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The front door opens, and in stumbles Edgar, looking exhausted and covered with red dust from the knees down. At his side ambles a baby thoat, which looks around at the noisy crowd and immediately tries to hide behind Edgar's legs.

"Oh thank Christ," Edgar breathes, as Tars Tarkas steps into the room behind him.

[Edgar is taggable! Tars is heading home pretty immediately.]

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--This is clearly bigger than just a random trip.

Okay.

Chuck actively pretends he hasn't noticed Edgar, or the green guy, or the animal following him -- he has enough practice at it, growing up in the Shatterdome, that after a minute or two he's back to his work and more entrenched than before.

It isn't very long, though, before Edgar notices him.

And wanders over. "Hey."

Chuck actually jerks visibly.

"-- Hey," he replies, and grins, a little startled Edgar came over. "You go on a field trip or something?"

Edited 2015-08-09 04:13 (UTC)

"Or something," he agrees. "Got dragged off to Mars. Wasn't my idea."

"-- You did not," Chuck says, automatic.

"Really?"

"No bullshit," he says, "for real. It's this ugly beast's fault."

His tone is completely at odds with the words, fond and amused, as he reaches to pat the four-foot-tall creature following him.

Chuck leans, view of the animal mostly blocked by table and Edgar.

He waves, just in case. It seems pretty shy, so he's not going to stand up to come introduce himself or anything.

"Yeah? How?"

He pushes a nearby chair out with his foot, tucking the notebook into the handbook and putting them side together.

Edgar takes the offered chair with a nod of thanks; Nitwit shuffles around his chair and flattens to the floor, halfway under the table with her head pressed to his knee.

"So I'm out by the lake yesterday," he starts, "when this one shows up following her mum, and somehow loses her way and gets stuck in the mud by the shore. I tried to help her out, except the mum comes back and thinks I'm trying to eat her baby or something, and charges. The little one runs for it, I run after her, next thing I know we're both in the middle of a fuckin red desert. Which turns out to be Mars. Only they call it Barsoom there."

There's recognition at 'Barsoom' -- Shep's too proud of his ducking science bike for there to not be -- but that's not the pressing matter.

"Right," Chuck says, tilting over to look at said 'little one'. Really big baby. "Is she.. okay in here? I mean, it's kinda loud."

He only knows dogs, but the concern on his face is evident. Dogs will put up with an unreasonable amount of unhappiness to stay around their person. Better to err on the side of caution.

"... I dunno," he says, abruptly worried. "I mean, the thoats put up with all the noise in the camp, but ... I don't really know a lot about them."

"Maybe she's okay," Chuck says. "I mean -- I dunno thoats, either. But she's kind of hiding."

Pause.

"Want to go outside? We could at least see if there's a difference."

"Yeah, good idea," he says, and pushes back the chair.

Nitwit climbs to her feet, looking up at him. Are they going somewhere? Is it safe?

Chuck hands his notebooks off to a waitrat, and stands.

He considers, briefly, bringing the meatloaf -- but he doesn't want to make the alien sick. That would fix precisely nothing.

He heads out in front of them, so he doesn't have to be behind her in case she's skittish, and holds the door open after he walks through. Once they're through, he'll follow Edgar (or Nitwit)'s lead.

They emerge into the sweet cool air of a summer evening, and relative silence. Edgar breathes in appreciatively; Nitwit does the same, and perks up a little.

And almost immediately tries gnawing on the grass, only to raise her head with a look of shocked dismay. THIS IS NOT MOSS. WHAT IS IT.

Chuck can't help it-- he laughs, quietly, sitting down on the last step above the grass. He crosses his arms easily on his spread knees, watching her.

"The weird green stuff's not from home, I take it?"

If she comes anywhere near him, he'll extend a hand for inspection.

"Nah, where she comes from it's all sand and rock. There's this weird yellow moss stuff she eats, I gotta get her some."

Nitwit wonks tentatively at the grass, then puts her head down and gamely tries one more time to eat some.

"Hey, no," Edgar says, "that's probably not good for you."

Chuck stands. "I'll grab some from Bar-- how much do you think she needs?"

"Oh, uh --" He gestures with his arms, describing a heap about the size of a pillow. "Maybe about that much? She ate before, but if she's still hungry enough to try eating the grass ..."

"Can't hurt if we get too much, yeah? Barsoom, yellow moss, good for thoats or whatever. Got it."

Chuck grins at him, glances to Nitwit, and heads in.

"-- Thanks," Edgar calls after him.

When he returns, Edgar's leaning against Nitwit's side and watching the stars bemusedly.

Chuck comes back with a big reusable grocery bag of the stuff, toted over his shoulder. And a jacket over his already long sleeves - Chuck's a desert baby, and it's cold.

"Hey," he says, dropping the bag by Edgar and sitting diagonal to him, legs crossed, so the three of them make a kind of triangle. "What's Mars like, then?"

"It's fuckin weird is what it's like," he says fervently. "Hot, dry as hell, and if you're from Earth, you bounce when you try to walk if you're not careful."

"Weird," Chuck says, grinning a little. "So these guys can't?"

He shakes his head. "Nah, they just walk around. No idea why."

"Evolution, I guess," Chuck says, and shrugs. "' Cause the gravity's so different, or whatever. D'you know gravity?"