milliways_bar | (no subject)

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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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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?"

"Yeah, that's --" He gestures, lifting one hand and dropping it. "What makes things fall when you drop them, right? -- How come that'd be different?"

Chuck considers this. "Basically it has to do with how much stuff there is - it's not really noticeable until you get to the planet level, but everything sort of pulls things to itself - that's gravity, yeah? Lighter planets have less, and can't keep air in as well? Like the moon- there's videos of astronauts bouncing."

There's a long pause.

"Are you fuckin with me or what?"

"It's pretty bloody stupid," Chuck acknowledges, "but that's how it works."

Edgar looks extremely dubious.

(Maybe he'll ask Curtis later. Or Dejah; she's a scientist.)

Chuck's shoulders draw up tightly, jaw setting. "I'm not--"

He looks sharply at Nitwit, and breathes out, looking back at Edgar. He continues quieter for the animal's sake. "I'm not fucking stupid, okay? If I didn't know, I'd say that, I wouldn't just make some bullshit up that you could Google later."

... okay now Edgar just looks blank.

"Google?"

Chuck waves a hand, rolling his eyes at himself for the term. "When you could look it up. Google's a search engine, which is a part of the internet that finds you things when you ask it questions. They don't have it here."

"Oh." Cautiously; he's realized what the problem is. "I mean, not like I'd know how to use it if they did. But okay, you're not making up bullshit, I got it."

Chuck's shoulders bunch up again, but he's averting his gaze out towards the lake. He can't really see it.

"I don't really know a lot about stuff that's not Jaegers," says. "But there's got to be books here that explain it in, y'know, normal language."

"Could always ask," he says, still cautiously; the signs of temper are still there, and he doesn't want to provoke a fight by accident.

Chuck looks back, and his mouth quirks slightly. "I'm not going to bite. Despite my reputation," he adds, dry, "though hopefully it didn't follow me all the way out here."

Eyebrows rise. "... what, you've got a reputation for biting then?"