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

Entry tags:

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

[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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

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?"

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."

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."

Edited 2013-02-19 06:30 (UTC)

"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."

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.

She gets him settled, then splurges on a big breakfast for him, and a bowl of fruit for herself. There is even coffee and juice - a crazy luxury, but in stressful times, these things matter.

"So...this is your first day here...?"

"I'm Metody, by the way."

"My first day....? Uh. Uh, no," Jeremy says, scrubbing at his scruffy face with his hands as if that will make anything get clearer. But at least it's warm in the coffeeshop, and-- oh man food, ugh, not sure his belly's up that yet with the hangover-- coffee, though, now you're talking.

"No, I've been in Vegas like five years now," he says with another grimace. "I know, I know, I totally look like the hustled-on-his-first-visit tourist. Missing wallet and all."

Jeremy's innate friendliness tries to drag his brain from hangover-and-incomprehension back to greetings. He frees a hand from the blanket, offer it across to his benevolent angel.

"Jeremy. Metody, huh? That's a cool name. Like Melody but not."

Metody's eyes widen a little at the mention of Vegas - oh, gosh, the gambling place? - but that's neither here nor there.

"I'm afraid this is not actually Vegas," she says, gently as she can. "This city is called Taxon. People from - from very different places are gathered here for - no one really knows why."

"I'm sorry. I don't really understand it very well myself, to be honest. Everything here is terribly alien to me."

Jeremy gives the girl a bleary, non-comprehending look at her statement that it's not Vegas.

Of course it's Vegas. Where else could it be, but Vegas? Okay, technically, he supposes, whoever it was who broke into his apartment, apparently drugged him in the middle of the night and hauled him out to toss him into the creepy metal room-- technically, they could have taken him out of the city too, to somewhere else. Sure. Technically.

Technically a stampede of zebras could happen too.

"Okay," he says, because it's easier than arguing, and drags his messy hair out of his face with his fingertips. He reaches for the coffee, and the packets of sugar-- tearing two open and dumping them into his cup. His blanket slides down, but Jeremy's not terribly modest at the best of times, and this is not the best of times. Metody gets the view of Jeremy's bare torso. No good deed goes unpunished, and all that.

"...did I say thank you yet for the coffee?" Jeremy asks as he stirs in three packets of creamer.

She reaches out and takes five packets of sugar at once, shakes the crystals to the bottom, and rips them open to pour all in at once. And then she picks up five more.

"You're welcome. Somehow, food and drink help with - things."

She frowns at her coffee, then dumps in the next five packets of sugar. It is getting rather close to overflowing. Metody glances at him, momentarily distracted by the lack of tattoos. Maybe he has his lower down, or on his legs? Or his back.

"The...there is some good news, at least? Shelter is easy to find, even if you have - you have unusual requirements or desires. Food and water are fairly cheap, too, and so are other basics." Like pants. She's got to get him some pants, and a sweater, and shoes. Good, thick socks. A winter coat, gloves, a hat - does she have enough money, maybe? Perhaps if she's cautious with it.

"And...there are certainly a lot of exotic, interesting people to talk to, here."

(In point of fact, he DOES have a tattoo on his back, and another that is, uh, yes, lower down. But neither of those are visible at the moment.)

Jeremy stares in hungover fascination as packet after packet... after packet... after packet... of sugar disappears into Metody's cup. Here he'd thought he was bad.

"You're not diabetic, right?" he says slowly, eyes helplessly following sugar into the cup. "Last time I saw that much white powder there were rolled-up bills and hookers involved."

He drags his attention back up to Metody's earnest, attempting-to-be-reassuring gaze. "Shelter? Right. Yeah. Shelter. I've got an apartment. I mean it's not just mine, but--"

No. Wait. They're not in Vegas. Or something.

"Nope! I just burn through food pretty fast, and I feel a bit ill if I don't keep enough sugar in me. It's kind of a bother." And she's added all that she can. She picks up a spoon and stirs as carefully as she can, moving slow to keep from slopping it over the edge.

"It's easy to find shelter. It's - very easy. I mean, I have a place that's - outside the city, which suits me a bit better, but if you prefer a place here, it's easy to find an apartment, as I understand it."

"And work, too. Work is supposed to be pretty easy to find."

Jeremy knuckles at his eyes again, it kind of makes sense. It makes more sense than everything else is making, anyway. He watches the coffee almost slopping out over the cup's edge.

"Maybe you could have them fill it like halfway next time?" he suggests fuzzily. Coffee cups are a problem he feels he can offer advice on.

This talk about apartments and jobs not so much. It's worrying. It's worrying because there's a big Charlie-shaped hole in this equation.

"No-- no, see, I have an apartment. I have a roomie. I-- shit, I really need to get back to him-- oh fuck, did they grab him too?"

Jeremy sits bolt upright, staring around the coffeeshop with truly alert eyes now, then back to Metody's face. "--have you seen anyone else? Uh, 'bout my height, skinny, kindofa pretty boy in the face? Brown hair brown eyes?"

She laughs, startled. It might be the first time she's laughed since she showed up. "I really should!"

" - oh. I...don't think people get taken in groups. Um. Everyone I've met is from a different place - very different. I don't think I've met that person, but I've only been here for about a month."

"I think you can use the tablet to call specific people? Or at least to leave a public message for them."

Jeremy runs his hands through his hair again, clearly more frazzled and agitated now that he's worried about his friend, frazzled enough not to argue the complete impossibility of everything going on.

He duly looks at his wrist, fumbles at the bracelet-interface's tiny screen, which is much more easily used when detatched and enlarged of course.

"--okay," he says hurriedly, coffee forgotten, the cold forgotten, the weird-ass people forgotten. "How-- how do I do that, I gotta try and find him--"

"Here, let me - "

Metody has figured out a few things. He shows him how to remove the screen and expand it, then uncertainly pecks through the menus.

"Okay, okay....so, here's the map, and this is one of the bad things: it always shows where you are. These two dots are us, see? What's your friend's name?"

Up close to Metody, there is a....smell. A polluted, sick, unpleasant smell. Enjoy.

He blinks stupidly at the tablet popping out and then... enlarging. "Fuck me, Apple can't do that," he mumbles, but then leans in close to see what she's doing, worry still overriding other emotions.

He registers the smell-- distantly-- unconsciously wrinkles his nose the way a man does on first scenting dog shit on his shoes (or cat piss on his mattress), but at the moment it hasn't quite penetrated that Metody's the source.

"Charlie. Charlie King," Jeremy says, eyes darting over the cool map screen that he doesn't really appreciate right now. "Charles, maybe? Maybe there's a Charles there--"

No such name is appearing there. Jeremy buries his hands into his hair for a moment, then grabs the tablet back from her rudely and jams at the buttons to make a call-- he's familiar with smartphones, so now that the tablet's OUT of the watch he gets the basic concept fine.

Except where his iPhone at home gives him a number pad to enter a phone number manually, this just has the list of names. The list of names that has no Charlie.

"Shit, Charlie, where are you," Jeremy says. Everything will probably make sense if Charlie's here. Charlie makes shit make sense, Charlie has direction, Charlie's the guy who knows what is going on and has a plan for how to get there.

When it becomes clear there's still no Charlie on the list, Jeremy lets the tablet drop to the table with a clatter and slumps back in his chair, staring blankly down at the tabletop.

It takes him a few seconds to remember Metody's there, and that he'd snatched the tablet from her fingers.

"...sorry," he says in a mumble.

She risks a gentle pat to his arm.

"It's okay."

"I spent a long time looking for my family. Any of my family." And then, softer, "I have a very big family."

"That's the rest of it. This is...not home. I keep hoping it's a big hallucination, that I got exposed to something or my heart went and I had a stroke, or something and...it's awfully real. Everything here is horribly real."

"I don't," he says in a mumbled answer to Metody's words of family. But he registers the tone, sympathy, empathy, and he bites his lip, looking up at the slight pale girl.

(Who smells weird. --man, Jesus, that is some funk--)

He hears what she's saying but it still doesn't make any sense. It can't make any sense. Nothing about tonight-- shape-changing iPads and weird people who don't meet your eyes the right way and goth girls who walk around in body armor and the fact that he's sitting around in his underwear with said goth girl*-- nothing makes any sense.

Jeremy plants his elbows on the table and plops his face into his hands. "I have no idea what's going on," he says dully.

"And you're telling me it's not a bad trip."

*Okay, the sitting around in his underwear is actually pretty normal for some nights of the week

"If it is drugs or toxins, it is lasting for quite a long time, and there is a great deal of internal logic and orderliness. I...hope that it is, because I would like to go home."

And somehow, having this conversation makes it all real for her. Being told it, and seeing it herself, that she could disregard, but speaking it out loud to someone else, that felt...permanent. She looks down, and reaches out for her sugar sludge.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you different."

Because I would like to go home.

Jeremy looks up, his puppy-dog-esque eyes seeking out Metody's. The words are a perfect vocalization of what he's feeling, and the emotion behind them, even soft as Metody's voice is, tings all the bells.

He really looks at her, brain trying to register more than his own personal crisis for a bit. Man, she's small. If she went through the same crazy night he's having, the waking up in the steel room and staggering out almost naked into a city that makes no sense (he would be a little piqued to learn he's the only almost-nude arrival)...

"... I, um. Okay, I'm not sure I'm really buying any of this. But you're being super nice to me, sweetheart, so, you know, you don't have anything to apologize for, 'kay? Fuck, you got me coffee, I think that qualifies you as a superhero."

He offers a disarming-if-shaky smile, and holds up his blanket. "Look, I even brought you a cape?"

It's a coping mechanism, sure-- his joke is strained, lame, dopey-- but it's also what he does-- try to make everyone smile, try to make everyone happy.

If Metody had woken up naked in a strange place, the echoes of the enraged panicking would still be reverberating in that little metal room.

She blinks at him, then laughs, plucking at the edge of the blanket. She is more than willing to dodge their looming mutual emotional breakdowns by goofing around. She's not being silly for her own sake. It's all for him.

Really.

"And what a wonderful cape it is! It looks very snuggly. Golly, do I get a tiara if I find you a pair of pants? Because I could use a tiara."

"It kinda still smells of cat pee from the last time Tunaface got into my room," Jeremy offers cheerfully, "but it's yours all yours, beautiful.

"--and if you get me pants, oh my god, I will-- actually, I can do it for you right now."

He gets to his feet to go grab from straws from the counter-- woops, no, grab the blanket, haha, sorry there Metody, there we are, blanket yanked back up and Jeremy plucks a handful of the thin brown coffee stirrers.

He shuffles back over, drops back down into his chair, and quickly starts braiding the plastic bits together.

"Your tiara is in production! Now where's my pants?"

"Oh, man, you sure make it sound amazing, but I'd hate to deprive - " She laughs, watching him wandering off.

"Oh, Jeremy. Look inside your heart: your pants were always there, deep inside you."

"Or down the street at the clothing store, along with a shirt and a coat, and some shoes. Because you seriously can't be walking around like that. You'll get frostbite in places you'll wish you didn't have."

no subject

[location]

Re: [location]

[location]

Re: [location]

[location]

Re: [location]

[location]

Re: [location]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject