drear | great dane's cheekbones, teenage hormones.

Entry tags:

great dane's cheekbones, teenage hormones.

[ It's over, finally. Everything is being cleared out of the building except for the people who will keep it running during this next period of hopefully-peace. People are celebrating, but Heine's just tired. He wants to go... away. Not home, never home. He'll find somewhere new.

(His spine is fucked from a mine they hadn't been able to avoid. One of his legs was nearly shattered from the blast, never quite healed, and it still bothers him, but there are others still worse off. He should be thankful, but he just doesn't care anymore.)

Passing by the dog pens, he pauses, pivoting on his crutches. There are soldiers being reunited with the dogs that saved their lives, their companions and fellow survivors. Most of the dogs have been taken in elsewhere or will be kept for guard duties, except for a few left. He asks about them without thinking it through. Even those still in the pen have been claimed and will be picked up later. Heine looks over the remaining dogs, gaze falling on the biggest one with fluffy brown hair and an equally fluffy tail. Something in his face is familiar, but he can't quite place it. Maybe they'd fought somewhere together, he can't remember.

He hesitates for a while longer. Company isn't necessary. But... Heine sighs through his nose and gets the necessary papers done, not taking up the offer to meet the dog before adopting him. The guy running the process goes to call the dog over to the gate, handing Heine a battered leather leash he can use. Heine doubts he'll be using it, though. It's hard enough to get around on crutches already; leading someone else around on a leash isn't going to make it any easier.

The dog comes over to the exit, and Heine knows that he knows him. But the memory keeps slipping away, and he doesn't have the energy to chase it. ]

Hey. [ If it's possible to mumble one word, he does it. ] ...Randall, right?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Heine nods, eyes sliding over the other people on the platform. ] It's down south. Probably colder than here, though.

[ He visited a few times before the war really took shape, when he was trying to get away from family. Most of them are gone now, and though he should feel bad about it, he's just resigned—and almost thankful. At least money won't be a problem.

When Randall answers, Heine looks back at him, blowing a piece of hair out of his face to avoid removing his hands from the crutches. A corporal, huh. ]

Special forces. [ Half-mumbled, again. He doesn't mention his rank. It was given for a combination of his family and his achievements, and it lead to events he'd rather not think about now.

Anti-tank, though. With his build, Heine can see it. He also feels Randall shift to his side, blocking off others. ] You were injured too, weren't you?

[ It was on the adoption paperwork. The extent to which was played down in the medical records, but it must have been bad. ]

I don't mind the cold. [ He's well-insulated with his size alone. His eyes shift away when Heine looks up at him, cheeks pink with the air that whipped through the funneled train depot to hide his visible reaction to his master's admission. Special forces. That explained a lot, but it suited his preconceived vision of Heine. ]

I see. You must've saved a lot of lives. It's hard to imagine that as a foot soldier, but I'm sure it was a valuable experience. We all lost people, of course, but I'm glad you're still here. [ And that they met. He's already somewhat fond of him, for all of the twenty minutes they've met. And sad. He can't explain that, the deep-rooted sorrow squeezing his chest in odd little pangs with no rhythm.

He creates a barrier that gives Heine his space, people flowing out around him instead of directly in front of him. When asked about his own injuries, though, he hums and trails off. How much should he divulge? Did he care to hear about each and every wound? Did Randall even remember each and every wound? ]

I was, on a lot of occasions. Nothing too bad, though, I think? Gunshot wounds, shrapnel, some explosive blasts from a further distance. There was a lot of wounds, but the worst ones were when I had been stabbed through the leg with a piece of rebar from a bomb blast and the twenty mil round that went through my stomach.

[ He touches where the bandages lay; it was a smaller tank round and it'd gone straight through him, avoiding anything too dire with help close enough that he miraculously survived. Even after rehab, he had all motor abilities. The only thing he had no control of had been the minor damage he'd suffered when he was neutered, so that didn't work particularly well but once in a blue moon. ]

Is it all right if I ask about you...? [ His injuries— he's curious. ]

[ Saved lives? Heine feels his gut twist, maybe from his back injury, maybe from too much emotion. For whatever lives he may have saved, he must have ended many more.

The only indication of his inner turmoil is a pause that's slightly too long. ] ...thanks.

[ He listens as Randall runs down a laundry list of past injuries, raising his eyebrows at the fact that a 20 mm round went through him and he's still alive and walking. Pretty damn impressive. ]

We hit a mine. [ Heine looks at the ground and the cast on his leg. ] Lost two soldiers in the blast. I'm lucky I can still move, apparently—I had to get a wheelchair sent up at the cottage I bought.

[ He scowls at the thought of it. The crutches he's currently using were considered the far less conservative option; he was supposed to take a wheelchair back with him in the first place. Being stuck in a wheelchair for months is definitely going to give him cabin fever.

The train's rumbling begins and drowns out Heine's soft sigh. Heine points out the compartment they're supposed to enter and hobbles over to the entrance. People mostly get out of his way. They have two sets of seats facing each other; the train to Almsport isn't in very high demand.

Once they're settled in, Heine leans back in his seat and shuts his eyes. ] I'm going to sleep. Wake me up if anything happens.

[ Sleeping is difficult at the best of times, and he doesn't really slip into anything deeper than a doze, so he can hear most of what's happening, only stirring occasionally when the train stops. ]

[ But due to their efforts, the war had come to an end and far more lives were spared by that alone, as well. Millions upon millions. Civilians and those who would've been drafted otherwise alike. Randall always looks at the glass half full until it comes down to himself. He notes that pause, ears swiveling back as he seems to realize what he'd said and how it was taken instead of how it was intended and he ducks his head in apology. ]

I'm sorry; I didn't mean it that way. The war is over, is all. No more bloodshed.

[ And he listens intently as Heine shares his own wounds; a mine. That explained the crutches and his stiff posture. It must have been close. ] You are lucky— very. I'm sorry for your loss but I'm also glad that you're largely unhurt. I'll... I'll accommodate as much as I can. If you need anything at all— please just say so.

[ His words are earnest, nearly forceful in how desperately he wants to help and to convey that desire. When the train arrives and he points to a compartment, Randall is quick to move, helping shift people out of Heine's way with his presence a step ahead of him and to the side he wore his cast on. He even offers a hand when he moves to sit with the other out for the crutches, if he'll trust him to ease his weight down onto the seat.

Randall can't help but wonder what could possibly happen. He'll be a quiet companion, reading whatever the attendant can offer him, taking the occasional offer of water, and mostly staring out the window while they travel. He won't sleep while Heine sleeps to guard their belongings, and he has no money to purchase food on the pushcarts that come through. When Heine stirs once maybe eight hours later, though, he'll grab his attention. ]

Is there anything you'd like me to get from the attendants, when they come around with the carts again...?

[ The train's progress is steady, for the most part, only drawing to a stop at some crossings and stations to pick up more passengers and let others off. Heine keeps his eyes closed, aware of his dog's presence across from him and the weight of his crutches resting against his leg. The rumble of the train's engine lulls him into sleep more than once, but the jolts of debilitating pain that shoot up his spine whenever they accelerate too suddenly or go over uneven track keep him awake.

He has his eyes cracked open when Randall speaks. The first response he manages is a mumble of acquiescence, before he realizes that there's more to the question. Heine sits up slowly, levering his weight up against the seat.

Getting up to take anything out of his bag seems beyond him at the moment. His limbs feel heavy and his head spins a little, so he asks for help. It's not as if it damages his pride; he knows it's for the better. And he's so tired. ]

My bag—the smaller one.

[ Once it's attained, Heine rifles through it to find his wallet, which he passes to Randall without much second thought. As he does, however, the train conductor announces over the intercom system that they'll be stopping for about fifteen minutes for fuel and for passengers to stretch their legs. Heine glances out the window at the people spilling out of the train, onto the station, chattering in the fresh air and milling about some of the foodstands. He doesn't really want to move, but he... probably should. Keep the blood circulating and all that.

Reaching for his crutches, Heine pulls himself up and out of his seat, hissing through his teeth at the pain the simple movement triggers in his back. Damn. ]

Bring whatever you need to keep close. [ He says, after a pause to regain control of his voice. ] And my knapsack, but leave the other bag. We can get something to eat before the train starts moving again.

[ Randall had been greatly enjoying the passing scenery, if little else. It kept him occupied and entertained, passing through towns and seeing people happy again, smiling. Getting on with their lives. As if nothing had happened mere months ago and it wouldn't take years upon years to recover from the damages suffered. Humans were nice and resilient, weren't they?

When Heine mumbles, even his hearing can't really pick the words apart, but then he speaks up and Randall is quick to obey, fetching the little bag and handing it right over. He practically shoves it into his lap so he doesn't have to reach for it. After hearing about his back injury he wonders if he should try to help limit his movements or something, or if he's in any pain. What's he to do with his wallet...? He hadn't said if he wanted anything. But when the train stops and he sees the food carts, he practically begins to salivate. He can nearly smell the roasting meats and hot cheeses melting over the bread being served with soup. He's already standing, nothing important in his bags except his discharge papers which weren't valuable or even worth stealing, eager to go try some of that soup.

His attention veers back with a swivel of his ears at that hiss of pain, immediately stooping from where he'd stood and stepping back into their seat's alcove. ]

Are you all right? Do you need any help...?

[ At least passengers could still get by him once he'd stepped back in, even if he's towering over Heine and probably too close in his space. He'll step back out into the aisle as soon as he's on his feet and keep people from crowding behind him. Space was probably important for men like him, especially when injured and trying to recover. It's difficult to be vulnerable and weak and having to rely on others to respect one's space, health, and independence. He's doing his best to be respectful, himself. ]

Ah, yes— that'd be good. How long is this trip going to last...?

[ Randall shoulders the knapsack and hovers a bit around Heine, wanting to help in any way he could. He's being swept along by this man he's only just met with no real idea of their destination, how far away it is, how much money he has, or even what sort of situation he'll be in once they arrive. He has no designation and he doesn't think "friendship" is really on the table. He'd been adopted for a reason unknown to him, so he'll just act according to his assumptions. Something like a guard dog, or a service/support animal... ]

No. [ Heine responds too quickly, even for himself, and winces again at the fact. ] I'm fine.

[ He manages to get himself out of the seat the rest of the way with his crutches, then makes his way over to the exit. Randall's hovering is a bit much, he thinks. He doesn't need help (though getting down the small set of stairs to the station ground itself from the train makes him grit his teeth at the pain shooting up his leg, up his spine). ]

We'll be there by nightfall. [ Glancing around the station, Heine is abruptly thankful that Almsport is a quiet coastal town, mostly consisting of fishermen, their families, and gulls. The clamor in the station is already too much. After a pause, he turns his attention to Randall, his new... pet. Or something like that. Heine has never had need for a pet, nor for company, but having him by his side is comforting and still weirdly familiar.

He dismisses the thought. ]

Buy something for dinner. For both of us. And something for later—bread, or pastry.

[ Another pause, as he tries to reconcile the relative quiet of the train with the hustle and bustle of the station. He has to close his eyes for a moment. ]

I'll wait here.

Oh. [ The immediate rejection has him shying away a bit, pulling his hands back instinctively. But after a moment, he seems to garner up some courage and speaks anyway. ] Please don't hurt yourself unnecessarily. You need to be careful and I'm here for anything you may require of me. I hope... that's enough.

[ He'll keep his distance when they do start to move, hanging back to herd people away from his new master who seems prickly enough as it is. He can't help but hover again as Heine works himself down the train steps, wishing he could offer him a supportive arm to help ease his weight down. The pain wouldn't be as bad, he's sure. He does pick up on Heine seeming a bit overwhelmed with the hustle and bustle of the station and he's hesitant to leave him, already protective of him and doing his utmost to ensure his comfort. There's just something niggling at the back of his mind, prompting him forward in his actions. He can't place it, but he feels as though he needs to make something up to this man.

When given his marching orders, he'll take the wallet he was handed and readjust Heine's knapsack over his shoulder, heading off to the soup stand. It's something full of vegetables and thick, served in hollowed out bread loaves and crusted over with a nice creamy cheese. It looked and smelled divine, and he seems quite proud of himself when he returns with two of them and another bag hugged against his chest with some chocolate-filled croissants to get them through the rest of the journey. Nightfall. He's excited, tail wagging minutely at the thought. ]

I saw the soup before we even got off the train; I could smell it in the air. There's beef and vegetables in it. I hope it's all right.

[ And he'll wait for Heine to have a seat before handing it to him, ever mindful. ]

[ It should be enough. It is enough, really, but Heine can't admit it, or accept it. He watches Randall walk away, head dipping as he tries to deal with the discomfort in his chest that definitely isn't physical. Is it sadness? Or something else?

Either way: Heine is still standing where Randall left him when he returns, eyes fixed on the ground. He's starting to feel tired out from standing on his crutches, which is both embarrassing and annoying. Seeing how happy Randall is, however, keeps him from snapping. The way his tail is wagging is... cute, he admits to himself. ]

Yeah? [ He tries to at least keep his expression from being too dark, and mostly succeeds. ] Smells good.

[ Once they're sat down, Heine starts in on the bread bowl with the utensils he's carried around with him as part of his field kit. It is good, filling and hot. There's more of it than he can finish in one sitting though; he's never been a big eater, and traveling kills his appetite even more. Leaning back, he nudges the remainders toward Randall. ]

Here. I'm full.

[ He's visibly glad and relieved when Heine is accepting of the food, and he seems to be all right. Randall is already growing worried of him and attuning to his moods the best he can, but maybe in the near future Heine will be able to trust him as well and let him help a little more.

He's tidy as he eats, but he's fast, not wanting to be the reason they miss the train "home". He had utensils from the foodcart— crude plastic things that got the job done just fine and got it in his mouth. The utilityware was handy though! He should've had one of those somewhere...

When Heine pushes his bowl to Randall, though, he tilts his head and one ear swivels back in an unsure manner. ]

That's all you'll eat? Are you sure?

[ He was just scraping out the last bits of soup-soaked bread from the crust himself, but he doesn't want to get ahead of himself and dig into Heine's. It was barely half gone. Randall nearly blurts out something like "you need to keep your strength up", but Heine is a full grown man and even in military terms, he'd probably been far outranked. He bites his tongue over it and just looks concerned. ]

[ Heine's gaze catches on Randall's ear and the way it move on its own. That's also cute, he thinks, and then kicks himself mentally for even thinking that. ]

I'm not hungry.

[ He does tear off another piece of bread to dip into the remaining soup, and eats it as he keeps pushing the food toward Randall, gnawing on the crust. It's good soup, really, but he can't eat any more. ]

You can just bring the bread if you don't finish it.

[ Once Randall's done eating, Heine gets up, crutching his way back toward the train. Once inside, he finds that he can't fall asleep again. Eventually he asks, as the train starts to pull out of the station, he speaks up. ] You don't need to take care of me.

All right— thank you.

[ "Is it the pain?" He catches his tongue before he says anything, but his suspicions are there. Nevertheless, he'll nod with a soft sound of acknowledgement and spoon up the rest of the soup, pulling apart the crust to chew on idly, never letting food go to waste. It'd only dry out and go rubbery if it sat for a few hours, so he'll do his best to finish before the train blows its warning whistle to begin boarding again. They've beaten it by a few minutes, at least, and he doesn't keep Heine waiting long as he finishes before they're shuffling back to the open doorways and climbing back in to find their seats.

Randall's careful as he settles the other man's knapsack back down with the rest of their things, pushing the bags around to resemble some form of tidiness out of habit before he pulls down the little table on the wall meant to eat at and sets the bag of pastries down on it. His attention swivels right back to Heine as he speaks up, and Randall looks a little sullen at first. Something wounded, as if he's been a bother, but he really doesn't think he's done anything to warrant that sort of warning. His ears flatten back and he doesn't quite seem to know what to do with himself, physically. He'll just curl his fingers in the heavy material of his jacket as he rights himself in his seat. ]

I... don't mind, really. I assumed that's why you'd adopted me. Even if it's just temporary until you've healed. [ He seems to weigh his words before speaking them, but he does eventually follow up with: ] If it isn't out of line for me to ask, then, why did you take me in? I was told to expect to be some sort of business or family guard dog, with the way I look.

[ Littered in scars and hulking a head and shoulders above the tallest people in any crowd. He certainly looks formidable, if you could look beyond his meek personality. ]

[ As the train rumbles on, Heine tries to adjust his sitting position so that he won't be jostled by the movement of the locomotive. His leg cast is starting to itch, even more as Randall speaks up. ]

I probably won't need guarding. [ A soft snort. ] There's nothing happening in Almsport. Ever.

[ Explaining the rest of the reason is too difficult. Heine rests his chin on his hand and looks out the window, trying to identify the motivation that he still doesn't understand. ]

...I don't know. You reminded me—of something, I guess. Or someone.

[ He looks at Randall again, trying again to understand the tug in his gut that's reminding him of something in the past. ]

But I can take care of myself.

[ Randall, meanwhile, just seems to be trying to be as innocuous as possible, hunched to take up less room and hands on his knees in a slightly tense position. His ears are splayed, flat— he doesn't like being without a purpose. ]

I'm glad it'll be peaceful, then. [ But he only seems more confused when Heine explains that he reminded him of someone else. It feels right but it niggles in the back of his mind, knowing that he should feel the same. And he does, in spurts, though it's never long enough to figure it out. ] I feel the same way. Maybe we've met once before...? However briefly. Ah, but we weren't stationed in the same cities... I was further east.

[ His ears only flatten further when he says he can take care of himself. His brows knit, ducking his head even if he's still looking at him, a tad petulant. He wants to argue. Point out the obvious pain he's been in, or the way he's avoided other people, and how easily it could be helped by another. Randall barely knows this man and already he feels he deserves better and needs someone to nudge him into taking better care of himself, able to sense his discomfort with the way he shifts and fidgets and avoids sitting if at all possible. In the end, he only looks down at the floor and his tail curls around one leg, tucking in against his body.

He clearly doesn't agree, but he isn't saying a word against it. ]

[ Heine makes a noncommittal noise at Randall's suggestion. He really can't remember seeing him before, at least not during the war. Maybe the familiarity is just his mind playing tricks on him.

And he's convinced that he really can take care of himself, so Heine is happy to let Randall be petulant about it. He leans back in his seat (gingerly) and looks out the window again. The sun is starting to set; Heine is happy to just sit and ignore his surroundings, but noticing that Randall is equally unoccupied, he clears his throat before speaking again. ]

I have a book in my bag. [ The duffel bag in the compartment above them. ] If you want to read it.

[ Even as he'd said it, it hadn't sounded right. But then how did he explain the sensation...? It makes his stomach twist and his chest ache, as if he'd done something wrong. His expression is one awaiting a scolding, fingers clenching at the thin fabric of his shirt.

But nothing comes. The sensation eases, and Heine's looking off out the window for a time. When he speaks up, Randall's ears twitch but remain turned back. ]

Ah— that's all right, I wouldn't get very far— but thank you. I'm a slow reader. The scenery is nice to watch since I've never seen this side of the country.

[ With Heine awake, though, and their meal warming him, he grows lethargic after a handful of minutes and the rhythm of passing lamplight makes him sleepy, nodding off as he too stares out the windows. A couple times he snaps back awake with the jostling of the train over the tracks, but third time's the charm and he's soon out like a light, slowly slumping back and ears relaxing, splaying. His tail, anxiously rigid and tucked against his side, also begins to fan back out and relaxes. ]

[ Heine shrugs, a subtle movement to avoid straining his back any more. He hates this, having to limit every little motion to avoid pain. As familiar with pain as he is, it's still pain. ]

If you say so.

[ Seeing that Randall is dozing off, Heine makes a concerted effort to stay awake. It's not too hard, now that he's had a walk around and can no longer find a comfortable position. He'd slept long enough, anyway; his traveling partner deserves a break.

It gives Heine a chance to really look at his new pet, too. For the first time he lets his gaze linger, traveling over the fluffy ears, hair, the scars on his face, the line of his broad shoulders—and again. There. Something in the way the dimmed train lights glances off Randall's hair breaks a block in Heine's mind, and he remembers—

—pain, as bad as he feels now when he moves the wrong way and hurts his back, because he'd lost half of his side in that attack, but it'd been worth it, there was nothing else he could do, he wouldn't, couldn't hurt—

—someone. The train jolts again and Heine loses the thread of memory. Frowning harder than before, he looks back out the window.

Time passes quietly until they reach Almsport's station. The conductor announces that the train will be stopping for another fifteen minutes, but they're not going to wait. The sky outside is dark, moon hidden behind clouds. Rather than physically wake Randall and risk a response that so many soldiers give on reflex, Heine clears his throat and speaks. ]

We're here. [ Already starting to get up. ] Grab our bags and let's go.

[ Whatever dreams had haunted him leave him murmuring under his breath, fingers twitching and body curling in on itself as he half-reclines across the seats on his side of the booth. When Heine speaks up and he rouses, he's left drifting in a discontent state, only remembering how very incredibly sad he had felt in his dream. Something that pierced his soul and had yet to heal over, carried with him through the ages. He had done something gravely wrong and some part of him still couldn't forgive himself, even if he could no longer remember just what that thing was.

He'll clutch at his chest again, thick fingers curling over even thicker scars beneath the thin fabric. His other hand drops to his hip, where something cold should have met his touch. But there's nothing. What would have been there...? On his left hip. It wasn't quite where a gun holster would've been, nor would the shape have been right. The lack of whatever it was leaves him feeling vulnerable, weak. Naked. His eyes are lost and unfocused for a long few moments, but he seems to realize the train has stopped and someone else was with him.

When he turns his attention back to Heine, it feels like his throat closes up on him and he has to wheeze for breath. Just as quickly as the sensation came it was already gone, slipping away on the ocean breeze. What was that all about...? ]

Ah... right, right. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to fall asleep. After you'd just offered a book to read, too.

[ He goes about gathering their bags and tucking the pastries away in his duffel, stepping into the hall to let Heine out first, holding off any other passengers from crowding behind his master. It gives him time to try and recall his dream or the purpose behind the feeling he'd had upon seeing Heine when he woke. It was too familiar for them not to have met. So then, what...? ]

After you, Mas— I mean, Heine.

[ Heine's gaze sharpens when he sees how pained Randall looks. Is it that injury? He's grabbing at his chest, though, not his stomach where the round went through. ]

It's fine. [ He's just glad they can finally get off the train. The air's starting to feel stuffy.

He would protest the title, but at least Randall cuts himself off before saying the whole thing. Heine grudgingly gives in to being guarded as he gets off the train. Better than being jostled by the rest of the crowd, at least, and no one's holding his hand, so it's... fine. Heine gingerly descends the steps and gets onto the station without incident. He goes forward a couple feet to wait for Randall to catch up. Once he does, Heine moves toward the exit.

Calling up directions that the seller of the cottage gave him, Heine turns down the road from the station towards the residential area. It's hard to move at even a decent pace on crutches, and knowing that Randall will have to slow down to keep pace makes him scowl again.

He keeps walking—or rather, crutching along. There's a wheelchair waiting for him, and that's probably going to be even worse. Distracted by such thoughts, he doesn't notice his crutch hitting an uneven stone in the dark road and almost loses his grip on the crutch completely. Swearing, he stumbles; the sudden movement sends a lance of agony down his spine. ]

[ He follows as diligently as ever, slowly getting a handle on Heine's preferred distance and trying to keep it, stopping to nod his thanks to the attendants as he passes them. The wound in his stomach is giving him little trouble, and a couple longer strides catch him up to Heine with no problem. The only good thing about being so tall was how much ground you could cover in stride. Randall can't help the way his head swivels, ears perked high and eyes straying this way and that in wonder. Night has fallen and all the windows were lit up by candlelight and electricity, the smell of fireplaces burning hung rich in the air, and savory fish and meat dinners were cooking nearly in every household.

Slowing down wasn't a problem at all. It gave him time to take in all the sights and smells and the scenery, a rounded bay studded in boats and ships docked at the fingers spreading out from the port. The lighthouse stood proud at the end of a small cliff around the bend of the bay, beckoning safe passage for any travelers on the sea.

His own distractions keep him from responding properly, but his ears still perk at the sound of plastic catching on stone, jerking to attention and throwing an arm in front of Heine's torso to keep him from falling and immediately seeming to regret his action, knowing how he didn't want any help. ]

I'm sorry— I'm sorry, Heine, I only— are you okay?

[ Randall's arm does keep him from falling, but the impact hurts, too. Heine says nothing for a moment, breathing all too heavily for his own liking. As he's straightening back up, he swallows hard, and again a memory slides into his mind like it's always been there: his stomach being torn open by some wound that he can't reconcile with any of the weapons of this war—and why "this" war?

Because he'd been in another one. As soon as he thinks it, Heine knows that it's true. He's fought some stupid battle before. And he must have died for it, that's what the pain is.

As ridiculous as it is, objectively speaking, Heine knows it now that he's thought of it. He's died before. He's felt pain even worse than this before, and it was worse because of how it happened. But the details still escape him, and Heine is abruptly aware that he's been silent for several seconds, leaning heavily on his crutches and not responding to Randall's question. ]

I'm fine. ...sorry.

[ Fortunately, the sudden realization that he's had some kind of past life keeps him from snapping at Randall for helping him stay upright. Heine's fairly sure that he's not just making things up for himself to believe. It just feels... right, when he thinks about it. Carefully keeping his expression blank, Heine starts moving again, trying to figure out why that brief contact of Randall's arm against his side felt so welcome and yet an uncomfortable shock at the same time.

The cottage isn't far. Heine's still tired when they get there, though, and fumbles the lock twice before successfully opening the front door for the first time. The building is worn but sturdy, built for some other seaside civilian who's since moved away. The furnishings suit the salty ocean air, some small decorations still left around and a folded blanket set on the couch to ward off the wind off the water. Heine moves over to the entryway table and picks up the envelope on it—a message left by the seller, about housekeeping and useful information.

It's all very nice and quaint. Heine tosses it back onto the table after reading the first two lines with a soft sigh. He doesn't feel like he belongs here, but nor can he think of a place that would be any better. With a glance over his shoulder at Randall, he starts moving deeper into the house. It's all unfamiliar shadows and edges, until he finds a light switch and then it becomes an unfamiliar house. ]

I'm going to lie down.

[ Even with the quiet of the small town and the comforting hush of the ocean not too far away, it's too much all at once. The war's over, but Heine's now remembering another one. ]

[ Randall isn't smooth enough to let his arm move as he falls, ease the impact; it's harsh and sudden and his ears flatten to near-invisibility, tail tucked tight between his thighs. If Heine wants to use his arm for stability he won't move, but he'll pull away as soon as he seems finished with his presence and backs away out of his personal space. Heine apologizes after a long pause, but why? Randall's the one that needed to apologize. ]

No! ...No, that's what I'm here for, please. Anything I can do. Don't apologize.

[ He keeps a diligent distance when they continue on, hyper-vigilant against any future stumbling or tripping.

The cottage is beautiful. The salt air had washed everything in pastels and worn the woods down to the perfect driftwood texture, quaint and cozy and wonderful. This was his new home...? His tail wags with a noisy swish, quick to set the bags down and drift around the house, checking out every nook and cranny. Wasn't it wonderful? When Heine speaks up, his attention snaps back from across the living room, fingertips resting on the back of a rocking chair that looks like he may actually fit in. ]

Right! Of course. Did you want me to put our things away in the dressers...? I'll be quiet. And um, if it'd be all right, I'd like to take a quick bath.

[ His clothes still smell like the shelter and he doesn't like it. ]

[ At this point, Heine generally just feels like shit. The pain in his back isn't flaring up, but it's still a steady, obvious ache. He seeks out the hallway toward the bedroom. ]

You can do whatever you want. [ He knocks his crutch against the doorway, eyes darting around the new place in search of something safe to land on. He turns on another light, spots a folded up wheelchair at one end of the hallway.

Not yet. He can't put himself in that yet. ]

Just let me—use the bathroom first for a minute.

[ Just to wash his face and maybe brush his teeth. He should take a bath too, honestly, but he's too tired for that. Even getting changed into his bedclothes is going to be difficult. In the back of his mind, he's aware that it's unlikely he'll be able to bathe on his own very easily. It's something he'll deal with later, Heine decides.

He exits the bathroom after a few minutes, long enough for Randall to at least get a start on putting things away. Then he settles on the bed in the connected bedroom, setting his crutches to the side. Slowly, he works off his boots and the trousers he has on over his cast, then his jacket, and his shirt. It's a slow process. After tugging on a looser shirt and pants for bed, he just lies down on top of the covers, waiting with the lights still on for Randall to get back out of the bathroom. ]

[ He'll take that as a yes, then, and move Heine's bags to the bedroom, unzipping them to get started. He hasn't even looked at rooms yet; he can't be sure he even has his own. This is a fine start for now, though, and that's a problem that can be sorted out later. He could always sleep on the couch.

He doesn't miss passing by the wheelchair, either. Or the disdainful look it gets from his master. ]

Take your time! I'll start unpacking your things.

[ He empties one bag, carefully sorting the clothes inside into drawers. Underclothes and socks in the top drawer, shirts below that, trousers on the bottom. Any personal items are carefully set atop the dresser in neat groups so they're easy to find, and the empty bag is folded and left in a chair in the corner. Heine comes back out of the bathroom just as he opens the second one and started to add more shirts to the middle drawer, glancing up with a small, timid smile.

Should he leave...? Or stay?? His back is to the bed, either way, but he'll use the bathroom first, probably. That would give him privacy to change or whatever else he may want to do. ]

I won't be long; just call if you need anything, though!

[ It takes him a little more than a few minutes to empty his bladder and wash up, a quick shallow bath just to scrub off the smell of the shelter and wash his head.

He completely neglected to bring his own things in when he'd rushed in, and he peeks out the door with a towel about his waist. He's still embarrassed by his body, covered in pits and scars and the fresh bandages over the entrance and exit wound at his stomach. ]

Sorry, I forgot to bring my bag in— I'm just going to—

[ Make a run for it, basically. His steps are ginger but he darts out of the room even so, grabbing clothes from his duffel to pull on in the living room. His sleepclothes are a little small on him, but they'd do the job. When he does peek back in the room, his ears are splayed, one back and one relaxed. ]

Is there anything you need? Before bed, or if you'd like me to do anything in the morning...

[ Even as he asks, though, he's stepping in and going for the extra blankets folded up on the back of the chair he'd set his empty bag in, moving to cover Heine. They're lightweight enough and easy to manipulate, but he doesn't want him catching a cold right off the bat. ]

[ Heine stays sprawled out on the bedsheets, willing to doze off but in too much discomfort to. He needs to adjust his position again, make sure that he's supported on both sides so he won't roll around in his sleep and hurt his spine more, but it's all so much trouble.

He opens his eyes again when Randall returns, squinting as he darts in to grab his things and runs back out. The next time he comes back, Heine keeps his eyes closed and just mumbles his responses. ]

Pillows. [ Cracking an eye open, he can't even get himself up on his elbows to look around. ] Just move them down...

[ He can't reach so far above his head in this position, and he needs them before he actually falls asleep. ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject