savetheearth | (no subject)

Who: Alexander & Lyall
What: Dudes be chillin' when they cross paths with a Vermini.
When: Friday, 6/28, late afternoon
Where: Parking lot of the movie theater/mall

After the movie, in which Alex told Lyall (at the instruction of his co-worker) that they ought to stay past the credits to see the extra at the end, the two men headed out into the parking lot. There was only one vehicle between them today -- Alex's truck, a green Tacoma; he'd gone and picked Lyall up earlier. No sense in coming with two cars when he'd be going to Lyall's place to help with the windows -- that'd been his reasoning.

He'd parked a fair distance away from the entrance, favoring sparser cars over proximity. There were a few dotted here and there near his, and no one in them, which was convenient when he trailed off in the conversation, paused several feet away from his truck and squinted.

There was a squirrel loitering on the tailgate. It was a perfectly normal looking squirrel if you ignored its tail, which resembled a small child's arm.

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"Oh yeah?" Alex risked a quick glance at the item in question. "What's the date?"

"Eighteen forty-eight to eighteen-fifty," Lyall read aloud, and opened the little book. Nothing on the first page... or the first dozen he flipped through, though he did finally find one a dozen more in. Short, mostly describing a night out with two men and their female companions. It was rather scathing towards the females, in particular. "There isn't much in it, but it does seem to be from those years.... How strange."

He did a double take. "Eighteen-fifty?" he echoed, almost incredulous.

The eighteen hundreds... That was too far from what he thought he'd remembered, wasn't it? But Alex wasn't versed enough in history to know how many hundreds of years they were close or far apart.

"Anything else in it?"

"I've only found one entry... handwritten, personal, it looks like someone's journal... oh wait, here's another, dated some time later." He didn't stop to read that one, he just kept flipping. "Those are the only two. The rest is blank. The pages are much finer than they were, though... I suppose along with the rest of the thing. I don't know much about antiques, but it does seem authentic."

And why wouldn't it be, if all his visions so far had been from that time period, or close to it? At least before the twentieth century, he was sure of that.

He mulled over that for a bit, lips pressed tightly together and scrunched in thought. When he started talking, it was with a meandering sort of tone. "In these... memories or whatever, I've seen a journal, too. Leather-bound, old, like the kind you'd see in a museum or game. People wrote to each other in it, like the medieval's version of messaging."

He took in a deliberate breath and let it out with a huff. "I dunno, man. It's like there's no rhyme or reason to what we 'get'."

"That's certainly interesting. Though this... doesn't seem out of place, considering what I've seen in this other man's life. This other werewolf," he corrected, making a little face. He shut the journal again, staring down at the cover. "So no rhyme or reason that we can determine, I suppose. Maybe you'll find a new vision that includes that ring of yours, for all we know." If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that everything each individual saw was connected somehow-- part of a single life, or three intertwined lives in the case of Bakura.