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transport log » ❝ welcome to Exsilium ❞

Date & Time: December 1st
Location: The Initiative Hold
Characters: Everyone!
Summary: New transports are probably way less pleased about their arrival than their designated greeter appears to be. What are we saying, probably.
Warnings: No, unless you hate joy and laughter.

You, dear Transport, are in for an extra special treat. This is not just any standard protocol information session, although you're still required to listen to the obligate spiel and choose ~~your own adventure~~ your fancy new equipment (or something more familiar, if you'd rather). Once 'the boring part' is over, an excitable blonde with a hairstyle out of a Dr. Seuss book begins ushering you down the halls. Although she glosses over the history of the place that you've found yourself in, she seems much more enthused about telling you that you've arrived in the best month of the year.

It's highly probable that Becky (for that is her name, really) was chosen for this particular batch of Transports not because of her blinding devotion to her informational duties, but to give the other workers in her division of the Hold a few moments of rest from her chipper voice. Any snark or sniping is brushed off easily enough by the bubbly woman as she leads you further into the Hold. She lets you know that although there are serious reasons for you to be here, you should try to include yourself in the local customs in order to foster a feeling of hominess and unity, as that sort of thing is very important...and keeps in close tradition with Non-Denominational Cheer Day, a holiday coming up quickly toward the end of the month. She even presents you with a pink, blue and silver bow made from surprisingly high-quality ribbon along with your netbook, coinpurse or card before she ushers you into the banquet room and encourages you to 'mix with your fellow man – or whatever they might be!'

She disappears with a twirl of bright blue skirt and you're left to your own devices in the banquet room. Perhaps in an effort to make up for the previous month's somewhat lack-luster party (who had time to plan a proper spread when parts of the building weren't even functioning?), the eight-person tables are dressed with various solid-coloured tablecloths overlaid with shimmery silver material. The entire room looks a little bit more 'frosty' than usual (fake snow was so 21st century) – the walls glitter with what looks to be some sort of spray-on ice crystals (they're probably plastic).

Winter beverages line one side of the banquet hall – hot toddies, cider, and hot chocolate with all of the proper fixings – while the other has no shortage of warming foods like stews and casseroles. There's no shortage of cookies for dipping, if that's your thing. Surely you'll be able to find something to eat, or at least someone to talk to...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Isaac is drawn to the new arrivals, hoping against hope for someone familiar. Hell, even a stranger with a familiar scent or features. He's past caring about anything but the loneliness that gnaws at him.

Nothing, of course, and it's a bitter, caged feeling that rises up again at the knowledge that he's still utterly alone. That's when the stumble catches his attention. He's attuned to motion, and it's impossible not to look. He watches for a moment, not caring if he's seen doing it. Those stumbling steps are worrying. Drunk? Exhausted? Drugged?

As he walks closer his nose fills in more details. He can smell blood, so it quickens his pace. Blood loss could cause that, especially on top of exhaustion. Isaac stops off to grab some food, and fruit juice. It couldn't hurt, at the very least, and right now his own personal problems are effectively buried. He's a doctor; he lives for this. His stethoscope is a comforting weight around his neck, though he wishes belatedly he'd put his hair up today. Loose could get in the way of treating his new patient.]

Mind if I join you? You look like you could use something to eat.

[Though he's already learned not to carelessly dismiss questions asked around him as being intended for others, Connor doesn't appear much more aware when the next stranger happens by. He's fallen to distraction this time. Many of the conversations in earshot have become meaningless to him. He can be patient, but with the drug yet dragging at him, he finds it difficult to focus on the idle discussion that lies between useful scraps of information. He takes to visiting other thoughts to fill those gaps. Will his mentor back 'home' even notice his absence? Or just think him busy with his latest mission? Likely the latter, he guesses. He reflects on the challenge that was his first trip to Boston, too, but sharply casts off the idea of Achilles somehow being involved with this particular misadventure.

No, if this is anyone's work or conspiracy, it's the Templars. Achilles wouldn't purposefully distance him from the cause or his people.

Not even after that trouncing comment he'd shot at him.

Connor breathes out a low sigh, shifts in his seat, and... abruptly realizes there's a man standing to his right.

A man who just spoke to him. Registering the words a few seconds late, he grimaces, aggravated at both the poison and himself for his drifting away from the moment.]

You are free to sit where you please.

[He thinks to tell him that he isn't looking for company or food, but when he turns his head to add that remark and his eyes find the other man's face, the words dissolve on the back of his tongue. His tense expression slackens.]

I do not mind.

[He realizes the extent of his inattention when he looks to the chair beside him and sees it is no longer occupied. Well, convenient. With a nod toward it, he fastens his gaze back on the stranger. He makes note of the odd object hanging around his neck - a weapon, maybe? He can't imagine how it might work, but there are far more pressing matters to ask after right now.]

Thank you.

[Isaac has a similar moment of almost surprise when he gets his first close look at Connor, and then hope springs up. It shows a little in his expression in spite of attempts to keep controlled. The loneliness howls, and even though his nose tells him this man is an ordinary human, Isaac doesn't lose all hope. There are tribes all over who welcome Were-creatures of all kinds. Even being able to share the secret would be a relief.

But he puts those thoughts aside with effort. He has a patient to care for, and one who's got sure signs of struggle on his face and blood--his? Isaac can't be sure without a better sniff--on his clothes. His tone comes out more worried than he intends, but he amends it into something a little more professional as he sits and nudges the food and drink closer. Or tries to. Isaac doesn't think it was very effective.]

You should eat; it might help. Even if it doesn't, a little food won't hurt.

[Connor accepts the food and drink set near him... insomuch that he moves his arm to make room when they're lightly pushed closer. He recognizes the wisdom in the stranger's suggestion, but it's pretty obvious he's not keen on sampling anything right now. While it's true an empty stomach isn't going to do him any good, he can't help but be wary of the 'feast' the Initiative has provided.

He doesn't mind telling anyone this, either.]

I am not sure I trust the food our captors would have us eat here. They have already poisoned me once. [He taps his fingers lightly against the cup of juice, looking thoughtful (if not somewhat bothered) for a moment. But then it's back to his curiosity, which brings about an introduction.]

My name is Connor.

Poisoned...?

[There is a moment of confusion and even greater worry as Isaac takes in the new information along with the symptoms he's seen. And then he gets angry. His words come out with an almost wolf-like growl as an undertone and for a split second his teeth are bared. Blink and miss it, but his canines are too long and sharp to be entirely human.]

They drugged you?! Oh for--

[For a moment he falls into Yurok, muttering angrily. It's as much a habit not to be understood saying negative things around patients as a self-soothing measure. The words remind him of home and calm the anger. He subsides with a heavy sigh.]

I don't blame you, in that case, but for the most part it's eat what the people here provide or starve.

[He shakes his head.] If it's sedatives there isn't much I can do. That blood, though-- Are you injured at all?

[He almost misses the introduction, absorbed in trying to figure out what help is needed, and so startles and looks a little sheepish a moment after.]

Oh! I didn't even think... Sorry. I'm Dr. Isaac Hunter. A pleasure, in spite of the circumstances.

[With his senses dulled by drowsiness, Connor does miss the very subtle change in his acquaintance's appearance. And then he's taken by surprise when Isaac launches into another language. Connor straightens slightly in his seat, his head canting to the side. For all the attention he pays the muttering, he doesn't catch a word of it. The language has a vaguely familiar sound to it, but it's still different than anything he's heard spoken before. Distinctly so. Connor can't begin to guess what Nation this man might come from, to speak such a language, but at least he can be fairly sure he's not of the Iroquois or any of the tribes his people have known through trade or conflict. That's a few pieces to put to this small puzzle.

Despite his uncertainty and his frustration and anger, a smile curls one side of his mouth when the man's quiet ranting comes to an end. Connor might not have understood what was said, but he can appreciate the sentiment he assumes those words expressed.

He nods firmly when Isaac gives his name.]

Yes... It is a pleasure, Dr. Hunter. [Hm.] ...Forgive me, but I did not understand your words. [He doesn't know if he was meant to or not. Best to make mention of it either way, that there may be no confusion in the future.] What people are you?

[He keeps his arms on the table but raises one hand up in a lazy halting gesture as he goes on.] My injuries are not serious. There is no need for concern. [He hasn't actually had the chance to really look over his most recent wounds, save a few glances in reflective surfaces, but having been in so many fights over the years, he knows well what an injury in need of immediate care feels like. Minor scrapes and bruises aren't even an inconvenience, much less something he would think he needed treatment for.

With another look at the food Isaac brought over, he changes the subject.]

You said there is no other food besides what they give? Is there no game to hunt? Or plants to forage... crops to grow? [There has to be something.]

[Isaac isn't surprised to be asked, honestly. There are so few left that speak Yurok, and he can count the ones in his generation that know enough to be considered almost fluent on one hand. The question does bring those thoughts to the fore, so a hint of sadness is in his tone, though his expression is more thoughtful than anything.]

The name you would know, if you've heard of us, is Yurok. I'm not surprised you didn't understand; not many would.

[He shakes his head then at the dismissal, and almost sounds faintly lecturing.]

Even a small injury can kill if it isn't cared for. Who knows what diseases they have here that none of us have ever been exposed to and have no defense against.

[He lets it drop at that, though, not wanting to push. If the warning bounces off, he can't force anyone to be treated. And, well, the warning was in part time to get his thoughts around the last question. Hard to explain the situation without revealing too much about himself. He can't hold back a shudder just thinking about it.]

There is hunting and forage, but both are scarce... and wrong. As for crops, the seeds would need to come from the people here, and I'm not sure the land could even support crops. This whole place is sick.

[He searches his memories (including those of his childhood, which are handled with infinite care), but can't seem to find the word Yurok among them. That absence leaves him frowning.]

I am not familiar with the name. [An admittance that is almost an apology.] My people are the Kanien'kehá:ka? [He offers the name they would call themselves first only to add the English for it afterward.] The People of the Flint?

[That frown of his deepens when the subject of injuries comes about in turn. Again, Isaac has a point. It's difficult to imagine a few cuts leading to illness, but he's sufficiently disturbed by the way the warning was worded. He is only a few generations removed from those of his people who suffered terribly from, and were decimated by, settlers' diseases.

The description of the land beyond the building they're in is equally disconcerting.]

Wrong... [Sick. To take his chances with what nature might provide or to rely on supplies from the Initiatives... He'll have to see this wrongness for himself before he can make a decision.] Is there somewhere else we might talk?

[Isaac spends a moment with brow furrowed. He doesn't recognize the words themselves, but something about the English translation brings up something half remembered from school. He shakes his head, unable to make the connection.]

Mine are Pue-lik-lo’, The Downriver People. Our home is the area around the Klamath river. I'm afraid I'd be most likely recognize the word the whites use for your people, which is why I gave Yurok first. So much has been lost.

[He shakes his head again, but stands at the question. Privacy he can give, if the other man wants it.]

Where I'd prefer is probably too far out to get to today, but if you don't mind, the room they offered me is ... less crowded. Or there's the clinic; probably only one or two of the other healers and doctors among us there at most.

[Pue-lik-lo’. A nicer-sounding name, in Connor's opinion, but no more familiar than Yurok. He's fairly sure he's never known a river called Klamath, either. Perhaps this doctor's people are from the far north or south, well beyond the Six Nations' respective lands.

Connor joins him in standing and uses a chair to steady himself.]

They have many names for my people. [He looks up and off to the side, trying to remember some of them he's heard around the frontier and towns.] Ag... Agniers? Or Maguasen? Maq...uasen. [His expression sours at another name that comes to mind.] Some use the name Mohawk, but that is taken from what another tribe has called us before. [The name their neighbors bestowed upon them isn't exactly a term of endearment, thus the prickly tone he takes in mentioning it.

He lets go of that unpleasant thought... and the chair his hands were hooked over.]

Wherever is most convenient for your work.

[Mohawk--now there's a name Isaac recognizes. He smiles, but the prickly tone douses the gesture a little. Ah, not a welcome name then?]

It's the same with us and Yurok, but I do recognize that one. I've never met someone from so far east before.

[He has to laugh at the silliness of that right away.] Well, technically I have but-- I'm sure you get it. Anyway, the clinic is probably better. Let's go.

[Isaac turns to lead the way, but he's careful to remain close enough for support, just in case. He saw how Conner needed the support of the chair, and while he won't offer or insist on helping, he wants to be available.]

[Connor manages a thin (and faintly confused) smile in return. With a nod, he falls in behind Isaac and follows him away from the table. He recovers much of his balance and strength once he's up and walking again, with small missteps fewer and farther between.

'So far east'... It might worth asking about that later. If he's still trapped here later, that is. Looking around as they go, he finds himself revisiting his earlier thoughts on this place.]

How long have you been here?

[He can hear each step (and misstep) easily, and visibly relaxes when he hears Connor start getting more balance back. It means the drugs are wearing off on their own. And the injuries that he can see wouldn't even be worth bothering with, if it wasn't for the new place and potential for new diseases that could kill so easily.]

About a month now.

[He can't hide the distress completely. A month without any contact with family. A month with strange smells and tastes and sights and no way out. A month in a cage, utterly alone. It chips away at his foundations, and Isaac unconsciously quickens his pace for a few steps before reining himself back in. By way of explanation, he offers:]

I've spent most of it roaming. Still here-- [He can't even crack a joke to lighten the mood.] --nothing yet.

Yet.

[His tone is gentled by a pang of sympathy. Even a month is too long and it's obvious the time has been hard for Isaac.]

That word has great power. We will both have to hold on to it.

Yes... We will.

[We. It gets the warmest smile yet. Isaac knows he should know better, but it's hard to make his heart listen to his head, and his easiest times away from home were when he was running with a human and a deer. That had gone to hell in the worst of ways, but his heart never learned that lesson either. Wishful thinking at any rate, and Isaac clears his throat. Patient. He needs to be professional and maintain some distance.]

Those need to be cleaned at least. Letting nature take its course is one thing but going so far as inviting infection in is something else entirely.

[But he's always been awful about the distance part. Damn.]

[The ripple of concern Isaac's observation about disease caused has since smoothed over and Connor is back to thinking little of his wounds. He still follows his new acquaintance out of the hall, though.]

I will trust your judgement. [Because his own knowledge of wounds and health will never be as extensive as a doctor's. Because Isaac is right that this place may harbor wrong things, illnesses and the like they have never known. Because spending a few moments tending to his scratches now would be preferable to the lingering inconveniences of fever and infection. (They wouldn't keep him from his work, of this he is confident, but he could be slowed.)

Isaac being a kind and 'real' person has a lot to do with his decision, as well.]

Have you learned much during your stay?

[He sees this as a chance to start familiarizing himself with the area, too.]

About The Initiative? Not much more than you probably know. About the place itself...

[How much to reveal. He knows he can hold a pace most people can't when he's running and keep going for miles. Oh hell with it.]

There isn't much anywhere, in or out of the city. I've made it about a day of steady travel at my best pace outside what can be called city and into the outer lands. There are places with clean water but most of it is dead. Nothing lives in it, not fish or insects or plants.

[The land is dead and dying.

And this place was once Britain and it is the year 3312 and they are all prisoners who are supposed to fight some war and-

Connor's steps slow and then shorten and finally he just stops. He stares at Isaac for a moment before turning slightly in place, looking back the way they came, expression so empty as to be unreadable.]

[He slows automatically when Conner does, not thinking anything of it, but then the footfalls stop. Isaac turns a little at first, worried, but Connor isn't swaying.

What-- ...He doesn't understand, can't make heads or tails of the expression, and he doesn't know the man well enough for his nose to tell him anything about his mood.]

Connor?

[Connor is unresponsive for a minute longer, just staring off in that direction, motionless and silent.

Then, with a hard blink and a shake of his head, he parts ways with the thoughts distracting him.

He avoids eye contact when he turns back but makes a small, apologetic motion with one hand.]

Sorry.

[He gets back to walking. Perhaps to make up for the delay, or to distance himself from whatever he'd been thinking, he moves at a faster pace.]

[Isaac is worried and it shows in his posture and voice but he doesn't pry. He just quietly accepts the apology and starts moving again.]

No problem.

[The adjustment Isaac makes to the new pace is almost automatic, and Isaac could find his way blindfolded, so he keeps his senses attuned mostly to Connor as they walk. At least the clinic isn't too far now.]

[There are no further interruptions along the way - at least, not from Connor. His curiosity revives some as they near the clinic, and he studies the higher spaces around them with interest.

Only a matter of time before he's climbing all over the place.]

[The attention to the other man lets Isaac be aware of what Connor is looking around at. It's amusing, but he doesn't do more than smile. No more distractions.

Once he gets to the clinic he nods Conner in towards one of the treatment rooms and then bustles around to get things ready.]

Now, first off. Are there any other injuries at all?

[Connor takes his time heading to the room pointed out. The inside of the clinic is fascinating enough that he temporarily forgets his mood.]

I don't believe so.

[Absolutely distracted checking out everything new here. At least he keeps his hands to himself.]

This will be quick then! Could you pull back the hood?

[Isaac sounds cheerful as he turns around from washing his hands. He pulls on a pair of sterile gloves, and then another over those. Isaac is just a little paranoid about risk of infection, but he does have good reason, even if he can't explain.

He moves forward, looking for anything that might need more than a little cleaning but he hasn't forgotten Connor wanted to talk.]

Was there anything in particular you wanted to ask about now that we're here?

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