Mayland Long (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
imperial_long) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
taxonomites2013-11-19 02:49 am
imperial_long) wrote in taxonomites2013-11-19 02:49 am
Entry tags:
[Location: Kelebek] / [Video - All] / [Audio - Locked to Ambrose]
One moment he is working on his translation, and the next he is-- in bed. Blinking several times up at the ceiling of his hotel room, cognizant that his excellent memory would record his passage between one point and the other, cognizant that if his memory does not record this, it is due to some sort of anomaly, some sort of outside interference.
And because this is Taxon, he has a strong suspicion of who 'outside interference' might be.
White teeth bared in a silent hiss, Mayland Long sits up and reaches for his tablet.
The calendar is the first thing he checks, and discovers to his immense irritation that he has missed weeks-- no, more than that-- of time. The last thing he recalls is the oddity of the day where the sun had hung in the sky. Scrolling through tablet feeds shows him he missed a good deal of the usual Taxon... eventfulness.
Well. He can't say he is entirely sad to have missed out on the pastel-colored experience.
But why? he wonders. Why had their captors seen fit to suspend his... mind... self, consciousness, at that particular point?
Struck by a suspicion, he tabs to the file on his tablet where he keeps his translation attempts. It is no longer on his tablet.
Growling a noise that does not sound remotely human, Long climbs naked out of bed and moves for his bookshelf. He keeps paper notes too, because as convenient as the tablet is he prefers paper.
His paper notes are also gone.
Mayland Long is massively, massively piqued by this. He stands very still for two minutes-- if anyone was looking, he would appear to be struck by some random musing, frozen in thought-- but actually he is engaging in cathartic mental cursing, in several languages.
Eventually he goes and takes a bath. It goes a long way towards calming him down. Mayland Long is dressed, and back to his usual sang-froid self* by the time he opens a visual broadcast on his tablet.
"Good morning, Taxon. I apologize for my unintentional disappearance from the city. It seems our captors saw fit to rob me of time as well as several of my possessions," he says with cool displeasure at this fact.
"I have apprised myself of the apparent 'candy' malfunction. I cannot say I am sorry to have missed it--" (although he is vainly curious as to what he might have turned into) "--but perhaps more to the point, it seems as though it was dedicated distraction from the events directly before the... sugarizing process. I was engaged in a comparison of the message we received to a previous message the city had received. I have lost all of my notes on the subject."
Not that that means he has forgotten what they said, but that's a separate topic.
"If anyone wishes to discuss this matter, I shall be at the Library."
Long ends the transmission, and flips through a few other messages to make sure he's not missed anything else. But he most certainly has. A certain arrival.
He stares at the tablet, then finds himself sitting down on the edge of the bed. After several seconds, he tabs buttons to open a call to this new arrival.
"Excuse me," he says, and then hesitates, for once unsure what he is supposed to say next. "Glitch? I'm sorry-- Ambrose?"
***
*Long looks like himself... except for the fact that in direct light, patterns of scales can be seen upon his skin. And also, he seems to be blinking a lot, with a third, semi-transparent eyelid that he didn't have before.
And because this is Taxon, he has a strong suspicion of who 'outside interference' might be.
White teeth bared in a silent hiss, Mayland Long sits up and reaches for his tablet.
The calendar is the first thing he checks, and discovers to his immense irritation that he has missed weeks-- no, more than that-- of time. The last thing he recalls is the oddity of the day where the sun had hung in the sky. Scrolling through tablet feeds shows him he missed a good deal of the usual Taxon... eventfulness.
Well. He can't say he is entirely sad to have missed out on the pastel-colored experience.
But why? he wonders. Why had their captors seen fit to suspend his... mind... self, consciousness, at that particular point?
Struck by a suspicion, he tabs to the file on his tablet where he keeps his translation attempts. It is no longer on his tablet.
Growling a noise that does not sound remotely human, Long climbs naked out of bed and moves for his bookshelf. He keeps paper notes too, because as convenient as the tablet is he prefers paper.
His paper notes are also gone.
Mayland Long is massively, massively piqued by this. He stands very still for two minutes-- if anyone was looking, he would appear to be struck by some random musing, frozen in thought-- but actually he is engaging in cathartic mental cursing, in several languages.
Eventually he goes and takes a bath. It goes a long way towards calming him down. Mayland Long is dressed, and back to his usual sang-froid self* by the time he opens a visual broadcast on his tablet.
"Good morning, Taxon. I apologize for my unintentional disappearance from the city. It seems our captors saw fit to rob me of time as well as several of my possessions," he says with cool displeasure at this fact.
"I have apprised myself of the apparent 'candy' malfunction. I cannot say I am sorry to have missed it--" (although he is vainly curious as to what he might have turned into) "--but perhaps more to the point, it seems as though it was dedicated distraction from the events directly before the... sugarizing process. I was engaged in a comparison of the message we received to a previous message the city had received. I have lost all of my notes on the subject."
Not that that means he has forgotten what they said, but that's a separate topic.
"If anyone wishes to discuss this matter, I shall be at the Library."
Long ends the transmission, and flips through a few other messages to make sure he's not missed anything else. But he most certainly has. A certain arrival.
He stares at the tablet, then finds himself sitting down on the edge of the bed. After several seconds, he tabs buttons to open a call to this new arrival.
"Excuse me," he says, and then hesitates, for once unsure what he is supposed to say next. "Glitch? I'm sorry-- Ambrose?"
***
*Long looks like himself... except for the fact that in direct light, patterns of scales can be seen upon his skin. And also, he seems to be blinking a lot, with a third, semi-transparent eyelid that he didn't have before.
[audio | lock'd]
Arrayed on the table before him are close to a dozen plates and bowls, each with one food item on it. The staff protested until he gave them a hefty tip, which also got them to leave him alone. He's filled with trepidation as he makes his next selection.
"Looks like a strawberry," he says and picks it up. Not the best quality, it's almost white near the dull green leaves, but it will serve. "Feels like a strawberry...smells like a strawberry."
He braces himself, takes a bite, chews, then grabs a napkin to discreetly spit it out. Look, feel, smell, and texture, but it tastes like brown gravy. With giblets mixed in. Ambrose takes a sip of violently green soda (he's not sure what it's supposed to taste like but it's better than turkey-flavored) to clear his palate and is relieved by the voice on the tablet rescuing him from trying the next variable.
The voice, it must be noted, is one of those familiar-but-can't-quite-place it ones that he's grown to love hearing.
"No need to apologize, either's good," he replies, then sticks his tongue out to himself with a grimace and has another drink. "Bleh, sorry. Yes? Is this...oh, don't tell me, keep talking."
edit all you want *flings self your way* and i am so so sorry this took me so long
Reunion with a friend, after resignation otherwise... there are poems on this, but friends have been scarce enough for him and the lesson of loss is one he has really only learned since coming to Taxon. And now, to have one back?
That Glitch, or... Ambrose... does not appear to recognize him provides a sobering counterpoint to the marvelous novelty of the sensation.
Long does something he thinks he has also never done. He stammers.
"I, ah, yes, of course, if that-- forgive me, I am sure I have numerous questions that-- that you have likely answered already-- I've been in a sort of ig-ignorance of the city, you see, for some time, and I just now saw you and-- where are you? No, wait, I have a map--"
The audio provides sounds of bustling around, as Long races to fetch his coat.
fffffffffffffff
"Oh don't come here, it's terrible. I can go and--" And when name on the caller ID registers he leaps up so quickly he manages to bang a knee on the table, jostling everything on it with a clatter. There's a hiss of pain. "Cripes, ow! No, I'm fine Mayland."
Like with the others there's a series of impressions, emotions, and memory adding up to a not-quite complete picture. Peace, warmth (literal and figurative), the fondness of a peer...and strangely something about a tremendous beast. But, first and foremost:
"Please tell me you know where we can get tea-flavored tea, there's a Thing going on."
you and me, together until the sun burns out from our slow tags, baby
He tries to school himself back to prudence and wisdom. Attachment creates suffering; cosmically, it is irrelevant whether or not Glitch remembers him. This may not even be Glitch as he knows him, precisely.
None of his talking-down of himself makes his voice any calmer when he says, "Oh, certainly, there's the Tea Tree two streets over from your current location, and there's-- oh, wait, everything tastes of cider at the moment that I've tried, I see your dilemma-- well-- we can try the Tea Tree and cross fingers for luck-- do people do that in the Outer Zone?"
SOMEBODY'S got to do it, yo
Imparting cultural trivia, yes, that also feels familiar. Ambrose lets the particulars drift in the ebb and flow of what he does and does not remember as he drapes his scarf and checks the map.
"Cider's a step up from what I guess was turkey stock, so I won't complain. Tea Tree it is."
And there he'll be, either eyeing the menu with dubious fascination or anxiously/eagerly watching the door, or caught between the two. He looks the same but different: similar build, different carriage, clothes a bit more modern and subdued save for the clearly subcontinental scarf, the same age but grayer but less careworn. All superficial, of course, but little clues just the same.
ffff i had your notif and for some reason i still thought it wasn't my tag
He darts around people in what is almost-but-not-quite a run towards the Ozian, then skids to a stop in his dress shoes an arm's length away, like a man who was in quite a hurry to get somewhere but has no idea what to do once he's there. Which would be the case.
He looks lost for a moment, blinking at Glitch, a bemused expression that wants to be a smile but isn't quite confident in itself yet flickering across his (normally so composed) face.
"I--"
Long clears his throat, stands straighter, settles composure over himself like a blanket. "--it's very good to see you."
can't stop won't stop
A quick analysis of all this shows that his new-old friend is someone he respects, someone he's close with but perhaps not that close or maybe he was. Ambrose lowers his left arm, calling off the half-hug for now but despite the briefness of Mayland's smile he thinks he may deploy it yet.
"You too," he replies, the grin not going anywhere. "Sorry I've missed you, it's been...well, 'peculiar' just begins to cover it."
no subject
"An ever-useful word that covers a multitude of circumstances," he manages. He stands there a moment, not quite sure what to do with his own hands, then gestures jerkily toward the counter.
"Have you ordered yet? I hope you were not waiting terribly long. I came as quickly as I could. Have you been-- now, you-- ah, you have recollections of Taxon, clearly-- you, from your perspective, have you, were you returned to your home, or--"
Despite himself, he does stare a bit at the top of Glitch's (Ambrose's) head. More gray hair. No zipper.