bakerstreet | Travel

Travel

The Traveling Meme

You're on your way from point A to point B, and you've chosen one of the many forms of communal conveyance to do so! Let's see what your trip looks like today.

Train: The Orient Express if you're feeling fancy, your standard intercity line if you're not, but no matter how humble the train there's always a little bit of romance to the rail.
Plane: It may be the type of travel we least look forward to. Go ahead and stuff your character in coach--unless they're one of the blessed few who can afford knee room in business class.
Ship: The heyday of the grand passenger liners, a tall ship (preferably with a star to steer her by), or the ferry.
Bus: Whether it's a school bus, a Greyhound, or your regular commuter ride... we know you're not wearing the seatbelt like you're supposed to.
Stagecoach: Some old-timey fun!
Airship: Listen, JRPGs had it right when they decided these should be a normal thing.
Spaceship: For that sci-fi feel! To boldly get Ubered where no one has Ubered before.

Scenarios

I brought a book for a REASON: You're just trying to make this journey in peace and quiet but for the person in the seat next to you....
Stalled: Well, now you're really not there yet, because your mode of transport has stopped working--thrown a wheel or can't get off the tarmac or lost the breeze. Better figure out something to do in the meantime.
Stand and deliver! Dammit, it's bandits, or robbers, or some other kind of ne'er do well--or maybe you're the one pulling the heist.
Running: Not literally, obviously, but you're trying to get away from something bad. Let's hope it's not catching up to you a few seats down....
Disaster! This isn't just inconvenient, it's catastrophic! Good thing you're here to save the day, right? ...Right?
Actually having a nice time: It's just pleasant to sit and look out windows while someone else does the steering, you know?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Prose preferred. I generally play Bucky as Winter Soldier but could be interested in tentatively voicetesting Bucky after!

No: bus, stagecoach, spaceship. ]

( Not traveling on his amazing boat for once. )

[ ota. can u be a fucking man and do a voyage of the demeter with me ]

[Randel has never been on a ship.

No, that's probably not true. He's sure that if he thinks back hard enough, he'll remember having been on a ferry or a little boat during the war; some manner of transport designed to get soldiers from one battleground to the next. There had been a great many battlefields and Randel could not remember how he had gotten to each and every one. The battles themselves he could not -- should not -- forget, but the quiet moments in between had long disappeared.

What is certainly true is that Randel has never been on a ship like this. Being on an oceanliner is something he could only have ever dreamt of as a child, if he had ever known it was something to dream of. As a child of the 0-district, the ocean and ocean travel had been a very distant concept. He might as well have dreamt of travelling to the moon! And even as a child, he would never have been able to imagine a boat this large; large enough that it makes even him feel small and dwarfed; large enough that Randel is certain that even the lantern couldn't take it down.

He has no interest in testing out that theory though.

Furthermore, what is absolutely, 100% true is that Randel has never travelled on a ship just to simply travel. There is no battleground waiting for him at the end of this trip. If there was work to be done for Section Three, it would not fall on his shoulders. Randel is on a vacation. He had not gone AWOL. Everybody knows where he is and they are fine with him being here, doing nothing but breathing in great lungfuls of salty air.

Oh, and accompanying Edward, of course.

Because that's the real reason he is here. Edward had been called abroad and he had invited Randel along with him. Officially because he needed someone to be his eyes, valet and perhaps guard. Unofficially, well... if there was a second cabin on their booking, Randel certainly hadn't seen it.]

[The last time Edward was on a boat, it was whisking him away from a battlefield, ferrying him and other wounded soldiers, all filthy and bleeding and slowly choking on the gas in their lungs, to a first aid station. He remembers little of the trip beyond the shuddering of the boat as it cruised through the way, the little thumps along its hull as it hit obstacles in the water--what those obstacles were, Edward has no way of knowing, but there were many, and some of them cried out when the boat hit them--and the feeling of blood and tears sluicing down over the burns on his cheeks.]

[This isn't a journey like that. This is a ship, enormous and stately and moving slow, not darting through the water under artillery fire, not carrying a cargo that's like to be half dead by the time it arrives at its destination. It's not traveling to or from a battlefield; it's going to the New World, steaming west towards the Americas, and Edward turns his face towards the heat of the setting sun as they leave land behind.]

[He squeezes Randel's arm. No one has questioned Randel's presence at Edward's side; obviously he needs a man to help him, being in a new environment and all. The fact that the second cabin hasn't been used once is merely a coincidence, since Edward needs Randel with him at all times, lest he go careening off the edge of the ship.]

What does it look like?

[Edward saw the ocean before, long ago, but he wants to know what it looks like through Randel's eyes.]

I never knew there was this much water in the world.

[It's said with a very quite, but earnest awe. Randel's eyes rove across the horizon, along the endless swells of water to the point where the blue of the water and the blue of the sky meet, separated only by how dark the water is compared to the bright blue of the sky.]

I wonder how long it would take for a person to sink to the bottom.

The Pacific Ocean is even larger. I'm told sailors can tell the difference between the two, but I've never heard how.

[Edward makes a slight face at Randel's musings. It's morbid as hell, but then, Randel has never known a life outside poverty and the military. Edward forgets that sometimes, until Randel reminds him, always inadvertently and usually gruesomely.]

[Still, Edward knows he didn't mean any harm by it, and so answers the question to the best of his ability.]

It depends on what part we're over. In some places, it's miles deep.

[He shrugs, and uses the gesture to cuddle a bit closer to Randel's side.]

I read once that there are places in the Caribbean where the water is so clear you can see all the way to the bottom, and it's as warm as bath water. Not at all like the water we're used to.

[Edward doesn't need to worry. Randel has no intentions of taking a plunge. Not that he is exactly the epitome of excellent mental health, but suicide had never felt like the path for him; that was too easy an out for a monster like him.]

Perhaps it is the fish.

[An absent musing in response to Edward's mention of sailors knowing the difference between two oceans. That makes most sense to Randel at least. Water is water, but animals are always different. And while Randel can maybe count the number of fish he can identify on his fingers, surely sailors know many more types. Perhaps enough to be able to tell one body of water from the other.]

The Caribbean... Is that where we are going?

[Geography of the world is not something Randel is particularly good at. It's not exactly a high priority for kids to learn in the 0-districts, not when most will never make it past its borders. And the army... well, they hadn't exactly bought Randel to teach him things.]

That would make sense.

[Likely a bunch of other things as well, but the fish make the most sense. Edward knows about lake and river fish, but ocean fish are beyond him. He'd always wanted to try deep sea fishing at some point, but... well, that is another thing the war took away from him.]

No, not this time.

[He gently nudges Randel with his elbow.]

Would you like to go there someday? We could swim in water as warm as a bath and get burned by the sun.

[Edward would like that, he thinks. The Caribbean sounds like a place that could melt away the horrors of the war.]

We're going to New Amsterdam. That's one of the largest cities in the new world. I'm going to speak before the League of Nations, and then we'll tour a school for the blind outside the city. After that, we have a week to ourselves before we have to go back.

Is there anywhere or anything in particular you'd like to do, during that time?

No, I'll simply follow you.

[To be honest, the concept of wanting things at all, not because he needs them --like food and water-- but simply for the sheer pleasure of it is something Randel struggles with in general. It's still not something he is sure he deserves. The fact that he is here with Edward is already a big thing. To want even more beyond that... frankly impossible for Randel.

Also, he has no idea what exists in this new world they are going to. He has never even visited old Amsterdam. Who even knows what there is in the new version of it.

Except maybe...]

Do you think there are cats?

[Someday, Edward will convince Randel to have an opinion about something. Randel will decide he wants something, for no other reason than to have it for himself, and Edward will move heaven and earth on that day to make sure Randel gets it. Until then, he'll keep gently making offers and then deciding things on his own when Randel deflects.]

[Although...]

I'm sure there are cats in the city.

[Edward smiles, turning his head in the direction of Randel's voice.]

We can find some. And if there's one you particularly like, we can bring it home with us.

[ It's one of the luckier conclusions, all things considered, to have war chew you up and spit you back out. Many have been sent home in a box, many are still out there but no longer fighting, buried in the rubble and mud of collapsed trenches, retrieval attempts deemed not worth the risks. Levi is lucky. ]

[ It doesn't always feel that way, though. Not when pretty much his entire body is in pain, missing fingers, missing an eye, missing chunks here and there. He'd be missing a leg, too, had the field surgeon had his way, but Levi was stubborn, insisting on standing his ground -- figuratively and literally. Even if his knee never moves again, he can still walk, he'd said. That may be true, but he's about to run out of painkillers that were supposed to last him until the end of the week. ]

[ He stares at the passing scenery, the train carrying them away from the front lines, wondering if he's going to be called again weeks, months from now. He's still got enough eyes and fingers left to work a sniper rifle, poor as his state may be otherwise. Maybe it'll be over by then, one way or another. ]

[ Nearby shuffling gets his attention, first toward the man sitting in front of him, then another passenger who appears to be sticking a hand into the pockets of a coat laid across the seat. The other man does not appear to notice it, but his clothes, the look on his face seems familiar enough. Whatever happened for him to be sent off, and however meager pay he'd gotten for it, he's going to need it. ]

[ Levi grips his crutch and whacks the thief's wrist with the other end, causing a yelp and a glare, however after a momentary staredown they retreat away and back through the slightly ajar door of the compartment. Then he looks at his companion again. At this point, if it's possible to tell, he'll probably realize the problem: his eyes. ]

...You should put your things on your other side.

[ At least it would make more difficult for anyone passing through the wagon to try to take advantage of it. His voice sounds hoarse with disuse. ]

[Technically, Edward is one of the lucky ones too. He lost his eyes, yes, but he still has all four limbs and can move about under his own power. His lungs have been weakened by gas; he gets out of breath more easily than he did before, but they work, and the doctors are confident he'll be able to breathe like normal within six months. The nightmares only come two or three times a night now, instead of every time he closes his eyes, so Edward is getting more rest. All in all, it could be worse.]

[That's hard to keep sight of, though, when the entire world has been shuttered and darkened. It's hard when everyone around him speaks slowly and carefully, like his mind was damaged right along with his eyes. It's hard when people ignore him, as though he's somehow contagious and will spread blindness to them too.]

[He spent part of this train ride with a companion, another veteran who lost an arm in the war but kept his sight. His friend got off several stops ago, and Edward has been riding alone. He keeps his ears open for the announcements, but otherwise is bored almost to tears. He's trapped in his head with his own thoughts and nothing to distract him, so when there's a small commotion beside him, Edward jumps in surprise but then turns towards the sound of another man's voice. Raspy, hoarse... perhaps another gas victim?]

Forgive me, but what just happened?

[He lifts his head and turns it fully towards the sound of the man's voice. It's better, Edward has realised, to let people see his eyes straight away, so they know what to expect from him.]

[ Ah. There truly is no doubt now, not that Levi was distrusting his earlier assessment. The other man doesn't try to hide it, but he's not sure whether he's supposed to mention it; he tries to imagine himself in his shoes. No, he decides, he would not want extra attention drawn to what he's lacking, though accommodation is a different beast. That he should try to do. ]

Pickpocket, [ he says, flat, as if he himself had not slipped hands into men's jackets in the world before, as if he had not picked leather boots off a corpse when he had the chance in the world after. But that's just it; corpses would not be needing their earthly possessions anymore, and the living who could afford being careless with theirs would not miss it. They're stuck somewhere in between. As much as he may feel like a corpse, dead in most other ways, he is not; his lungs and heart are still working, his brain still tormenting him, he must still wash and shit and pay for a meal at least every other night to keep going. And yet he is not fully alive either, as if the Reaper had plucked him up but carelessly dropped him from its overflowing hands. ] Must've figured we'd be easy pickings.

[ It would have been, if he's honest. He's in no shape to actually fight someone off right now, but the confidence is key, he's learned that a long time ago. If you act like you can put someone on the ground, in most cases they won't try to find out for sure. ]

...Still new for you, huh?

[ There's a hint of sympathy in his tone, though no pity. Just a statement, with a hidden assurance that he understands, at least a little bit. ]

[ He had the luck to not be hit by the gas, though he might have preferred it to chunks of his... best friend, which he got instead when the tunnel they were digging ran into a stray mine from an earlier bombardment. He's glad he wasn't entirely blinded, though, because it's way too easy to feel the dirt weighing down, invading every airway, suffocating him whenever he closes his eye to the light. At least, as long as he's awake, as long as he can stare at the green meadows rolling past the train, he has proof that he's above the ground. ]

[ That he's not dead. Not fully. ]

Oh!

[It's another thing he hadn't thought of, another tiny wound to his already fragile psyche. Edward gathers his coat and pulls it across his lap to his other side, wedging it between his thigh and the wall of the train. As he does, he carefully feels along its various pockets. His wallet is still there, undisturbed, as are his train ticket and other papers. The other man scared off the pickpocket in time, it seems.]

[Realistically, it wouldn't have been the end of the world if the pickpocket had succeeded. Edward is returning home to his family's estate, where anything he lost could be easily replaced. It's more the principle of it that upsets him; who tries to steal from a blind man?]

Yes.

[He gestures at his face, at his wasted eyes and scarred cheeks.]

A gas attack, during an offensive at the Somme.

[And the less said about that, the better. Edward dreams, every night, the same thing over and over: the sickly yellow gas billowing in, the cracks across the goggles of his gas mask, the burn as the gas seeps into his mask but knowing he can't take it off, knowing he'd be sacrificing his lungs if he removed it, knowing he's losing his eyes to save his breathing as they made their panicked retreat to the accompanying thunder of the shells.]

[Some nights, he's not sure he made the right decision. Most nights.]

You, as well?

[Something about the man tells him he's speaking with a fellow veteran.]

[ That is another area he got lucky in, then. Levi doesn't quite have a place to return to -- his family's home was an apartment in a town that's now mostly rubble, and he's not sure where in the far countryside his cousin's family had settled. Perhaps they have fled the country. He has an old address from where his uncle had last sent a letter -- and that's where he's going, uncertain what exactly he's hoping to find. ]

[ He clicks his tongue lightly. Of course it's the gas. He may not have gotten a raw faceful firsthand, but he's seen what it does. Something like that should probably be banned, but it's not like anybody cares about the lives of their arbitrary enemies. ]

[ He makes a small hum of confirmation, then specifies; ]

Stray shell while reinforcing defenses.

[ He wonders if they had ended up in nearby trenches at any point. Same artillery crater while the gas descends. Adjacent medical tent. ]

On the bright side, at least you're not stuck staring at my face for the rest of the trip. Think I made a kid cry at the last stop.

[ It's all delivered without much inflection, though it's clearly an attempt to find some humor in their situation, however inappropriate it may be. ]

[Edward wonders the same thing. Had they fought together? Were they in the same trench, the same field hospital, at some point and didn't realise it? If the other man screamed or moaned in pain, would Edward recognise the sound of his voice?]

[He nods at the man's explanation. He's all too familiar with the terror of a shell going rogue and landing where it wasn't supposed to, and the devastating aftermath. It makes him wonder what injuries the man actually suffered; he's clearly still able to see and speak, but stray shells can have hideous consequences, and Edward wonders what has happened that he can't see.]

[But then the man clarifies, at least a bit, and Edward manages a faint smile in response.]

One of the benefits of being blinded is that I can't see it when people turn away from me and pretend I'm not there.

[Gallows humour! A soldier's best and sometimes only friend.]

You got hit in the face? I saw some of those injuries, before my own. I'm sorry.

[ That gets a soft snort from Levi, who's been running on gallows humor long before he was conscripted. Some things don't change. ]

[ Some things change a lot. ]

...It's not as bad as it sounds.

[ He hopes. He hasn't really gotten a proper look under the bandages yet, but he's definitely kept at least half of his face, and his jaw seems to be in place along with most of his teeth. He's seen much worse injuries caused by explosions further away. ]

My... friend, he was ahead of me, so he took the worst of it. [ An uncomfortably small word to encompass everything Farlan was to him, but spilling his life story to a sympathetic stranger doesn't tempt him at the moment. His own voice sounds weirdly distant to him now. Just the facts. Keep it together. Don't think of the blood and the chunks and the dirt burying them-- him-- alive. ] I only got hit by the shrapnel that went-- through him.

[ He's only missing a few pieces. A few pieces was all that was left of Farlan. He wonders if they sent him home in a shoe box, all while Levi was still delirious in the medical tent. He'd asked about it when he was finally discharged, but nobody gave him a straight answer. ]

I'm almost surprised they didn't send me back out there.

[ He's definitely not in that good a shape, but he hates the idea of pity being wasted on him when so many got it so much worse. It's not disingenuine, though; he really did expect to be thrown back into the grinder, until they could scrape what was left of him off the ground with a shovel, too. ]

[ Perhaps he's just a cynic. ]

[Unlike most everyone else, when it comes to dealing with war veterans, Edward will take Levi at his word when he says it's not all that bad. He's had enough people dance around his own injury, showering him with euphemisms and well-wishes that amount to nothing, to know better than to not listen. If Levi says it's not that bad, then it isn't. He's clearly still independent and able to navigate the world on his own, and in that, Levi has one over on Edward.]

[The story about the shrapnel that hit him has Edward slowly bowing his head as it goes on. That... he knows what that's like too. Men blown to pieces, men vaporised, all that's left of them a hot splash of blood on whoever was standing behind them. To have that happen to a friend, and then get hit yourself, by whatever his body couldn't block...]

[Edward reaches out. He has gotten better at locating where people are based on their voices, and he manages to find Levi's knee with only a bit of patting at the air. Once he finds it, he holds on, giving it a firm squeeze.]

I'm sorry.

[As to getting sent back to the front, Edward shakes his head.]

I have no doubt that, if my eyes started coming back at breakfast, my old regiment would be at my door by noon, ready to take me back.

[ It's something of a breath of fresh air, in all honesty, and Levi is grateful for that. He's not pleased with being maimed, but bemoaning his injury in front of someone robbed entirely of sight feels perverse, and that's without thinking of all his brothers-in-arms who are no longer breathing. ]

[ Levi sees that hand coming, but somehow it still takes him by surprise; a small startle that settles down almost immediately as he sinks a little deeper into his seat, exhaling. He wonders just how well the other man understands -- perhaps something similar had happened to him -- but he's grateful for any amount at all, even if it does little for the hollow hole he still feels in his chest. ]

...thank you.

[ He hesitates for a moment, then slowly trails his bandaged hand over the one of his knee and gives it a gentle squeeze in return before letting go, a light huff of a chuckle exiting his nose. ]

It'd give you a few hours head start, at least. Still, best to get as far away as we can.

[ He's under no illusion that the army won't still reach him if it decides to, no matter how far he runs. But there's no reason to make it easy for them. ]

[When Levi touches his hand, Edward can feel the missing fingers. If that was Levi's trigger finger, then he may not be sent back to the front. How desperate are is the King's army becoming, he wonders, and would they send a man who would need to shoot with his non-dominant hand back out there? It depends, he decides, on what the Germans are doing and how far they may have advanced.]

[He nods at Levi's thanks, and after his hand is squeezed, Edward reluctantly takes it back. He's found it's easier to speak with someone if he's touching them, if he has some sense of where they are in space. Carefully, he stretches one leg out, feeling with the toe of his boot until he can rest the side of his foot against Levi's ankle.]

Yes, well, I intend on running as far north as I can, back to my family's estate.

[He pauses then, unsure how bold he should be. But really, there is no question. Levi has shown him kindness, and Edward has to at least offer something in return.]

If you're not otherwise engaged, you're welcome to come with me. There is plenty of room, and you'd be given privacy to recover as you wished.

[ ~~Two fingers are enough...~~ He's unaware that Edward can tell. He might have used his other hand otherwise -- not that he consciously thinks a fellow veteran couldn't handle something like missing body parts, but there's still a certain part of him that insists whatever he presents to the world -- to others -- should be as flawless as possible. He used to be very meticulous about his looks. Now it doesn't matter, he supposes, but old habits are hard to kick. ]

[ It was indeed his trigger finger, one of them. He's still got two left. Maybe it'd work. Probably not well enough to keep him from ending up in even more pieces though, perhaps this time to be put in a box, too. ]

[ Who would they even send it to? Best he can hope is a mass grave somewhere on the outskirts of the frontline. ]

[ It's with that realization that he makes a tch noise, something derisive about being the sort of people who have estates sitting at the tip of his tongue, when the man offers him probably the most generous proposition he has ever received in his life. He's so surprised that he doesn't even figure to close his mouth at first, just sitting there and staring for a few long moments. ]

[ Who the hell just goes and says something like that? ]

[ And the worst part is that he wants to accept, because god, just about anything beats homelessness and despair, but that natural, paranoid part of him insists that nobody would offer strangers such kindness if there was not some kind of catch. (Even though he himself absolutely would, if he were in any position to do so.) ]

I... [ He starts, swallows the rest of it. Are you sure? Are you joking? Are you planning to sell my body for parts? How do you know I won't do the same? Why do you trust me so much? His own voice sounds foreign to him again. ] I'm not, no. I would like that.

[ Is that maybe a little too bold? Making it too obvious it's a lifeline for him? ]

...I can pay you back, when I can work again.

[ There. Better, right? Then it's not just him blatantly taking advantage of this weirdly nice rich guy. Or so he thinks, but to be fair, compared to how Levi grew up, most people probably look rich to him. ]

[~~Tell him more about what these two fingers can do, good sir~~ It is, perhaps, easier to be generous when one has the resources to back it up. Based on how his father and the rest of his family behaves, Edward would deny that idea. His father alternates between great extravagance and paranoid penny-pinching, never coming to rest anywhere between the two poles. God only knows what he's done to the estate without Edward there to temper his worst impulses. Edward's brother Jack is even worse; he never has the penny-pinching days, only the wild splashing out.]

[But Levi is a fellow soldier, someone who could have looked away or even actively participated in robbing Edward, but he didn't. That speaks to his character, and it is enough for Edward to want to help him.]

Of course.

[Edward isn't worried at all about payment, but he understands that it's a source of pride to pay one's own way. He won't take that from Levi.]

To be terribly blunt with you, there is no one on the estate who is equipped to deal with a man of my, ah... my current frailties. If you're willing to help me with my duties, be my eyes where I can't, then you could begin work immediately.

[He assumes Levi can read and write. Most of the men on the front could, although to varying abilities.]

[ ~~Is that really a topic suitable for discussion among respectable gentlemen?~~ For a person who's managed to keep a good heart, perhaps it is. For someone who's let riches turn them numb to other people's suffering, however, it would not be. There's too many people in this world who have too much yet have no generous bone in their body. There's hoping he returns to something more than debt collector notices. ]

[ Some of the tension seems to leave Levi's shoulders at the agreement. It does make him feel a little better, especially considering how rarely in his life he'd gotten to do so. He's not ashamed of charity, exactly, but he's perhaps tired of being expected to take it when he believes he could do better. ]

[ There's a small pause as he regards Edward and his explanation for a moment. It makes enough sense, and it's also an unfortunate truth of his situation. He wonders if the other man is feeling a sting in his pride, laying out his vulnerability like this. ]

[ And so, naturally, Levi's instinct is to try and lift his spirits... as crudely as possible. There's a soft huff, almost like a sound of amusement. ]

What, like help with aiming your little guy in the latrines? Sure, I can do that.

[ Levi can read. The letters often start running away from him when he gets tired, but overall he does it well enough. Writing, well. He's missing half of his dominant hand, so if Edward requires something more poised than a chicken scratch, he might want to have someone else do it -- or let Levi know so he has time to practice. He's a quick learner, and even with his current predicament, he could likely learn to write quite nicely. ]

[ There just wasn't any need for it while getting shot at daily. ]

[~~Respectable? No. Desperately horny? Very much yes.~~ If anyone else made that joke, Edward would be instantly offended. When Levi makes it, he bursts out in surprised laughter. The sound is rough, like he hasn't made it in a long time, but it's there.]

Thank you, but no. I'm still capable in that department.

[There have been adjustments, but he's still able to handle himself in the toilet.]

You know, if you're going to be in my employ, I should likely know your name.

[Edward offers his hand across the aisle to shake.]

Edward Courtenay.

[The name might be familiar, depending on where Levi hails from. They're not one of the largest, wealthiest families in the area, but they do all right for themselves.]

[ ~~That is actually very fair. Most of their injuries don't exactly interfere with it...~~ While Levi is unaware of the good graces he's just been granted -- it's just the type of shit he says on a regular basis, not having been raised with much attention to things like manners or tact -- he does hear that laugh. ]

[ The way it sounds like something that's been trapped for a long time before finally bubbling out. ]

[ It makes him feel an odd warmth. ]

Good to know. [ No, he doesn't elaborate. Instead, another humorous deflection; ] And here I was about to ask for a raise.

[ Levi can still see, but even the simplest daily tasks have been an adjustment for him, too. Perhaps even more so in his head than in the physical reality. There's plenty of areas where he (thinks he) falls short, but he used to always be able to rely on his body, on his strength, on his skill as a soldier. He can't help but stare right at that vivid contrast between then and now every time he knocks something over instead of picking it up because he forgot his missing fingers, or when he sets his crutch down a split second too late and pain goes shooting up his leg. ]

[ They say it gets easier with time. ]

[ Depending which hand Edward gives him, Levi will lean forward to grasp it with the corresponding one, even if it happens to be the injured one. If they're actually doing this, there's no point nor reason to be precious about it. They're both mauled and messed up and, apparently, stubborn enough to keep clinging. The squeeze is comfortably firm but not overbearing. ]

[ He might have heard of Courtenays, at least in passing, but it's not like he ever had reason to look deper into it. Not quite rich enough to draw the ire of the working class, perhaps, or maybe he's from far enough away that the name hasn't reached him. ]

Levi Ackerman.

[ His own name probably doesn't really say anything, aside from being perhaps on the nose enough to suspect his grandparents may have moved here and just picked what they thought sounded like the most local surname. It could just be a coincidence, though. ]

[ Or maybe his uncle has made it to the local news in a not very favorable light, something about murders and the like, but likewise, depending where they're from, it might not have reached Edward's home. ]

[Happy to work with whatever.]

[Also available in an older version.]

[ information & trigger warnings ]

[The daughter of King Arthur and Guinevere, who seeks/sought to restore Camelot and reclaim the round table. Absolutely here for AUs and crosscanon and also just fitting canons together. Voicetesting.]

[Cold Front is Marvel rather than MCU, but I'm going to AU her into the MCU anyway. (And AU her alive.) With a little futzing and handwaving it'll work. ~~You can AU anything if you try hard enough. XD~~ To get her to the modern MCU era it's probably a case of ending up in cryo. Instead of dead. IDK. Here for all the shenanigans. Voicetesting.]

[SHE WAS DONE DIRTY and I'm here to fix that. Extremely on the voicetesting side, please be gentle. Especially here for AUs and fix-its.]

[Bare bones about her: sarcastic seer with a knack for finding trouble, or having trouble find her. More in-depth information about her is here. Can easily AU her into just about anywhere.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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Arthur Morgan | RDR2 | OTA

Roronoa Zoro | One Piece | ota

laszlo cravensworth / what we do in the shadows

Five Hargreeves | The Umbrella Academy | Ota

Charon | Hades | OTA

Edward Courtenay | Downton Abbey

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feel free to change stuff around!

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sorry for disappearing, the time blindness got me ;;

firion | FFII

Logan | Fable 3 | OTA

Kuroo Tetsurou ( Haikyuu!! )

Haymitch Abernathy | Sunrise on the Reaping (The Hunger Games)

Kim Dan | Jinx

Avlynn Pendragon | Merlin and the Book of Beasts

Imogen "Ginny" Fleming | Winter Soldier: Cold Front

Antonia Dreykov/Taskmaster | MCU

larsa ferrinas solidor | ffxii

dennis whitaker | the pitt

daryl dixon | the walking dead

Zoey Westen | Original Character