A Place to Lay Your Head (Leverne/Erika)

[jilltheripper]

It had been dark for such a long time that she would sure she was dead. And that was a relief.

One can imagine confusion and a tincture of disappointment when her world came back into focus, dim from behind the tinted glass of her goggles. The world around her was warmer than she remembered. She laid on something soft, the left side of her still wet with blood. She had been sure that he had left, that she was still dead.

An ethereal feeling of belonging reached out to her, offering itself. In her subconscious, she was frightened, even though she had not yet opened her eyes. As if, when she did, the world would be confirmed and she would have no choice but to live again. All she had wanted since she was sixteen was to die... now that he was gone, there was no point in living.

She laid there for what seemed like an eternity before she felt as though she could move her limbs--first, her fingers twitched. And then the sensation slowly moved through her body and she slowly lifted herself into a sitting position. Around her, a thick black curtain was drawn, closing this bed off from whatever was outside. Carefully, cautiously, she pulled it back.

The white dress she wore was smudged with a dark red substance around her side, only partially covered by the coat she was wearing. Her boots were loose-fitting and soggy, and when her feet touched the soft red carpet, they made a squelching noise. No one seemed to be near.

Erika looked about and found herself in what appeared to be a bedroom. She immediately checked to make sure her mask was secure, and was relieved to find that it was. Something tickled her neck, and one hand flew to the spot; she was surprised to find black hair tumbling out of the mask. It had been so long since she'd started growing hair... she must have been asleep for ages...

Soft white light poured in through a window next to her--the first bit of sunlight she'd seen in what seemed like a life time. Erika squinted at it and stood, drawing back the curtain. Outside, she could see the other end of what appeared to be a massive building. Many windows lined the brick wall across from her, and she found that she was quite high up from the ground. Below, a quiet garden with a fountain stood; she could vaguely make out the forms of people walking about outside.

"Wo bin ich...?" Where am I? Glancing to the side, she observed the bed at the other end of the room. Was this some sort of asylum? A hospital? Had someone found her? Was this a dream? Panic rose in her throat and culminated with a small whimper.

"Hallo? Hallo?!" Erika turned and went to the door, opening it. It led into a lavishly decorated hallway.

She almost hoped no one would answer.

[leverne]

With some effort Erik released his knees and adjusted himself so he was sat cross-legged on the bed. That was progress at least. He swallowed lightly and cracked his knuckles, a nervous habit of his. He had been sat hugging his knees for quite a while now, too nervous and, quite frankly, afraid to push aside the curtains which surrounded the bed he was sat on.

He had absolutely no idea where he was or what he was doing there and that made him painfully uncomfortable. This definitely wasn’t his home that was for sure. His bed didn’t have black curtains surrounding it. It was also a lot more comfortable and had a scantily clad Christine in it. He glanced behind him hopefully, but to his disappointment there was no naked Christine.

He had very nearly collected the courage to venture outside of the curtains when he heard a voice. He froze, his eyes going wide. It was a woman’s voice, which was a plus; she sounded frantic and perhaps just as terrified as he was which was a definite comfort...but she was foreign.

Was that...German? It sounded like it. He frowned a little, going through the various languages he had heard in his life. Although he prided himself on being able to speak several languages, German was not one of them. It wasn’t exactly an attractive sounding dialect though, so he wasn’t too disappointed with himself.

It didn’t take an English speaking genius to figure out what “Hallo” translated to.

He swallowed again and rubbed his throat anxiously before replying.
“Hell-Hallo..?” He ventured quietly, reaching out to pull the curtains back the tiniest bit.

[jilltheripper]

Erika was wracked with a sigh of relief and a bit of a shock when she heard a voice behind her, one that sounded as confused and frightened as she was. Cautiously, she turned back into the room and peered at the other bed. Perhaps the fact that the voice seemed to be as shaken as she was was not a good thing.

She made eye contact with whatever was in the bed next to hers, and was extremely surprised to find that it seemed to be a man. If this was a hospital or insane asylum, why would they room her with a male patient? Why was she still in her bloody clothes?

Tentatively, she took a step forward, her head down. The less he saw of her mask, the better, as far as she was concerned. "Wo bin ich? Wer sind Sie?" Erika demanded, catty at first but tapering into a lighter, frightened tone. Where am I? Who are you?

She noticed the rich timbre in his voice, first and foremost. It was somewhat like hers--one that reflected his vocal ability. Curious.

Erika stepped to the side, standing in front of the curtained area she had just left minutes before, allowing him to see her. The mask was there for a reason. Perhaps whoever this was would realize she wasn't supposed to be there and send her off. That would be a relief. She glanced to the side, to the desk beside what she figured must be her bed, and noticed the neat compartments it was organized into. She recognized all of her personal items just as she remembered them, encased in boxes of... was that glass? Her side of the room was impeccably clean floor to ceiling, almost as if... someone had been anticipating her arrival.

Finally, she turned to look at the man again, by then reaching the conclusion that he did not speak German. In English, she said, "I am Erika. I'm not supposed to be here... do you speak English? French?"

[leverne]

Erik attempted a smile when he saw her looking him over, managing a very slight, shaky grin. His grin became fixed when he caught sight of the frankly hideous gas mask she was wearing. At least she seemed to be trying to hide it, and quite right too, but what on Earth was she wearing it for? Was she some sort of nut case who thought one of those wars he’d read about was still going on? Maybe she worked in a museum? Her clothes certainly reflected the sort of era one would expect to see a woman wearing a gas mask as well, which made it even more confusing. He knitted his brow ever so slightly when he saw the blood stain but decided to not bring it up just yet. It obviously wasn’t hers, or she would be reacting to it.

He stared at her blankly when she spoke to him in German, letting his mouth hang open slightly as he tried to translate what she was saying. Ich...He knew that meant I. Obviously she was talking about herself in at least one of those sentences. That...Sort-of narrowed it down. She definitely wasn’t discussing the pros and cons of flossing with rope that was for sure.

He sighed with relief when she spoke to him in English and pushed himself up off of the bed. He straightened himself out, trying to look unshaken and casual, despite just giving himself away earlier.
“Yes, I speak both,” He announced, tilting his head up a little more before continuing. “My name is Erik...which could get rather confusing...and I have a feeling that I don’t belong here either.” He gestured to himself and then peered around the rest of the room as he spoke.

Whilst it was overall clean and tidy, especially when compared to the mess he was used to living in, it still had a musty, old sort of feel to it which probably had a lot to do with the dark wood and four poster beds. While four poster beds were all well and good, they certainly weren’t a modern innovation.

“Uhm...” He began, trying to catch her attention again. “You haven’t seen my wife anywhere, have you?”

[jilltheripper]

Erika looked down at herself again, seeing the blood and remembering... at once, the pins-and-needles came back to her face. The anguish, the absolute horror of having him leave with that girl had driven her to re-open her scars. She wondered briefly how it had managed to stop hurting so fast, just as her hair had grown back.

"Y-Your... wife?" she murmured, brow furrowing as her fingertips gently prodded the tender scar tissue through the rubber of her mask. "Nein, I'm av'raid I haven't."

The pins-and-needles turned to burning and she moaned a little under her breath, sitting back down on the edge of her bed and cupping both of her cheeks. The man was wearing a mask too. Surely he had something to hide as well, and with this pain, she didn't give a damn if she scared him away.

She felt, in the core of her, betrayed still; jilted, alone, unwanted. And yet she knew that perhaps... it hadn't been her. She still loved that damned boy so much, as she had loved the real Kristoffer.

"Nein," she whispered, forcing herself to block her emotions.

Erika reached up and quickly unzipped her mask, standing and turning away from him, to the desk; there she looked for something to clean her face of the blood. She raised a hand tentatively and felt the crusty blood and puss that had built up. Gott, what if she had an infection?

With a little hiss of pain, she rummaged through the plastic boxes, ripping lids off, until she finally found all of her familiar first-aid supplies. Erika covered her mouth with a cool white cloth before she glanced back at Erik.

"Dis building is bat-winged... an insane asylum, do you 'sink?" she murmured through the cloth.

[leverne]

Erik couldn't hide his disappointment when she answered him. What on Earth was he to do without Christine? He let out a short sigh and turned to play with the fabric of the curtains on his bed, stuffing his other hand into the pocket of his dark jeans.

He glanced back at her when he heard her whisper, unsure of whether she was speaking to him or not. He was about to open his mouth to ask her just this when she began to unzip her gas mask. He kept his head turned to her as he was interested to see what she looked like underneath it but was disappointed once again when she turned away.

He figured she must be trying to hide her face; perhaps she was deformed like he was? Enough happened in the various wars to horribly scar someone, so perhaps that was the case. He took a few cautious steps away from his bed and around hers, hoping to seat least a bit of her face but stopped abruptly when she turned back to him, a cloth over her mouth, and flashed another nervous smile at her.

“I don’t think so,” He replied, his gaze going back to the room in general. “Insane asylums aren’t normally so dark or well-decorated. As far as I’m aware the patients have iron beds and blank walls and I can’t imagine them having fine rugs.” He absently kicked the rug beneath his feet as he mentioned them and dropped his gaze to it.