prismaticrap | ▶ TDM OVERFLOW .001

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▶ TDM OVERFLOW .001

Cybernetic dream, something like you've never seen

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▶ Lisa Frank's LSD Fun House
anytime, anywhere on the moon Iris | top

Everything is darkness except for dim lights sparkling in the distance, a faint gleam that greets you as you start to unfurl from your dormant state. Your body is hemmed in by shards of crystals, gently sparkling and possibly pricking your skin. The surrounding landscape is dyed in the pinks and purples of the dusk filled with crystals protruding from the ground, some as large as a skyscraper. Throat parched and skin dry and aching, you grope your body in alarm to make sure your possessions are still in place. This is far from home— perhaps a dream? You pinch your skin and slap your cheeks, yet nothing seems to do the trick. Searching for answers only rewards you with an endless expanse of purple dust as far as the eye can see. You have four options: one, panic; two, soil yourself; three, admire it all then soil yourself; or four, go into survival mode. Eventually, you’ll realize that you’re not alone.

A ⬤ As you traverse the near-barren landscape, you feel something sting your skin. It's small and subtle at first, then you finally catch sight of it: an elegant, crystalline mosquito buzzing around from the corner of your eye. However, a pest is still a pest. After a while, marks near your welts begin to form strange patterns on your skin, mimicking ancient runes. Each rune has with it a particular side-effect that may hinder you on your journey:
✾ The Mark of the Enchanter: Hallucinations, hallucinations galore. Your character will see everything and anything their imagination can conjure and will have difficulty separating reality from fiction.
₪ The Mark of the Destroyer: Limbs start to cease their function, causing you to stumble or try and get around one-handed. Other certain body parts may be affected as well. Look at the bright side: you can stop worrying about jiggle physics and hiding your fear boner.
⍢ The Mark of the Sinner: Your hunger, your thirst, your fatigue and your desire are at an all-time high. Your impulses are rabid and uncontrollable. Maybe you experience only one of those symptoms. Maybe you experience them all. All you know is that you want relief now.

These effects will eventually clear up with a bit of accidental or purposeful physical contact with another person, making you wonder if there was anything wrong with you at all.

B ⬤ Hunger starts to gnaw at you vigorously. Perhaps you consider hunting the moon's creatures to sate your hunger. That's when you see it: a thick, meaty, juicy meal on legs. ~~No, we're not talking about Alex Louis Armstrong~~. A wild silver-white pegasus runs across the purple landscape, its hair billowing in the wind as its hooves smack loudly against the ground. Try and shoot it, and you may find your efforts curtailed by its legendary rage. Eyes aglow and wings beating up a storm, this pegasus is no dainty horse. Two thousand pounds of pure muscle swoop down and charge at you, all blades and ammunition deflecting off its impenetrable skin. Taming appears impossible; it will buck anyone away and leave a sizable horn- or hoof-shaped hole in them for their efforts. Hunting it, however, should be easier. Relatively.

C ⬤ Or you may decide that you'd like to take a drink in the prismatic waters. A small pond can be found just a few miles away from where you first awoke, but gazing into it reflects what appears to be a window into your own world. You see the faces of loved ones or at least someone very close and familiar to you gathered around your prone body, shaking it frantically as though to try and rouse you, yet your image lies frozen and unresponsive, not even a whisper of life running through you. Did you die in your world? Is this your afterlife? The questions start to pile up along with the gnawing dread that you may never return home again.

▶ Camp Nowhere
anytime, anywhere on the moon iris | top

Time moves strangely when you're trapped on a moon with no sun to guide you. Hours feel like days, and days feel like weeks. Travelling has rendered you weak and tired. Luckily, a few crystal formations in the shape of a cavern may offer you a small place refuge as you decide to nap. You notice a few artifacts left over from previous explorers.

D ⬤ A comm unit abandoned within the cavern will display the former owner's idol obsession. As you tap the buttons indiscriminately, a holographic screen will appear, and you will see a fabulous recorded concert featuring three bubbly young ladies in animal print, singing to you about something called Cordis, a cat, and a bag of gems. Does this make any sense to you? Probably not, but the beat is catchy. You may even find yourself tapping a foot along to it. Don’t worry. We know it’s plastic love.

E ⬤ There's a small cooler-like container of preserved powdered food bags labeled with only the word “Edible” that can be safely consumed. Although the powder tastes as bland as you’d expect, it’s oddly filling, sating either hunger or thirst. But who will be the first — and the bravest — to try eating them?

F ⬤ A strange, pointed instrument is among the effects found in the cavern. It's silver, long, and thin with a curved end and a light. When you grip it with warm hands, it seems to vibrate enthusiastically and comes in three settings indicated by a frowny face, a neutral face, and a happy face. What could it mean exactly? No one knows, but you can fiddle with it to your heart's desire. Just don't ask yourself where it's been before. You don't want to know.

▶ Interstellar Action Force Assemble
prisma, iris | top

Over a day has passed when a group of people find you worse for wear. Some are full of uncertainty and fear while some are full of curiosity and excitement. They claim that they are scientists from the planet Prismatica here to investigate the sudden appearances of rainbow crystals in the skies. That means you and the others they’ve located within the area. You are all a surprising find to them, and they are quick to load everyone in their transport vehicles for examination and questioning.

You all may have your usual inquiries — Where are we? Who are you? What's going on? Why are the pegasi so ill-tempered? — and the Prismals are almost too eager to answer. They do have questions on their own, so it’s only fair to trade. They tell you about their world as they poke and prod you, trying to understand what you are and how you came into their land. If they’re not trembling in fear, some of them may ask you odd and invasive questions in return, such as what the rate at which your body achieves thermoregulation is, how long your refractory period is, and if you would be willing to submit various kinds of body fluids to them. It's up to whether you wish to comply or protest.

G ⬤ If you react violently, you will be restrained and nerfed with a specialized neurotransmitting gun that releases a numbing agent through the top of your spine. They came prepared, so have fun with that! In any case, conscious or not, you’ll be brought into one of the transport vehicles. If you choose to peacefully cooperate, you’ll be provided any necessary first aid and a refreshing drink to help you recuperate after the rough time you had for the past few days. Each transport vehicle has a few small rooms to rest in, but due to the limited space, you’ll have to snuggle up with someone else on that bunk bed. Unfortunately, the moonshine fruit the ship is also carrying in its cargo has an extremely sweet smell that’s been permeating through certain areas of the ventilation system… Taking a whiff of it may inebriate you for the rest of the trip.

H ⬤ It’s a bumpy ride as terrain vehicles draw over various crystal formations until you see a large dome-like structure up ahead. Within its confines lies the seat of the Prismatica's government, Prisma. It’s a bureaucratic wet dream: skyscrapers practically touch the upper surface of the dome, windows glimmer with a prismatic sheen as daylight hits them, and small ships can be seen flying to and from its spaceport. The scientists, members of the Lunar Scientia, usher you into their facilities for tests. Arrivals are likely to twitch, tremble, and panic as Lunar Scientia fellows take and broadcast every embarrassing, unfiltered detail about you — height, weight, age, strange odors, estimated frequency of sexual activity —- to one another. These scientists will ask you politely to undress, too, but understand if you don't want to. They're especially fascinated by the readings of pure Chroma inside you, whispering among one another excitedly about the possibility of the new arrivals being a new moon species. What should they call them? Moonborne? Moonblessed?

I ⬤ At long last, the questions and physical examinations are done. They’ve decided to call the arrivals as the Moonblessed. They’ll take you under their care until they understand more about you. You're allowed a very refreshing hot shower and a warm meal for your efforts. Don’t worry, the meal was imported from their planet. “Planet?” you might ask, but you won’t need to wonder for too long. The ships are preparing for their next destination: the nearby planet Prismatica, where you will be dwelling for the time being. You're free to explore the government center until then.

▶ Wildcard
Lunatia, Prismatica | top

It only takes a couple hours for the ships to reach their home planet. The ships drop the characters off at the city of Lunatia, where they will be given their communication devices and a plastic card they can present to certain landlords at any residential district for their subsidized (read: absolutely free) lodging. Officials at Prisma instructed the newcomers to await further instructions from the government, but you have a lot of time to kill before then. Why not explore in the meantime? Learn the ins and outs of the world, get a job, transform under the full moon, and explore the many mysteries of planet Prismatica!

This is this TDM's overflow. Feel free to move your threads from there and continue tagging!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

█ lisa frank's LSD fun house

█ PESKY PRESUMPTIONS BY PRETTY PESTS )
( As she woke, the crystal shards had alarmed her but it was nothing she hasn't handled before, waking in an unfamiliar place surrounded by dangerous things— the occasional knife in her face, a gun pointed at her, militia members kidnapping the doctors in an effort to leverage food and aid supplies from the UN. "Another day, another dollar."

She's careful in how she moves and only comes away with a few sliver-cuts, which have miraculously (technologically) healed on their own within moments, and none of the four "presented" options suit her. She keeps her head, has a thorough look around, and then sets off with what she can manage.

The sting of the mosquito is what seems to cause the first real damage to her; she isn't initially concerned until she's rubbing a hand over one of the sting sites at her bicep, feeling the welts raising around the mark. Another near her wrist, and she can actually roll back the material of her undersuit to view the triangular mark rising. They all feel the same beneath her suit, though she only sustains a few.

The problem comes from the side effects, and she can't recall a time she's ever been so leaden with exhaustion and her stomach has ached from hunger, or she's been parched to the bone. She misses people, warmth, coffee, and god, she would do unto others some fair bit of harm for her sudden and overwhelming desire for curry.

Angela doesn't realize how deep the hunger for others goes until she finally catches sight of someone, and her voice is a hoarse little thing as her arm shoots right up to wave, trying to hail them and call out. Just pause long enough for her to catch up, and perhaps take note of what she hasn't— as one of the moonblessed of Iris, there are sweet, glimmering white spots across her cheekbones, and unseen to all beneath her clothing, dusting her shoulders and speckling her spine, flaring out at the small of her back. She's also sporting two dainty little antlers through fine blond hair. Apologies if she comes at you a bit intensely, new friend. You're the first she's seen yet and she looks desperate for a friendly face, concern knitting her brows like you might not even be real. )

Excuse me— did you come from a town...?

( They might not even speak the same language, but all she can do is try to ask and try to tamp down that sudden rush of what she'd already been feeling dialed to 11, and the sudden flush of heat that rises up in her is alarming, to say the least. Angela has the doe eyes down if nothing else. )

█ IS THIS WHAT ERASURE SANG ABOUT? )
( Company or no, the water is a sweet relief and she's all too used to heat mirages to know this for the real thing. She still even has her rolled up canteen on her and a silly lifestraw, if this were for any reason dangerous. She's collapsing at the edge and reaching to touch her fingertips to it to test when she realizes the images it's reflecting.

Or transmitting, rather. Is that... her? Crumpled and filthy with dust and blood, amidst rubble. Mechanical wings broken beneath her, eyes pale and unseeing. There's no rise or fall to her chest, not a twitch of the fingertips, nothing— stranger still, however, is seeing who she's certain is Genji there beside her, and the shadows thrown of familiar broad shoulders, of an easy cant of the hips that spoke to Jesse, or the shorter stature of their old engineer. Her family. The second one. Some who were certainly beyond the world of the living, as she seemed to be here, now. One of her fellow MSF doctors is the one shaking her, trying to rouse her or her nanites.

Her hand's sunk in the edge of the pond, listless and silent, as she continues to watch. She's forgotten about testing water safety or drinking from it. (Though, thankfully, there seems to be no reaction to her degloved hand in the water.)

What is this place...? )

█ camp nowhere

( The comms unit is still playing that strange song as she pokes through it, resting just inside the lip of the cavern and keeping an eye out for anyone else visible on the horizon. No one should be left alone out here, and she's since filled up her canteen with the water from the earlier strange pond. Someone else would surely benefit from a drink, as well. And the weird powdered food she's found, experimenting with adding some of the water.

Very, very small amounts, because somehow edible paste could be decidedly more offputting than barely-flavored powder, but at least it didn't dry out one's mouth trying to eat it and it seemed to be doing the trick.

The ehm... personal massager is sitting there, a safe distance from her, eyeballed for what it seems to be. Nope. Not going there. So, who's looking for a nap partner and/or powdered dinner date? Angela may have very well nodded off sitting upright until you approach, if you'd like the "deer in headlights" response. At least she doesn't put up a fight for company. )

█ interstellar action force, assemble!

█ STOP GETTING TASED I SWEAR )
( Angela can pick out the scientists with a passion when they finally arrive; it's the ones bristling with excitement and that thirst to know, and something about it has her relaxed upon discovery, exhausted though she (and her companion(s)) may be. It sets her at ease to know that no matter where they may be, there are always those willing to learn and share that excitement in discoveries. She just happens to be the discovery this time. They exchange questions and her own come pointed, readily answering what likely seems to be "far too much", just as interested in being willing to learn as much as possible in turn.

If anyone happens to get neuro-tased into submission, Angela's at their side in a heartbeat to try and protect them from any further action and offer companionship until they come back around and regain use of their limbs. And she will keep them company until they're loaded up on the transport, and she's sure they're going to be left alone. She even shares her drink with them if they're going to be denied it. Need a friend, Mr. or Mrs. Rambunctious? )

Hey, are you all right?

█ IT'S NOT VERY CASH MONEY TO BE THE LITTLE SPOON )
( One thing to note about Angela is that she submits quite willingly to whatever the scientists ask of her, and she strips down without hesitation for them to continue. It's only then that the spots on her are questioned, and she seems unaware. Surely not she can see them on her shoulders, but she twists to try and see her back, and feels her face— nothing she can tell. And when she's finally released and told they have to bunk up, well.

It catches her off-guard. Those white spots glimmer a little brighter under the lights here, the dark bodysuit clinging to her dusty from the trek along the moon and most of her white armor since removed well before they'd been rescued and she'd had to remove everything for examinations, packed in a bag she'd found in the caverns. So she turns to the nearest person with that unwieldy thing slung over her shoulder, canting her head to the side. )

Would you be terribly opposed? I won't mind the sharing. I've certainly done worse in the desert.

( The bumpiness of the ride makes the remainder difficult, but having someone beside her would do wonders to ease that tension and she's sure it would work in reverse, as well. At least she looks nice, and she's a gentle person in demeanor well before she had deer characteristics freckling her cheeks. )

█ wildcard!

( ooc: —or hit me with some other aspect of any other prompts, or hit me up for something different altogether! I can be PMed here, or shoot me a private plurk @ clegane. I'm down to write anything at all! ♥ )

Edited 2019-03-05 05:57 (UTC)

[ In his defense, it's not like Vanitas had been Mr. Rambunctious at all. He doesn't like the questions nor does he care for the attention that the locals are giving him. Vanitas doesn't like people getting overly close to him, touching him, or trying to get him to open up. All in all the entire thing had been overwhelming and, in his mind, he had acted out accordingly. He had even given them a fair warning - something he is not really known to do.

In their defense, Vanitas isn't really someone to be trifled with and they are totally within their rights to have gone after him like they did. That doesn't mean Vanitas appreciates the numbness or even sitting there helpless. He's practically glaring at nothing and everything as he comes to for the first time and notices Angela's presence. ]

Does it look like I'm all right?

[ Since being snappy at the first person that approaches him is totally the way to go about this. ]

( Overwhelming is easy to understand and seems to be the case for most who were "sedated" as such, and that is precisely why she's taken a quiet seat beside him, close enough to be company but still giving him his space, angled in a way that wards off others. She has the drink they were passing out between her palms and it seems to her like an aloe water, measuring her sips as any good doctor knows to do after a period of dehydration.

Perhaps it was the partial paralysis affecting his breathing, but she hadn't quite heard the shift between unconscious and conscious, and the edge of his voice is cutting when he speaks up, almost getting a flinch from her. But only almost. She startles when she hadn't been expecting him to come around so soon, but the sharp words do little to so much as scratch at her. She turns her head a fraction to bring him into more than her peripheral and offers him an offhanded little smile, fishing out another one of those pouches and twisting the top off to offer him.

(A good doctor is always willing to steal some supplies when necessary, okay? She's no angel.) )

Relatively speaking, you're not injured and no one touched you once you were down. I would say physically, yes. The numbness will fade soon enough. ( Except that's only a partial answer, isn't it? ) Can you move at all, yet?

( Snap away, young padawan. It doesn't phase her in the least and she seems to take it with patience and a pinch of good humor. )

[ The ironic thing about Vanitas is that he can be beaten down thoroughly and then get up quickly as if he hadn't suffered any injuries at all. As if it doesn't bother him at all to be beaten. Vanitas is a being of darkness so who knows what medical rules apply to him and which don't.

Though the fact that Angela is not at all put off by his irritable demeanor kind of just makes him more irritated. Does he look so weak that he needs help? He hadn't asked for anyone to come over here and treat him like a wounded animal. That's why he continues to glare at her for a few more minutes, completely ignoring her question.

Instead he focuses on trying to move his arm - testing it out. Seems like his fingers move just fine. ]

Barely...

[ Maybe if he throws her a bone or two she'll stop looking at him with a smile and being helpful. ]

( It isn't a matter or being weak or needing help to her so much as that everyone needs space to recuperate and rest sometimes. She's making herself a barrier to facilitate that, and ensure he received the same things as everyone else. They were all stuck wandering the moon's surface for god knows how long, dehydrated and with little enough to sustain them, and it wasn't right to deny anyone the chance to recover from that even if they'd lashed out and needed sedating or numbing or however they decided to frame it.

She doesn't mind the silence and waits through the glare, quietly unpacking a few other nicked supplies as she leaves that opened pouch drink by those stretching fingers. Whenever he's ready. She wasn't going to be so bold as to hold it up to him to drink when he's bristling enough to her presence. )

That's good; it's wearing off quicker than what seems usual. What is your name? I'm Angela.

( No dice there, alas. She's stubborn!! )

[ It's actually a smart move, leaving the pouch by him rather than try to give it to him. The gesture is just enough to feel like Vanitas is at least operating on his timing rather than being forced to accept help from anyone. Just this one little thing is enough to distance Vanitas from his bristling to settle him into just being wary. ]

I recover fast.

[ Granted it could have been faster if there had been more Unversed to take back into himself. It's not exactly a painless process, but he's barely released any of his emotions here. He already knows that he is unable to produce as many as he normally does - a blessing and a curse.

All the while he keeps testing what he can move and what isn't working just yet. The silence drags on for a while longer before Vanitas just relents. ]

...Vanitas.

[ She's probably the first outside of his 'enemies' and 'allies' to get his name. ]

all this edge is like the "what do you have" "a KNIFE" vine, I love

cadeuces - 2019-03-09 09:42 (UTC) - Expand

[ Joe twitches awake - or rather, alert. He's still a little off kilter from... all of this, but an disturbingly deep comfort settled onto him with whoever was huddled next to him a few minutes ago. They seem to have gone, even though he still feels a lingering warmth. He must have dozed off (with his eyes open? Okay, more like daydreaming) and pushed them out.

He blinks for a moment at the speaker, and when his eyes focus for a moment on the blond head above - with a strange slit to his pupils in an otherwise perfectly human face - his instinctive reply seems just as confusing to him as it might be to anyone else here, his expression briefly crumbling into a sad and yearning disbelief. ]

...Cam?

[ Wait, no. Living in California demands an indifference to strange costumes or uncommon accents, and he's been to his share of sci-fi conventions anyway, but Cameron wouldn't bother with something that intricate and form-fitting. Something's got to be wrong with whatever incense these people are burning. In a closed space. Ugh.

The expression drops immediately and he shakes his head as if to clear it before moving as far to the wall as he can, folding his legs against it. Being upward of 6ft has its drawbacks. ]

Sorry. Sure. I can't vouch for how much space is available, but it's a free country. All the better if you don't smell like wine.

( Aren't they all? Angela's only just making her way in to rest and still has an extra one of those drinks in hand, having stopped along the way to sit with anyone who had been debilitated in the process and ensuring they had company to help them recover when they were essentially left to their own devices and barely able to move. (It seems deft surgeon's hands are good for things like pilfering a few extra goodies, or maybe they just didn't care that she took some more for being cooperative.)

It tastes like aloe water and it's deeply hydrating, and she's hiding out from the cloying smell of wine in the air— he happens to have found one of the least-affected corners, and she's too exhausted for things like propriety when it comes time to ask someone if she can share a cot.

It takes him a moment to seemingly come back around, and the loose waves about her face contrast the tight fit of the black undersuit— she must look like someone familiar, to him, with the way that sorrow creases his face and his brows pinch. Her own mirror it, concerned and apologetic. )

Oh, no, I'm sorry— my name is Angela.

( But as he surmises, her syllables curl at the ends with a Germanic accent and she's not nearly so tall and svelte. She moves to set the bag containing all the armor and her wings down so she can reach in for another one of those hydration pouches to offer up, tipping her head with a little smile. He's already pressing himself back against the wall so she leaves her bag where it is, taking a ginger seat on the edge and nearly slumping in relief. She asked and he offered, so it'd be rude to hesitate. )

I can promise I don't smell like wine. Probably more dust than vanilla at this point, but I think I managed to clean most of it off.

( One thing no one will ever call Angela Ziegler, however, is shy. She twists and there's just enough room if she presses back against his side, so her knees aren't hanging off the bed enough to tip her right back out. The effect is immediate, just being horizontal with someone's warmth at her back, and she all but melts into the shoddy little mattress as her legs stretch back out. Maybe it's ruder to have her back to him, so she tries to twist just a little to at least look over her shoulder. )

Thank you; the smell wasn't as bad over here and everyone else has already piled into the available cots. Is this all right...? I can sit up on the other end if you need more room. I don't want you uncomfortable just to accommodate me.

[ He shakes his head at the offer of a drink, already comparing the state of himself to something like an MDMA dose at a nightclub. He doesn't need more of that right now, especially considering his generally high-risk lifestyle. ]

Joe. Joe MacMillan.

[ He sounds for all the world like she's supposed to recognise that name, or at least like he's accustomed to people knowing it. The melting when Angela settles in, however, is mutual, and the flash of arrogance is dropped in exchange for contact. For some reason Joe doesn't give that as much thought as he should. He just knows it's warm, and he's tired, and even this stuffy situation is infinitely more bearable, the less personal space he has. ]

That's what they think vanilla smells like?

[ He almost sounds derisive, but languor beats it into his tone by just a notch. As soon as she's against him, he in turn squirms onto his side both to make room and as an excuse to get closer; it takes conscious effort not to sling an arm and a leg across her. He's not an animal. ]

I guess I have a talent for sniffing out the premium in everything, then. Maybe I should charge for it.

[ The muffled chuckle should tip her off to the joke, though. He sounds sleepy enough to be talking out his ass anyway, even if he doesn't feel tired now that the conditions he wanted for a nap a minute ago are met. ]

You're fine where you are, Angela.

[ And it's a little weird the way his timbre in saying her name sounds like they're already friends, or more. Maybe it's just the close quarters. Besides, he isn't making a move on a stranger, not even in a weird dream like this. ]

( It's fair to turn down a drink from a stranger, even one you're about to spoon. Even when it's a harmless one, the same rehydrating water they were handing out to everyone who made it through intake without any problems— and the way he says his name prompts recognition, but there is, unfortunately, not a lick of it. They're nearly a hundred years apart to begin with. )

Mr. Joe MacMillan, then. Thank you for sharing your corner with me.

( She doesn't expect him to turn over and press right up against her, but she can't find it in her to mind with the exhaustion heavy in her limbs and the finally-clean feeling of even just being able to freshen up with whatever strange little soap they'd given her on request with a sink and a washcloth.

As he surmises, it was sweet, but it was certainly not vanilla. She had been especially helpful and willing in their prodding, and they had tried to accommodate her. They just had no idea what she was describing. His pointed remark makes her laugh quietly, shoulders shaking where they press back against his chest and she tries to maintain some semblance of eye contact. Her temple bumps to his brow and part of her says too close, so she tries to shift just a bit to give him an inch of breathing space, but he'll be able to see the amused crinkle of her nose with his derision. He's warmer than she is, which doesn't surprise her, and there aren't exactly any blankets. She gladly soaks it up— that and the sense that he's comfortable laying beside a stranger, not cramming himself into a pretzel against the wall. )

I'm much the same. We could start a service. ( If only she knew. Besides, that warm breath of his laugh in her hair feels nice. Just speaking gives her away as some snobby European with her Germanic accent curling her syllables, playful and soft, even if she's perfectly humble in accepting whatever is available. ) They tried very earnestly to find what I described, but what they came away with was simply "sweet like a baked good". Certainly none I've ever had. May I steal your arm?

( Over her waist or ribs, she means, her own arm shifting to indicate. It can't be comfortable for him to keep it along his side or wedged between them, and she wouldn't mind the bit of extra contact when it meant they could insulate warmth just that little bit more. Everything about her is accommodating, wanting those around her to be at ease more than anything.

Her name sounds nice on his lips, easy and familiar when they're anything but, and it's so very tempting to drift to the sound of it. He has a lovely voice— low and easy and just for her with how he pitches it quietly. Just laying here together is far beyond a first meeting, so why can't they be friends? They've already shared a bed.

The only difference is she knows this isn't a dream. She's met too many people she could never bring to mind on her own, reunions with those who were in her life over six years ago and otherwise disappeared, still feels the ache of her ankle after something as outlandish as falling off a pegasus— so sure, this is real. She doesn't know what to do with the reality beyond that. One day at a time, she supposes. She has a life to get back to and things to do, people to save. It isn't something she's ready to think about. 37 years old and she needs a nap before tackling the world again. )

[ Intimacy with strangers is easy when it constitutes at least a part of one's job description. At least it does around Ken, anyway. Joe wonders for a moment if Ken might have something to do with all of this, but the thought washes away when their heads clash.

His response to that is little more than a quick exhale, but it isn't so much out of shock or surprise as an instinctive reaction, evidenced by the 'little more' - tilting his head to meet her cheek, but stopping just short of the grazing kiss he was used to doing with Sara. Or... with Cam, the few times she'd ever let their thing go as far as an afterglow.

This isn't either of them. Nor is it real, but damned if it doesn't feel real. He's on his way to giving in and letting himself believe it.

Thankfully, the curtailed moment is easily smoothed over by the woman's pleasant ramble, and a detached side thought wonders where she's from. Her accent isn't like most of those he's heard in this sim/trip so far, and he swears he's heard something like it before. At CERN, maybe, or one of IBM's overseas offices a long while ago now. He likes the familiarity of it, even if it isn't American.

And despite his restraint, he can't help a sniff at the hair brushing over his face when he reconnects to the here-and-now conversation, grinning against a curl and revelling in how it tickles his lips. ]

Mmm. Yeah, I can imagine a snickerdoodle in that, like a secret exotic kind of variation of one. A Greek grandmother's secret Mediterranean snickerdoodle recipe, maybe.

[ After scratching his ear with a little agitation - the crew here assured him it wasn't a rash when he asked for ointment that clearly isn't working - he tucks his arm around her waist when asked. He hasn't yet picked up on a sense of altruism from her, but... oh, Angie. This is entirely the wrong person to want to accommodate. Spin doctors and trend chasers always are.

Fortunately for her at the moment, how to use her is the farthest thing from his mind. Sort of. Of course it strays around the edges of inappropriate imagery, but he's human and active back home, and there's no denying that she's attractive, especially when she bears a faint resemblance to someone already close to his heart (despite being far too agreeable to make a realistic comparison).

At least, being not too far ahead of her in age, tamping down any outward indication of that is easy enough. The arm his own head is resting on, though, can't resist bending a little to toy with a blond wave feathered over his nose. ]

So where are you from, Angela? I can guess European, but whatever strain of E I'm on is messing with my memory a little, so I hope you'll forgive me if I can't put my finger on it.

[ It's too bad charm is a warning sign only certain people would catch. Maybe she's one of them, if she's lucky. ]

(this is true enough but that bruised lil heart of his is sort of in the right place sometimes)

cadeuces - 2019-03-07 10:25 (UTC) - Expand

(he tries! he's just bad at being good, lol. UNLIKE SOMEONE IN THE VICINITY WE COULD MENTION)

buzzwords - 2019-03-08 10:32 (UTC) - Expand

wink wonk 👼

cadeuces - 2019-03-08 12:02 (UTC) - Expand

angela ❝ᴍᴇʀᴄʏ❞ ziegler ● overwatch

never stop getting tased

please just this once :(

but that's no fun

ok fine but make sure you're in your new momther's peripheral and be home by dark

but mom he *is* the dark

cash money's only good for street cred anyway (also hi)

damn u right tho (omg hi how did you know I loved joe macmillan are you a rad 80s psychic)

(maybe??? shoutout to the ten of swords babey)

(but is it upright or reversed, have u hit betray or are you here to heal my soul)

(ALL OF THE ABOVE i mean cmon fam, joe can apply to both. but i'll be nice and say reversed :P)

wildcard - i need healing

shrieks so softly

i couldn't not do it

drops a bomb, she assumes it's a firework

don't listen to him, he's drunk

cash money and also hey fancy meeting you here

fancy meETING YOU!! HERE!!! LEAPS AT YOU

cues up the etta james

my looooove has come along~

those lonely days are over

big spoons

COVERS FACE AND SHRIEKS

no subject

no subject

but mom he is the dark