[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

[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?"

[innerharbor]

There was an intensity to her, and it faded, and- oh. The red. Probably looked like blood from far away.

He would laugh, if he were the type.

"Some guy was selling them cheap." He knew it was fruit. The rest was a fucking mystery, though. But fresh fruit? For only a few shiny coins? Jesus Christ. He holds out the remains-- not messy or smashed, but carefully segmented and separated. "You want it?"

[tender]

A moment of contemplating, her head tipping to the side as she sizes him up, before she slides the strap of her satchel off her shoulder and takes a seat on the bench beside him, settling the bag with a soft clink of bottles on the table at her elbow.

"Just one part," she says. "You should have the rest."

That's polite, not to take too much of his snack.

"I'm Derrica," she tacks on, by way of explanation, clearly intending to sit for at least a short time with him.

[innerharbor]

He's used to that. Amos is of the opinion that sizing him up is generally a good plan. He's been told he's difficult to predict, even if everything he does is entirely straight forward to him.

And company isn't bad, especially a native who might explain this fucking place.

"Amos," he offers in return. "You born here?" He forgets to specify the entire planet, and not the city, or country, or whatever.

[tender]

In turn, Derrica takes the meaning to be Kirkwall, shakes her head. But she can divine some of what he's intending with the question, and answers around a few bites of seeds.

"In Rivain. It's to the north, and far."

Some quiet, wistful edge lingers in her tone.

"But I've been here for over a year. You've only just gotten here?"

A question they both know the answer to. She's never seen him before, so unless he's been on an extremely long mission...

[innerharbor]

Rivain means absolutely fuck nothing to Amos, but he keeps it in mind. Could be relevant later. You never really know. Seems to be important to her, anyway.

"Just outta quarantine," he says, and hefts one large arm up to show the green glow near his elbow.

[tender]

It looks uncomfortable. Derrica has never seen a shard this close, displayed so easily. She reaches, then thinks better of it, pulling back rather than putting her fingers on the wedge of green.

But she doesn't know exactly what to say. Some urge towards I'm sorry sparks.

"This must be a lot to take in," is what she offers instead, fingers plucking at the fruit. "Did our scouts find you?"

[innerharbor]

He never considered the glowing might be frightening. Amos pulls his sleeve down a little further.

"No," Amos says on instinct. "Those guys would'a made some shitty scouts."

[tender]

Derrica ducks her head to hide a small smile. Depending on who was there, that remark isn't so surprising. There are some people here who excel at subtlety, but on the other hand—

"But they got you here, so there's that."

Some small, silver lining.

"Do you still have questions? About us, or this place?"

[innerharbor]

"Yeah, that's kinda their job."

He eats his pomegranates and stares into the middle distance.

"Shit, yeah. Basically everything. What the fuck is Rivain?"

[tender]

The first thought: This would be an easier explanation if I had a map.

But Derrica just has what's on hand now, her thoughtful hum gives way to a more measured description:

"It's a peninsula, far north. I was born and raised there, until I had to leave," Derrica says, her tone dipping slightly over the tail-end of the sentence. "It's very different from Kirkwall, in a lot of ways. Warmer, for a start."

All this time later and Derrica is still slightly bitter about the cold, wet turn the weather takes at the end of the year.

"Maybe very different from where you came from too?"

[innerharbor]

Amos shrugs. "I come from a lot of places." (You must be this tall to unlock his tragic backstory.)

"What're the people with claws called?"

[tender]

(But Amos she's short.)

"Which people?" Derrica asks, face pinched slightly in confusion as she runs through a minor mental checklist of Thedas races. No claws come to mind, so maybe it's something he knows of from where he came from.

[innerharbor]

"The girl with the fucking claws." Said completely flat, and without any heat, despite the profanity.

[tender]

Oh.

"Her name is Laura."

Derrica's voice goes a little flat over the answer. It's never occurred to her to ask whether Laura knows of anyone else like her, nevermind how she came to come by those claws. It had been something painful. That's all.

"I don't know if there's anyone else like her."