[Holo] [Arrival] this is the first day of the rest of your life

[kings_fool]

[Maybe 20 minutes after Johannes eventually leaves the arrival room]


Another new arrival, as shown by the holographic image being broadcast to the tablets of everyone in Taxon, as usual. However, this man is lying on the floor of the arrival room, tangled up in a blanket, curled half-around a body pillow. He is snoring. And maybe drooling a little.

After twenty seconds or so, the chill of the hard metal floor starts to penetrate the sleeping man's consciousness. He grimaces, shifts around as if trying to get comfortable, and then slowly cracks an eye open.

"Whussat?"

Eyes squeezed shut, unshaven face squinching into a grimace. Man, what the hell... 's cold, and hard, and this is not his bed, he's pretty sure he went to bed in his bed last night, and yeah, he was doing shots pretty heavily, but he's pretty sure he did not drink to the point of passing out on a sidewalk, or... He risks opening his eyes again.

Definitely not the Strip. Not anywhere he knows. Fuzzily, Jeremy Fischer sits up, blanket falling down around his waist, showing that he's not wearing a shirt. He is still clutching the body pillow to him like a protective talisman. The holo shows a man in his probable late thirties, extremely scruffy, with an enormous amount of untamed curly brown hair and a stocky body.

"Uh...." He looks around him at the steel walls, the weird thing overheard, the utter alienness of his current surroundings. He runs a hand over his face, through his shaggy curly hair, and scratches at his head.

"The fuck...?"

Then he starts laughing. "Okay. Nice. Good one, Charlie! Not sure how the hell you got me here without waking me up, but seriously, nice one. Lunch is on me. It might be our last, right?"

There's a few beats of silence. He shivers a little in the coldness of the room and pulls the blanket up over his shoulders, grin slowly fading.

"Charlie?"

***

Sometime later, Jeremy is outside. This is a problem, since he's wearing his underwear, socks, and a blanket wrapped around himself, and it's freaking cold.

"THIS IS BULLSHIT!" Jeremy hollers at anyone who might listen, trying to avoid the patches of snow on the sidewalk as he looks around the Bazaar for clothes.

Or shoes. Shoes at least would be a great fuckin' start.


eta to add in alternate run-in location of Jeremy at the Bazaar

Comments

[video]

[loves_bitch]

"Well, that much is certainly true. This place is right bullshit," Spike replies.

"I'm guessing no one has given you the run through yet?"

[holo]

[kings_fool]

Jeremy jumps when the funky-ass bracelet starts talking at him, and looks down to see the tiny screen and the pale face addressing him.

"Holy shit, it's a fucking Jetsons watch," is his answer, accompanied by a lot of blinking of his (rather red) eyes down at the screen.

He's hungover, he's freezing, he's fuck-knows-where, and Billy Idol's talking to him on his watch.

"'Sup?" Jeremy says with a little jerk of his chin, his teeth chattering.

[holo]

[loves_bitch]

"Not quite but it is better than a Jetsons watch or a Dick Tracy watch," Spike says. It sounds like he's entirely thrilled to have someone else to trade pop culture references with regularly.

"You should get some clothes, man. Or at least go inside."

[holo]

[kings_fool]

It is an understatement to say his capacity to make pop culture jokes is not at its best right now. When he is warm and dressed he will pop culture riff with you all day long.

As it is, he just sort of grimace-smiles at Spike, helplessly, on the tablet.

"I was inside. There's these -- these really convincing zombie flash mob guys behind glass, which-- which I grant you, that's a bitching marketing idea and all, but under the circumstances I am not nearly drunk enough to deal with it, you know?"

[holo]

[loves_bitch]

"Yeah. Those models aren't too likely to do anything more than look too lifelike. Then again, they might. Find a nice place to get in and get warm. Or, y'know, there is still a mall where you can get some sodding clothes."

Spike = helpful.

For real.

[holo]

[kings_fool]

About half of what the blond man is saying is making any kind of sense. Jeremy just gives him a look, brows raised incredulously.

"Dude," he says, spreading his arms wide (which also spreads the blanket wide, and results in several of the Taxon Extras giving him horrified looks and covering the eyes of their children), "I showed up here in my shorts. Unless Tommy Hilfiger will accept my beautiful farts as a form of payment, I'm kinda shit outta luck, don't you think?"

[holo]

[loves_bitch]

"Since you've been welcomed to this happy wonderland, you should at least have enough to get some pants. I'm not sure how much bloody more than that you happen to have than that. Probably enough for a pint or two," Spike doesn't seem to really /care/ mind you but, well, a little bit maybe.

[skinandbone]

"Um."

"...it kind of is, isn't it? Are you alright?"

Here is a Metody, Jeremy, small, blonde and worried. She - he? - is wearing some kind of nylon-looking protective gear, and carrying a string bag that contains cabbage, a starfruit, and some kind of ugly root vegetable.

[location]

[kings_fool]

Jeremy whirls around, blanket tugged around himself like a stereotypical Indian squaw, although this is definitely for reasons of warmth rather than modesty. He gives the tiny individual addressing him a hazy nod, complete with a 'what the hell are you wearing' headtilt and the automatic glances at face, chest and hips that tend to accompany someone who is, consciously or not, attempting to determine gender of the person they are speaking to.

It is worth mentioning that if Jeremy did not work on Las Vegas Boulevard, he would probably be way more weirded out by your wardrobe. As it is, well. You are not actually the strangest thing he has seen on a Saturday night.

Or whatever night this is.

"I'm either on a super, super bad trip-- and I did not take anything last night that was remotely hard enough to account for this-- or the mob has come up with entirely new ways to fuck with people, so, either way, I think the answer's no," he says through chattering teeth.

"--Are you in town for the Space Trekking convention?"

Re: [location]

[skinandbone]

Metody's environmental suit is bulky enough and Metody is slender enough that there are no body cues to rely on. But, for what it's worth, she's female just now. Not that this looks any different from when she's male. She gives him a grave, slightly worried look.

"Ah - no."

"You look terribly cold. Do you want to go inside and get some clothes or coffee? You're going to get frostbite."

[location]

[kings_fool]

By the face Jeremy's going with 'girl'. Delicate features, pretty hair, all that.

"I'm fuckin' freezing," he blurts, stamping his socked feet to emphasize this, or to try and stay warm.

"I was inside--" a jerk of his unshaven chin at the Sanctuary, next to the Bazaar, "--but there's these, these dudes, like fucking pounding on some glass and shit, I'm not really sure what's going on there but it was creeping me out, so I came out here but uh snow, and it was not snowing yesterday.

"And I don't have pockets in my BVDs--" he makes to open the blanket to reveal that, thinks better of it-- no need to start the day with a public indecency charge, right? (also it's too cold)-- "so I'm kinda-- uh, broke. No wallet. Shit, I have no fucking idea what's going on."

Re: [location]

[skinandbone]

"Here, there's a coffee shop down this way. You'll feel better once you have something in your stomach. Don't worry about paying - people bought for me when I first showed up, too."

She pauses a moment, then frowns and continues on. That was....what, a month ago?

"Did you grab the little computer tablet? It's kind of your key to everything here."

[location]

[kings_fool]

Jeremy is perhaps stupidly grateful right now for this sensible-sounding advice, at least the parts about coffee. If the mob is sending someone to kneecap him, he's pretty sure they won't pick a cute, pale chick with Samus body armor to do him in. Probably. If he's wrong, he's wrong.

"Okay," he blurts.

Computer tablet. Computer tablet. Jeremy tries to think. Oh, right, the Jetsons wristwatch James-Bond thing. Sure. He waves his wrist around to show it's there. "Yup. I-- sorry, I'm sure this is all gonna make sense in a bit, I'm just kinda-- I had a lot to drink last night, that's probably why I'm, you know...."

He'll follow Metody to the coffee shop, attempting to stay bundled up in his blanket.

[Location: Bazaar]

[infinitelystranger]

The Taxon Bazaar's scattered with a variety of people, oddly nonchalant people, as a matter of fact. Fake people, but as there's no reason for this to be Jeremy Fischer's first conclusion after turning up in a strange, wintry place without his shirt, they also might well be people politely ignoring him. The entire place has the look of a casino resort, in a way--a very dull, suburbia-meets-Lost-in-Space-themed casino, to be sure, God only knows why Steve Wynn got this idea into his head, but there you go.

Among them is a street musician, which is nothing new. He's well-dressed for a busking violinist, in a long coat and a scarf, which gives him more the look of busking in Central Park or somewhere in Greenwich Village than in Las Vegas. Still, it wouldn't be hard to take him for an Extra too, or at least for completely ignoring Jeremy like everyone else, except that he finishes off what seems to be a violin cover of "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" and stares at Jeremy.

"... Do you have a request?" he says after a moment. He's British, anyway. And tall. Tall and British. That much is clear.

[Location: Bazaar]

[kings_fool]

The people are still kinda... disengaged, which Jeremy doesn't notice at first-- he has other shit on his mind-- but eventually his instincts for a crowd start to kick in. Even on the busiest weekend in Vegas-- or the deadest-- crowds have a feel to them, and you can catch people's eye, or rather, you can catch some people's eyes, the tourists, the ones eager to be entertained. The natives slide past you, they have places to be and they don't want your timeshare offer.

This is just... weird. All around. The people meet his eyes but move right past with pleasant smiles and head-ducks.

He goes so far to start asking some for change, because that's the definite way to make everyone else start skirting you and avoiding eye contact, but it makes no difference. They all react the same way.

He's feeling definitely kind of creeped out by the time he runs into the tall, pale young man who is very present in a way the others are not. Thanks to Metody, he has clothes now-- infinite, infinite thanks to Metody, long life to her, health to her belly button, and every other weird blessing he remembers his grandma giving as a kid-- so there's that, at least.

He stops, blinking at the question, blinking at what should be a familiar sight, because he sees busking musicians every single day and is one some of the time himself. Here, it's like a quote taken out of context.

"Yeah," he says after a beat, "Home Sweet Home. Sweet Home Alabama. Take Me Home Tonight. Any combination's cool."

[Location: Bazaar]

[infinitelystranger]

Sherlock nods and raises his violin to his shoulder again. It moves his coat sleeve enough for Jeremy to glimpse the silvery band around his wrist, on his dominant hand, the one holding the bow.

As he does his eyes skip over Jeremy too. He's startled a little and it shows: but what he's startled by is how much he can tell about him. The man is American, living on the West Coast now but he may be from the East, New York or New Jersey maybe; he's probably Jewish, he's used to crowds and the way they behave, but not this one. A city boy. He hasn't been used to the cold in a long time. He still doesn't know how to stand against the wind--though he's dressed for Taxon now, someone took pity on him, at least. 2012 or 2013. Is he actually from Sherlock's world, of all things?

"So long as it's not 'Rolling in the Deep,'" he says and puts bow to strings. When he's done with his Lynyrd Skynyrd/Eddie Money mash-up, he puts out his fingers in the universal rubbed-together sign for, pay up, guv. Less because he assumes Jeremy's figured out Bankbuddy and more to see what he'll do.

[Location: Bazaar]

[kings_fool]

"Nah bro, I was sick of that one by the first three hundred plays," Jeremy counters on automatic-- neither his heart or head are really in repartee mode, but his mouth tends to do rejoinders regardless. Much as his initial words had been.

He wasn't actually expecting a bitchin' violin cover of Eddie Money and Lynyrd Skynyrd, but his mind takes a kind of refuge in it, because he appreciates music, and he appreciates irreverent music which this qualifies as, and thinking about the way the tall dude's meshing the melodies together is a lot better than thinking about anything else. He puts his hands into his pockets and just listens, head bobbing a little here and there.

When it ends he stirs slowly, then pulls his hands free to give the dude some applause. Even before Sherlock raises his fingers in the money-gesture, his hand is dipping towards the pockets of his charity clothes, but of course there's nothing in them. He shakes his head at himself for that, rakes the hair out of his eyes, and fumbles the tablet loose from the watch like Metody had showed him how to do.

"Uh-- gimme a second, I'm not sure how yet how I... that was a bitching cover though," he says, poking buttons on the tablet.

[Location: Bazaar]

[infinitelystranger]

"Don't bother," says Sherlock: even he thinks better of relieving new arrivals of their petty cash, having at one point been a new arrival himself with terribly petty cash. He neglects to elaborate on his contradictory request, though; instead, as if taken by a sudden whim to an encore, he turns away and raises his bow again. He's smiling, though. Positive attention always has the same effect on him, even if he's not always good with responding to it.

This is a good context for him, though. He's never been good with thanks, he has no idea how to receive a compliment gracefully, but he's a performer in many respects and he certainly knows how to play on.

"In all fairness I've done Take Me Home Tonight before," he says. He leaves off in university, a long time ago. My friends loved it: one of them got up on a fountain, the lip of a stone fountain. I don't remember if he was dealing to me then. "Not the Skynyrd. Do you know Lynyrd Skynyrd are white supremacists, sort of? Spoils it, doesn't it?"

So he's learned the basics, more or less, and that saves Sherlock a bit of trouble. He can use his tablet better than Horst Brauer can (which is good, as he doesn't have Horst Brauer's excuse), Thank God, and that saves Sherlock quite a bit of trouble. His mind wanders back to the man's place and time. Lucky enough, there's a very convenient way to find out-- "Gotye's on probation," he remarks. "Fun.'s right out. You're lucky to find me now. Last year I was insisting on classical."

[kings_fool]

Jeremy, fortunately, parses the language of performer-- how can he not? and the smile serves more eloquent than a vocalized 'thank you' in some respects; the willingness to play another song for no payment speaks louder yet.

He lets himself stop dicking with the tablet, instead shooting a crooked half-smile up at the other man with his words on Skynyrd.

"Dr. Dre beat the shit out of a TV host," he offers with a twitch of his shoulders to signify the world's fucked, man. "Got off with a $2500 fine."

He nods a little at the band names, not objecting to their blacklisting. Man with the instrument gets veto rights, that's fair by Jeremy.

"I'm down with Amadeus, man. But, okay, let's see-- Black Keys?"

[location: bazaar]

[hasaheart]

It has come to Wyatt Cain's attention, that there is something called 'honey dust'. He isn't entirely sure of its uses (though he can guess, and extrapolate, and infer), and he figures that if there's anywhere he's gonna get his hands on a bag/bottle/container of the stuff, it's gotta be the bazaar.

It's freezing cold, though, and once he's there among the many stalls and tables and vividly tinted drapes he can't help but wonder why he bothered in the first place.

...that answers easy. He's a gluttonous schmuck when it comes to certain people matters.

In short: Bazaar: +1 pseudo-steampunk-western sheriff stereotype. With bags and bags of stuff that actually aren't even remotely close to honey dust.

[location: bazaar]

[kings_fool]

Jeremy has clothes, but still not a whole lot in the way of a good grasp on the situation. He's walking staring down at his tablet, exploring the map function Metody had showed him.

His has a blinking arrow on it. He's walking towards it, still holding out the stupid hope that maybe it's Charlie, maybe the bizarre dream wraps up soon, even if a part of his brain is saying Nnnnooope.

Since his head is bent to the tablet he isn't watching where he's going. He comes around the corner of a stall and walks slam-bam into someone pretty solid.

"Shit," Jeremy says, as things start getting dropped. "Aw-- shit, sorry, man-- lemme help you pick stuff up--"

Including his phone.

[location: bazaar]

[hasaheart]

Pretty soon after your forced entry into Taxon, the first thing you check on anyone new is their wrist. More specifically their right one, because you never know when the aliens decide to upgrade their robots again.

Not that Wyatt ever really had anything much against the robots - where he comes from they're just another section of society, leading lives of their own. Or they used to be, at any rate. In any case, there's no ill will on Cain's end, especially now it's fairly apparent he didn't just get targeted by a gentleman pickpocket.

...not an Extra gentleman pickpocket, at least.

He crouches down, a touch stiffly, reaching for the assortment of stuff: some bags of spices there, a pair of earrings here, fruit bread and a bottle of spiced wine that he plans on using in some kind of dish that he hasn't really thought through yet.

"Shit happens," he says, eying the New Guy. Been a while since they had so many new faces (and as much of a horrible thing to think it may be, this one looks like a real one. No poster boy features there. A nice, real, proper face).

"You okay?" A beat, as it once again strikes him how stupid a question that really is. "...all things considered?"

[kings_fool]

There's a time when it would have been calculated, when the apologetic smile Jeremy shoots up at the taller man would have looked exactly the same but meant nothing, when he'd be walking away with a wallet.

But not now, not in a few years. He inspects the bottle of wine for cracks, running his fingers over it hunting moisture, but it seems intact. Good. He'd hate to be owing someone something when he hasn't even been here 24 hours. Well, aside from owing Metody the clothes.

He flicks a casual glance over the bottle before rewrapping it in the tissue paper it had come in and putting it back in one of the bags.

"You can make cake with this," he says offhandedly-- oh, there's his phone, he scoops that up too. The question makes him dart a quick, vulnerable glance at the other man.

No, he's not okay. He's been abducted from his bed and dropped into a mystery city and his best friend's not here, his best friend is probably getting shoved against a wall by Heung's thugs, and that is all partly Jeremy's fault that it's happening, and maybe Charlie even thinks he bailed on him, maybe Charlie thinks that Jeremy skipped town in the middle of the night and let him take the fall for the money.

He is definitely not okay.

But he finds a quick smile, plasters it on with a shrug. "Walking and talking and it looks like I kneel easier than you, pops," he says, no edge to his words, but testing where the line is. The guy's probably no older than he is. Well. It's kinda hard to pin an exact age. But still.

[hasaheart]

Yeah, thinks Wyatt quietly, some precious moments after he catches that look in the newcomer's eye. He could make a cake with the wine.

The answering smile is a tempered one; Wyatt knows that just because he's come to consider Taxon a second chance of sorts, that he didn't always feel this way. In fact, sometimes he can't believe he doesn't actually hate being here anymore.

He takes the bottle, notes the care it's handled with, and decides then and there to do the same. He'll move (if not outright dance) to the tune Mister New Guy plays. "Everyone else does, why shouldn't you," he says, giving a small, wry smile, and holds out his hand for a proper greeting.

"Wyatt Cain. One of the veteran residents."

[kings_fool]

"Wyatt Cain?" Jeremy says with a slow smile. Oh man, go a little more Tombstone, mister. "Yeah. Okay. Goes with the hat."

He brushes his hand off on his jeans, offers it for a shake. "Jeremy. Jeremy Fischer. And I'm, uh, not. For the record, I am currently on bad trip from some ninja weed, and you guys are all figments of my imagination, but that's cool, I think you can get on with figments of your imagination. I wonder where I saw a cowboy hat earlier tonight."