multiversallogs | let's go down to normal town

Entry tags:

let's go down to normal town

Who: William Yao and Wolfgang Einhorn
What: oh god what is this how did i get here im not good with ~~computer~~ making friends
When: Coardi the 18th
Where: Tinker's Lot, Serpolet
Warnings: TBA if needed.

Belatedly he realises this is a bit of a bad idea, that he still feels like avoiding everyone who actually knows him, but... he really does need that chain to fix his bike and Will has been really nice to him, he doesn't want to blow the guy off like a jerk. And he really is going to be in the area anyway -- as his money's dwindling, he's been finding more creative ways to make money, and the life drawing class he somehow agreed to model for went well, if it was a bit embarrassing. (That's more people to have seen him naked in one day than his entire life previously.) Donating blood in Mafaton went less well -- in that the abdead phlebotomist stared at him the whole time and then caught him on the way out to hiss come back soon into his ear, thoroughly freaking him out.

They paid him a lot, though. He'll probably go back.

Since fixing his bike is a high priority for him, he decided to suck it up, took a couple shots of that whatever-it-is he's been keeping in a flask in his bag, and got on the skyrail northwest from Howl Barrow. His face is still a mess. The bruising is finally starting to fade and that cut on his head looks less hideous, but the rest of him is, as ever, impeccable, even if he could probably use another jacket. (Baedal is so cold, he's used to living somewhere where it's 20°C year-round.) When he gets to the property he pauses, hovering on the edge of it -- it's a lot bigger than he thought it would be and some of those machines are frankly fucking terrifying. (Fascinating, yes, he's dying to know how they work, but terrifying.) He is very difficult to miss, he's a million feet tall and looks rather out of place and lost.

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Will asked the people at what passes for a front desk at Tinker's Lot to keep an eye out for a giant blond dude, so he's not surprised when someone comes to tell him Wolfgang is standing awkwardly up at the Lot's entrance. The shape he's in does surprise him when he gets up there, slightly out of breath from climbing down from a giant armored turtle-thing that didn't blow up but also didn't move very much. Being so far above the ground for a while was nice, though.

“Hey,” he says, frowning. “What happened?”

"Ah -- lost a fight," he says, absently, which is technically true, in that it took him about three seconds to lose that fight with several armed Militia agents and a few hours to lose that fight with their fucked up and awful legal system. He is very self-conscious about it, given the way he fidgets with his hair and doesn't quite meet Will's eyes.

The mental image of Wolfgang fighting anybody is pretty patently absurd. It seems more likely that he'd just lie down and give them Bambi eyes.

Immediately changing the subject, he asks with an eye on the whatever-that-is that he can see from here, "What on earth are those?"

Will doesn't push -– he would if they knew each other better, but as it is, he just frowns more and turns to look at what Wolfgang is looking at. “I have no idea, actually. Maybe a...” he squints. “Construction model?” It has arm-things that seem suited to lifting heavy objects, at least, even if the way it's lumbering around the clearing would scatter anything it was carrying.

Dryly: "That's reassuring. I take it it's a low-explosions day, then?" Nobody appears to be on fire that he can see and there aren't any smoking craters in the ground, so... "I've never seen so much tech in one place since coming here, it's really kind of amazing."

“Very low,” Will says, cracking a smile. “I don't think anything's exploded all day.” He takes a moment to look around, taking in the piles of junk and all the different kinds of worlds, and yeah. It's impressive if he stops to think about it. “There is a lot of stuff here,” he says. Maybe he just accepted it easily because he's still in the process of taking Baedal as a whole in.

"Come to think of it, it's probably where they get most of that stuff at Sheer Bridge." The stuff he definitely didn't get involved in when no professors were looking. At all. He's not an engineering student, it's just that sometimes when he pokes at stuff it either works when it shouldn't or it blows up, either one. "Oh! I almost forgot, I brought -- money --" He has to dig into his bag to find it, a bag that evidently contains everything he owns because it is stuffed dangerously. (He brought a couple books for the train... "a couple" being about four giant, very dry-looking textbooks.)

Will watches, mildly alarmed, but doesn't try to help. He hasn't always had great manners, but he knows better than to stick his hands into someone else's belongings. If they actually do start coming out of the bag, he'll help. “I'm having the chain held up here for you,” he says, peering at the huge books. It wasn't common to see hard copy books around at home, but there seem to be plenty around here.

Unfortunately they are the worst introduction to books ever because they look so boring. A History of Baedal, Applied Chemistry, something with an extremely long title that is probably about multiversal anthropology, and something written in Arabic. "I really appreciate it," he says as he manages to pull out a couple marks without spilling everything all over the ground. (The impression is that he does this a lot.) "It's ridiculous, if I were running something on, I don't know, clockworks and steam it'd probably cost half as much. And crash twice as often, probably."

“Probably,” Will agrees, motioning him toward the sort of office-like building to one side of the entryway. He tries not to start frowning again. The bruising looks pretty bad, but Wolfgang is up and mobile and lucid, so that's something. “I'm not sure I'd trust anything I got here enough to rely on it.” He's sure some people must –- he's seen a few vehicles around town. But maybe they're made somewhere else entirely.

The scrutiny makes him visibly squirm, uncomfortable; he's walking all right as he follows him to the office, although honestly, the alcohol is helping a lot. Not so much tomorrow when he has a headache like God jammed an icepick in his head, but right now, sure. "A lot of it is powered by magic, I guess, and what I've heard about that, it's -- it is not very safe. Even for people who know what they're doing." Nothing about Baedal is very safe, but magic, especially -- with the things they say are out in the fog...

“It doesn't seem safe,” Will agrees, “from what I've seen.” Which is mostly things blowing up or falling apart or failing in other sad, non-spectacular ways. It doesn't take him too long to open up his locker and dig the chain out – he doesn't really keep anything in it, since usually he just shows up and leaves in his flight suit, but it's been useful occasionally and he's been making enough to pay the small fee. “Here we go,” he says.

He does the exchange awkwardly with his right hand -- it isn't his dominant hand, which is annoying -- and manages one of his sleepy smiles. "Thank you so much."

Will smiles back, though he's still concerned. “No problem,” he says. “Let me know if you need anything else, yeah? There's all kinds of stuff out here.” He also means if you need help in general, but he doesn't want to sound paternalistic or like a busybody.

"With any luck -- hopefully not. I'm much better at taking things apart than trying to put them together." Also true, although his bike's coming along decently. Then again, it's not like those are particularly complicated -- they manufacture and sell them in Baedal itself, although a new one's way out of his budget. "You mentioned, earlier, ah -- if you have time, I'd be interested in taking a look around?"

“Yeah, of course,” Will says. There's always interesting stuff going on out here. He goes over to a cabinet on the other side of the room. “We should get you a hardhat first,” he says, rummaging around to find one that seems like it'll fit. The first thing that might work is a fireman's hat. Well. “How's this?” he asks, holding it up.

Wolfgang eyes it with some trepidation -- he'll wear it, it makes sense that it's there since a lot of Baedal's equipment and textiles are recycled or brought in through stelanmancy, but it does give him pause. "Wait, is this some kind of elaborate ruse to make me look ridiculous?" Ha ha, oh Wolfgang. Too late, you always look ridiculous! He is gently teasing, anyway.

“Of course it is,” Will says, deadpan, but he's smiling again again in a second, shaking his head and turning the thing over in his hands. “I've actually never seen one before,” he says, holding it out to Wolfgang. “Or wait – I might have seen some in a museum once. I wasn't paying attention, though.” Museums weren't – aren't – really his thing.

With great, visible, exaggerated reluctance, he puts the helmet on and as predicted looks completely ridiculous. At least he won't die if anything gets dropped on his head, though, which would otherwise be a distinct possibility given how his time in Baedal is going. (Still not over the Mafaton riots, no.) "That whole future thing is really screwing with my head. You don't have fire fighters? What do you do if there is... like, a fire?" A SPACEFIRE.

“We have automated systems for the most part,” Will says, trying not to laugh because Wolfgang does look pretty silly – the bruising tempers his good humor a little bit, but his tone stays jovial while he motions him back toward the mouth of the shed. “We do have municipal workers, too, but they mostly use machines and they wear, well.” He gestures at himself, the flight suit and the helmet. “It's not all that much different from this.”

Wolfgang follows his lead, since Will's the one who knows his way around. He has his hands casually in his pockets, both because it is cold and also because the shining brand on his left hand is less conspicuous that way. "That -- makes sense. Much less dangerous... and that looks much easier to move around in than a bomb suit, which I assume is also in museums where you are from."

“Maybe,” Will says, laughing this time. “I wasn't paying attention, remember?” He pulls his helmet up and back on when they get outside, retracting the visor so it won't muffle his voice. He pauses once they're back out on the main thoroughfare. “Well,” he says. “See anything you want to start with?”

"Lucky you." A theatrical shudder, and then he's surveying the lot. He doesn't talk about that much at all, and it's strange to ever bring it up -- and a little uncomfortable, he's going to have to think about that sometime.

Sometime else.

"What's over there?" he asks eventually, nodding his head northeast.

“Lot's of big clunky things,” Will says, cheerful. “Also a few merchants and traders that have interesting things, though.” He starts off in that direction, eyeing the machine spinning around in the site directly to their right. It's making an awful amount of noise, but it's not smoking or anything, so maybe it'll be fine. “I can introduce you to them if you want.”

"I'd like that, yes --" His attention is caught by the same thing, slower than Will's, and he purses his lips like he's trying to look serious (and failing). "If it blows, should we duck or run?"

“The siren will go off before it explodes,” Will says, grinning at Wolfgang's expression. “There are – wards or something, I'm not really clear. But it's basically an early warning system and it works pretty well. If comes on, it means to start running for the nearest cover, basically.” He gestures at a concrete shelter as they pass it.

"Oh... good to know." He's playing up a little bit of the pearl-clutchy wide-eyedness, this isn't exactly his first rodeo, here, but the level of technology-magic of Baedal is something else entirely. He keeps his hands in the pockets of his coat as he keeps an eye out around them, noting anything that might come in useful, later; it's probably cheaper to pick stuff up here and fix it himself than it would be to get new.

They pass a few other things that are equal parts alarming and silly on their way to the first merchant, and Will can't really explain them, but they're interest to gawp at. “This is the first guy I tried for a bike chain,” Will says, over the whirr of the beetle-type machine they're walking past. “She wanted way more than two marks, though.” They're coming up on a clearing full of disassembled machines, where the only things with moving bits are no bigger than a generously-sized jewelry box and seem to work better than anything else they've seen so far.

"Then she's ripping people off and I feel a little sorry for them." He's craning his neck to watch that beetle machine move with a fascinated look, like he's trying to figure out how it works just from watching it -- up until he nearly runs into someone and starts paying attention where he's going. His attention is easily grabbed, evidently.

“Whoop,” Will says, reaching over to give Wolfgang a light touch on the shoulder to help steer him out of the way of upcoming obstacles. “Yeah,” he adds, dropping his voice to a confidential level. “After that I figured out that this isn't the place to come for parts unless they're harder to find. She has some neat gizmos, though.” Expensive ones. But they're nice to look at, at least.

"Yes, I -- is that a sonic screwdriver?" Yes. Yes it is. "I saw one being auctioned off in Aspic, once -- apparently they can open anything. That can only end well."

It doesn't take long for him to notice he's being stared at. His hand is impossible to hide; he doesn't usually try to cover it, he just keeps it at his side where he hopes it's unobtrusive, but people do notice eventually. He's developed a thick skin from years of turning heads -- not always in a good way -- but of late, he's been hypersensitive to scrutiny because usually what they're looking at is his hand and coming to certain conclusions that rarely end well. There are some places where it doesn't matter -- in Badside people seem to be under the mistaken impression he's some kind of badass, and Griss Twist and Aspic are pretty safe -- but there are more places where it does. It's frustrating and stressful; Wolfgang leans towards being conflict-avoidant, and being made to feel like a bad person over something he did not even do is awful.

He's getting nervous, which probably just makes him look suspicious. Well.

Eventually, the shop proprietor comes over, expression tight under her cascade of pearly curls. She's short –- the top of her head doesn't even clear Will's chest –- and she looks even smaller next to Wolfgang, but she might as well be towering, from the force of presence she's projecting.

“Excuse me,” she says. “You're going to have to leave. We don't serve criminals here.”

“What,” Will says.

His heart drops into his stomach. He was really hoping no one would notice or care -- it doesn't seem like the type of place where people would, but... His right hand comes up, pressing to his forehead, and he says something under his breath that is not in English but is distinctly an expletive, judging by his tone.

He's not even going to protest; the last time he did, they threatened to call the Militia and he panicked and fled, spent the rest of the day hiding in a public restroom, unable to breathe, sweating, shaking. He has never had panic attacks before he got out of prison, not even when he was spending every day looking over his shoulder for the police, and he keeps waiting for them to stop, but they don't.

He takes a breath, lowers his hand. His face is burning. "Okay," he says, holding both his hands up in a kind of don't-freak-out, I'm-not-armed gesture. People don't know from looking at him what he actually did; for all they know, he could be a violent psycho. (He's trying to be charitable.) He's already backing away. "It's fine, I'll leave."

Will follows, automatically keeping himself between Wolfgang and the rest of the people in the clearing. He's confused, but he keeps it off his face, expression closed down and serious. It stays that way until they're back onto the thoroughfare and out of sight, and then he just looks worried. He'd noticed the glimmer on Wolfgang's left hand but he'd written it off in his nothing is weird here schema, and even if he hadn't, he has no idea what it means.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I knew she was uptight but I didn't – I'm not sure what happened, there.”

The panic recedes when it doesn't turn into a big scene and they're far enough away that he's sure no one is going to call the Sheriff or Militia just to be sure, but he still feels vaguely ill. That's fine, ill he can work with. He doesn't say anything for some time, because this isn't something he wants to admit about himself, but it isn't fair to have not disclosed this to begin with. "I..." It is very hard for him to talk about this, because he hasn't, yet. Not really. "I was arrested this month. I've been --" He purses his mouth in a tight line. "I just got out a few days ago. This," he holds up his left hand, covered in gloves because it is legitimately cold but also because a faint shining is a lot less disturbing than the flesh on his hand where they burned it in, "means I'm, ah -- that I am a criminal."

A barely perceptible pause. He wants to say I didn't do it, but he doesn't expect to be believed, that's clear in his defeated posture, the way he's not looking at Will but at somewhere vague over his shoulder. "She probably... I mean, she doesn't know what I did. It's not her fault. It could wreck her reputation, catering to..." Undesirables. He trails off and shrugs, half-smiling apologetically like he has to for existing.

“What did you do?” Will asks, and his tone just shy of neutral, a tiny tick into incredulous. It's not like he knows Wolfgang all that well, but he has trouble seeing him doing anything too awful –- and he hasn't forgotten that broadcast, either. Whatever Wolfgang did or didn't do wrong, he doubts this is an appropriate punishment.

"They said I, I -- assaulted an officer. Resisted arrest. I don't... I don't really remember much of it." He brushes his hand in the general direction of the half-healed gash on his head where they must have knocked him pretty hard. Since Wolfgang is about as likely to randomly assault a police officer as he is to spontaneously break into a tap dance rendition of Jellicle Songs from Cats, that speaks more to Baedal politics than it does about him as a person.

He does finally look him in the eye because he has to when he says this-- "I'm sorry. I should have told you before, but..."

Will shakes his head. “No, it's –“ fine seems like the wrong thing to say, the wrong sentiment, but he hasn't got any other words for it, right now, “– all right. I wouldn't trust what they said, either.” Granted, Will is probably much more likely to actually assault an officer if it came down to it, but the principle is the same.

"I didn't mean to cause any trouble." As if that even needed to be said. Yes, that Mr. Einhorn: notorious troublemaker. Can't take him anywhere, really.

He shoves his hands in his pockets -- the mark shining clearly through that extra layer of fabric as easily as if it didn't exist -- and shrugs his shoulders, looking for all the world like a kid who just got caught at something and not like a potential dangerous criminal. The hat is definitely not helping. "Well, now that I've made everything super awkward..."

“It's not your fault,” Will says. “Most people aren't here don't really care.” Not that he's really noticed any other people with brands out here, but it's probably because he wasn't looking for it. Like, people with glowing hands? Par for the course. Everything is so weird around here that it wouldn't really have registered until he knew what it meant. He'll notice now, though.

“Do you want to look at some of the other places?” he adds after a moment. He wouldn't blame Wolfgang if not. Will can be more careful about which sites they visit now, but he can't guarantee no one else will be an asshole.

They're not hard to spot, once you know what to look for -- but that's rather the point. Most of them work in some menial position for the city, doing what no one else will volunteer for, but they're also in the Arena. Or the Spatters. Wolfgang is lucky; it's not unusual for the mark to be applied to the face.

(Possibly someone had the good sense to realise what a tragedy that would be.)

"Sure. If you're still up for it."

“Yeah, of course,” Will says. He hesitates for a moment and then slings an arm around Wolfgang's shoulders, guiding him around to go back in the other direction. The height difference makes it a little awkward, but whatever. If it makes him uncomfortable, Will can let go. “What are you in the mood to see?”

He is very visibly startled by the gesture -- not necessarily for the usual reason, which is that being touched makes him feel weird, but because it feels familiar in a way he can't describe. Like a memory that's just out of reach, but it's so non-specific that why he would be trying to remember something in particular is beyond him.

A cousin, maybe. It troubles him, that he can't remember.

"Something not likely to get either of us in trouble?" And yet, somehow he suspects that is exactly what's going to happen.

Will laughs, keeping his hold light. It's meant to be companionable, not overbearing. “I know a few places,” he says.

"Oh, good. I'll trust you, then." Nothing can go wrong with that plan! He'll allow Will to lead him about, then, while trying to sort out how he feels about casual touching -- it helps that he's not a stranger and the context is friendly.

It goes pretty well. They get a few looks here and there but no one else tries to chase them out and Will figures that's about as much as they can expect. When they loop back around to the front, Will pauses in front of the shack, reaching over to tip the firefighter's hat on Wolfgang's head. “You should call me later,” he says. “We can do something fun with less chance of explosions.”

He asks a lot of questions -- ... a lot, he can't help it, everything here fascinates him -- and makes note of a few places he's probably going to come back to. Wolfgang is neither an inventor nor an engineer -- not by the civilian definition, anyway -- but boy does he love tinkering with shit.

He pulls a face and reaches up to steady it to keep it from falling over his face like a little boy playing dress-up in someone else's clothes, then removes it. "I will. I'll let you know if there are any bars that need terrorizing." Will can terrorize them, he means, Wolfgang will just be his cheerleader.

“I'm always good for that,” Will says agreeably. He's sure someone out there agrees with the term terrorize, even if he personally thinks it's a bit aggressive. “Tell you what, I'll even bring along my phone from home. There are a ton of pictures and stuff on it.” And the holographic screen and stuff – Wolfgang saw it that time he showed the network pictures of stuff from out here, he's pretty sure.

"Oh, I'd love that!" Son. Rein it in. He pauses, then adds, "You know, not to sound like a dork or anything." He puts the helmet back where it came from, glad to be rid of it, and runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it which does pretty much nothing except get more static electricity in it. Oh well. "I'll call you, then. Thank you, it was nice to look around."

“Any time.” Will says, like he's not already hatching a plan to drag Wolfgan out dancing or something horribly inappropriate for temperament. “I'll see you later.”

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let's go down to normal town

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ps: do you want Will/an NPC to notice the brand, btw?

oh man, either would be awesome.

okay! maybe the shopkeeper can be all dramatic about it.

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wraaaap