string_theory | (no subject)

Bert looked up, taking stock of the man who'd hailed him. Around his age, scruffy, looking a bit as though he'd just shaken out of a dream. There was something familiar about him, which was funny as Bert was sure he'd never seen the fellow's face before.

And yet...

"Hey," he responded, using the bare minimum of syllables needed. It was easier to sound...well...less painfully foreign that way. But still that trace of not-quite-American lingered.

"Yeah?"

Looking into the other face cemented whatever odd, unsettled feeling Eddie had for him. Odd, and unsettled...but not bad. Infact, sort of the opposite of bad.

Except he wasn't sure why he felt that way, and this was New York, full of the nicest assholes on earth. And if he didn't figure out some reason to talk to him, he was just going to look like the latter.

So he feel back on the default.

"Got a cigarette?"

Oh, so that was what he wanted. Bert studied the other man's familiar-but-never-seen face a moment longer, then nodded.

"Yeah, sure." He shifted and dug into his pocket, pulling out a battered pack of cigarettes. It had clearly been carried around for a week at least, and there were only a few cigarettes rattling around inside of it. While he appreciated the convenience of these already put together cigarettes, he enjoyed doing it the old fashioned way. And loose tobacco and papers were cheaper than the little boxes, anyway!

"Help yourself," he said, offering it. "I usually roll my own."

And he waited for the inevitable 'are you British?' or whatever other far away place where they spoke in tones similar to Gilead. And whatever it was, he just said 'yeah', because it was much easier.

Though sometimes...sometimes he thought there were people who suspected the truth, somehow. He looked at the man who'd ask for a cigarette again, curious...

He took a cigarette, smiling gratefully, and nodding his thanks.

The sounds of his voice. Rolling his own cigarette. And being so damn familiar, like a word caught on the tip of his tongue he couldn't quite get. It was all there, and he felt like a damn fool for not being able to grab it.

"Got a name to go with those good looks." he asked as he placed the cigarette between his lips, patting down his own pockets, before realizing he needed a light, too. "And a light while I'm at it?"

"I do at that." Bert smiled and dug a lighter out of his pocket. Another fancy little thingum he'd grown quite fond of. "Here's the latter." He leaned over and flicked the little wheel to light the fellow's smoke. "And the former's Bert."

'Cuthbert' got too many raised eyebrows, as well. Apparently it wasn't exactly a name here, least not outside of old poems and books. But Bert was. Ah, the pains of fitting in to some foreign world...

"What about you?"

"Bert, huh."

Familiar name. Familiar voice. And what were the chance? Probably the same as the chance of any other of the weird freakin' shit that had happened since he'd started this whole shebang.

Ka was a weird mistress.

"Cuthbert?"

Bert's eyebrows shot up in clear surprise. Of all the things that could have been said, he never would have expected that!

"Yeah, actually. Now how in the name of all that's good'n holy did you come up with that?"

"Do I get bonus points if your last name is Allgood?"

Because he was pretty sure he could put all his chips on the table now, even if he had no idea why he and Roland's old Ka-mate were both sitting in Central Park enjoying a wonderful New York day.

"You get the whole damned bag. Do I know you, friend?"

Bert's voice stayed friendly but there was a caution in his eyes, a wariness. He didn't feel he had any reason to distrust, yet... This stranger knew his name. His true and full name, and he'd seemingly plucked them from the thin air.

Stranger things had happened, of course, but not here.

"No, but I know your Ka-mate, Roland."

His own Ka-mate. Though in a much different time.

And they weren't even in that time, were they? Or his...his world, yes, but this wasn't the way he had left it. It was New York, but not his New York. A new skyline, new fashion, New York, New York.

"What?"

Bert gathered all their words, and the meaning of them together, and yet it made little sense to him. While he could only truly guess at Roland's fate - beyond some deep seated surety that somehow his dinh had lived - he couldn't begin to comprehend how some fellow from New York could not only know him...

But have known him well and long enough to be able to identify Bert himself from nothing more than description. Or so Cuthbert gathered.

Did he pour this all out?

This seemed to be Cuthbert of recent fame. But why he was here, if he was himself?

But then again, what the hell could telling him do? Really, he doubted he was wandering New York for his heath. And Bert was fairly certain most of Roland's enemies (and anyone who he ever meet) knew he was trying to find the Tower.

"I was pulled into Mid-world. I helped him look for the Tower." He paused. "He really can't function without someone around to run their mouth."

Bert let out a low whistle. He looked at Eddie a moment then out over the park, sights that were still foreign but growing more familiar with every passing day.

"How about that?" he finally said, a tone of wondering in his voice. Pulled through to Mid-World. To join in Roland's quest. Gods. He knew there were so many things he had only the barest comprehension of, but this seemed staggering.

"How is the old man, then? I reckon he's an old man by now, anyway. It's been...well, I don't know, actually. A time."

"Old as balls."

Eddie nodded sagely as he looked out over the city skyline. His journey the opposite of Bert's...something once so familiar now achingly foreign.

"An very...uhh...I think driven is the nice way to put it. For the Tower."

Bert snorted a bit at that.

"Well he's Roland, innit he? Been driven for that damn thing since he was fifteen, ever since the damned wizard put it in his head." Or had it been the witch? It didn't matter. He gave Eddie a sidelong glance.

"That how you ended up here?"

"Yeah. An addict if I ever saw one. And I've seen a lot." He laughed. Although it wasn't really funny.

"I have no idea how I ended up here. Last I remember, well..." He hesitated, looking out over the Great Lawn, the kids playing there. New York's backyard. Looked much nicer now that when he had lived here.

"Well, here isn't where I expected to end up."

"Not surprised, coming from a place like this!" There were a number of poor and sad sots in this city, and many again of those who turned to something to take their minds away from it. He'd seen his share of junkies, too. And Roland...aye. He had an itch that he couldn't rest till he scratched.

And the way Eddie trailed off, giving vague answers, told Bert all he needed to know. He didn't like to remember it too deeply either, though sometimes he woke in the night clutching at his face as though fearing for his eyes.

"Aye." He nodded and leaned over his bent knees. "Not where I expected, either. But here we are and there it is, and the universe is full of that which a fellow like me can't hope to understand. And it's not an awful place, this world. This city."

Eddie could see the lines Roland drew between him and Bert. A blind man probably could. But it made him an odd, prideful sorta happy that Bert liked his city.

Even if it wasn't quite his city.

"Where are you staying?" Not that introduction were out of the way, time to get to business.

"I've got a place. Not a very nice place, but I've got false identification and not much money. I'm not quite a beggar, but I still can't be choosy!" And Bert was adaptable. Hell, just having a handful of shabby rooms he could call his own was more than he'd had for over a decade.

He looked over at Eddie, giving him a grin.

"It's just me," he went on, answering the question that hadn't been asked. "There's room."

"Yeah, you don't really get very nice around here." He snorted, looking over at the other man.

Would he be able to get ID? What if...shit, what if there was another Eddie Dean here?

That'd be weird.

"I can start contributing pretty fast. I know where to get work when it's needed."

But he had to stay clean.

"Better'n nothing. And give what you can when you can, don't worry too much about it now." Bert knew what a shock it had been to him, to come to grips with the idea that he still had some sort of life to live. Eddie knew this place, but Bert couldn't imagine that made it that much easier.

"I do alright for myself. I catch on to things quick, and you can learn anything in a library. Nearly shit myself and died all o'er again when I saw the one here! Inside, I mean. All those books...didn't think there were that many books in the whole world!"

It was, he realized, something of a relief to be able to properly explain his fascination with so many things people here concerned unremarkable.

"Cool, man, thanks."

He would want to give what he could. Because even if this was home, he realized this was the only person who was going to make sense to him here.

A weird sorta realization.

"Oh I bet. It's a pretty awesome place." He laughed. "There's a lot...have you been to the Met yet? Or the MoMA? The Natural history museum?"

Modern art and a Gunslinger. He hoped Bert hadn't, just so he could see it.

Bert shook his head.

"Can't say as I have. Looked at'em, the buildings I mean, but haven't gone in yet. One of these days!" There was just so much, and even he found himself overwhelmed sometimes. Especially when he was busy trying so very hard not to seem out of place, to blend in with the rest of the people from this world.

Thankfully slightly odd folks weren't an abnormality in New York, and he was happy to let other people fill in the blanks he left open. It was easier that way.

"I've got a little book, though. All about the things to do and see here, and how they all came to be. It's fascinating stuff! What did you do, when you lived here a'fore? In your leisure time, I mean."

"Uhhh...a little of everything."

It was hard to sum up what one did in their entire life full of leisure time in New York. It triggered off some sort of child like response of 'nuthin' which seemed pointless.

"You'll never see everything. We use to go to Coney Island a lot. Wander around. You can go in a lot of museum's free but..." But he hadn't don that as much as he would like to claim he did.

"Coney Island, aye." Bert nodded, recognizing the name. "Haven't been, but I know of the place. The boardwalk and all. Keep meaning to give it a look one of these days. I like the old churches, though, the cathedrals. Looking at them. I'm not a Christian, but they're familiar - the stone and the colored glass and the bigness of'em. And they don't cost anything to poke around in!"

Bert pushed himself up to his feet and offered a hand to Eddie.

"Come on. I wot you could use a proper place to sit your ass and sommat to eat. Got both back home."

"Sounds good to me." Eddie heaved himself up with Bert's hand, and paused for a moment, face to face with his twinner.

He studied the man, looking at all his feature. He could see similarities to himself, though he had a feeling that was an expectation he was imagining. But more, he could see similarities to Roland. Even thought the two were different, a way of holding themselves, a way of moving.

Something all gunslinger trained in Gilead probably had, if e meet more than two of them.

"Let's roll."

Bert toed on his shoes and met Eddie's scrutiny with a grin. Man Jesus! He still couldn't quite believe it, but it all made perfect sense, really. Everything was connected. He might not have had the highest opinion of ka, but he didn't deny it entirely. The big things, those were controlled.

And ka was a wheel, wasn't it? Everything came 'round again, one way or another. And perhaps, just perhaps, the good were rewarded. If nothing else, he wasn't alone anymore. Here was someone who could understand him - his world, his upbringing, his attempts to fit in to a strange new world. If that wasn't an answer to a prayer, Cuthbert wasn't sure what was.

"S'not too far," he promised, turning with his hands stuffed in his pockets to lead the other man back home. It was quicker by the underground trains, but Bert preferred to walk. Hurtling through dark tunnels in a shaking metal box wasn't high on his list of enjoyable activities. And walking let him take in the city, absorb its rhythms and patterns.

"How starving are you? There's a plethora of fast food opportunities along the way!"

Fast food.

Beautiful, terrible fast food.

"Oh man. Let's get some Mickey D's."

He had not realized how much he missed junk food. While, he had, but in a vague, abstract kind of way.

No, he pretty much just missed junk food. He was just trying to convince himself he didn't.

"To the Golden Arches it is, then! There's one down the block from my building. Disgusting stuff, but it's delicious. That and Taco Bell. I swear I can feel it sickening my body as I eat it, but damned if I care!"

It wasn't as though he lived off of the stuff. But it was like nothing he'd ever tasted back home - as was much of the food here in America.

"And of course there's dozens of places that'll just bring you food right to your door, instead of having to go and get it! It's like some god given miracle, when it's ten o'clock at night and you're pleasantly drunk and craving pizza and nothing else. And lo, it can be yours!"

"Ah, you're learning the ways of my people so quickly!"

He laughed as they walk, starting to feel like a weight was lifting off of him. He could still feel the ties, securely, to the other world, but in a good way. Right now, though, it was a beautiful day in New York City, and he was about to eat the first Big Mac he'd had in a long time.

"So what have you been up to? Where are you working?"

As they walked, he looked around and realized that he, too, was gonna have a culture shock. For one, Central Park was beautiful and clean. For two, everyone seemed to have little...calculators with them.

"The hell are those."

"I am nothing if not adaptable! And the ways of your people are such attractive ones." And life here was easy, at least compared to the life Bert had lived before. There were machines to do everything, services to tend to every need, miracles were common acts of machinery...

"Whatever I can, mostly! All sorts of odd jobs. Labor work, exercising rich people's horses for'em, tending people's pets... Wealthy folks will pay a damned nice bit of cash, jest for yeh to make sure their animals are played with and walked and pampered when they're at work! Assuming yeh've for the right references."

And Bert always managed to have the right references.

"Hmm? Oh! Those are phones! Mobile ones, they're like little tv internet tablets that can make telephone calls but I hardly see anyone using'em for that."

(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

no subject

please excuse that this is super the wrong eddie journal.

Pff, no worries!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject