yoloed ([personal profile] yoloed) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet2015-06-17 11:57 am

it's about time.

Otherwordly Meme




Sometimes all you need is a word to spark off an idea.

1. Post a comment with your character's name, canon, and any preferences you may have (no shipping, no smut, etc.)

2. Leave the comment blank or post a word or two in the body.

It may also help if you list scenarios you would like to play.

3. Reply to other people, either with words you picked out, or words they posted as prompts for a thread.


( A cleanup of the previous Otherwordly Meme. )
madmanmax: (I've seen some things...)

Max Rockatantsky | Mad Max movies | I know who you are ;)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-18 08:16 pm (UTC)(link)
The Wasteland is an inhospitable place, but it gives the impression the whole world is inhospitable, now. And that it was not always that way. There are traces here and there, abandoned houses and shops, scavenged from so many times there's nothing left worth having but peeled-paint memories. Deeper inland, it's even more barren, but at least the radiation levels are lower, there. Further out toward the coast (what used to be the coast before the water retreated and left only poisoned salt flats, good for nothing at all), the risk of radiation is much higher.

He doesn't know why he came out here. It's a dead place, ruined and irredeemable. It's familiar, though.

The man who stands leaning on a motorbike is scruffy and filthy, everything he owns and his own skin stained in shades of brown from the ever-present sand and dirt. He looks like he's seen better days, and so does the bike, but so does the whole world.
blackmagus: (♒ tired)

[personal profile] blackmagus 2015-06-20 12:03 am (UTC)(link)
This is decidedly not the place the Empire had wanted her to arrive in.

It's not the worst place, either. At least there's air. Some poor void travelers die the instant they enter a universe and can't activate their celestial interface to return home. But still, this isn't ideal. Fortescue squints into the wind, Jazz wrapped around her neck like a furry scarf and adding to the heat that permeates everything.

When she spots the stranger leaning against a bike, she isn't sure whether to be relieved or not. Fortescue's half tempted to activate her interface and see what the next universal lottery gives her. But curiosity takes over instead, and slowly, visibly unarmed (though as armed as she needs to be, in reality), she makes her way toward the silhouette in the distance. Maybe a conversation can confirm that she should leave this place. Or maybe it can confirm that there's something interesting here she can learn about.
madmanmax: (shoot you)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-20 12:47 am (UTC)(link)
Either the stranger is very much lost in thought, or his hearing isn't quite what it should be (or possibly both), but when he does realize someone is approaching he whirls around in a hurry and draws a gun. He noticed her too late, but his reflexes are excellent, otherwise. He also, once he realizes she's unarmed, very quickly lowers the gun. There's even a hint of guilt, in the scruffy, dirty face, but he's definitely wary, too. His gaze darts around, up and down her once, then scanning the stretch of barren wasteland behind her, back to her, up to the horizon... mostly he can't figure out where the hell she just came from. There is, as far as he's aware, nobody living out here, but there's also no vehicles around besides his own.

Also she's remarkably clean. He can't remember the last time- no, wait, he can remember the last time he saw someone so clean. He squints at her, gun held loose and aimed at the ground, now, and then his gaze very belatedly focuses on the cat. He hasn't seen one of those in a while, either.
blackmagus: (♒ startled)

[personal profile] blackmagus 2015-06-20 05:37 am (UTC)(link)
Lowering is good. Fortescue raises her hands once, to show the stranger that she doesn't have a firearm in return. Nor an intent to attack him, unless in self defense. That's not what void traveling is all about.

However, newly arrived, she's also feeling a bit on the dizzy side. As a result, her walking is unsteady. While she wants to walk in a straight line, it's more of a wavy line at best. Void travelers have a policy of pretending to have amnesia whenever they first arrive in a new world, because their bodily behavior essentially sells it for them.

"Where is this?" she calls, only lowering her hands when it seems like he isn't so itchy to point his gun at her.
madmanmax: (I did not hear that right.)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-20 01:38 pm (UTC)(link)
Every gesture she's making is clearly designed to put him at ease, and after a long moment he reholsters the gun, although there's a definite air of reluctance to the gesture. She is, his instincts scream at him, too perfect to be believed. It could be a trap, bait, and there may be snipers waiting and watching from somewhere while she distracts him. On the other hand, if there are snipers out of sight then he's already a dead man anyway.

His gaze flicks over her, noting the unsteadiness, the lack of weapons or even survival gear. His eyes seem to almost never be still. The question is a slightly bewildering one, and his brow furrows, forehead a mass of lines, and he makes a vague, questioning gesture to the desolate expanse around them. Then his mouth and throat work soundlessly, briefly, as if he has to remember how to speak again. When his voice comes out it's very deep, a slightly gravelly rumble. Traveling alone out here his voice doesn't get much exercise. "...Nowhere. This.... mmhn. Where did you come from?"
blackmagus: (♒ wary)

[personal profile] blackmagus 2015-06-21 08:58 am (UTC)(link)
Not as helpful as she'd hoped, then. But at least he doesn't seem to be keen to shoot her, if holstering his gun is an indication. There are a host of other ways he could try to harm her, Fortescue knows, but people who carry guns usually rely on them. She wishes void travelers were allowed to carry guns, themselves, but Imperian weaponry is hard to explain in a lot of worlds.

This one, if this stranger is any indication, would be no different.

"I don't know," she lies, and happens to stumble slightly in the sand as she says it. But she rights herself half a second later, shaking her head as blurred lines appear in her vision. At least she isn't nauseous.

Not yet. There are several stages for bodies getting used to existing in another universe, when sent through the Angel Gate, and blurry vision and lack of coordination is one of them.

"I just woke up here."

That part, at least, is one hundred percent true.
madmanmax: (worried)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-21 03:20 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh. Great. She might be crazier than he is.

It's telling though, that when she stumbles his body moves of its own accord and one hand goes out, telegraphing a clear instinct to catch her. He wants to help, against all his better judgement, that's an impulse a desperate world has never quite managed to stamp out of him. He can tell she's not quite right and, scrutinizing her face, he's pretty sure she's not faking that.

Again his gaze darts away and scans the horizon, ever alert for trouble, still having a hard time believing she isn't some kind of bait. "You..." He licks his dry lips, struggling for words and tense still. "You should sit down." That's it, the canteen comes off his belt, and he starts to cross the space between them while trying to keep an eye both on her in case she pulls out a weapon at the last minute, and their surroundings in case there's an ambush about to happen. He's jumpy as hell, but he's going to give her water anyway.
Edited 2015-06-21 15:21 (UTC)
blackmagus: (♒ uncertain)

[personal profile] blackmagus 2015-06-23 06:00 am (UTC)(link)
She almost makes a face at the sand. It doesn't seem very inviting to sit in. Then again, nothing in her immediate line of sight looks particularly inviting. This is a true wasteland if she's ever seen one. Which means that, unless something truly amazing lurks elsewhere, she won't get much from it.

But as she doesn't seem to be in immediate danger, she figures she can stay until she feels a bit better. And until she's certain there isn't anything decent here to bring back to Imperium, be it information or an object.

"Yes, sitting would be good," she agrees, as she moves to do so. But she keeps an eye on Max, just in case, and waves off the water, shaking her head. "That's all right. I'm not thirsty."

Thanks to the mechanics of the Angel Gate and the Celestial Interface in her arm, she appears not needing nourishment. Unless she has a particularly bad reaction to the world in question, but this one seems standard. Her arm seems normal, aside from what would appear to be a very dark vein — to anyone else — and the small metal nub that activates the Interface. At the moment, her arms are covered by long sleeves.

That might need to change, soon.
madmanmax: (wary)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-23 04:10 pm (UTC)(link)
When she refuses the water, he stares at her for a long moment like she's completely off her rocker, then finally grunts and makes a little gesture of shoving the canteen closer anyway. They're in a desert. Water is more precious than anything there is. How can she not be thirsty?

He even gives in and crouches by her, only just barely in arm's reach with a full stretch, and no closer than that. There's a homemade brace on one knee, a ramshackle thing of metal strips and worn leather straps, and it clicks softly when he crouches down. He's trying to be nice, even if it costs him a little. If only she knew how unusual that is in this world.

"...Anyone with you?" The low rumble of a voice comes again, and he's still watching her, wary. If she's afraid he might be a threat, the feeling is mutual.
blackmagus: (♒ serious)

[personal profile] blackmagus 2015-06-24 10:16 am (UTC)(link)
Interesting.

Fortescue looks at him, and then the canteen, before she reluctantly closes a hand around it and raises it to her lips. Just a small sip, then, with an aim to be reassuring. He does seem to be concerned about her, considering that he doesn't know her at all. And that sort of behavior means a lot to Fortescue.

Kindness should never be disregarded, for a variety of reasons. Some of them more warm and fuzzy than others.

"No." She extends the canteen back to him. "It's... just me. What are you doing out here?"

This doesn't exactly look like prime vacation property.
madmanmax: (whut?)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-24 12:53 pm (UTC)(link)
Okay, she's got him there, because he certainly has no more business being here than she does. The only difference is that he has the bike, which is a clear and obvious means of how he got here. The scruffy stranger rubs the back of his neck and looks a little awkward, accepting the canteen back. The small sip is apparently enough to appease him. "Seemed... familiar. Just passing through." The rubbing the back of his neck turns into scratching before he realizes that's probably not a smart idea. He tugs the loose scarf around his neck higher, to cover the spot.

"You... can't have come far." He pauses, floundering, and makes a helpless kind of gesture to indicate her general appearance. Words are a struggle, but after a moment he forces himself to elaborate a little "You're clean."
blackmagus: (♒ tired)

[personal profile] blackmagus 2015-06-27 04:30 am (UTC)(link)
Absorbing the explanation, Fortescue feels several waves of dizziness and is glad that she's sitting down for it; she probably would have toppled right over, otherwise. Hopefully the sensations will pass in a few hours. But until then, she's stuck with them. At least they help her vague story along. She has no proper explanation that she can legally supply. Given the strangeness of her companion, he'd probably just disregard it as insanity.

"Not for long," she chuckles quietly, rubbing at her forehead. "Not out here. ...I don't know."

She squints through the haze — the one in her head, not the one in the air — in several directions. There really doesn't seem to be anything. Passing through, no kidding.

"Where are you going?"
madmanmax: (I've seen some things...)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-27 01:30 pm (UTC)(link)
He blinks at her, eyebrows shifting and the lines on his forehead getting even deeper, then he shakes his head. Amnesia means something traumatic happened to her, either physically or mentally or both, and clean means she has to have come from somewhere nearby that's organized and established enough to get and keep people clean. She'll be looked for, he's sure of that (because the truth is too complicated and bizarre for him to even think of). Whether or not she'd want to be found, he's not sure, because a very clean young woman wandering out in the Wasteland brings to mind an echo of something he's seen before. In that case, for those women, being found again would have been a very bad thing.

At first, it looks like the man kneeling before her is just considering things. His answers all come slow, as if he has to dredge up the words each time. This time, though, while she's looking around his gaze drifts to the side of her and upwards a little, focusing on something or someone that isn't there. When she asks him where he's going, there's a delay, as he drags his focus back to her and gives a questioning kind of grunt. Possibly he didn't hear her, too distracted by invisible things.

He shrugs, blinks and shakes his head hard to clear it. "Shouldn't stay here. Everything's poison, here."
blackmagus: (♒ hmmm)

[personal profile] blackmagus 2015-06-28 05:58 am (UTC)(link)
Glancing around them — it's an intense landscape, which is starting to hurt her unaccustomed eyes — she looks back at the stranger in time to see him shake his head. At least he hasn't been hostile, so far. That's a plus, in a relative sea of minuses. She wonders if she could possibly get him to trust her enough to help her get out of this location, and if there's anything of worth left in this world.

A world that could produce the man she's talking to.

"Right," Fortescue says, standing up, and then hesitating. Wondering if she should ask for assistance, or if she should simply walk for a while before activating her Interface. One way or another, she knows that she's going to have a not-so-healthy tan at the end of all this.
madmanmax: (uncertain)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-28 06:01 pm (UTC)(link)
He gets to his feet a little quickly, when she does, despite the stiff knee. It doesn't do to underestimate anyone, in this place, and kneeling while somebody else is standing up is a disadvantage if there's some unexpected attack. He considers her for another moment, still looking very uneasy. He's helped so many people before, and it's gone wrong so many times, and he just can't not help and maybe that's how he's gotten himself into trouble time and again.

The stranger gives a grunt and a frown, then nods his head in the direction of the bike. It's weathered and dusty and has a rebuilt kind of look to it, but it also has a fair amount of supplies strapped onto it, enough gear for camping out in the wilderness. "I can take you... away." To safety, he hopes. There are settlements, a ways back, although he usually skirts those unless he's in desperate need of the supplies they may be willing to trade for. There is also, somewhere further back, a place where clean women live, taking charge of an oasis in the ruins of the world. It's a long journey there, though. He'll be more comfortable if they just put some distance between themselves and this place, at least, much as it pulls at old memories. Has he been here before, or just someplace like it? He's not sure anymore.
blackmagus: (♒ orly)

[personal profile] blackmagus 2015-06-28 11:22 pm (UTC)(link)
"I'm not going to hurt you."

Briefly, she holds her hands up, as before, to communicate her lack of intent to harm him. But if he continues to remain skeptical, she can't very well fault him. Given the surroundings, even paranoia would be understandable. Though if she's attacked, she'll respond in kind. Hopefully he understands that.

"And I... didn't want to impose," she goes on, watching the uneasiness on his face. "But if you don't mind..."
madmanmax: (blank)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-28 11:58 pm (UTC)(link)
Of course he minds. Most of the time when he tries to help people, it ends either in blood and death, or in him being left standing in wreckage while they go on without him. One time, just one time, it went Right.

One time does not a pattern make.

He sighs and nods at the bike again, this time while leading the way to it. Just a brief moment of rearranging and there's space for her to sit on the bike behind him, and of course that's a vulnerable position to have her at his back, but if he's going to try to help her then he might as well start trusting her a little. The cat, he's not quite sure about, but he likes dogs, and maybe it's not so different? One leg swings over the bike, and he settles, and waits for her. "There's rocks, hour that way." He points off into the distance at a low ridge, a couple of his fingers stuck crooked like they've been broken and healed wrong.
blackmagus: (♒ casual)

[personal profile] blackmagus 2015-06-30 09:35 pm (UTC)(link)
Jazz remains firmly on her shoulders, digging in with his claws, as Fortescue approaches the bike. It's been a long time since she's seen a model like it. They still exist, of course, but not in the cities and urban centers that Fortescue is typically sent to. Wheels are something for emergencies only, when hover tech breaks down.

But she's gathering that technology hasn't quite gotten there, maybe, in this world. If it ever will.

"All right," she murmurs, as she sinks herself down behind the man. A man she doesn't even know the name of. Apparently it's not that big of a deal. Fortescue considers sliding an arm around his chest, but then considers that that might be taken as some sort of hostile gesture. So, for the moment, she simply secures herself using his shoulders.

Jazz, as if in anticipation of all the sand, slinks down to press himself between them, head against her stomach. He was smart to begin with. The human soul he's now carrying helps, too.
madmanmax: (I've seen some things...)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-01 01:14 am (UTC)(link)
He's just a little tense, as she arranges herself behind him, and then ducks and turns slightly to glace under one arm when he feels the cat press himself between the small of his back and her body. Quickly he resettles again with a grunt, though, so clearly it's okay. He's got a ragged, re-sewn-together leather jacket, so it's not as if he's worried about the animal's claws going through that.

Once they're both still, he kicks the engine into life, and peels away like he's afraid somebody is going to take a potshot at him on the way out, because that is precisely what he is afraid of. The rocky ridge is a ways off, and he's silent for the ride. If she does try to speak to him at all, she'll only get a grunt in response, in part because he can't hear properly over the sound of the engine. His hearing isn't the best, as it is.

It takes them longer than an hour, to reach a rocky enough area that he's willing to stop, parking in the shadow of boulders and letting the engine sputter into quiet. They're sheltered, here, safe enough to ease his perpetually strung-out nerves a little.
blackmagus: (♒ hello there)

[personal profile] blackmagus 2015-07-01 09:23 am (UTC)(link)
Speaking seems to be futile, given the noise, and so Fortescue doesn't bother after a few scattered phrases. She simply hangs on, makes sure her cat is secure, and keeps an eye on their surroundings. Deserts aren't her strong suit, and this one seems to stretch into an orange-tinted infinity all around them.

When the bike finally stops, Fortescue disembarks and tries not to stagger a little. She's not used to riding such vehicles, and she's still feeling wobbly. But less wobbly, at least. That's something. Instead of getting herself into an embarrassing situation, she makes her way over to a boulder and sits with her back against it.

Jazz pads quickly over and sits down next to her, alert and watchful. If anything approaches, the feline will be a decent alert system.

"Thank you," she comments, mildly. "This is much better."

Less out in the open, and less likely to be attacked. That does seem to be his worry, in all of this. Fortescue does find that slightly alarming, but missions to other universes are, by their very nature, dangerous. This is nothing new, in a metaphorical sense. In a literal sense? All of this is new.
madmanmax: (whut?)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-02 01:07 am (UTC)(link)
The stranger gets off and promptly staggers a little, too, but he's quick to catch himself, grimacing. Her idea isn't a bad one though, and once he makes sure the bike is stable he slides down to sit at the base of a rock, stretching out his legs carefully. This is much better, enough that he might even feel safe camping here. They've seen no one and no other signs of civilization in the long ride here, which is a good sign as far as he's concerned, but she may not share that opinion.

Now that he's sitting, and has a moment to relax, his gaze goes to the cat, studying Jazz with wary curiosity. The low voice rumbles out again, absent-mindedly, "Had a dog, before..." He looks just a little surprised right after he's spoken, as if he didn't realize the words were going to come out loud. It's a strange and lonely man who gets spooked at the sound of his own voice.
blackmagus: (♒ raised brow)

[personal profile] blackmagus 2015-07-02 03:39 am (UTC)(link)
Frotescue quirks a brow, watching the stranger watch her cat, before glancing down at him herself. She's sure that, as uncomfortable an experience as this is for her, it's far worse for Jazz. Jazz is in no way built to deal with this. His eyes are narrowed and his ears constantly swivel along with every tiny sound.

"This is Jazz," she introduces, before canting her head to the side. "What was your dog's name?"

She isn't even sure if she'll get an answer, but after that ride, she's itching for even a tiny spot of conversation.
madmanmax: (puppy-dog eyes)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-02 02:54 pm (UTC)(link)
"...Dog."

He ducks his head a little, almost apologetic, and he has the sense to look sheepish. "'M not so good at names." So yes, he did name his dog 'Dog' and he knows exactly how stupid that sounds. On the other hand he doesn't talk much, so it's unlikely he usually called the dog by name at all.

After a long moment, considering, he rises very slowly in a crouch, and offers out a slightly mangled, bandaged hand for Jazz to sniff. His movements are smooth and steady, careful, as if he has a lot of experience knowing how to move not to startle easily frightened animals. The truth is there aren't that many animals out here, but he's not too far off from a feral thing himself, and he knows what would make him twitch and jump and lash out so he has the sense not to pull that on anyone else. "...Cats much different? From dogs?" It's sheer interest in the unfamiliar animal that prompts him into making more effort at talking.
blackmagus: (♒ Jazz - eyeing)

[personal profile] blackmagus 2015-07-03 03:32 am (UTC)(link)
Fortescue might have a love of giving things names, but she knows some people prefer 'Cat' or 'Dog' or 'You'. She's lost track of all the cats named 'Kitty' that she's met. So, she simply smiles and shrugs. If it works, it works. The animal responds to the love of its companion, not their name; their name is only a series of sounds that it comes to associate with itself, after all.

Cats don't speak like humans do. Thankfully. She's sure Jazz would be a near-constant complainer.

He looks up at her, eyes narrowed, looking for approval as the stranger stretches a hand out. Fortescue nods at him. Reluctantly, but curious as always, Jazz rises up and gives the man's hand a very tentative sniff. His whiskers are barely a tickle, as he continues to listen to everything around them.

"They're not pack animals, and they're pragmatic." Fortescue has never owned dogs, but she's seen enough service dogs to get the gist. "You can train them, but you have to make it worth their time or they won't bother. But they get just as attached. And they just sleep a lot more than dogs do."
madmanmax: (sort-of smile)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-04 10:00 pm (UTC)(link)
It's not a matter of preference so much as a lack of skill with words, for him, but if she's got no problem with it that's just as well. He waits, crouched, very still and very patient. These are the qualities of a good hunter, but in this case his aims are harmless. He likes animals, and he wants to make friends with this one, simply because it's there. His hands smell of blood and oil and gunpowder and sweat, all the marks of somebody who spends as much time fighting as working with an engine. The corner of his mouth ticks upwards, not quite a smile but something near it, and his overall expression softens.

"Good survivors, then." Pragmatism, looking for what's in it for oneself, these are the qualities most needed in a world where people are holding on by the skin of their teeth.

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