taxonomites | [ location: bronte beach ] let that igloo cooler mark your piece of paradise.

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[ location: bronte beach ] let that igloo cooler mark your piece of paradise.

Word has it, Taxon, that there's going to be a party. These rumors are not untrue, for one

slaying has arranged something of a get together for the Fourth of July. Unfortunately, the Extras have caught wind of this soirée and are already in the presence of crashing it, rocking those holey jeans and chilling with some Lynyrd Skynyrd and good ol' Hank Williams. This is their kind of party.

Don't let them have all the fun. The sun is getting low, so get on out here and get your party on before fireworks start lighting up the faux night sky.

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"Yes?" Long asks distractedly, still looking around for the vendor. The beach has become crowded, some citizens, some Extras, and the bright colors and shiny metal of the vending cart have been swallowed up.

"What is it?"

"I myself have no children either. Perhaps that is why this one exerts such power," Long says, and shrugs.

He nods. "Yes, for... for the most part, the city is safe enough. Occasionally things... go wrong, though. If someone warns you of something wrong over the small box, the tablet? I would listen, even if it seems a thing impossible."

A sigh, for he remembers the zombies all too well.

You can still have fun. I can't throw something in the direction I want it to go in to save my life. [ Feel better, Glitch. Piper's really good at blowing shit up. Sports? No. ]

[ She cocks an eyebrow ] So they take on the appearance of hamsters. That's not scary. [ Piper laughs, despite herself ] And that's a good thing? Going native? Does it make being here any easier?

And then it clicks. These are the natives Anita was talking about when she first arrived. The zombies. "They're the artificial intelligence," to quote Anita. "So they're just the filler?" That seemed kind of sad to Piper. Here were people who weren't exactly people. She frowns, though, thinking back over Wilow's words. "I'm going out on a stretch here, but is Tara a psychic?"

Piper can't see the lack of bracelets on their arms, but she nods, tucking that little bit of information away for safe keeping. "Lack of bracelet, duly noted."

"It'd be like Attack of the Killer Tomatoes," she jokes, laughing at the mental image of giant tomatoes roaming the streets. She'd never seen the movie, but had caught the cartoon series based on it a few times. Ridiculousness all around.

She nods. "Yeah, I actually brought my home with me. The Crashdown? The second story is actually my family's apartment."

He'd hoped just to point to the glasses: the question could ask itself. But Mr. Long doesn't turn and common sense screams against touching something that doesn't belong to him and works according to mysterious rules.

Dick stands frozen, picking through the dull words at his disposal in an attempt to find something equal to the gleaming scales, the glowing eye. The stranger visible only in the glasses' glossy lenses.

He stays silent, trots to Mr. Long's side.

Long assumes that it mustn't have been very important, and in any case, he has caught the wink of metal that signifies the cart. He gestures Dick to follow and sets off across the sand, stepping carefully because he is not wearing beach shoes, and dislikes the invasion of sand into his polished Oxfords.

He flicks a wistful and slightly envious glance down at Dick's bare feet. It seems somehow indecorous for him to be walking about in public without shoes, or he would vastly prefer to do as Dick has been-- to feel the hot sand in between his toes, against his soles.

Ah well. The limitations of being an adult.

Soon it is the scrape of cement against his shoes all the same, the rasp of grains of sand between sole and pavement. There's no line at the metal cart with its interior promising all sorts of frozen treats.

"Only one sweet," Long instructs as they head towards it. "I refuse to be responsible for a nauseous regurgitation of ice cream upon the sand."

"Yes, sir," Dick says gravely. He has no idea what regurgitation is.

As they near the cart he tries to keep his steps measured--Mr. Long never hurries, not even in speech--but curiosity and the promise of ice cream prove too much for him. He reaches the cart at an undignified scamper, gazes admiringly at the colorful pictures splashed across it: popsicles that look like rockets, in red, blue, yellow, orange, green, and purple; ice cream sandwiched between two cookies and sprinkled with chocolate chips; a yellow square with a gaping, cartoony smile and gumballs for eyes; cones--King Cones--coated in chocolate and crowned with nuts.

"There's blue ice cream," he says, unable to help himself. He needs to call someone's attention to it. "Blue ice cream and sprinkles."

Long comes up more slowly, looking over the colorful logos with rather less enthusiasm than Dick does. He would give a great deal for a bowl of mango sticky rice right now. Alas.

"Blue," he echoes, lips pursed. "How-- how delightful. Sugar in all the colors of the rainbow. In China, a day like this would call for baobing-- shaved ice, with fruit and sweet syrups."

There are packets of nuts-- pistachios, peanuts, pretzels-- hanging on the side of the cart, outside of the frosty interior; Long collects one of the pistachio bags with a half-nod at the smiling Extra.

"This, and whatever it is the boy would--"

He breaks off. The metal of the cart is the polished smoothness of industry and brushed steel, but it does not reflect the glare of the sun.

"....like," he finishes after several seconds, brow furrowed as he stares at the shapes the metal gives back.

"But... tomatoes aren't even sentient, much less homicidal," Brennan blinks, baffled by the mere concept. Most modern motion pictures made absolutely no sense to her, but that just sounds completely ludicrous. Maybe it was just a joke. "Was that really an actual movie?"

"Oh, the diner?" Brennan recalls seeing glimpses of the place over the tablets but hasn't yet stopped by. "That's good. It's advantageous to the acclimation process to have something so familiar with you."

"Yeah."

Willow's still a little wary, but at least the girl doesn't seem to be... trying to kill her. Yet. That's a plus.

"Uh... are you waiting on the fireworks?"

"Something like that." Willow nods, shading her eyes and scowling a little at the Extras. "They're just weird."

The question about Tara brings Willow's attention back to her new friend and she hesitates visibly. She knows about Piper's magic, but the subject hasn't even been touched on yet and how does she know what point in time Piper accepted her magic and if it was as hard to do as it was for Willow herself. Then there's the whole Piper being part of the magic group here before that makes her decide to keep going.

"She's a witch, like me, but she's better at aura-reading and that sort of thing than I am."

"Yeah," she confirms. "There were three, if I remember right. Oh, and a cartoon on Saturday mornings. Never watched any of them, but my friend, Alex, was big into that sort of stuff."

She misses Alex. Maria, too. Even Michael and Isobel. And Max. Especially Max, even if she refused to let herself get that caught up in Max Evans again. How ridiculous would that be with her not even being remotely close to Roswell? Hopeless and sad is what.

"It's nice, but home would be better."

"Huh." The vaguely confused hum is all Brennan contributes in response, pursing her lips slightly. She labels it as just another one of those things her lacking knowledge of pop culture didn't cover and dismisses further thought about it. Liz's statement sobers her, and for a moment she thinks about her own friends back in DC.

"Yes. It would," Brennan agrees, subdued. She feels like offering the girl some manner of encouragement, but the truth is that she just doesn't know what to say. Platitudes won't make anything better and she's always been terrible at lying. "I think the appropriate colloquialism would be 'this place sucks'."

"No. They'll come. Passage of anticipatory time is negligible."

She studies Willow for another few moments before continuing, "There are hot dogs," and points to some Extras at a grill a few feet ahead.

"Yeah. I'm kinda in charge of them, so they'll definitely come."

Weird way of putting that, but Willow shrugs inwardly and nods at the hot dog part. Well... even if they were near Extras, hot dogs couldn't hurt, right? It'd be part of the experience.

"Part of the whole fourth experience. Do you want one?"

Oh, I'm sure with some practice you can...i-it's all about rhythm, and physics and wind resistance. [ there's the firm nod of someone who has strung together a set of words which he knows sounds impressive. ]

I I think not being scary is part of their thing, they like to talk about taking care of us but... [ he shrugs and looks out to the ocean, tries imagining the forests of home. ] It's easier but m-maybe easy's not good, you know? If you get to used to it you stop wanting to leave. I think.

"A frisbee?" DG asked with a grin, thinking of the cheesy beach movies that she'd watched back in Kansas when she'd been putting off her homework and banned from using her bike after getting yet another ticket. "Great! Want to play?"

River's answer is to continue walking toward the hot dogs as the Extras continue to pass them out happily, like the people in a mustard commercial. (They possibly are the people from a mustard commercial.)

"Most large patriotic celebrations are on May twentieth. June is reserved for memorials."

She looks back at Willow as if to reconfirm something. "You don't know that yet."

Willow looks confused for a second before deciding it's some wacky thing with time and weird places. "Right. But for now, it's July 4th. And that means celebration."

She's also, apparently, following River to the hot dogs. A bit like a puppy. Oddly enough. Well, she has nothing better to do right now.

"U-Day. Independents lost." It's not far to the hot dogs (followed following the leader like ants to the feast) and River takes one happily to inspect.

The Extras don't seem to care.

"Individual holidays of pre-unified nations are frowned up."

That kind of catches Piper off guard. She's used to people admitting they're witches, but not in the sense that she was. People who believed but possessed no magical bone. But then, this place brought people from different worlds. Her world rules were most likely different to everyone else's. If her voice is any quieter, it isn't done purposely. "Do you have any powers?"

[ Incredibly impressive. ]

[ Makes sense. But the Extras are still freaky. And that's what Piper focuses on. ] Take care of you? Do you mean in the hospital sense or in the put clothes on your back and food in your belly sense?

Willow nods, not looking bothered by this at all. "I'm not gonna put a spell on you or anything. It's not really a secret here anymore. Everyone's pretty much seen everything I can do." But she takes the time to point at the pile of fireworks in the distance. "See those fireworks? I spelled them specially for tonight. Buffy wanted me to since I don't think we know anyone who can make real ones."

[ there's a head tilt as he tries to figure out how to explain it. ]

Well, the clothes and food do help, even if they cost credits, but i-it's more just...trying to make us happy. Like this whole beach thing wasn't here before, and and they probably think it makes up for keeping us cooped up for weeks.

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[ location: bronte beach ] let that igloo cooler mark your piece of paradise.

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the ocean breathes salty;

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watching the clouds roll by;

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the ocean breathes salty;

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