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

[smecker.livejournal.com]

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.

Comments

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[thenormalsquint]

[Christmas is so much easier to shop for without the crowds and with the hatches at hand. But sometimes, Angela misses the excitement of finding that one perfect gift she never expected to come upon. One short tram ride later and she's walking toward the mall, only to stop a few steps away from a weirdo. He's not acting like an Extra. To be honest, he looks utterly confused more than like a blank slate. And that shirt...

Yes, Mr. Smecker, Angela is staring at that bloodstain. Ew.]

[ location ]

[timedaughter]

Jenny is out exploring, which is easy to do on a fairly regular basis when Taxon tends to sprout new places every so often. She's learned to largely ignore the extras (when not bored and poking at them), but it's impossible not to notice Paul Smecker in his shell-shock chic.

"Hello! Are you alright?" He doesn't seem to be bleeding to death, which is a plus, but his appearance is still concerning.

[Location]

[midwesten.livejournal.com]

This was Michael Westen's second day in Taxon and he'd decided to go shopping.

He'd had a crowbar for a while earlier, when he still had some ambitions of getting out that day and having to wrangle a few guards on his way out. There proved to be no "out." "Out" was not on yesterday's itinerary. Panic was, definitely, being lost, that too, looking around for anything to arm himself with, yup, trying to make calls to Sam's Florida number from his nonexistent keypad on his new phone, unfortunately yes, ditching the crowbar when he realized he was looking like a man wandering around with a crowbar, that definitely. And crashing just on the downward slope from his panic, and sleeping the rest of the night through.

He was lucky he had epinephrine and its aftereffects to put him to sleep, because otherwise it wasn't happening. The next day he woke up fresh, well -ish, as fresh as a man could be without a shower, and reorganized his thoughts.

The panic wasn't doing him any good. He needed a goal. An immediate, definable goal. One that wasn't too hard, that he was likely to accomplish and check off, not a huge empty box hanging over his head like escape. That, Michael, was what you called an overambitious goal. Bad goal.

Now he was frowning into the window of a department store, next to a men's clothing display. He could use a new -- well, everything. This was some kind of joke. He was in prison. Did prison take US currency?

Well, he'd figure something out. Michael gave himself a look-over in the store window to make sure he wasn't too rumpled (okay, he was, but what exactly was he going to do about that now), smoothed his button-down shirt a little and walked around the corner to the automatic doors.

[ location ]

[biverbam.livejournal.com]

Today River has been staying close to the ship (her ship now, no captain no crew just a girl and a mechanic grounded indefinitely), wandering an ever larger loop around it. The Fibonacci sequence would be involved if it weren't for the streets and buildings getting in the way. But then, at some point, there is a frazzled man in her way. Buildings and streets can be dealt with passively, but strange men require investigation. This is a rule. Kind of.

"Exacerbation," says the judgmental sounding young woman. "You're making it worse."

Here, Paul, is a scruffy friend for you. She's bundled up against the cold, though it doesn't do much to keep her hair in any kind of order, and there's the nose of an honest to goodness spaceship peeking up above the rooftops.

[ location: the mall ]

[aintnoconvict]

Almost as soon as the city had undergone its Christmas-tacular makeover, Glitch decided that there needed to be a soirée of some description at the palace. This called for formal wear, and while he was a natural fashionista in the Ozian court, he knew that brocade and braiding looked a bit...out of place to Othersiders.

So he found himself in one of those upscale boutiques, dressed in a bottle-green frock coat with embroidered lapels. There was a table with a dizzying display of silk ties in every hue imaginable, and Smecker would likely find Glitch gawking at it and clearly confused about which one to choose.

Yes, there is a zipper on his head. Good luck with that.