2014.03.26 - What? Who? Where? ... Are we?

Darkness. A flash of light. The smell of rot. The man groans faintly, head rolling to one side. Beneath him, the plastic garbage bag crinkles. Darkness. A flash of light. Gravel crunches under tires. Traffic on the main thoroughfaire rumbles by, uncaring of the man and woman lying in the alley way.

The smell is the first thing to penetrate the sense... It tugs until the woman is forced into consciousness. Gods that's awful... And then there's noise... Too loud... It makes her head throb, pulse in time with her heartbeat... Too much noise. Flash.. Noise... Flash..Noise... What's the flash? There's a slow intake of breath from the woman before she, too, emits a small groan and forces her eyes open only to immediately clench them shut again. Too much! Too much, too quick.

The Dark-Flash-Noise is dizzying and at the woman's side, the man groans once more, body tensing as his hand seek to come ot his head. One comes up smoothly. The other lifts a weight. It's warm. It's small. It's closed around his hand in the same fashion that his hand is closed about. His blue eyes flutter open, fingers squeezing against the warmth experimentally.

There's a small sound of annoyance as her hand is lifted... And then it's squeezed. "Ow! Hey!" It's enough that the girl once more opens her eyes and immediately drops them to her hand only to blink several times in confusion. Several levels of confusion. Her hand's being held? Why? By who? Lifting her head, she follows the line from hand to arm (You've seen the arms, yes?) to shoulder and so forth until she finds his face. Which gives her pause. Does she know him? She must. He's holding her hand. Why is he holding her hand?

A voice? The man turns his head at the sound and blinks back. His fingers uncurl a bit now that the complaint registers. Who? Confusion reigns upon his face briefly before he pauses himself up with a grunt and looks around. Surely he knows this woman? Why was he unconscious next to her? Why was he... why is he //still// holding her hand as he looks about for potential muggers.

It's that //still// holding her hand part that forces the woman into a sitting position whether she wants to be or not. Her body aches in protest, causing her to groan once more. "Where are we?" Because it's a much more sane question, given how they woke up, than 'who are you?' or 'who am I'?

"I don't know," replies the man, gold-brown blonde hair falling into his eyes in a boyish flop. He looks around again, at the trash on the floor of the alley, the dark of night, the cars rushing by not far away. His eyes scan over the graffitti and the barred windows and the rusting fire escapes. The dented trash bin near them and the over flowing bags of refuse that is their bed is noted. "But it hardly seems safe," he adds, words moving slowly, slowly as he does. "Can you get up?" he asks the woman at his side, ready to push himself up and then help her up should she even seem to be wanting to try to rise. Something chivalrous, this way comes.

It's slow to come but the woman nods. "I think so..." Her brows knit together as she moves her body. "Any idea how long we were -- Wait. Better question -- Who are you? No offense or anything but -- She looks down at the hands, still held together, and then back to him with an arched brow. "I'd say it's safe to say I know you."

The nod has the man forcing himself to his feet, hand shifting on hers so he can prepare to help pull her to her feet. She can feel his fingertips trembling from the effort of it. "No, I d--" Pause. The man waits, eyes settling on the woman's face. "None taken.--" His eyes follow hers, to their joined hands, and a tiny almost grin flickers to life before it flattens out again. "I'd sure hope so, otherwise this could be the world's most awkward first date," he quips as he offers his other hand.

Despite the situation, that last quip brings a laugh from the girl. Her free hand brushes through the waist length, wheat gold hair. "Or the wildest." She takes his other hand and pulls herself to her feet. "Are you alright?" Her head tilts as she takes a moment to look him over and then look around before glancing down at herself. "I don't think we've been here long?" They aren't dirty. "What's your name?" What an awkward question.

There's that soft smile again as he nods, setting the collar length gold-brown locks flopping about. A shoulder rolls as he grits his teeth as she pulls. Her question is answered by a momentary stagger. Vertigo threatens. He tries not to fall forward onto the girl, but will lean upon her if she offers to steady himself. A grateful smile appears then, and he nods again. "I hurt. But I'll be okay," he murmurs softly. He too looks himself over. He's wearing a tight fitting, nondescript, gray cottom tshirt tucked into faded black demin jeans over black army surplus combat boots. The jungle, canvas sided kind. And then he notes her looking down at herself, and so his eyes follows hers. He slides his eyes over her lithe form, the halter top style dark red shirt that leaves a small trace of midriff as bare as her shoulders and the top back of her back. Dark charcoal jeans ride low on her hips and split open in a flare over beaten up brown cowboy boots whose angel wing mottif's white paint cracked and faded years ago. The question brings the man up short and his eyes back up to her face. For an eternal heartbeat, his mind is blank, stuck as if someone had pressed paused on the DVD of his life and ran to IMDB to check on it. "James," he says, triumphant, when life resumes. "Yours?" a squeak of a question.

The offer of support comes in the form of the girl reaching up to rest one hand on his back and one on chest. "Whoa. Easy there." Pause. Beat. "You good now?" She waits for an answer and when it comes, slowly lets go of him. The answer to his question comes in the form of her opening her mouth, pausing, blinking quickly and shutting her mouth. And then, barely a secon later. "Krys. I'm Krys." And with ghat answer comes a soft, sweet smile. Now that that's settled... There's the tough question of... "Do you have any idea how we know each other because, I gotta be honest with ya, I don't have a clue."

"Yeah... yeah, I'm ok," James murmurs as he straightens and stands on his own. He purses his lips, looking at Krys before shaking his head. "No. But we should try to figure this out. Over... coffee?" That mental hiccup over what sort of drink would be neutral ground.

A nod of her head is given. "Good." There was a slight bit of worry there. She, herself, still hurt like hell. What had they been doing before waking up!? Another nod. "Coffee sounds good..." She likes coffee, right? Guess we'll find out? The agreement is followed by a pause. "Uhm..." Her hands delve into her pckets and, yes, her bra when it's apparent there's no cash in her pockets. "Uh..." Those blue eyes lift. "You got cash on you?"

Oh shit. Blue eyes flicker wide and he stuffs his hand into his pockets and his right encounters folded bills. Drawing them forth, he eyes them. Two of them. A twenty and a ten. But the symbols don't make sense, and he frowns, brow creasing in the middle. "I... can't.. read," he stammers, sensing that this is wrong some how. That causes the girl to blink before she shifts to look at the cash. "It's enough for coffee, certainly." She then reaches out to give his hand a squeeze. "Don't worry about it right now. I'm sure we'll get it figured out." She doesn't sound entirely certain but...

The man is quick to squeeze back, smiling though the confusion, fear, and concern is apparent. Surely he had to have been schooled. Educated. Yes? If so... why can't he remember how to read? Why does it feel odd that he can't understand the symbols when he honestly recognized that it was a system of writing to begin with? If he wasn't educated then he'd have no idea waht the symbols might represent. Since he recognized them as a form of writing and then realized he couldn't understand them, it must mean he was educated enough to know that he was supposed to be able to read, but he just couldn't. He holds out the cash in silence, the weight of it almost tangible.

There's a flicker as she reaches out to take the cash. Her hand hesitates. Deep in her gut, she knows better than to do this for him yet feels the weight on her, as if it's her... "Nah. Keep it. Like I said, we'll get it figured out. C'mon." Trust your instincts, right? "I have no idea where the nearest place to get coffee is so... We may be walking for a bit..." Which doesn't sound at all appealing given how sore she is but...

He takes the cash back, pushing it back into the deep recesses of his pocket. His lips are a thin line, but he nods. It had seems to natural to just hold out the money, the feel of those foreign symbols, and let her do it so he wouldn't have to... "I wanted you to take care of it so I wouldn't have to deal with it," he points out as he turns to the alley, shame burning against his cheekbones. "So, we have to trust each other, a lot."

"I know," is answered absently about the money. "And I'll help you work it out. I promise." But it's a bad idea to do it for him. She -knows- it is. "Yeah. I think we do..." Her eyes go up to him and there's a hint of trepidation there but reslove as well. She's scared. And trying to hide it. Once they begin moving, she's lapses into silence, chewing on her bottom lip constantly. What's she supposed to say? To ask? She has no idea... About anything. And it makes her very nervous...

He wants to reach out to hold her hand, to act as that reminder that she's with him, at his side, but he refrains. Instead, he turns to the left, to put himself between her and the traffic on the street. His hands go into his pockets to prevent any unwanted contact. He glances over as she looks at him, but he says nothing, eyes sweeping about until they settle on a reflective storefront window and he just stops. He couldnt' remember what he looked like, and didn't realize it until he saw his reflection... And the blonde woman at his size. They are a matched set.

The moment he stops, so does she. She hadn't even been looking at him. When she does lift her head, her confusion is clear. "James?" It isn't until she follows his gaze the she stops breathing for a moment. In the reflective surface, her eyes meet his for second before she studies their reflection again. She moves to put herself in front of him. She's shorter but not by a huge amount... Her frame is smaller but... The eyes and hair... Once more she looks at him via the window and blinks. "Siblings maybe?" It's the logical explanation, right?

"Maybe..." He studies their reflections, how she stands at his shoulder, how near the same age they appear. He seems a little older, but clean shaven, the age is negigible. His eyes narrow in thought, lips pressing together as he tilts his head. "Twins?" he asks given the coloration, the height. "It might explain the closeness? The trust? I mean... Cousins seem.. too distant, if we're family at all."

Krys' head tilts slightly in the opposite direction. "...Maybe..." Something about it doesn't sit right with her but she can't pinpoint what so it's dismissed as nerves about not knowing who they are or where they come from. "It's... The best explanation we have, I guess... I can't..." She frowns and twists to face him physically. "I can't remember...anything. Nothing except my name..."

"Me either," admits James, chin dipping down that inch so that he can look Krys in the eyes. "Without anything else to go on, it seems like the safest bet," he notes, and then seems to think. "Where are from? I... I know we're talking to each other, and we understand each other, but.. I don't even know the name of whatever language we're speaking, and I'm worried. What if we're some place that doesn't speak thta same language we do? How will we get on? If what we have is enough for coffee, it's likely not enough for us to live off of for any length of time. Where are we going ot get more? Where will we sleep? Or eat? Or get in out of the elements? Or..." as the questions tumble his words start to pick up speed and a breathless sort of quality starts to slip in.

Reaching up, Krys touches his cheek and flashes a smile. "Hey... Calm. We'll work it out. One thing at a time. For now... Let's get something to drink and maybe some food. We'll think better than way, maybe." She reaches down to squeeze his bicep. "For now, until we learn otherwise or something, you're my brother. No matter what, we stick together. Always."

The touch pulls James around to a stop, the smile leaving him breathless though if asked he'll blame the sudden ramble of words that escaped his lips without a single inhale in the middle of it. He inhales and then exhales and then smiles on a nod. "Together in Everything," he offers back, holding up a hand to shake on it. Because that just feels sensible. When the hand is clasped, he grins lopsidedly. "I can treat you like my little sister, right?" Overprotective elder brothers are elder and overprotective!

"Who says you're older?" Krys' eyes twinkle with the unexpressed laughter even as sh clasps his hand. Sensible. Yes. "As long as I get to act like it." Uhoh. And then that laughter comes. Clear and bright. Without relinquishing his hand, because she simply hasn't thought about it, she turns and starts to walk again. "Now! Let's go get food and coffee!"