Scribbles and Drabbles

Notebook Drabble 26 - Jumper

What was he going to do now? The question rolled around unanswered and unwilling to go away. 

His boss didn't even look at him as the bastard fired him. Like his girlfriend, he'd rather that man than Naden. Betrayal didn't quite sit right. Yes, the man had invested in him and supported him to get the qualifications needed to run the company at the level expected as the world evolved. That didn't mean, had never meant, that he wouldn't throw Naden away if a better option came alone. 

Someone kicked his foot. The moons continued to shine with no sign of sunlight. A big man loomed in the dark, masked mainly by shadows but with hints of dark hair, peaked through from under a cap. A sneer covered his face, and words barked out like bullet shots. 

Naden didn't bother to pretend he understood them, barely able to focus on the man's face. Sharp features cast dark shadows. Thick shoulders like the warehousemen, no beer belly though, either too young for that or that man kept himself in good shape. His stance, though, plus the glimmer of scars on his arm in the moonlight, the man might be a warrior. 

A second look added to that. A sword hung on his hip, and a dagger sat in his boot. 

He wanted more booze. He pulled his legs in to stop them from blocking the alleyway, hoping that was all the man wanted. A few more bullet words stabbed into his forehead. 

Damn, not that easy, then. The man wanted something from him. He blinked up at the figure again. Being able to slip through dimensions sounded cool until someone ended up facing angry brutes, unable to understand their language. 

"Sorry?" he offered, hoping that the unfamiliar sounds would be enough. 

The man stamped his foot. Naden exhaled and rolled his shoulders. He tried to stand. It didn't work. His legs crumbled under him and landed in the sand. Curse words landed under his tongue. The man looked less than impressed. He stomped again, gesturing to get up off the ground. 

Naden laughed, tears rolling down his face. He needed booze, or for the man to knock him over the head with something blunt enough to end it all. 

A hand hauled him upright again, dark eyes frowning at him. He struggled to remain with eye contact as more words brushed over his spine, softer but no less blunt. His head lolled, shifting with every jolt uncontrolled by muscles as the role span. Everything blurred and doubled. The booze hit deeper, and the tears on his face rolled faster. His sight blurred for a different reason. 

She left him for that arsewipe of a man? The bastard got high-pitched at any dirt and thought manual labour below him. After all her talk about being ethical and living a sustainable lifestyle, she wanted the man with the fuel-guzzling car who wouldn't know what a carbon footprint was if it kicked him up his behind. 

His boss thought more of the man despite Naden working for him longer and remaining with the company when better offers had been made?

Fuck them, fuck all of them. 

He'd stay here, assuming the stranger wasn't about to kill him for being drunk and in his way. He didn't need to go back. There was nothing for him, and one of the few advantages of jumping was the chance to start again somewhere new where no one could follow.

The last real thing he knew before falling asleep involved being lifted from the floor and slung over someone's shoulder. 

The world hurt in the morning, too bright and too loud for his aching head. Sand-filled his mouth both metaphorically and literally. Some grains from the prior night shook out of his hair and onto the pillow of the bed he slept on.  He wasn't ready to deal with that right now. Right now, he wanted to die and make all the pain stop. 

His saviour or captor bussled around him, not acknowledging his presence beyond poking him to wake him up and check that he was awake. Naden waved him off and buried his face in the pillow below him. A low chuckle gave away the man's feelings on the matter.

This wasn't any jail cell Naden had ever seen so this was the man's apartment. Studio layout with a kitchenette and a closed off bathroom, not a bad setup. The man lived alone, there were no signs of a lass or children in the few brave glimspes he'd taken before light burrowed into his eyes and down his spine. 

Occasionally the man said something. Naden didn't know the language, that ability hadn't appeared magically overnight - it did for some but not Naden- but the tone felt scolding. He deserved that. Drinking away sorrows worked while drinking but after there were more sorrows.

In this case: Waking up in a strangers apartment, in an unknown place with n osolide way to get back nor inclination to do so. A half baked plan to stay may have been cocoted but the realities weren't that hopeful. Desert communities rarely had the resources fr strange outsiders to make a life for themselves.

Another poke with a bark of an order pulled him out of the pillow. Naden turned over and sat up. A table had been set with a glass and a plate. The man pointed over to it and barked again. 

"Sit down, maybe?"

The man furrowed his eyebrows at him. 

Naden obeyed. He stumbled over to the chair and sat with less grace than he'd like. The man put two plates down and sat opposite him, his chair craking under his weight. It was plain, not that different to what Naden ate at home. Some bread with dried meats and a glass of milk, the man dug into his with little table manners nor a pray to the divine. 

Maybe the Divine didn't radiate this far out? Naden didn't know his dimension theory as well as he used to. No point working in the docks where the chance of visitors started slim and the chance of a jumper returning even less so. Not much magic existed around the water, it washed away too quickly. 

No magic existed in sand, it had no life. Even if he desperately wanted to return home, it would be hard in a place like this.

The silence in the room didn't weight down on him. he ate calmly and with more decorum than his host but didn't bother with the prayer. If the Divine didn't reach here, he wasn't under oath or being watched. At least, not in this room where a man ate with words of praise.

He finished, his stomach no longer rolling and head no longer blurry. The juice was sweet and helped vanish some of the lingering pain. Not all of it, he should have known better than to drink Jonas' swill. Man brewed his own poison thanks to the restrictive laws. A shame, he could make a killing if he bottled it up and sold it. 

Meal finished, he sat waiting for the man to terf him out. The smell of sweat and booze wrinkled Naden's nose. A shower in the desert could be a waste of water depending on their source.

His host eyed him up again, noticbly his arms and shoulders. He offered out a hand. Naden offered his own to fhind his pam being studied. An approving rumble came from the Host as he found the callouses. Signs of a man who worked with his hands - the Host's hands had his fair share of them. 

They stood, barking an order. Naden followed. He could put two and two together. There was work to be done and his host judged him able to do it.