[ Ned has a question. Well, Ned has a few questions. One: why him? Two: what even was that? Three: who are all of these…people? He is unsure whether or not that would be the best suited term, but it seems rude to assume otherwise so he settles for that, for the moment. All around him people are talking, eating, and generally carrying on in a way that makes him feel strangely separate, as if he is one unreal component to the scene playing out.
A clumsy misstep backward as he almost trips over someone's errant foot, however, proves this is false: the rather pointy eared fellow sends him a glare and Ned mumbles an apology as he tries to disappear into the substantial crowd.
Short-lived retreat that it is, he tugs at his collar and slips down the nearest open looking hall. Here the noise dims and he finds it pleasantly cooler, a moment to lean against the wall and just breathe. His hands don't quite shake. Funny, he thinks, though it does not feel especially so; his calm around the dead has increasingly been without compare, but thrown into whatever this is has him spinning. Then again, he never was too fond of change and this takes the cake.
Or the pie, rather.
If he tries to go back over how he got here, it just feels that much sillier. Could it be a dream? He exhales and rubs his face with both hands. Pull yourself together.
He probably should have been paying more attention (what's a Seelie again…something about death before dishonor…something) when he was more or less debriefed on arrival but he was occupied -- just a tad -- you know, internally gaping and wondering what in god's name he ate before going to sleep that caused him to trip so thoroughly. Now it's been hours and well, that likelihood feels less and less probable.
Which is. You know. Great. Not. Great. Oh boy.
Ned leans up off the wall and stuffs his hands in his pockets half for safekeeping and half because lord knows what else he's got to do with them. He lets his feet wander farther down the hall, away from the main hub of activity. Ned loves people but for so long it has been at a careful distance. Only a chanced few have ever come through that quietly engineered bubble, and only recently -- the one is old and new all the time. Change is not his specialty and he knows it, so he channels his calm and holds onto it as best he can.
ned | pushing daisies | arrival / around / god what am i doing :(
A clumsy misstep backward as he almost trips over someone's errant foot, however, proves this is false: the rather pointy eared fellow sends him a glare and Ned mumbles an apology as he tries to disappear into the substantial crowd.
Short-lived retreat that it is, he tugs at his collar and slips down the nearest open looking hall. Here the noise dims and he finds it pleasantly cooler, a moment to lean against the wall and just breathe. His hands don't quite shake. Funny, he thinks, though it does not feel especially so; his calm around the dead has increasingly been without compare, but thrown into whatever this is has him spinning. Then again, he never was too fond of change and this takes the cake.
Or the pie, rather.
If he tries to go back over how he got here, it just feels that much sillier. Could it be a dream? He exhales and rubs his face with both hands. Pull yourself together.
He probably should have been paying more attention (what's a Seelie again…something about death before dishonor…something) when he was more or less debriefed on arrival but he was occupied -- just a tad -- you know, internally gaping and wondering what in god's name he ate before going to sleep that caused him to trip so thoroughly. Now it's been hours and well, that likelihood feels less and less probable.
Which is. You know. Great. Not. Great. Oh boy.
Ned leans up off the wall and stuffs his hands in his pockets half for safekeeping and half because lord knows what else he's got to do with them. He lets his feet wander farther down the hall, away from the main hub of activity. Ned loves people but for so long it has been at a careful distance. Only a chanced few have ever come through that quietly engineered bubble, and only recently -- the one is old and new all the time. Change is not his specialty and he knows it, so he channels his calm and holds onto it as best he can.
Take it in stride.
What else can he do? ]