#thread.wonderland

It was a good thing that Adarsh felt a constant need to roam and be outside, either to spend his time in nature or the nervous energy to keep on moving. Else, he would’ve been a shut-in for sure, writing down his thoughts and trying to figure out more of who he’d left behind. Not just the other people in his life, but himself as well. 

Not that being outside left him with many more options than inside however, he still walked around thinking, he walked around attempting to stir some thought, some memory, but all he got was the void gaping back at him, giving him nothing but that one image of a name written in Sanskrit, the name he had adopted as his own. 

It was starting to become clear that his best option might be to just… be someone new. To ignore his left behind memory and do something with everything he did know. He figured he could be useful. Right? Probably not in company, but he must have some skills. 

He took a deep breath and wandered down to the beach again. He was only wearing his UV shirt now, he hadn’t been able to wash Chance’s blood from his tank top, and he didn’t want the reminder. He stopped when he spotted Selin. He remembered the last words she said to him: in case he needed help with anything. He needed help with being helpful. 

He had apologised for before, hadn’t he? Or should he lead with that. 

While given the stress of the day and the constant noise of the buzzing - and now the digging - in all honestly all Baskar wanted to do was to lay down in the water, submerge their ears far enough so they were completely covered in water, and pretend the world didn't exist.

The down-side to that plan was that they'd be willingly running away from danger and thus from helping people.

Which went against everything they stood for. So they ignored the constant noise - though they were constantly frowning - and tried to offer help where they could. And not spend too much time watching the hornets dig at the medical centre. Unearthing something.

Adarsh.

It was a name, he wasn’t so sure if it was his, but it was the only name that came to mind. And having no other reference, he’d accept it as his for the time being.

He sat down on the beach, not watching the waves or the cruise ship he’d been on - neither were giving him any hints of who he was - but instead focussed on the clothes he was wearing.

Running shoes, black, beat-up but not badly enough that they needed replacement.

No socks, that felt odd.

He was wearing dark green cargo pants that got slimmer at his ankles, and formed a nice seal around his skin. All the pockets were empty though. 

Nothing to give him any indication of who he’d been.

He took off the tank top and shirt he was wearing, unable to make any assessment while wearing them. The long sleeved shirt was one used for body surfing, uv protected, tight, also black, size M. 

The tank top loose, light grey, had some stitchings loose, but no design on it, not even a label. It was loose fitting, probably cotton.

He touched his arms and torso, some scarring. He didn’t know if he was tanned or if this was just his natural colour, he’d find out when he had more privacy. The scars didn’t look serious, nothing to suggest he’d had any operations or got shot. 

He couldn’t see his back.

Turning to the side he waved a hand at the first passerby. 

“Hey you! Come help… please,” he called in thick-accented English.

He added the please mostly because he thought he sounded rude, though it felt unnatural.