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He's furious.
This place is a shock after so long trapped in the unending grind of war. It's so... clean. And quiet. And it makes him unreasonably furious that no one here seems to know, seems to care that they have it so good. Autor slumps into one of the booths, using the shadows there as a shield to keep from having to socialize with anyone.
The world greys out. Shock, he self-diagnoses. He should have gotten food, or water, or... something. He doesn't feel shocky, but what else...
"The Gloom." He's been through too much to flail now, and if the witch-woman is missing his once-common reaction, she doesn't show any signs of it. She's sitting across from him, her usual bangles gone in place of a clean white linen suit. "And you've seen it at least once before."
"What are you talking about?" He queries peevishly, curling into himself as the temperature slowly drops.
"You are not ill, you are in the Gloom." He looks away, intent on ignoring her, but she makes a sharp sound that demands his attention. "And you will die here if you do not return to the normal world. You did it yourself by instinct, I suspect, the first time. Most do."
He bristles at the implied threat, but the temperature is continuing to drop, the space around them becoming darker.
"No, it isn't. But your shields are... well. We'll work on that. But not now - you are tired and drained, and you need to step out of the Gloom." He gives her a sharp look, but she only grins, a sharp look that somehow looks more inhuman in the half-light. "Up. Now. Get up." Her voice drops into a growl more felt than heard, one that gets his legs moving without further input from his brain. Autor turns to ask what she means by this, but suddenly the light and sound of the bar has returned, and Katya, in her habitual jeans coat and bangles, is shaking her head.
"Stubborn. Welcome to the Light, Autor."
This place is a shock after so long trapped in the unending grind of war. It's so... clean. And quiet. And it makes him unreasonably furious that no one here seems to know, seems to care that they have it so good. Autor slumps into one of the booths, using the shadows there as a shield to keep from having to socialize with anyone.
The world greys out. Shock, he self-diagnoses. He should have gotten food, or water, or... something. He doesn't feel shocky, but what else...
"The Gloom." He's been through too much to flail now, and if the witch-woman is missing his once-common reaction, she doesn't show any signs of it. She's sitting across from him, her usual bangles gone in place of a clean white linen suit. "And you've seen it at least once before."
"What are you talking about?" He queries peevishly, curling into himself as the temperature slowly drops.
"You are not ill, you are in the Gloom." He looks away, intent on ignoring her, but she makes a sharp sound that demands his attention. "And you will die here if you do not return to the normal world. You did it yourself by instinct, I suspect, the first time. Most do."
He bristles at the implied threat, but the temperature is continuing to drop, the space around them becoming darker.
"No, it isn't. But your shields are... well. We'll work on that. But not now - you are tired and drained, and you need to step out of the Gloom." He gives her a sharp look, but she only grins, a sharp look that somehow looks more inhuman in the half-light. "Up. Now. Get up." Her voice drops into a growl more felt than heard, one that gets his legs moving without further input from his brain. Autor turns to ask what she means by this, but suddenly the light and sound of the bar has returned, and Katya, in her habitual jeans coat and bangles, is shaking her head.
"Stubborn. Welcome to the Light, Autor."
