What do you MEAN the mun only does multipups anymore?

[lifethatisscratched]

Ratonhnhaké:ton is out by the inlet today. It is quieter out here, now that all the people are gone. He likes the quiet, but he misses the raucous of the crowd - it was special, in its own way, full of energy and life.

(And food. That, too.)

But he hasn't come out here for the solitude. He walks along the shoreline, squatting down every so often to pick up a shell and turn it over in his hands.

Those that pass his inspection are deposited into a leather pouch. Later, when the sun is lower in the sky, he heads back into Bar and requests a wooden drill, a suitable weight, and some water. What better a place to practice making wampum than the end of the universe?

(Catch him outside or in.)

---

Voodoo is in a booth, both boots on the table and a copy of Starship Troopers open in his hands. The spine is bent to hell and gone - but it was like that when he snatched it from Zero's locker.

(He's not a thief, he's just trying to get his shit back.)

Occasionally he scratches his beard or turns a page.

---

What's a farmer-turned-government errand boy to do at the end of the universe?

Well, if you're Mister Marston, you put that time to use cleaning the tools of your trade. If he's truly stuck in this deal with the boys from Blackwater - and, by all indications, he is - he might as well do what he can to weigh the odds in his favor.

A Spencer carbine is partially disassembled on a tabletop, and a cowboy is running a brush down the barrel. The Colt is up next.

---

Mako's not sure how flammable the grass is out back - doesn't want to risk it, really, but he's got to train for the upcoming match against the Tigerdillos.

Relaxing is not an option. It is not.

He's in the gym, in a tank top and shorts. He's practicing some firebending forms on a speedbag, but he's holding his chi back - he doesn't have the money to pay for any damages, not even if he borrowed from Bolin.

(He wouldn't. Not ever.)

Comments

[fluffiest_archadian]

"- What's a starship?"

Oh, hey, Voodoo, you have a nineteen year old boy in the dark grey dress uniform of the Archadian Empire, with medals pinned to the right of his chest, peering at your novel.

(You can't sail on stars, after all. Stars are tiny. Foolishness.)

[boston_bruiser]

That rates an eyebrow - perhaps he angles the cover so Sherral can get a better look.

"Ships that go into space, dude."

(What did he think they were?)

The dress uniform isn't anything he recognizes - neither are the medals - but at least the kid's got the sense to have it look presentable, with Irish pennants at a minimum.

"Word of advice, kid - change into something more casual. T-shirt and jeans or something. You spill something on that, it's gonna be a bitch and a half to square it away."

[fluffiest_archadian]

Sherral peers at Voodoo. Peers at the cover. Voodoo. Cover. Voodoo Cover. Voodoocovervoodoocover.

"Is that not where all ships go? Either through the space where there is water or the space where there is clouds?" Sherral asks.

(Both of which are much larger than stars, which are, like, fingernail size. Fingernail size.)

At the advice, he gives his uniform a wry glance. "You raise a fine point. Even if it'd save me from the Consul's party, I fear it's little worth the lashes I'd earn."

[boston_bruiser]

"Yeah, that's good motivation," he says, turning a page. Then, re: starships:

"Starships don't work like that, man. Think like-"

He turns to look Sherral in the eye now.

"-okay, I'm guessing you got airships at least? If your world's anything like mine, you gotta have something beyond your world's atmosphere. That's what we called 'outer space' - or, you know, just 'space'."

He taps the cover. "Starships go into outer space. The connotation's that they usually do it at faster than light speed."

[fluffiest_archadian]

Sherral doesn't ask the obvious question of 'light has a speed?' because the rest of the explanation makes sense to him, and it'd be a shame to spoil that.

"Where the sun is," he says. "And this book is about soldiers who fight ... outer space-things?"

Beat.

"Are there outer space-things?"

[boston_bruiser]

"For me? No," he says, turning another page.

He looks to Sherral. "For you?" He shrugs. "Could be."

[fluffiest_archadian]

Sherral looks momentarily concerned by this, but only momentarily. Whether there are space-things or not, they clearly aren't an issue in his world right now.

"How do you know there are no space-things for you? Surely space is very large."

It is definitely at least a couple of times the size of a planet.

[boston_bruiser]

"Because I am a telepath," Voodoo says, candor as he turns a page. "I can send my little mind-probing rays way out into space, and I can tell that there's nothing for me to probe out there."


(...Sherral's going to take him completely seriously, isn't he.)

[fluffiest_archadian]

(... Bookies are giving it 3/1 odds.)

Sherral cocks his head at him, looking slightly confused.

"... What am I thinking right now?" Suspiciously.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo stops. Looks at Sherral. Then sighs and dogears the book.

"Kid," he says, setting it down and leaning back in the booth, "you do have some concept of sarcasm, right?"

[fluffiest_archadian]

"... Aye," Sherral says, but he does look a little shifty as he does so. "Many - many concepts of sarcasm. Well-versed. In it." Awkward nodding.

After all, having a concept of it is one thing, being able to recognise it in other people - that is an entirely different kettle of fish.

Then, just to clarify: "I confess to being pleased that you're not a telepath, though, I should not want someone looking into my head."

[boston_bruiser]

If Voodoo's eyes were rolling any harder right now they'd bore out of his skull.

"Don't flatter yourself, kid," he says, picking the book back up. "You're not that interesting."

He undoes the dogear. "What's your name, anyway?"

[fluffiest_archadian]

Just a shade irritably: "I did not say I was."

He straightens up a little, now that he's not peering at the cover. "Captain Sherral Maduin, Archadian army," he rattles off automatically. "And yours?"

[cutting_edgex23]

X runs into the boy while he is collecting shells.

And by 'runs into' we mean 'pauses to watch him on her way back from the firing range'.

It's almost the same thing.

After observing him for several long, silent moments --

"Hello."

[lifethatisscratched]

Ratonhnhaké:ton starts ever-so-slightly at the voice, dropping the shell he's holding. He looks up, blinks, then smiles.

"Hi."


It does not hurt, he thinks, to add a wave.

[cutting_edgex23]

X's gaze follows the dropped shell for a second, then she looks back at the boy's face.

"You are okay?"

If she scents the air as well, it's only to make doubly sure.

[lifethatisscratched]

Ratonhnhaké:ton shifts on his feet, his head bowed and hands behind his back.


He finds it in him to look back up at X soon enough.

"I'm okay," he says, nodding. "You just surprised me."

The boy has not been here long enough to smell of this place - he smells of campfires, of pine and fir, of well-traveled earth. The smell of cornbread and sweat is also present, but weaker.

He fidgets. Perhaps it is a habit.


"My...my name is Ratonhnhaké:ton."

[cutting_edgex23]

"Oh."

X does not quite look startled.

"I was not trying to be quiet."

Beat.

"I am X."

[lifethatisscratched]

"Ecks," Ratonhnhaké:ton repeats.


He scratches his head.

"What does it mean?"

[cutting_edgex23]

"It is a letter," X offers. "And it is my name."

She could draw it in the dirt, but that does not occur to her.

"Yours has a meaning?"

Things X never thought about non-codenames for $1000, Alex.

[lifethatisscratched]

Ratonhnhaké:ton nods. "Mother says one of the meanings is 'life that is scratched'. She says I was given it because I was very sick as a child, but that I am stronger for having gone through it."

He looks at the space around them, as if he is still trying to grasp the scope of such a place.

"Many of the people here do not know their name meanings," he says. "It is odd."

[cutting_edgex23]

"It is difficult," X allows, after a few moments of careful thought. "Being small."

She pauses, head tilting as she watches Ratonhnhaké:ton.

"Many things are strange here. And other places, too."

[lifethatisscratched]

He nods. "I have learned that here," he says, simply.

There may or not be an inquiry buried in X's gaze. He assumes there is one.

"I was out here gathering shells," he says, opening the leather pouch and angling it so that she can see its contents. "For wampum."

Beat.

"Mother taught me how to make it."

[cutting_edgex23]

X considers this carefully.

Then, because she is unsure --

"It is important?"

[lifethatisscratched]

Ratonhnhaké:ton nods. "It is how my people keep the stories alive."

He closes the pouch. "It is how we record."