#devoutbrother

Did Gemüse know what happened?

The short answer was no, no he did not.  

It was like an explosion of energy--bright blue and electric, sending a shudder through the ground as the Earth itself wailed at the assault.  

The next moment was black, though Gemüse could not tell whether it was a lapse in consciousness, or just a plunge through an inky darkness that slithered into his skull.

Most people in his universe had long since quit believing in the supernatural and Gemüse didn’t believe either, but that brought him damn close to it.  

He plopped onto the ground with a rather undignified expression.

The building around him was like nothing he’d ever seen before, miscellaneous devices were scattered around, as were structures that reminded him of high school chemistry class.  Here, too, snapped with the blue electricity that hopped along, cackling to itself, and the distinct smell of burning something drifted through his nose.  Was he the thing smelling like that?

Beyond a bit of miscellaneous aches and pains, he seemed to have made the journey uninjured.  Clearly the mysterious energy was the byproduct of some sort of space magic, the strength of which was unlike anything he had ever seen; but where did it take him?

( doodles, feat a couple of mutuals.

Under any other circumstances perhaps Boris would not have been so distraught. He’d wandered through what was easily a handful of decrepit towns populated by dwindling numbers of residents in less than desirable conditions. Despite low numbers and easy mobility through the alleyways, dodging the visions of even those lanky vigilant ones the others called doctors (not like any doctor he’d seen before), the object of his search was lost on him. He had this faint, aching sense of direction towards his person, but when he followed the instinct, it led him to a cliff face spread out over the open ocean. He leaned over the edge, looking around for any sign that there was a boat, a bridge, something. Anything. Nothing, not from what he could see.

Wilson was an ocean away and he had no idea how to get to him. How the hell was he supposed to get to him when there were no ports? As far as he could tell, no one was informed on how to or willing to leave these little hellholes, which he noticed that each disgusting inhabitant seemed to regard as sanctuary. In time, his frustration blended with his anxiety, his furious need to be back with his human. Desperation gave way to depression, and Boris began spending his time watching the Wellies and their strange programs and their strange behavior. He memorized their walk, their talk, the pills they popped, that way they silently coerced and encouraged solid conformity among their ranks, casting out anyone not completely subservient to their drugs to the cold outer worlds and the doctors.

It was those that broke away that took his particular interest. They seemed to have a sense unlike others that traveled in packs up and down the tarnished brick roads. They seemed to long for escape, for freedom. But still they lacked the sense of direction to find such freedom. Except for one. This gangly fellow’s movements broke away from the norm and even the norm of the different. He seemed like a man on a mission, a man with a destination, a man who knew where he was going. Where to Boris could only wonder, though he knew it intrigued him enough as he decided to follow the man around. Get some answers. If he had a way out of this place, Boris was all for it. He just needed some answers first.

                                                                                                                   ( art credit ! ! ! ) 

     i heard one of miss byng’s  ARCHIVISTS  ran off into the garden district --         ARTHUR HASTINGS .  completely  UNREMARKABLE  chap --         TOTAL DOWNER .       you don’t suppose he’s trying to  LEAVE TOWN ?     HAHAHA ,  and what ?  miss all the  FUN ?!      no, he’s probably just coming off as some  MURDEROUS  wastrel ;      causing  MAYHEM ,  distrupting the  SYSTEM . . .

          “Alright, Mister, ah... Hastings, that right?” Frank sat heavily down in the chair opposite of him, expression looking as weary as he felt, which was to say he looked a bit like a crumpled, worn-out shirt tossed in the back of someone’s closet. His clothes and his hair, however, were neat in that sort of stiff, policeman way--God forbid he not at least try to fake some air of professionalism and put-togetherness. 

There’s something that excites Bella when she sees Arthur. Maybe it’s the fact that her heart is beating a thousand miles per hour when he smiles, or maybe it’s when he gives her cute pet names. But either way, Bella is elated to see Arthur again.

The young lady returns the hug, her hands gripping onto his suit jacket, nose rubbing against the shirt’s fabric, smelling the faint cologne he wore. Bella sighs contently, looking up at Arthur and flashing him a grin before pulling away. 

“I’m doing great, now that I’m here!” She begins to rock back and forth on her kitten heels, her face now turning a deep red.

“I’m so glad I caught you before the bus came!” Bella looks down at the small brown paper bag she was carrying with her. Her eyes then dart back up to Arthur, who’s waiting for her reply.

“R-Right! I-I made you this!” She raises the bag to Arthur’s eyes level. On the paper bag, written in a blue marker, was Arthur’s name, along with a tiny heart beside it. 

“L-Lunch!” Her voice picks up a few octaves, which catches the attention of some of the on goers, but they quickly looks away. The looks make Bella a bit nervous, but she manages to take a deep breath before trying to speak again.

         a   smirk   curling   the   sides   of   his   mouth   with   a   curious   nature   attached,   “ look   like   you   could   use   a   warm   meal,   and   a   few   nights   worth   of   sleep. ”