And teach me how to name the bigger light (for eliot)

[jackrackham]

It's been days since they've arrived in this place and Jack is beginning to give up hope that whatever brought them here will deliver them back from whence they'd been taken. Up til now, he hadn't wanted to venture far from Anne in case of just that possibility, but he can't stay locked away in their strange little rooms forever.

He has his own assigned lodging to investigate, so once he's out of the street, he heads in that direction. He takes his time. It's still fucking cold out, but it's hard not to take time when there are so many things that are entirely incomprehensible to him. The occasional honk from a car passing by never fails to make him flinch, and the strange lights and sounds are a constant unnerving baseline. It doesn't help that further, he doesn't fit in at all. His coat and hat and weapons make people look in his direction, but nobody stops and asks if he's new, if he's one of these visitors from another world, if he needs any assistance. He can see in their faces people willing away his strangeness, and he hates it.

At the first intersection, he pauses and takes note of the other pedestrians, how they push the button and wait to cross the street. He pauses with them and turns to his left, squinting at a strange humming coming from a large metal cabinet standing on the pavement. The crowd moves, and he moves with it.

At the next intersection, the crowd moves on, and he stays, staring at the humming metal box. Another one, here. He lifts a hand up and cautiously touches the surface. Smooth, cool, no movement that he can detect. He drops his hand, and examines the small lock holding together the doors. It's nothing major, more of a deterrent than an actual safety measure. No doubt easily broken.

He looks to his left and right. There are people on this side of the street, but none that are actively watching him at the moment. He slides his dagger out of his belt, scabbard and all, and turns it around in his hand. It takes three strikes with the pommel before the little lock falls open. He pulls it off and goes to open the cabinet. A second glance down the street and he spots someone crossing to the other side to avoid him. Just as well, he doesn't want to talk to them, either.

He's expecting that inside there will be a clue, a hint to understanding something about this place. What he finds is a jumble of rubber wires and panels and instrumentation that he doesn't understand and couldn't begin to if he tried. It looks horrific, like if the bones and sinews of this place had fused into a strange humming node.

He tucks his dagger back into his belt and raises a hand to rub at the side of his face. "...Huh."

Comments

[eliotwaugh]

It's his day for the late shift, so Eliot's taking care of some errands as he makes his way toward Haight to head down to the Archive. The most pressing of these is, of course, a bit of crime.

He hasn't told anyone in his new social circle about his alternative income stream, but the fact of the matter is that if he's going to keep himself from going crazy in this little hell dimension he needs to make his environs more comfortable. And that simply isn't feasible on an office worker's paycheck. Thankfully he knows some tricks from his time in Manhattan. The runic matrix he'd applied to the Darrow debit card is holding up perfectly, and he smirks at the ATM screen as it displays a frankly ludicrous account balance. it's easy enough to fool a computer, and economics are a lie agreed upon anyway. He withdraws some cash, which does not diminish the total at all. A completely victimless endeavor.

Possibly due to the fact that he's just done something technically illegal, Eliot looks around the street a bit more than he usually would. Not that anyone would notice anything odd about a man visiting an ATM, unless they could sense magic. What is odd, though, is the person peering into an open signal box. Eliot catches sight of him across the street and for a moment all he can do is stare because...surely not.

The man's obviously a new arrival and if his garb is anything to go by, probably extremely confused. Eliot frowns. He's not emotionally equipped to be a welcoming committee, he thinks to himself as he hurries across the intersection. Where does one begin with these things? What would Martin do?

Eliot approaches him with slow caution, the vain hope that this is just someone getting an early start on Halloween dashed when he sees the sword. Right, then.

"You know I've always wondered what's inside these things but I've never thought to open one," he says, trying to maintain nonchalance as he keeps his gaze on the signal box instead of the person who is obviously, absurdly, a pirate. "That's honestly fascinating." Eliot clears his throat and looks him over. "Do you need any help? I mean if you just, ah...did you just arrive?"