milliways_bar | (no subject)

Michael's outside, by a tree that may hide him from sight, but not necessarily scent or hearing. He'd found himself walking through the front door unexpectedly, and now? Good luck convincing him to budge.
The raptors' herd gets a surprised, then thoughtful look. He watches, too, from his vantage point.

It's the herd that notices Michael's presence first. They are, after all, predators at their core, and whether or not they actually need to hunt down and consume prey, the instinct is still there. Tommy hadn't been able to eliminate that; he'd have had to work with the DNA of a much more docile animal, and that would have made for a far less speedy and efficient end product. As things are, their hearing and sense of smell are extremely acute, and they've got a ground speed that's difficult to match.

A low growl from one of the Raptors alerts the Ranger to the fact that not everything is as it was, and he unconsciously grabs hold of its reins. The black creature seems to be pulling in the direction of a large tree, rather insistently at that, inherent sensitivity to change and potential threats kicking in.

"Calm down, Jase," Tommy murmurs calmly, then swings lightly up onto the Raptor's back. A gentle nudge of his heels is all that it takes, and the animal sets into the fastest lope that Tommy will permit it. The others follow, but stay behind the the black Raptor and his rider. Tommy's inwardly relieved; the others tend to follow his mount, and there's a better chance of avoiding any possible confrontation if he has control. Riding, he can at least try to guide the animals away from problems.

That doesn't mean he's going to prevent them from investigating entirely.

Michael laughs wryly. Straightening, he comes around the treetrunk and
swiftly crouches, then jumps upward, catlike. There's a branch overhead that'll hold his weight as he pulls himself up, and then climbs a bit higher. Still observing, but there's a little more distance.
They're right to be wary, though not here. Curiosity's prompting him, and nothing worse.
He does wonder how intelligent the creatures are, the only analogues he's familiar with were nonsentient.
The man's unknown, but that's not surprising. To know everyone who came to Milliways would be almost impossible.

The pack slows as it nears the tree, then halts beneath it when Tommy reins his mount in, before the creature can run up the side of the tree. It's a feat that's easy enough for the Raptors, running up the sides of vertical structures, but generally that's reserved for buildings, not trees with many obstructive branches.

Still, the four are snarling, making it quite clear that whatever caught there attention is still present, and is in the tree's branches. Tommy pushes himself up to stand on his Raptor's back, then jumps to a strong supporting limb. He crouches upon it and looks up, trying to get a look at what, or who, might be there.

"State your interest, please." Tommy's tone is more curious than demanding; though the Raptors are remarkably intelligent they are ruled by instinct right now, while Tommy's intuition is governed with a healthy dose of rational thought. That intuition is also telling him that whomever he's facing is not someone to be concerned about, at least not at the moment.

"They are creatures of instinct, and will calm if assured that your intentions aren't hostile."

Michael shifts position, walking along a tree branch without handholds,
pushing back the hood of his coat as he does. He looks down to meet
the newcomer's gaze. One might think 'albino' at first seeing the Wraith's coloring, until the yellow eyes were noticed, and the ridges
along his forehead.
His own tone is matter of fact. "I hadn't expected otherwise. Coming here
wouldn't mean they weren't themselves. As for hostile, no. You've given me
no cause, and certainly they haven't. I hadn't seen any beings like them
before...If I may ask, where or when are you from?"

Tommy rises to his feet; his visor filters light in a manner that discolours many things, but he can still tell that Michael's colouration is not what his world, at least, would consider "normal." Of course, that's nothing Tommy isn't used to, and so he simply nods at the answer he receives. If there's no hostility, then as far as he is concerned there's no problem.

"Earth, early twenty-first century. Yourself?" The Raptors on the ground below, though still inquisitive, sense his acceptance of the situation and calm down.

"The same time period, but another galaxy. I'm called Michael. My
species are, were, known as the Wraith."

"I'm just the Black Ranger. We don't really do names, never have in my line of work." At least not in uniform, anyway. Tommy had to teach himself, long ago, the ability to call on a certain amount of detachment from himself when necessary. Just enough to keep his mouth shut when he should.

But that aside, space witches, humanoid saurians, beings from other galaxies. All part of daily life for a Ranger.

"The Wraith, not a species with which I am familiar. Perhaps you do not exist in my world." After all, through the years the Rangers have compiled a rapidly growing database of beings from other worlds, galaxies, even other dimensions. "We're pretty good about keeping tabs on things, but I've found many individuals here who simply are not of species or types native to the universe I know."

Of course, Michael did refer to the population in the past tense, which is something that Tommy finds intriguing. He also wonders if Billy would now get a kick out of what his friend grew into, basically a laid back guy with periodic moments of geek.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ranger."
His expression's blank for a second.
"Perhaps not," he agrees quietly. "If so, you're lucky.
Does your world have interplanetary travel, then?"

"Interplanetary travel?" Tommy shakes his head. "Not as such, no. Some of us, those like myself, are aware of the existence of other worlds, and other dimensions. And the general public is well aware that there are unpleasant and sometimes less-than-human things in the universe. Of course, there are many who hold the belief that there are races elsewhere that are intelligent and peaceful, rather than calculating and cruel, and actively search for communication or contact.

"In general, though, no. We're pretty much Earthbound at this point, and our space program, well, that kinda took a big hit a few years back." He pauses. "I take it your kind are not the most amiable lot, in general?" Tommy's not about to start making specific judgements. After all, the collective does not necessarily define the individual.

Well, that's not something one sees every day, even at Milliways. There's an albino young man paused at the edge of the trees, watching. His white clothes blend into the snow quite well, though are totally unsuited to the Scottish winter cold. He doesn't even wear shoes.

There is fresh blood smeared though a little of his white hair, coloring it dark red. He missed a bit, it seems. He's not paying attention to cleaning it up, right now. He's absorbed in watching the playful... things.

The Raptors, being "indigenous" to southern California, have never really seen snow before, and are more than a little intrigued. It's only when one of them notices a relatively small streak of red against the otherwise white background that their attention deviates again.

Tommy's not sure who or what it is, precisely, only that the Power and the Raptors' interest indicates another presence. It's unlike anything Tommy's ever encountered, and given that anything is possible (more or less) at Milliways, investigation seems the only option.

He does keep a very watchful eye open, however. Because unlike Yrael, Tommy and his pack are not white, and they stand out against the snow. It's not that Tommy didn't consider harnessing his power of invisibility, but somehow that strikes him as an almost threatening gesture. If this presence is hostile, it will attack him, and if not, he knows better than to alienate it by taking a defensive position before even introducing himself.

The presence is definitely an 'it', by the way it would feel. Depending on how it is sensed, it would be like there was a little patch of sudden chaos somewhere nearby, powerful and wild, scarcely contained by a thin veneer of order. Living things who can sense Free Magic are usually repulsed by it, because it is inimical to Life, seeking by its very nature to unravel the pattern and restore it all to chaos and darkness.

Yrael is no usual Free Magic creature, however.

When he eventually wanders forward, he is smirking. He has no fear of these strange creatures. Only interest.

It is fortunate that Free Magic does not exist in Tommy's world, because then the Power would likely be tuned to it and the Black Ranger would be, for lack of a better term, majorly freaking out. As things are he's alert because Yrael is an unknown quantity, something not encountered before and of which the Power is wary.

-I know.-

Tommy draws to a stop, grasping the reins of his charges tightly in a reminder not to do anything stupid. The visor of his helmet automatically adjusts to filter different wavelengths, providing its wearer with the clearest picture of the outside world possible; in this case it's doing its best to pick Yrael out from against the white backdrop of snow.

"They're curious," he says by way of greeting. "And would probably have a fit if I didn't let them check things out."

"Far from it for me ever to condemn another's curiosity," Yrael says, smiling. Amused.

He's just very white, not actively trying to hide. The dark red blood, slowly drying, in his hair stands out pretty well. None of it is his blood, and to tell the truth, he looks far too neat to have been in any sort of fight. He is not out of breath, his face is not flushed, and the long creases in his slacks are still perfectly straight.

That might be construed as a bad sign.

"I don't condemn it, but sometimes they're a bit too enthusiastic about things," Tommy replies as the red animal pulls against its reins in Yrael's direction. Tommy tightens his hold; the beast really is quite a bit like his rider, shaping up into a good fighter, but still with a few issues to work out where authority and belligerence are concerned.

The blood is just a tad bit disconcerting, given Yrael's otherwise pristine appearance. The visor adjusts to filter out more of the shorter wavelengths of light and enhance the longer ones, and Tommy tilts his head to one side, an eyebrow arching even though he's not sure if Yrael's eyes can see past the concealing barrier.

"I think you missed a spot," he says, tapping his own helmet roughly in the place where the blood is standing out in sharp contrast to the white hair.

"I doubt that it would be better for them to be completely lacking in enthusiasm, either. We can forgive them." Yrael continues to wander forward towards the creatures.

"Hm? Oh." A pale hand goes up to the blood, coming away red. "Ah. Thank you."

He licks his fingers.

Um, ew? Tommy has to quickly remind himself that his ways, that is to say human practises, are not necessarily the ways of other patrons. He manages to withhold any reaction beyond an internal one. To do otherwise, after all, would be rude.

-...ick. Though better than having to wash bits of enemies out of your hair.-

"Anyone, or anything, engaged in what more or less amounts to warfare needs to be enthusiastic," he agrees. "They're an open target, otherwise." He's actually kind of surprised that Conner survived the battle he was thrown into on the day he decided to leave the team (and fortunately, decided to return not too many hours later). It's not a day that Tommy particularly likes to remember, for a variety of reasons. Losing a Ranger, nearly losing one and possibly more of his students, getting kidnapped and spirited away to his nemesis' island fortress for a couple very long days of physical and mental torture... Y'know, the usual.

-Double ick. Man, maybe Billy's right and I'm some sort of magnet for bad crap happening. But hey, new Powers. I guess it balances out.-

Maybe.

The yellow Raptor noses toward Yrael, bold and inquisitive like its owner. The red one does likewise, though the blue and black creatures hang back for a moment, as if sizing up the situation.

"Yes. It has gotten many otherwise-skilled warriors killed, not fighting to the best of their ability."

The hair is almost clean now.

It's almost like watching a cat clean its fur.

By the time he comes within six feet of the raptors and the person in black, his hair is clean and white once more. Almost idly, the pale person in white offers a hand to the yellow raptor.

Yrael wonders if these creatures like scritches.

"Killed, or at least seriously wounded. Of course, I've also seen some who have fought to the best of their ability become over-confident, which can lead to the same end."

Tommy likes cats. After the spell over him had been broken almost a decade ago, he'd found that the Evil Green Ranger Glare (the EGRG, as his friends had termed it), could come in very useful for deflecting confrontation before it occurred. He'd practised it on the family cat, because nothing had been able to stare back quite like the diminutive calico. He soon found that it really had no effect on felines, but she had been better than a mirror. Besides, she'd been so damn cute when she'd rolled over onto her back after a few minutes, swatted at his then-long hair, and demanded to have her belly rubbed.

The yellow Raptor promptly takes a step forward when Tommy lets a bit of slack into its reins, and nudges at Yrael's hand. Considering that the strange new presence has not attacked, threatened or attempted to kill the person holding its tether, the creature seems content to accept contact.

As for scritches, they're fine by the herd. After all, Tommy designed them to have a less hostile side and an appreciation for things like affection and play, rather than just an inherent desire to fight. A mount solely focused on destruction would be dangerous, not to mention a pain in the ass to take care of.

"One needs to know one's strength, to be able to properly use it."

Tommy may need to hope that no enemy uses cute as a diversion tactic to make him let his guard down. Oh wait.

The person in white lifts his hand to scritch the raptor just above and behind its eyes, where he'd imagine it would have trouble scratching if that place itched.

Having been on the receiving end of scritches many times, Yrael knows how to make it feel good.

"Yep. Or you end up splatted on the sidewalk."

Tommy has yet to see a single one of Mesogog's monsters actually qualify as "cute." Grotesque, hideous and slimy perhaps, but definitely not cute.

The Raptor promptly goes from content to puddle, or would if Raptors were capable of melting. As things are it gives a pleased growl, because that is very much a place that both arms and feet cannot reach. The others promptly decide that yes, they would like in on the action as well.

Tommy looks somewhat amused.

"Seems you have the magic touch."

"I know what feels good," he says, lifting his other arm to scritch the next Raptor to approach. "Having been on both the giving and receiving ends of both good and bad scritches, I feel I know what I am doing."

"Yrael," he says, because he hadn't gotten around to introducing himself yet.

"Clearly." Tommy observes Yrael's technique with interest. Who knows, it may come in handy to calm Jase down some day, when he has the cranks and gets nippy.

"Yrael? 'S a pleasure. I'm Tommy." Throwing out his name whilst in uniform isn't something he really makes a practise of. He suspects, however, that this particular entity will have one of those, "Uh-huh, yeah, right" reactions that make things ever so awkward, if he doesn't 'fess up.

"The Black Ranger, too, though that's generally only in situations where formal attire is required," he continues, gesturing vaguely at his uniform. After ascertaining that no other parties are present, Tommy reaches up and removes his helmet. Also not standard practise by a long shot, but still. Yrael, after all, has given him a face to recognise later, and if there's one thing that Tommy can be faulted for, it's his unwillingness to compromise honour and honesty.

"Nice to meet you, Tommy, Black Ranger." Though the honesty may be lopsided now, because Yrael has given Tommy only one face to know him by.

And has not shown what he really is, yet.

That may yet happen, but may not, as well.

"What does the Black Ranger do, when formal attire is required?" Oh all right. The hands scritching Raptors switch to scritching the Raptors not yet getting scritches, so they might stop clamoring for attention.

Well, the honestly is practically a fault. But Tommy's not a complete airhead; he's got a hidden face, too - literally.

"Oh, y'know, the usual. Fight evil, save the world and all of humanity from going down the tubes. Or the way of the dinosaurs. Literally. Basic spandex duty." Yep, just things that any ordinary 27-year old high school science teacher and doctor of paleontology does all the time. Pfft.

As to Yrael's scritching, he will find that he has happy Raptors on his hands (or under them, as it were). Happy, happy Raptors. Tommy's glad he thought to make them as he did. Though the growling isn't quite purring, really. At least they don't purr, forget to swallow and subsequently drool, though.

"Ah, a hero," he says, as if he knows all about them.

"I know a few of those. Once saved the world, myself, a couple of years ago."

Admittedly, he didn't want to, and was saving it from his little brother, but... we're not mentioning that.

Hero? Never really a word that Tommy's used to define himself; after all, his origins weren't exactly heroic, and there are certain parts of his history that definitely don't fall into the category of heroic actions, either.

"A hero? Sorta. To the public, anyway, but then anyone in tights who keeps the city intact would be. As far as I'm concerned, I'm just doing a job that needs to be done."

He chooses to omit the fact that he's considered to be the Chosen One among current and former Rangers alike, one of those traditional hallmarks of heroism. The Ultimate, the messiah, the best, blah blah blah. Tommy's heard it all before, and unlike many, he's not that impressed with himself.

"Trust me, it gets kind of routine after a while. At least for me. It becomes one of those 'well, good job I survived that one, now time for a shower and bed' kind of things."

Returning to the earlier topic of curiosity...

"If you'll pardon my morbid curiosity, where did the blood come from?"

"I don't plan on making heroism a habit. It is not in my nature. I was practically forced into it, the one time I did help save existence."

He beeps the black raptor on the nose, because he can.

"Dinner. I have been out, hunting." Bright green catseyes shine as he smiles.

"I didn't much plan on it as a profession, either. It sort of got dropped in my lap a while back." It may be in his nature, unlike Yrael, but he's the only one who was forced into things, rather than being given an choice.

Jase promptly adopts a confused expression at Yrael's gesture, to the extent that a Raptor can. If he were capable of looking cross-eyed, he probably would.

"Hunting?" Tommy has no aversion to eating game meat; he's had it often enough when visiting Sam and David. "I didn't know there was game here."

The blood had been fresh, indicating a kill that was most probably consumed raw. Tommy suspects that if really pressed he could manage to eat raw meat and not retch it back up, but the thought still isn't a pleasant one. At least not where his own digestive tract is concerned.

Ah, that's the problem with actually having a digestive tract. Yrael doesn't bother with one. He just likes the taste.

"Demon rabbits. Quite good. Spicy," Yrael smiles at the confused Raptor and scritches it under its chin. "Occasionally deer and such will wander in from the Dreaming, too. I hunt every so often, usually around the full moon, when the Pack participates as well."

"Demon rabbits." -And you are surprised by this why?- The inner voice has a good point, Tommy concedes. After all, this place is definitely not Reefside.

"The Pack?" Tommy is familiar with the concept, obviously, considering he sort of has one of his own; one member in particular has apparently decided that the scritching makes up for the brief moment of complete and utter disorientation. Yrael, however... Hm. Tommy chalks it up to the person in white, and Tommy's starting to question whether or not he's really a person at all, being infinitely more than what he seems.

Likewise, a familiar concept.

"And what is the Dreaming?"

"Yes, demon rabbits. They are little, and red, and have red eyes. They are opportunistic hunters, and have been known to attack unwary patrons. The Pack, that is, the group of weres" pronounced as wherez "and I hunt them to make sure their numbers do not get out of hand."

"That, and they taste good."

"The Dreaming..." Yrael pauses, smiling. "It the Realm of Dream, where one goes when one is asleep. It is a lot more things besides, but if one goes far enough into the forest, one will be in the Dreaming. Usually, due to nature of this place, one will find oneself turned around if one goes in too far. Keep going, in most places, and you eventually walk back out of the forest, right where you started."

"Dream can explain it better than I can, of course."

"I'll make sure to be wary, then." Or at least on the lookout, because tyrannodrones and giant monsters are enough, thanks. Tommy doesn't really need a slew of demonic bunnies attacking him as well.

The concept of the Dreaming is quite intriguing, actually, in light of the sheer vividness of some of the dreams that Tommy's had in the past.

"Given the nature of this place, does that also mean that you can visit when you're awake?" Not that he plans to, at least not intentionally, but it'd be nice to know.

Yrael smiles. "Ah. Ask Dream. He'd know better how to answer than I."

"But, and I must ask that you forgive my curiosity, what are these creatures that so enjoy being scritched? I have not seen their like, before."

He smirks and scritches the black Raptor's nose.

For some reason the implications behind the name "Dream" make Tommy feel slightly ill at ease. He does, however, bear the information in mind, just in case it comes in handy someday.

"Condemn curiosity over something new?" Tommy looks vaguely amused by that. "Nah. They're Raptors, a rather interesting bio-mechanical version, of course. The real animals died out millions of years ago." He chuckles as Jase nudges into the touch. "I designed this particular bunch with a side somewhat departed from their prehistoric ancestors. They appreciate things like affection and play. It lets them bond with myself and the others, which in turn enables us to use them as transportation without getting thrashed."

Except at the beginning when he'd been taming them, of course. Then, they'd thrown him clear across the lair.

"Raptors. I have read about them, but I have not seen them. They have been exinct, I would think, for some time, on Earth. But these are... what did you say? Bio-mechanical versions? Designed by you? How?"

The red one is possibly trying to nudge the black one out of the way, in hopes of more scritches.

"65 million years gone, or thereabouts. At least the larger species that went during one of Earth's mass extinction events; descendants were a different matter."

Tommy tugs his mount gently to one side so that Conner's can get a bit more attention; he scratches the creatures flank to make up for it, and while his technique may not be as refined, it seems to satisfy for the time being.

"A friend and I were doing experiments centering on finding out whether or not dinosaur DNA could be a viable source of genetic material. It's a popular idea in the medical profession, where I'm from, the idea of creating truly integrated artificial limbs, mechanical structures meshed with living tissue, driven entirely by nerve impulses and able to function almost exactly like completely organic body parts. There's a bunch of controversy over using human tissue in experimentation, though, especially during the 'does this even work' phase. We had to find a source that no one could really complain about. We got lucky with that, as it happened.

"Our aim, besides the good of humanity and all that stuff, was to create something like these." He pats a Raptor's side. "I had a feeling they'd be useful." Once a Ranger, always a Ranger, after all. "Anton just thought they'd be fascinating."

Yrael chuckles and taps the red one on the nose for being selfish. There is nothing chiding in it, though. Almost praise.

"And it worked, and you have your useful companions and transport, and Anton has something with which to be fascinated."

"One's curiosity coming to fruition is always a nice feeling, I have found."

The animal looks immensely pleased with itself, but that's probably no surprise.

"Yeah, pretty much. Though... well, Anton disappeared a while back, before the eggs hatched. I expect he'd find them fascinating now, though." Tommy certainly does!

"And yes, it's a satisfying feeling. Idle curiosity is all well and good, but to achieve something is better still." Particularly something useful, but even silly achievments have their own merit.

Yrael blinks those green catseyes of his, smiling bemusedly. "He disappeared? You do not sound concerned."

Yrael blinks those green catseyes of his, smiling bemusedly. "He disappeared? You do not sound that concerned for him."

Anoter raptor is nosing Yrael's side. "That tickles," Yrael informs it, plainly.

"We presumed he was dead, and there was no cause to be concerned for a dead man," Tommy says simply. "Sad, yes, but not concerned." Then, he frowns. "What bothers me is that he isn't dead and just turned up a couple weeks ago, after being gone for years, with no explanations."

Bringing with him a detached attitude, a preference for business over discovery, an adopted son... Trent, well, that seems like a gesture the old Anton would have made. But trying to take over the Cyber Cafe and barely acknowledging his old friend's presence after years? Definitely not the Anton Mercer that Tommy remembers. Unfortunately, he can't expend that much energy or time on concern right now. He's got other problems.

"All I can really do right now is wonder what happened and leave it at that. I've got too much to do, to be concerned about a friend's new attitude. People change."

The Raptor doesn't seem to be deterred. After all, the gesture won at least some sort of attention.

"Sometimes people need secrets," the person grins, cattily, and pokes the tickling raptor's nose. "What was that saying I once read? 'Mysteries keep humanity sane.'"

"I am not sure about the actual veracity of the remark, but it sounds about right."