to think everything must die for anyone to matter

[unvariable]

WHO: ALAN ZAVERI and YOU.
WHERE: Nonah #001 and around.
WHEN: Throughout the week.
WHAT: Alan's routine... has changed.
WARNINGS: Russian Doll spoilers, as well as potential mentions of or allusions to death and/or suicide; will ETA as necessary.


➺ nonah #001 | open to housemates & visitors

[ Arriving here suddenly is a jarring enough experience for anyone no matter what their situation is, but it's especially jarring when it throws a wrench into what had otherwise been a completely absurd and inexplicable, but consistent, predictable, perpetual pattern; after each death they start over from the same time, on the same day, in the same place. That's never changed.

Until now, apparently. After he-- but he'd still never thought this would or could be the result. This is... different. This is wrong.

He goes through the network almost first thing, scrolling back further and further into the past as he walks to his assigned housing-- not to educate himself, but in a numb, dissociated, agitated panic that's rendered him nearly unable to do anything but obsessively scroll, barely processing any information from even a single post. So, frustrated, he puts the phone away and goes inside. He explores the house, observing the occasional signs that other people live there too, and briefly tries to see if anyone else is home before he starts getting caught up in picking up after anything left lying around.

Which turns into putting said things away, which turns into organizing and more thorough straightening up, which turns into dusting, and-- well, it isn't long before he falls into a pleasantly distracting zone of stress-cleaning the entire house for the next couple of hours. Sorry, housemates...? ]

➺ take the train ( nonah ) | ota

[ It seems like tempting fate, going to the train station. Alan has heard that, aside from the inter-city porters (which, what?), Nonah's bullet train is one of the faster and more reliable ways to travel between cities, so he can't help but be curious. It even looks just as impressive as it sounds, but...

He just stands at the station, watching people get on and off but not doing so himself. It seems dangerous-- not for him, but for anyone else who might be unlucky enough to be riding with him if (when) the train were to crash. He sits down on a bench with coffee as if waiting for a train, but he's not... he has nowhere to be and nowhere to go, so sitting and watching is fine for now. ]

➺ diners & dive bars ( nonah ) | ota

[ Eventually he ends up in some local establishment -- maybe it's a diner for lunch where he tries out the soup and salad of the day, or a bar for dinner where he gets a more substantial sandwich alongside one or two (or three) drinks -- but as surreal as all this is, the reality Alan's had to get used to lately back home is just as surreal. A guy may still need a few drinks to help take the edge off, but a guy's also still gotta eat.

At some point though, he feels... off, suddenly dizzy and a bit feverish, dry-mouthed, like his throat is on fire. Food poisoning? Anaphylactic shock? It's hard to keep track anymore; that he would suddenly stumble over a previously unknown fatal food allergy now seems about par for the course, but...

Oh. Wait. He plucks something out of his food, holding his throat. ]

Who puts an entire Cayenne pepper in a tuna sandwich? Is that-- [ Regional...?! No way. He can't finish the sentence for coughing, though, so he tries to grab his glass to drain it of whatever remaining water or liquor it has, but instead accidentally elbows it over. ] Oh, fuck me. Sorry, that-- that was an accident, I promise.

[ To either the waiter/bartender or whomever his drink might have spilled on. Alan tries to go at it with some napkins, coughing into arm. God. Fuck. Why? ]

➺ wildcard

[ Choose your own adventure! Feel free to just throw me a starter, or PM / hit me up at reggiemantle if you'd rather discuss it! ]