singillatim | Part One: The Cabin

Who: Arthur Lester and others
What: Adjusting to life and vision
When: Late August/Early Sept
Where: Largely Milton generally

Content Warnings: Catch-all warning for Malevolent content (Lovecraftian horror et al) and spoilers through S5

Getting by on getting by (Early on)

It took Arthur a few days for it to really sink in.

It was one thing to know that John wasn't there, that he had his vision back, his arm and leg and was expected to just. Learn how to survive all over again, in a new town in a new world in an environment he had only ever associated with death and hardship, not least of all his own.

It was another entirely to make peace with the fact: to finish smashing the mirrors in his claimed cabin and screaming for Kayne until his voice went hoarse. Either the god wasn't listening or couldn't hear him, and Arthur wasn't sure which was worse.

This too shall pass. And if it didn't, then he'd fucking well learn to live with it. Just like everything else.

The house next to his had been half demolished by something in the past, which left him with plenty of lumber to wade through the ruins and collect, ripping it loose with his gloved hands if he has to, and board over the bottom storey windows of his own cabin. And an empty house across the street provided blankets aplenty to throw over his shoulders, and haul awkwardly back to cut to shreds and insulate the windows inside.

(It also gave him a quite stellar view of the community centre, so. Something to stare at and make notes on, memorise the silhouettes when he needed a break.

Anything but thinking.)

Make Yourself Seen (September)

After that, he hasn't got much excuse to avoid people.

He'd met a few people already, but this time he's rugged up securely in scavenged clothes, hiding his malnourished frame. Not much to be done about the rough sand scars across his right temple, but at least he could hide his ruined ear beneath a knit hat and pray no-one asked much further.

So he starts actively hanging around. Exploring Milton properly. There's plenty of people to meet, it seems like, even if all he does is loiter around the message board. He does eventually pin something there, nondescript and no-nonsense about it, before he walks away.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That gets a soft laugh out of Arthur - that turns into a violent shiver when the wind picks up for a moment and attacks his upturned collar. Fuck, he's too skinny for this shit.

"W-well, I'm-- I'll admit I'm a little out of practice, I-I-I haven't done anything quite like this since- since I was in boys brigade, as a child. It's- a church initiative, sort of," he suddenly feels compelled to explained, because the Russian probably has no fucking idea. "To try and raise us to be - good Christian youths. Couldn't stand the thing, but i-it turns out at least some of the skills have stuck with me."

But now he's desperately curious: "S-sorry, what d'you mean, space training?"

Edited 2024-09-30 06:18 (UTC)

Konstantin notices the shiver, brows lifting in open concern. The other man does look pretty worse for wear, and he could use some thicker clothing, too. Might be hard to find things still left around this place, but not impossible. The cosmonaut makes a note to keep an eye out — hell, he's sure he has some items he could give the other man, too.

"Ahhh, good Christian youths.... Sounds like a fun time." Though he's grinning, it's clear he's being sarcastic, though he keeps it playful. Swallowing back his kneejerk sharp flinch away from the concept of religion at all — it's clear Arthur met the idea with less than enthusiasm, himself.

"At least you got something out of it!" But then he pauses at the question, considering how to answer. It's not his first time bumping into someone who's unfamiliar, and it's telling of what kind of time this new Interloper must come from — somewhere in his own past.

"As in... up there." He lifts an arm towards the sky, smiling again, a little wistful. "Well, the training was so we could get up there. I'm a cosmonaut — an astronaut, the Americans would say. Mankind started our journey there in 1961. It's 1983 for me now.... What year are you from?"

He doesn't look shocked by the news of his years, but there's certainly an edge of awe to it regardless. It was still strange and bizarre, even being here for a week or so now and talking to so many other people, seeing ones who clearly date differently to him.

"Ah- '34, nearly '35, it's- it was December when I came, er. Here. A-at least the last time I knew."

Part One: The Cabin

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