Who: Sin & Kris. Where: The third floor, just to be kind to Kris' legs. When: Shortly following both men's network posts.
For a moment, Kris had almost believed he'd fallen asleep at his desk inside Rietsveld und Sohne, but the IV and medical gown quickly disabused him of that notion. A quick look at his surroundings revealed that this was neither the shop, his parents' home, and, according to the weather outside, possibly not even his home country since it was still too early for snow. He removed himself from his bed, retrieved his clothing from inside the box in the middle of his room (thankfully someone had been kind enough to leave the cane within arm's reach -- that would have been too much of a blow to his ego to have to crawl like an infant in this strange place, under a camera's watchful eye, no less) and went into the bathroom to dress.
He was far more awake once figuring out to get into the hall. Never having been one much for technology, he was glad at the simplistic nature of the programming, posting to this so-called 'network' and receiving a few responses fairly quickly. Of course, there was nothing helpful. Why would there be? Kris decided that his best bet lay in adventuring out of the room, though he could not quell the tension that was seizing up his back. Taking a deep breath, he ventured into the empty hallway, looking around for the first person he might be able to latch onto and hopefully get some real answers out of.
He did not have to wait long. The sound of heavy footfalls rang out in the hall; someone was thundering down the stairs, taking them two or three at a time. At the third floor landing, the sounds stopped, and a tall, thin shape appeared.
"Hello?"
The man moved forward into the third floor hall. He waved at Kris, his head canted curiously. Black hair fell in his face. Light glinted off a deep red ring on one hand. All the rest seemed to blend into the shadows: dark shirt, dark jeans, dark boots. His gaze was equally dark; it flitted over Kris's form, falling to land on his cane. Kris' eyes did not miss the look, and his frown tightened. The man closed the distance between them, as though unwilling to make Kris walk any further.
"I'm S-- Daniel," he said. "Just got here and lookin' for some breakfast. I assume the kitchen's on the first floor?"
Kris' brows rose and sank in annoyance. "Kris. I don't know why you think I would know, I'm new as well." He resituated his cane, moving it a hair behind the blue pant of his right leg; he felt slightly wobbly still from whatever drugs were in his system, and a small ball of ache had started in his hip. Not now, he thought. "Are you the one who mentioned Cecilia? On the network?"
"Yeah, that was me. Apparently she's the one we need to talk to. Kinda good to run into another new person. It feels like a lot of the people who answered me were actually comfortable with this shit. I've got no time for that." He beckoned to Kris. "You wanna go downstairs? Forage something to eat, maybe compare notes?"
A sneer tugged at Kris' mouth. "Why, does it look like I need help?" Without waiting for a reply, he started to make his way around Daniel and toward the stairs from whence the man had appeared. His hip protested his quick movements, spikes of pain shooting up through his hip. He briefly wondered if whatever he'd been drugged with had counteracted his medications. Once he reached the staircase bannister, he reached out to grab it with both hands, just barely hanging onto his cane. Gritting his teeth, Kris carefully slowed his breathing, trying to wrap his head around the horrid sensation in his leg like thousands of little needles biting into his flesh.
"Uh… yeah, it kinda does," Daniel said. He followed Kris to the stairwell, falling into step just behind him. He did not reach out to him, did not touch him, but it was clear he was attuned to any sign the other man might require assistance; any slip, however small, and Daniel would be ready to move. "But mostly I'd just like to hang around someone else who's not gotten acclimated to this bullshit yet. Is that all right with you?"
Kris tilted his head back, his expression a perfect painting of exasperation. After another moment of breathing in, out, in, out, calming his heart rate, he nodded.
"Do what you like," he offered, turning and slowly starting to make his way down the steps one at a time. He had to put his cane in front of him, setting his weight on it before lowering his left leg and following it with its sibling. It was painfully slow going, but Kris was determined to see how far he could get before he caved into this other man's assistance.
Daniel seemed content to let him have this little experiment. He followed slowly behind, staying one riser away at all times. "Cool accent, by the way," he said. "German? Austrian? Where'd you get snatched up from?"
Kris made no reply until he reached the bottom step; he would have liked the other man to believe that he was simply ignoring him, but in truth it far more concentration than he'd like to navigate the stairs. He paused at the bottom, quietly catching his breath so he didn't seem too out of it. Glanced back at the man, visibly annoyed that he was still following.
"Munich." With that one reply, Kris moved around the stairs and grimaced to see the next flight. How far up was he? Did this place not have an elevator?
"Jesus," Daniel said. "They really did pull us from everywhere, huh." He moved neatly around Kris, heading over to the next flight of stairs with a long, lazy stride. He called no overt attention to Kris's speed, merely stopping in front of the top riser, one hand on the rail. "Any ideas who took you? What happened?"
Keeping one hand on the bannister, Kris bit back the rising aggravation that he felt. He suddenly and desperately wanted nothing more than to sit, but he wouldn't allow it. Moving forward, he put his cane in his left hand and started down the stairs with the same slow, prolonged process as before.
To his deeply felt relief, he finally came to the first floor. Or at least, what he assumed was the first floor; he didn't see anymore stairs, and there were a number of chairs and benches scattered around in this entry area. Kris made a beeline for one of them, switching his cane back to his right hand, throwing dignity to the wind as his leg made him limp even more. He sat, sinking into the chair as though it were the softest material in the world.
"So is that a no, or…"
Daniel propped up against the wall beside him, arms loosely crossed over his narrow chest. "If you want me to fuck off you can say so, you know. But til you do I'm gonna stay right here. I feel like we need to stick together til we've got a better feel for this place. Nothing says one of our fellow housemates isn't actually responsible for this."
Kris opened one eye, sighing. "We? Because we're both new? How do I know you're not trying to keep tabs on me, are not responsible for this whole escapade?" He leaned back into the chair, gingerly resituating his leg. The slight stretch did little to alleviate the burning sensation he felt from descending the stairs too quickly. He closed his eyes, settling back.
"Me?" Daniel snorted. "I've done a lot of shit in my time, but mass kidnappings are damn sure not one of them, and I definitely don't truck with unlawful detention. I'd be offended you even asked that, but you don't know me yet, so I get it. I do. Ask me anything, man. I'll answer. You'll see."
To his own chagrin, Kris had to admit that being alone in that moment was not something he wholly wanted. He was in an uncomfortable situation, and as annoying as this man was being, it was providing a distraction from the pain in his leg.
"Fine," he relented. "Where are you from, and why do you think you're here?"
"See," Daniel said, gesturing with one hand, "there we go. I'm from Atlanta, Georgia. I first thought I was at some insane government black site. I'm still not a hundred per cent sure it isn't. I was at this rally when I got taken. I just assumed it was the cops." He shrugged. "I mean, like I said. I guess I kinda still do."
"That's reasonable." Kris opened his eyes, this time taking in the room around them. The decor and furniture were something he knew would never be wasted on the incarcerated, not even in Norway. "Though that begs the question of how I'm here in the Americas, or how you're here in Germany, if we are indeed in either of those locations. And I certainly haven't done anything to warrant kidnapping, unless someone decided I sold them an inauthentic Palmigiani or de Valde. Even then," he finished, glancing up toward Daniel. "This is a little extreme."
Daniel nodded. "That's the truth. If it was just Americans here I think I'd believe it. Or Americans and refugees or something. But kidnapping Germans… that's a little outdated even for our boys in blue. We're well past Operation Paperclip." He smirked. "But whatever. Now we're getting somewhere. Can I assume those are artists? What did you do back in Munich?"
"An artist and an interior designer," Kris corrected, feeling calmer than earlier. "I'm...an antiques dealer." It felt somewhat fake to offer a title he didn't feel he'd wholly earned, but this Daniel wasn't going to know any better, was he. "And you? I would assume something more than 'event organizer,' unless you do more than rallies."
A smile twitched over Daniel's full lips. "Yeah, I'm a transition counselor," he said. "People get out of prison, they come see me. Help them find work, housing, a social network. The rallies aren't mine. They've just been a part of my life for a long time. I don't plan on giving them up til I'm too damn old to leave the house unassisted."
Daniel's word choice made Kris frown, but he bit back his anger. "So, no similarities there. Different vocations, vastly different locations. I've been told there are a number of others who seem to vary as well." He sighed, wanting nothing more than to be back home eating breakfast with his mother. "It would seem it's time to find the others, to get what answers we can. Some food would not be remiss, either."
"Everything looks better with a full stomach," Daniel agreed. If he noticed his companion's discontent, he did not speak to it, instead glossing neatly over it and into the next topic of conversation. "Someone named Jack is supposed to be coming down soon. Why don't you join us in the kitchen? Apparently he likes making welcome meals for the newcomers. Which I guess is a thing that happens fairly often here." He tipped his head toward the hallway where -- he assumed -- the kitchen lay just past. "Let's head in there, hm?"
Kris sighed in irritation, and slowly climbed to his feet. He wasn't much of a cook himself, so he welcomed the thought of someone pulling breakfast together for him. It was certainly true that the both of them could have landed in far more hostile territory. Once he was standing and felt comfortable on his leg again, his cane firmly in place, he waved for Daniel to move forward.
"After you."
Daniel clapped his hands, then rubbed them together, openly and unabashedly enthusiastic. "Excellent," he said, practically humming the word. He led them onward, his steps slower than before. With the prospect of breakfast on the horizon, and more than a handful of questions answered by his new housemate, Daniel seemed content to let silence reign for a time.