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Sid Jenkins ([info]emo_underdog) wrote in [info]vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-04-25 00:04:00

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Entry tags:!complete, day 05, location: forest, logan, sid jenkins

Day Five - Morning
Who: Sid Jenkins and Logan
What: Arrival
When: Day Five, early morning
Where: In the forest to start
Rating: R, language
Status: Complete



It had been raining when Sid had curled up in that box in the alley a few blocks from Times Square. Somehow, it had seemed like a good idea at the time to leave Bristol for New York City to find Cass. He hadn’t really thought it through, though, and he really, really should have, he realized pretty quickly when he hadn’t had enough money for a motel room, was completely lost, and still hadn’t found Cass after a whole day of searching. His eyes opened slowly and he felt like hell. Since when did sharing a bottle of whiskey - with a hobo, no less; at least this one hadn’t peed on his leg - knock him on his arse?

“Bollocks,” he sighed sleepily, pulling his coat in around himself. His boyish features were drawn down in the ever-present kicked-puppy expression he wore like a pro even when he wasn’t trying. When he finally took a look around and really absorbed his surroundings, his brow furrowed and he sat up, tugging his skewed beanie down around his ears and over his forehead. Adjusting his glasses, he raised his eyebrows. Trees and dirt? Well, the dirt he supposed he could understand but what the bloody fuck were trees doing in Times Square?

That was when it hit him. He wasn’t in Times Square. Had he wandered off in a drunken stupor? Sid wasn’t even aware that there were forests in New York City - it certainly hadn’t been in the brochure - but this didn’t look the way he’d expected Central Park to look, either. Actually, he didn’t even know where Central Park was but he was pretty sure he’d have remembered walking that far, had he actually done it. “Shit,” he sighed and got to his feet. In the process, he kicked something and looked down quizzically before bending to pick up a small box. “Vas what?” he read aloud, looking confused and slightly annoyed. Americans spoke English, didn’t they? He was almost positive they did, even though he’d come across his fair share of foreign languages walking the streets of Manhattan and trying to get the attention of passers by to show them Cassie’s picture. This, though, was most definitely not English. “‘Go get her, Sid. Go find Cass, Sid. It’s meant to be, Sid. Get on the plane, Sid.’ Twats,” he muttered. "Chelle! Tony! Right, you're hilarious, you can come out now!" he snapped.



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[info]emo_underdog
2009-04-25 12:40 am UTC (link)
For a moment, Sid said nothing, cocking his eyebrows in a silent "all right..." as he looked straight ahead again, stepping over upraised roots and holding one hand up to ward off the twigs snapping at his face as he went. Whatever, if the guy thought he could get them back on the road and out of here, Sid was cool with that. Out sounded better than in. He restrained himself from asking if maybe it might actually be a better idea to go toward civilization to find a phone and his free hand went to his pocket again. Somehow, he was unsurprised to find that his mobile was no longer there. Sid sighed.

"Oh. Right..." he said softly. It registered that Logan suggested they'd been drugged and Sid shook his head. "No way, mate; I can hold the spliff. And pills. And just about anything else you can imagine, really," he laughed awkwardly, pushing his glasses up on his nose and tugging the beanie down around his ears again, as it had ridden up a little - when he'd been laying down, he supposed. "Think I've got a bit of a hangover, though..." he muttered.

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[info]clawed_one
2009-04-25 12:46 am UTC (link)
Logan cocked an eyebrow as he looked back at the kid. "Oh really? Then how the /fuck/ do you explain your ass getting transported to who-the-fuck-knows-where but it for /damn/ sure isn't New York?" He wanted to know. "Unless you're dead, there's no fucking way you can sleep through being lifted, carried, driven or flown here, then dropped off. Unless you've been drugged to /keep/ your ass asleep." In contrast to Sid, Logan seemed to dodge roots, limbs, and other hazards without really even looking at them or giving them more than a sort of back-handed notice, and even with leaf litter underfoot, he was walking completely silently without even trying.

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[info]emo_underdog
2009-04-25 12:51 am UTC (link)
Swallowing hard, Sid shrugged and looked down. He still wasn't convinced that he wasn't still lost somewhere in New York City, but he sure as hell wasn't going to say that to this guy. Not when he was looking at Sid like that; he'd be stupid to contradict. So, he stayed silent and ducked his head again. Usually that approach worked when Dad was being exceptionally insufferable and if it worked in that case, it'd probably work in this case.

He looked back up at Logan. "Like the chops," he said, randomly. Maybe he ought to get on this bloke's good side, actually, and the sideburns were pretty bad ass... He gave an upward tilt of his chin and an approving expression. Sid hadn't ever been able to grow sideburns and even if he could, he suspected they wouldn't look that cool. "Gods, I could go for a fag right now," he murmured to himself, patting down his jacket pockets again in case he'd missed the pack by putting it in another pocket without realizing it.

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[info]clawed_one
2009-04-25 12:56 am UTC (link)
Logan didn't miss the kid's sudden reticience, but he didn't say anything about it. Kid'd find out /real/ fast this was as bad as Logan was making it sound, and probably worse besides. Though he'd admit it bothered the hell out of him he couldn't hear a guard of any kind up ahead. Must be an electronic frontier of some kind, then.

He blinked at the comment about 'chops'. Especially when the kid mentioned fags. For a second there, Logan thought he meant something entirely different than what he evidently meant, if the pocket-patting was an indication.

Which reminded him. He patted at his own pockets and scowled when he realized they were empty. Not that he'd had all that much in them, other than a cigar, but still. Fuckers. "Where the hell you really from, kid?" He wanted to know. Kid talked wierd as hell.

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