(no subject)

[2goodarms]

The tail could never hold much heat. Nothing beyond what you could capture off your own body, in blankets or hats or ragged sweaters, or what you'd share with other close-pressed bodies in such a small space. Eighteen years made him forget some of its nuances, but each type he encounters imprints like a brand: fire, sunlight, the wet heat of the greenhouse car, the sweat of the mechanics around the engine.

Fire again, wrapping around the four of them like an embrace.

And when it ends, he opens his eyes to more heat: this kind gentle, warming rather than scorching. He blinks. Shields his eyes from the light, which burns much more than the warmth.

Sunlight again? And plants, trees -- not confined to a single place, but spreading out in all directions like his dimmest memories of Earth. No train car could ever be this big.

What the fuck, Curtis thinks, and doesn't get any farther before he sees the lake.

Unconstrained access to liquid water. The sight alone would spark an intense thirst, and that was before everything he just endured.

Curtis scrambles across the grass (the grass, what the fuck), awkwardly heaving his weight along on one hand and both knees. After two meager palmfuls of water, he gives up and dunks his whole head in the lake, sucking down water as fast as he can.

He's pretty sure he's either dead or hallucinating. It'd explain a lot. But he'll worry about that later.



[ooc: slowtime in effect as of 11:50 PM ET. thanks!]

Comments

[stilljustandrew]

"Hey --"

There's somebody standing on a little rise about five or six yards away, blinking down at him in startled concern.

"You okay?"

[2goodarms]

He surfaces, gasping in air, just in time to hear the question. Water trickles down his face to catch in several fresh wounds, streaking blood and dirt across his face. The lake's almost as cold as shoving your face right up against a cracked window, but when he squints up at the guy, and scrubs away the water with his filthy coat sleeve, the sun starts working fast to ease the chill.

"Huh?" is all he can ask.

The way the stranger's dressed...it's not exactly opulent, but all his clothes are neat, new. Clean. It sends up the faintest of alarm bells: he's not from the tail.

[stilljustandrew]

"Are you okay," he repeats, a little slower. "Do you need help?"

[2goodarms]

Curtis shakes his head. He wipes his face again, but it doesn't do much except smear the blood around.

(A lot of the dirt's ground too deeply into his skin for a single dunk to wash off.)

"What is this?"

[stilljustandrew]

"It's -- this place, you mean? It's a world between worlds. It's called Milliways."

He takes a cautious step closer.

[dejah_thoris]

She'd been here several times now, and the lake never failed to fascinate her. Standing water, teeming with life. Even with the ice & snow, she'd been out collecting water samples when the change in air pressure made her turn.

When he comes up for a breath, there's a figure standing near him. Her long dark hair is pulled around one shoulder, and her temple and jaw are marked with rust colored tattoos.

A woman's voice asks, "Are you injured?" Her accent is precise, her tone firm but not unkind.

[2goodarms]

He blinks, taking in her appearance. After a moment, Curtis thinks to scrub the water off his face.

You don't see a lot of tattoos in the tail; not unless somebody already had them when they boarded, or, in cases like Grey's, where they arose out of necessity. But it's not that. She's clean in a way you see even less, a way that shutters away the curiosity (and, let's be honest, confusion) into wariness.

"I'm..."

The honest answer is yes. The way one sleeve droops halfway down his arm confirms it.

"Why?" is what he asks instead.

[dejah_thoris]

Yes, she sees the sleeve, but that he's still conscious and speaking speaks a lot to his constitution. After a few months here in the bar, she's learned not to assume.

Heedless of the cold, she squats down beside him, one knee squelching in the mud of the lakeshore. She makes sure to flash both palms, showing him she's empty handed. Her tone gentles. "You're safe here. If you're injured, I can help. My name is Dejah."

[2goodarms]

Safe. Right.

It's a matter of context: he's in a space that can't possibly exist -- yeah, there are lumps of snow scattered around, but nothing like the drifts that should be there -- and she carries herself like someone from the front, but she also carries no weapons. Not safe, but safe enough for now. Maybe he can dig a rock out of the lake if he needs something.

(There are rocks on the beds of some lakes. He remembers that.)

"Curtis," he says. He glances to his missing arm, then back to the woman. "It doesn't hurt that much."

[dejah_thoris]

"Curtis."

She glances at the empty sleeve and back to him. Her hands lift, reaching for it, but she hesitates. She can see the wariness in his eyes, and respects him for it.

"May I?"

[pullsneedles]

There's a young teen outside as well. He was just heading to the lake himself for a rest after preparing the gardens for the coming spring and tending to the chicks. (They're such sweet chatty babies.)

When he sees Curtis dunk his head in, he beats feet at a slightly faster pace. His presence makes it there before he does, that strange warmth that comes from not being alone.

"Y'okay?" he calls.

[2goodarms]

Curtis braces himself against the ground, face dripping. When he breathes in, the air snags in his throat and comes back up as a halfhearted cough.

It smells -- he can't even put into words what it smells like. Not quite like the greenhouse car. Sweeter. Cleaner.

The new warmth, and the voice, make him look up. Unable to wipe his face just yet, he blinks the water out of his eyes.

"Yeah," he manages. "I think."

[pullsneedles]

He steps a little closer.

"D'ya need anythin'?" he asks. "'Sides water, I mean."

[2goodarms]

Gingerly, he eases himself back onto his heels. The not-quite-greenhouse smell intensifies when he wipes his hand over his face, dragging some of the blood away, unwittingly replacing it with fresh silt.

The kid looks fairly young; young enough for Curtis to think, don't bother him with this, and stomp down hard on even the slightest hint of pain. Not that there's much pain to be felt. It's...weird, how little he hurts right now.

Not important.

"No," he says. "'M good."

(He definitely doesn't look good.)

[pullsneedles]

If only he knew.

The kid crouches a little. "Hey. If it don't weird you out, I could maybe patch you up? Like, not completely..." He tries not to stare at the missing arm. "But it'd help?"

[penderwydd]

There is a pile of clothes folded somewhere on the shore on top of a cloak spread over the sand. A golden rod and exquisite harp are wrapped in a cloth and lay in top of the clothes. The owner of the clothes is swimming in the lake naked. He surfaces and stands in the water up to his waist near the man with his head in the water.

"Hello," said Tegid.

[2goodarms]

Nobody could get shit for privacy in the tail. You got used to it, seeing flashes you weren't supposed to see, but -- considering the lack of heat -- it didn't happen as much as you'd expect. Walking around completely naked for more than half a minute? Hell no.

For a second, as water drips from Curtis' beard, he just blinks at the swimmer like this stranger's lost his goddamn mind.

Hallucinating, then. All right. Any moment now, the grass ought to fracture under his hand, and the sunlight ought to turn back to fire.

[penderwydd]

Tegid is from a time where nakedness isn't frowned on as much as it is in others. He wades out of the water and to his pile of clothes. It was cold, but not too cold.

"Are you well?" he asked pulling on his britches.

[2goodarms]

"Yeah," he says. It still sounds a lot like what the fuck. "I'm fine."

Literally everything about Curtis contradicts that assertion, from the blood and dirt spattering his skin to the state of his clothes to the remains of his left arm. But as if to prove just how fine he is, he turns back to the lake and scoops up more water, dashing it over his face.

[penderwydd]

"Are you new?" Asked Tegid as he pulled on his tunic and wrapped his woven belt around.

[myshootingstar]

There's a leggy, barely dressed runner coming through the trees at the edge of the inlet. She stops by one of the big stones on the shore and starts her stretches and laughs softly. "Be careful there. I'm told there are mermaids in that lake." She has a warm, joking smile.

[2goodarms]

Curtis pulls his head from the lake just in time to hear the laughter. He doesn't look up. Instead, he drags the sleeve of his ragged coat across his eyes, blinking away the water, and coughs out a breath.

There's people out here. There's grass, and people, and unfrozen water. What the fuck. Even Nam, the crazy bastard, said the thaw was just starting, not that it was this far along.

"What?"

[myshootingstar]

Wow, he does look hard up. She steps a little closer, trying not to startle him. " Oh sweetie, you look like you've had a rough run. Why don't you come inside and get cleaned up. I'll spot you a meal. Heaven knows you look like you could do with one."

[2goodarms]

Her physical presence doesn't throw him. The sympathy does: he blinks again, as if having a hard time processing her words, as his expression does a slow shift to wariness.

You don't hear shit like that from people who carry themselves like her. You just don't.

"Inside where?" he asks.

[myshootingstar]

"The bar." She nods towards the building just beyond the trees. " Oh, you're new. No-one's explained? Oh dear, I'm not much good at the welcome speech but I'll try."

She steps closer and holds a hand out to him. "I'm Minx." Closer now, there's a couple of scars marring her otherwise perfect skin - a crease across her hip, visible just below her crop top and what is unmistakably a healing bullet wound high on her thigh.