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bigapplesauce2013-04-12 10:34 pm
edgar_sawtelle) wrote in bigapplesauce2013-04-12 10:34 pm
Business as Usual
Edgar doesn't realize anything is wrong at first.
He's been spending a lot of time in the base, and when he wakes up early that morning he has already decided to get out into the park for a while. It's barely light out when he leaves, and he doesn't pass anyone in the hallways. It's cold, so the park is empty too, aside from the few dedicated joggers here and there. But they stick to the paths and Edgar prefers to lose himself in the wooded areas. If he doesn't think about it too much, he can almost believe he's back home there.
Edgar sits on a stump and watches the sun rise while Almondine trots around, smelling every tree she can find and darting after things Edgar can't see. The sun is caught in the tops of the trees when she finally struts over to him, looking very satisfied with herself. He smiles and stands, clapping a hand to his leg to call her on as he heads back to the base.
It's once they're back in their quarters that Edgar realizes something's amiss. Having filled Almondine's water dish, he sits on his bed and grabs one of the books he's borrowed from the library from the table by the bed. He opens the book to where he had marked his place with a folded piece of paper and settles in to read a little before a late breakfast.
It takes him a few seconds to realize that he can't read what's written in the book. Frowning, he flips through the pages. They're all written in some sort of gibberish. He checks the spine to be sure it's the same book he was reading before, but there's no help there; whatever's written on the spine is just as unintelligible. Slightly concerned, Edgar checks the other two books he borrowed. They're also indecipherable, as is the small stack of scrap paper - used for communicating - he's collected over his time on the base, and everything in the small notebook he's been using as a sort of journal.
Almondine can clearly sense his growing confusion and she noses his arm. Edgar strokes her head, then signs to her: /I can't read./ Or he tries to. But the shapes his hands form don't make any sense, the motions they follow meaning nothing to him.
Edgar stares at his hands as if they belong to a stranger. He can feel his breath quickening, panic rising inside him, and he isn't sure whether he's going to collapse into the desk chair or start running.
He clasps his hands together so hard they hurt.
He's been spending a lot of time in the base, and when he wakes up early that morning he has already decided to get out into the park for a while. It's barely light out when he leaves, and he doesn't pass anyone in the hallways. It's cold, so the park is empty too, aside from the few dedicated joggers here and there. But they stick to the paths and Edgar prefers to lose himself in the wooded areas. If he doesn't think about it too much, he can almost believe he's back home there.
Edgar sits on a stump and watches the sun rise while Almondine trots around, smelling every tree she can find and darting after things Edgar can't see. The sun is caught in the tops of the trees when she finally struts over to him, looking very satisfied with herself. He smiles and stands, clapping a hand to his leg to call her on as he heads back to the base.
It's once they're back in their quarters that Edgar realizes something's amiss. Having filled Almondine's water dish, he sits on his bed and grabs one of the books he's borrowed from the library from the table by the bed. He opens the book to where he had marked his place with a folded piece of paper and settles in to read a little before a late breakfast.
It takes him a few seconds to realize that he can't read what's written in the book. Frowning, he flips through the pages. They're all written in some sort of gibberish. He checks the spine to be sure it's the same book he was reading before, but there's no help there; whatever's written on the spine is just as unintelligible. Slightly concerned, Edgar checks the other two books he borrowed. They're also indecipherable, as is the small stack of scrap paper - used for communicating - he's collected over his time on the base, and everything in the small notebook he's been using as a sort of journal.
Almondine can clearly sense his growing confusion and she noses his arm. Edgar strokes her head, then signs to her: /I can't read./ Or he tries to. But the shapes his hands form don't make any sense, the motions they follow meaning nothing to him.
Edgar stares at his hands as if they belong to a stranger. He can feel his breath quickening, panic rising inside him, and he isn't sure whether he's going to collapse into the desk chair or start running.
He clasps his hands together so hard they hurt.
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Removing her thumb, Daine points accusingly at the ceiling and frowns deeply. It's the gods-curst rift. It has to be.
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His hands feel twitchy - they want to fall into signing, or to take her by the hand so he can talk - so he shoves them in his pockets. He catches Daine's eye, looks around deliberately, then looks back to her and raises his eyebrows and cocks his head in question. What should they do now?
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Holding up his hands in the general "stay here" symbol, he ducks back into his room and grabs a few clean sheets of paper and a pencil. He rejoins Daine in the hallway and quickly scribbles a few drawings, double-checking them to make sure he can make sense of them before showing them to Daine.
The first is a set of pictures of a piece of toast and an ice cream cone, the most easily identifiable items of food Edgar could think of off the top of his head. The second is of a few trees with a bench. He points to the first, then to his stomach and raised his eyebrows at Daine: Want to get something to eat? Then he points at the trees and then in the general direction of the base "front door": Want to go out to the park?
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But drawings, it seems, are left alone by whatever mischief the rift is working. She smiles when she realizes what he's asking: food or park? Or both, she supposes.
The morning has been unpleasant enough that she doesn't have much appetite, but she hasn't had breakfast and knows she should try to eat something. A trip to the park sounds more pleasant: at least she gets something from the People when she tries to talk to them. She points to the food and nods, holding up one finger, then points to the park and holds up another: food first, park second?
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She tugs one of the pieces of paper from her pocked and motions for the pen, realizing too late that she didn't bring one of her own. As she nibbles her toast, she sketches out a little clock. She doesn't bother with the numbers, just a circle with the two hands inside. She adds an arrow curling around the outside of the circle: time passing. She tries to add a question mark, but it comes out all wrong, somehow, so she scribbles it out with a frown.
She moves the paper so it's easier for Edgar to see. She makes an all-encompassing gesture, then points to her clock drawing and gives him an inquiring look. How long will this last? She doesn't really expect him to know an answer, but hopefully he'll at least understand the question.
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When she shows him the paper, Edgar is pleased to find he immediately understands what she means. He's able to follow her gesture and expression as well and nods to let her know he does, but the most he can give her for an answer is a sad shrug. He has no idea.
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Instead, Edgar employs broad gestures she has seen him use with other dogs, dogs not from the farm. She would be insulted but for the look in his eyes every time he uses one. It's a mixture of apology and fear and resignation, and it makes Almondine wish she could tell Edgar that he doesn't have to talk to her in any way if he doesn't want to. She already knows.
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Holding Daine's gaze for a moment, Almondine then looks at Edgar before looking back at Daine and allowing some of the worry she feels to seep through. Edgar will need someone to get through whatever is happening. So will Daine, if what Almondine keeps sensing from her is correct. They can help each other.
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He doesn't expect her to answer and, seeing that both their plates are more or less clean, he pushes back from the table and stands. Then he gestures toward the door and gives her an expectant look. He thinks it will do them both good - Daine especially - to get outside.
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On impulse, Daine takes Edgar's hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze, figuring Almondine will take as much comfort from the gesture as Edgar will. It'll be okay, she thinks firmly to herself.
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When Daine suddenly takes his hand, Edgar looks at her. Her face has taken on a determined edge around the smile she still wears. She gives his hand a squeeze, but what he really notices is the unexpected rush of firm optimism, underlined with worry. He stares at her in shock.
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He thinks about how to explain what just happened and decides to give it a try, even if it will be difficult (next to impossible, he thinks) to do.
He drops Daine's hand, glad he managed not to react to the faint wave of embarrassment he picked up from her. He holds up his hands in the universal "just a second" gesture. Then, being very big and deliberate in his expressions, he points to himself and adopts an exaggerated frown. Then he points at Daine and adopts a wide grin and, taking her wrist, slips her hand into his. He then points to himself and drops back into his frown, looks at their joined hands with surprise, and points a finger at his chest before rubbing his hand there. He then points to Daine, smiles widely again and points to the smile, then traces his finger from the smile to his chest, which he rubs again.
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Her brow furrows as Edgar starts his pantomime. He was sad: all right. She was happy: not exactly, but close enough. She took his hand, which... surprised him? But she could tell as much without the little show, so there must be more to it than that. Something about his heart? Is he ill? No; Almondine would have reacted if that was the case. Something about her smile - her happiness? - and his chest...
And then it hits her - perhaps because her ability to communicate with the People has been reduced to feelings instead of words. He's picking up on her feelings!
But a moment later, she's shaking her head, because that can't be right. Whatever mental connection they forge when touching, it's only ever gone one way: from him to her. It's not as if she's been talking to him with her mind like she does with animals.
Maybe she misunderstood him. Daine presses a hand to her own chest in an echo of his earlier gesture, then points to their still-linked hands, then points to him, her expression wavering between confusion and disbelief. Is he really saying that he can feel what she's feeling?
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He nods, then repeats a shortened version of his explanation: frowning, pointing to her and smiling, then pointing to their joined hands.
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He gestures to himself and then holds up a finger. Then he squeezes his eyes shut and draws up the first emotion he can think of that would be different from what Daine is currently feeling: anger. It's the easiest emotion for him to pull up quickly, and he tries to direct it toward her through their clasped hands.
After a minute or so he stops and opens his eyes. He gives Daine a "So?" expression.
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Letting out a breath, she inclines her head towards the door. Park?
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He nods in response to her question and gestures for her to lead the way. He's already been to the park once today and doesn't much care what part they head for, so he'll let Daine choose.