and it was like one experience with a single person encapsulated the whole thing.
"It's a gun." He considers firing for emphasis, but decides against it right now for the simple reason of saving ammunition. "Now tell me who the fuck you are, because you sure as hell aren't no one."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2017-04-27 12:47 am (UTC)With the area to himself, Frank pushes a smaller crate next to a larger one in order to climb to the top. From here he perches, watching the city from this view. There's so many people, and yet he can't be bothered to think of any of them as people. They're all targets or collateral, guilty or innocent.
When a single footstep signals a reverberating echo, Frank wheels toward the sound. Still atop the large crate, he withdraws a pistol, aiming it directly at the newcomer. It's not as powerful of a weapon as he likes, but he's making do.
"Who's there?" Frank bellows the question. Even amid the echo, he's going to make damn sure that he has no reason to be ignored.
no subject
Date: 2017-04-27 12:59 am (UTC)She's wearing her armor still, axe in hand and shield on her back. Her horse is gone. A shame.
The man is pointing something at her. Inga tips her head left, then right. Then laughs.
It echoes in her helmet.
"No one."
Inga doesn't raise her axe just yet. She's curious about the object the man holds with such seriousness.
"What is that? Are you praying?"
no subject
Date: 2017-04-27 01:29 am (UTC)"You've got to be fucking with me. Don't play dumb."
He keeps the weapon trained on her, not seeing anything funny about the situation.
no subject
Date: 2017-04-27 01:40 am (UTC)This man is different. Strange. Perhaps a god made flesh.
Inga ducks her head and removes her helmet for a better look, tucking it under her arm. The man isn't wearing armor. His clothes look very thin indeed, though oddly cut. "If you insult me, I will have to hurt you," she tells him kindly. "Honor demands it. Unless you are a noble son. Then it is forgiven. But if you are a noble son I might take your head just the same. Are you a noble son?"
no subject
Date: 2017-04-30 03:59 pm (UTC)Seeing an actual person underneath the helmet puts things into a better perspective. She is real, this place is real, and it's all happening.
no subject
Date: 2017-04-30 04:02 pm (UTC)The gun, she means. It's very strange looking.
no subject
Date: 2017-05-10 08:03 pm (UTC)"It's a gun." He considers firing for emphasis, but decides against it right now for the simple reason of saving ammunition. "Now tell me who the fuck you are, because you sure as hell aren't no one."