[SEMI-OPEN]

[acreage]

WHO: Amos Burton, James Holden, Wysteria, Ellis, and YOU
WHAT: Two spacemen fall out of a rift, later explore scenic Kirkwall
WHEN: Nnnnowish? Waves hands
WHERE: The Wounded Coast, then Kirkwall
NOTES: A closed arrival thread, plus open individual threads for meeting Amos and/or Jim after their quarantine period.

Comments

ARRIVAL - closed to JIM, WYSTERIA, ELLIS, AMOS

[acreage]

[innerharbor]

Amos doesn't dream much, tending not to really remember the strange, surreal landscapes his mind conjures. After Ilus, he's happy to to sleep with an empty mind. But there it is, the color blue-- death-- and the color green...

If he were the right kind of Earther, the type that's supposed to be in space, green would represent life. It doesn't. It's just a color, and Amos follows it through a landscape that becomes clearer and clearer until he wakes up.

He doesn't wake up on the Roci. That's the first thing. He smells salt, and the rest of kind of a memory. Fresh air unpolluted by modern toxins, unrecycled, unfiltered. He's on a postcard of a beach.

Fucking weird.

And then the screaming starts, and Amos reaches for a gun that isn't there, ducking cover behind a rock. A horrific alien creature-- too many legs, too many eyes, scuttering over the beach with a gnashing open maw-- wanders out of jagged green wormhole.

"What," Amos whispers to himself, "the fuck."

[acreage]

Holden dreams too much, when he bothers sleeping.

His brain can't goddamn shut down after everything that happens in their days -- but he can't blame recent tragedies on his insomnia. Sleep's never come to him easily, not even on the farm when the nights stretched long and quiet, rustling in the wind the only sound for miles. Night anywhere else seems noisy after that, city noises or station noises or the machinery powering their vessel.

But too often, even after he manages to nod off, it's Eros, or it's Ilus, or it's the thing from Ganymede, or it's the Ring, it's blue glowing fireflies and

tonight is different.

For one thing, he wakes up with -- sand shifting beneath him as he levers upright, the unfamiliar tang of brine in the air (clean air, the kind you can't help taking deep breaths of after any time in space), and

fucking alien abominations.

Because, of course.

He scrambles backwards, spots Amos and sprints for him as yet another what the fuck is that crawls out of the -- portal? Jesus.

Pitched so as to hopefully not get their attention. "Amos! Are you okay?"

AMOS, LATER

[acreage]

MESS HALL, OPEN.

[innerharbor]

Amos is a large man, minding his own business, until he isn't. It's breakfast, or it's lunch, or whatever the fuck, but Amos looks up from eating his food with a frown, and turns to the nearest person at table. "Wait," he says, "is this real meat?"

[justashotaway]

He's asked exactly the right person. Laura nods, as if this is the most normal question she's ever heard, and then she says, "I think it is nug."

As if to punctuate the statement, she pulls a glimmering lyrium claw to stab a chunk of meat on her plate: nug drenched in gravy, mashed turnip, and something green she still hasn't figured out the name of.

have another teen

[windyvoice]

Jenny Lou is a sleepy eyed young woman, trying and failing not to fall asleep over a mug that's probably coffee. She blinks at the question, hauling herself up a little to look at what he's eating.

"Yeah?" She squints at it, "Looks like meat. What's it taste like?" She hasn't run into any weird taste sensations since coming here, but it's not like it's impossible either.

GALLOWS, OPEN.

[innerharbor]

Amos' hands are bloody red, fingernails crusted over, and swipes of it have dried pink onto his beard.

He's eating a pomegranate.

It's not bad. It's actually incredibly great. He plans to save some of it for later and make Holden eat it, but that's for later. For now, Amos reaches out with red fingers to grab at the nearest passerby.

He holds up a half-eaten pomegranate. "What the fuck is this?"

[tender]

The first glance, clocking all the red, is startling. But it passes quickly, giving way to some minor confusion which is more or less dispelled by the shard in his elbow.

"Pomegranate," Derrica answers. "A type of fruit."

And it seems like he has it more or less figured out. She shifts the strap of her satchel more securely on to her shoulder, forward momentum passing.

"Is the kitchen passing them out?"

LOWTOWN, OPEN.

[innerharbor]

Amos feels more comfortable in Darktown, sure, but that's probably something he should keep his eye on rather than lean into. There's parts of yourself you have to watch, to let grow or shrink, to control. Lowtown is a world away from Darktown, and anybody who doesn't see that's a fucking idiot.

It also doesn't matter.

A shout goes through the crowd. Thief! Thief! Amos looks over his shoulder, but the thief is an adult, and stupid slow. It takes only a slight shift of weight to punch the guy's ticket, punching him so hard into the face that the thief is flat on his back and dazed.

Amos picks up the stolen bag. "You want this?"

[okayimin]

Sawbones is returning from her rounds, nearly bowled over in the process when the erstwhile thief rushes past her. She doesn't see how the man winds up on his back, being barely hip height to most Surfacers, but she does hear the crunch of bone and the soft plop of a body hitting dirt.

She sighs and moves forward, because of course. Lowtown wasn't her territory per say, but Sister or Sawbones, no part of her was inclined to walk away when it could very well be one of hers involved. She doesn't recognize the man holding the bag. The man on the ground however...

"Thadeus Ermington, you stone deaf nug fucked shit," she snaps, storming over to glare down at the dazed man, "What the pit do you think you're doing!" At least it was a local trouble maker instead of any of Riftwatch.

THE WOUNDED COAST, OPEN.

[innerharbor]

Amos has to go back to the ocean. He didn't get a good look at it. The water is blue. It comes right up to the sand. There's no wall, no decades old trash, no grime.

It's just a beach. A natural beach. He's seen things like this in holos and paintings and advertisements. Baltimore is right next to the ocean-- Amos had his own boat, even-- but the ocean wasn't like this. The islands were made of trash, drowned barges and plastic tubing. This is... something completely the fuck else.

He takes off his shoes and wades forward, before spotting something dying in the sand. He doesn't know it, but the thing he's poking with a stuck is a dying jellyfish. "What's got a nose big enough to sneeze you out, huh?"

you needed another thread with me, right

[acreage]

"Careful."

Holden's busying himself, mostly, with the idea of keeping watch. Making sure no more green rips in the sky open above them, or any unfriendlies find them with their guards down. Or, who knows, any other goddamn monsters try to kill them.

"It could be poisonous."

It's less that he remembers any jellyfish facts specifically, and more that he has a vague impression from a picture book from childhood, and also knows that there are non-fish things in the oceans, that can be poisonous. Which is about the extent of his sea creature knowledge.

[muckspout]

Edgard is collecting seashells and putting them in a jar when he sees a man he hasn't met poking a jellyfish. He approaches the man, but stays well away from the water.

"If somebody sneezed that out, they have bigger problems than the size of their nose. I wouldn't touch it."

THE WOUNDED COAST, OPEN.

[innerharbor]

And, eventually, he can't take it anymore. Amos climbs to the highest rock he can, overlooking the water. He takes off his boots, jumpsuit, his shirt, folding them all neatly and tucking them away in the high branches of a tree.

And he jumps into the ocean, Geronimo! echoing off the rocks.

JIM, LATER

[acreage]

JIMOTHY.

[innerharbor]

Amos is lucky, in his way. He can understand how other people think. A surprisingly small amount of people can. Of course, he can't understand it like you can understand refitting a fuselage. Once you get it, you can do it. Amos can't ever quite make that transition with other people, being able to see the sign of worry and feeling it himself.

That's alright, though. He made his peace with that a long time ago.

They're in Quarantine. Makes about as much sense as anything, here. He can guess, without really having to stretch himself, what the Cap's feeling.

Amos reclines on his cot. Quiet, not quite a whisper, he says, "ain't gonna be like Eros."

[acreage]

There's a window in the room, and he looks out with arms folded on the sill. Palms down means he doesn't have to see the crystalline glint in his hand; instead, he's watching a courtyard, more walls and turrets of the Gallows. He doesn't acknowledge what Amos said, but he does close his eyes briefly, breathe out.

(There are a lot of worst case scenarios he can imagine, but -- keeping a pulse on them is the captain's job.)

Admitted, "I want to be sure of that, before we leave."

Of course they're going to leave; but this planet is getting its hooks in him already, tugging at his conscience.

LOWTOWN, OPEN

[acreage]

A) THE COFFEE PROMPT

There's a twinge of memory driving him to the markets today. He'll be looking for (1) a cup of a coffee, and (2) a lemon. Maybe you run into him on his search, and he asks for help finding one or the other (or both). Or maybe you're around when he tries slicing the lemon in half, which feels -- ridiculously indulgent, truthfully. This entire venture is. Inexpertly, he squeezes juice into the cup (and some seeds, whoops), and gives it a swirl.

"The perfect cup of coffee," he says to no one in particular, then lifts the cup as if giving a toast, before giving it a taste.

B) THE ONE ABOUT BOOKS

Later, he pauses by a book shop -- maybe just for the novelty of it, unable to stop himself. Unsurprisingly, absolutely none of the literature or authors are familiar to him; but there's something nostalgic, nevertheless, about the heft of a paper book in his hands. One of those luxuries that he hadn't known was one, until after the fact.

He'll glance towards anyone around with a faint half-smile and a shrug. "Any suggestions?"

B

[noonrodeon]

Going to a shop specifically for books is its own indulgence for Noon. All the books he's ever had (never more than one or two at any given time) were traded or bought off junk peddlers. A few memorably came from dead bodies on battle fields. Waste not, want not and all that.

Being one of the first to open a book and feel the resistance in the spine is a rare treat. Being asked about books is another.

A giant bear of a man, he smiles with easy cheer down at the stranger, "Well now. That depends on what you're lookin' for, friend."

b / not sorry for the double tap

[hornswoggle]

"I could have asked the same of you," returns John, who has lifted a heavier volume from the table to hold noncommittally. Just testing the feel of it in the hand, as if that gives him some idea whether or not it's the correct thing to purchase. "But I suppose it depends on what you're trying to find. For yourself, I assume?"

There's some other, polite questions John hasn't gotten around to yet, most notably: You're new in town, aren't you?

A

[sulahnan]

"You don't want to get coffee here," Athessa warns, standing off to one side. She has a bag of coffee beans in hand, clearly not from this establishment.

a.

[justashotaway]

Laura watches with the little frown that passes for open curiosity in her world. It's early morning yet, the markets nowhere near as crowded as they are around midday, and there's a tall man squeezing lemon into his coffee.

"Does that taste good?" Does it taste better than coffee alone? She doesn't mind the flavor--sharp and bitter and usually hot--but the addition of fruit is intriguing.

A

[muckspout]

Edgard watches this man concoct some kind of potion: Lemon, seeds. He watches transfixed as this man drinks it. Edgard, perpetually unshaven and unbathed, knows someone who consumes strange things is someone he needs to know.

"What are you drinking?" He asks. "Can I have some?"

LOWTOWN, OPEN, BAR FIGHT

[acreage]

He'd just wanted to get a drink.

And he's nursing one, when raised voices from behind catch his attention. He probably should leave it alone, but of course he doesn't; leaves his cup to try to mediate, placatingly.

Instead, he gets punched in the face.