taxonomites | [Location: Central, near but not at Taxon Mall]

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[Location: Central, near but not at Taxon Mall]

Paul Smecker was wandering around the city, not exactly lost but nowhere near found, either. That sort of blank, overloaded expression common to newcomers flitted across his face at times, although more often one saw frustration. He was mostly looking at his tablet as he walked and trying to figure out the map function, with some goal of orienting himself in the city.

He looked scruffy, the product of not shaving in the two days since he'd arrived, and he looked unhappy about that. In addition, he was still wearing the clothes he'd arrived in-- the shirt, in particular, had a large but now dried bloodstain on the chest. He was also less than pleased about that.

The goal, inasmuch as he had one, was to find a place where he could get a new goddamn shirt, and a razor. (He hasn't figured out hatches yet.) So he was looking for the Mall. And getting goddamn lost.

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"Nice to meet you, Paul. Welcome to Taxon! We haven't figured a way out of here yet, but hang in there." Cheerful she may be, but also properly sympathetic. No one wants to come to Taxon. Whether they adjust quickly or not is irrelevant; most people would rather be at home. That said, Jenny is always of the philosophy that no matter the situation, one should always do one's best to enjoy the ride.

Her unrelenting cheer is giving him a headache, but he reminds himself she's being helpful and friendly and likely doesn't know he's allergic to good cheer so Play Nice.

Of course it's possible the headache is just coming from the city itself. Who knows.

"From what I've learned so far, I don't really have an option otherwise," he admits. "When you say 'we'.... is there some sort of organized group working on getting out, or what?"

"It's mostly individual efforts. An organized group would probably be more efficient, except that people come and go so often. It's even hard to keep track of what people have tried before." It's a source of frustration for Jenny, and presumably for her father, who both have way too much experience with stumbling into a bad situation and accidentally making it worse before haphazardly blowing it up and running away. Taxon is proving to be immune to Time Lord shenanigans, which is more than a little disturbing.

Paul absorbs what she says with pursed lips and knitted brows. He may not have powers, may not be a Time Lord or a ninja or a demon or a vampire-- but he's a professional, and he knows how to get shit done.

....when he's not feeling on the verge of a mental breakdown anyway.

But organization... that's something that maybe is within his sphere. Maybe. He raises a hand to his mouth and chews on a thumbnail as he follows after 'Jenny'.

"So.... who are you, anyway? Besides 'Jenny'. Have you been 'here' long?"

"Just Jenny. It's short for 'generated anomaly.'" She says, as if there's nothing at all disturbing about that. "When I'm not stuck in a prison city run by giant hamsters, I'm a traveler. I've been here a few months now."

The mall looms in the distance as Jenny guides them unerringly down a narrow road.

"What about you? Who are you when you're at home?"

Paul blinks. And decides to take the name thing as a joke. It seems like a joke. It's funny. Ha-ha.

"Cute," he says, looking around to make sure he's keeping track of his location, where he's going. "I'm.... an FBI agent. If you know what that is. Apparently not all...." he hesitates. In its way just as bad as the shock of Taxon itself is the idea that there are 'other worlds' out there-- not as theoretical quantum physics gobbledygook, but really there are.

"....not all worlds have them."

Unfortunately for Paul, there's no spark of recognition in Jenny's expression, just idle curiosity. She shakes her head.

"Sorry, I don't know what that is. Sounds important, though." Anything with the title of 'agents' usually is.

He is going to have to get used to that, to people not knowing what the damn FBI is. It's wild.

"It's.... law enforcement," he says after a few beats following her. "Like a cop."

He can't help a bittersweet curl of his lip at saying that. He's lost track of the times he's made the distinction to someone painfully clear that FBI =/= police. But here and now, it's best term he can think to use.

"....you seem pretty well-adjusted to here," he says after a few more feet. "Does it get easier after a few months then?"

Jenny nods, accepting the explanation while simultaneously accepting that there's probably much more to it than that, but it would take hours and several tangents to explain. Law enforcement, check. Good to know.

Jenny grins at Paul's question.

"Oh, I didn't really have any problems adjusting. Traveler, remember? I'm used to waking up in strange places." She doesn't spare a thought to how potentially scandalous that sounds. "But I'm sure you'll get used to things after a while."

Paul purses his lips. "Indulge my ignorance," he says tersely. "When you say... traveler, Ms. Jenny-- what exactly do you mean by that?

"Because I'm getting pictures of--" don't say hooker, don't say hooker, don't say hooker-- "...a... Gypsy, or similar."

Edited 2010-12-05 21:55 (UTC)

Jenny doesn't know what a Gypsy is either, but this is one of her favorite subjects.

"Well, my ship is parked over in Wilde," she begins in a completely reasonable tone, pointing the way. "She's down an oxygen filter right now, but usually I just fly her in whatever direction looks good and see where she takes me. I like to see new places, meet new people, that sort of thing." And get into all kinds of ridiculous trouble, of course.

Paul stops walking. After a few seconds he manages to make his feet start again, trails after the cheerful blonde girl.

"When you... say... ship...." He takes a breath. Then a stab at the concept, pin it to a wall like a bug to a classification board--

"I'm going to go out on a ledge here and infer you mean..... what might conceivably be called a.... spaceship."

"Yeah, 'course," she says, stopping and turning a puzzled look on Paul. "What else would I mean?" A boat?

"I honestly have no idea," Paul said with a strained smile, and gestured in a mostly gentlemanly fashion that she might as well keep walking.

"We're rather short on spaceships where I'm from."

"Oh. From Earth, I'm guessing? Early 21st century?" He seems like an Earth person, and there are so many here from around that time period. It's also a reasonable explanation for being unfamiliar with spaceships. She resumes their journey as she ponders on the implications of the hamsters having a small obsession with 21st century Earth.

"Got it pretty close," Paul admits, refusing to let himself think how disturbing the idea of other times is. "1999, so technically two years off, but well done."

He stares around him as they walk, getting a feel for the area. "Do you have any suggestions for a total newcomer, Ms. Jenny?"

She shoots him a smile for the praise, but she feels compelled to point out Taxon's bias.

"There are a lot of people here from Earth, from around your time. Seems odd, doesn't it? That out of all the trillions of planets in the universe, Earth gets so much attention. I suppose it is the birth planet of the empire, though." She's musing aloud at this point, and not caring a whit about massive historical spoilers. It's nothing to do with Paul's personal timeline, so there's no harm in it.

But he asked a question. Returning to the matter at hand, Jenny ponders.

"Have you figured out about the hatches yet? Or the houses?"

Paul listens, head cocked to one side, and is forced to concede mentally that she has a point. If these aliens can take people from anywhere, anywhen... what are their criteria, exactly?

"Everyone I've met so far is both white and speaks English," he says, a bit dryly. "Perhaps our overlords are Earthborn white supremacists."

At 'hatches' he shakes his head. "I've heard something about hatching, but sorry, you've lost me there. Houses I presume are.... buildings, unless the word has a separate meaning."

Jenny frowns and shakes her head.

"I didn't know English before I came here. I spoke Galactic Basic, and I'd picked up a few other languages, but English is a dead language by my time. As soon as I showed up here though, I knew English. Just like that." She snaps her fingers in emphasis. It's clear that this does bother her a little, despite it being so convenient. No one else speaks Galactic Basic, as far as she knows, except her father.

"We're not all, um-- white, either." The concept of skin colors defining race as opposed to species defining race is also an antiquated one, but Jenny understands Paul's meaning. "My friend Martha has dark skin, and Ax is blue, and there are a few others. But I suppose you have a point. Most people here seem to be light-skinned, and the majority are human. How strange."

She shakes her head, finding it all to be very odd, and not stopping to consider the fact that Paul would find Jenny's expectations to be the odd ones.

"But right, sorry, I was telling you about the hatches. They're the devices in the walls that basically function like replicators. You put your hand with the bracelet onto the hatch and imagine what you want. The hatch produces it and takes the cost out of your account. And the houses are exactly what you think, but the point is you don't have to pay for them. Just choose whichever one you want and move in."

Edited 2010-12-07 08:48 (UTC)

Oh good, there's a token black, says Paul's snark mechanism, which is becoming more and more just a defense mechanism. Laugh so one may not cry and all that.

--and there's a token blue. Right.

Even snark can't do much about that.

He dismisses that and this Jenny's views on what is and isn't strange-- not that it mightn't make interesting food for thought later, but at the moment she's relating things of immediate survival interest. Both brows arch as he processes what she's saying.

"So.... basically the ATM like things are ATMs, but instead of cash they give out objects?" He pauses after saying that, realizing she may not know what he means by ATMs. "I mean... they're vending machines-- you request an item, they produce it and charge you accordingly?"

...and you get to pick a house, apparently. He files that information away for later as well.

"Yes, exactly," Jenny confirms, pleased that her explanation made proper sense. She tries not to get caught up in jargon or technicalities that might confuse people with different names for things, or different technology altogether.

Paul runs his fingers through his hair, disheveling it even more.

"Okay. Okay. I... think I'll still go to the mall for starters, I like pretending I actually have to go somewhere to purchase things instead of just turning to the nearest ubiquitous auto-creator of items. It's a 20th century quirk, let's say."

He can see the mall now, ahead-- or a big building he assumes is the mall at least. "You've been-- very helpful, Ms. Jenny." If unintentionally disconcerting too. "Thank you."

"Browsing is nice too," she points out. "Sometimes you don't know what you want."

She nods agreeably, taking that as her cue that Paul would probably like to some time to himself for shopping. The building in front of them is indeed the mall, and look-- the entrance is just up ahead.

"No problem, Paul. I'll see around then, yeah?" And with a wave, she turns back in the other direction and off she goes.

"That's true."

Hands in his pockets, Paul gives Jenny an awkward nod. "I'm sure you will. Since none of us can leave. Take care out there, Ms. Jenny."

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[Location: Central, near but not at Taxon Mall]

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[ location ] I am laughing forever :'D

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