Incomplete.
Who: Hojo (agrise), Native (absolute-npc)
What: Hojo goes to meet with a native. c: Also with a warning for some horrible writing on my part. I'm so out of practice with Hojo, shit.
Where: The location the NPC pinged him to. I KNOW NOT WHAT IT IS.
When: After this, so about a year ago.
The location was a barren, quiet place; very soft and still, and Hojo didn't mind the absence of life, the absence of birds or worms in the soil and the hushed, secret silence that came with this world. There was no hum of machinery, either, no synthetic glow of too-bright lights or the unnatural pulse of mako tanks, the bubbling of liquid that wasn't water. And that, that was a little harder to adjust to.
He slid his hands into labcoat pockets, his mouth a long, thin line; expectant and, thus far, unimpressed.
Well.
No sign of them yet, but no matter. He'd only just arrived, after all. He had little better to do than wait.
... If nothing else, it was likely to be informative in one respect. Hojo had only seen mere glimpses of the armoured beings before; here and there, out of the corner of his eye, and he was never quite fast enough to get more from it, to pursue the vision, never quite prepared to approach and call for their attention. He imagined the same frustration was shared with most of the Nuadorian population, but nevertheless. Unlike them, he had purpose for meeting them. Unlike them, he had a reason for being there, for needing to meet them, and it was irritating.
Even more so when they made themselves known to the vandals who'd damaged the library. They were worth their presence, their attention, and not him?
Hojo tipped his face up to the grey sky, contemplative, and straightened somewhat from a slouch he didn't realise he'd fallen into.
He had so many questions, and it wasn't precisely pleasant to be in a world where no answers were offered, where his freedom was limited by vulnerability, enemies, exposure. No laboratory to return to, no chemicals all labelled with his tiny writing, no folders of data and books of history. Nothing familiar except the specimens, except their colleagues and AVALANCHE, and he was hardly in any condition to pursue them for new data.
... That could change, of course. And he fully intended for it to. He could write those files, collect the necessary samples.
If only he had his laboratory. If only he had his equipment with which to study it all.
At least some of the answers, the natives could offer. It'd open a way to gain allies, to gain power and some sense of safety before he resumed his work, and perhaps he could win them over, perhaps - if they truly held any sway over what powered this world - he could request that laboratory, and the necessary equipment, and then he wouldn't be dependent any longer. It had to be his target.
Their response to his challenge had been more than promising. He had remembered sitting in the half-light, hunched over the device, reading, trying to interpret, trying to understand. Typical, he supposed. How very typical that their capability to communicate was so very lacking.
No matter. The answer was worth the trouble, wasn't it?
Perhaps they wouldn't be averse to assistance. Perhaps he could convince them to permit him closer, and pipe dream or not, the idea certainly held some merit. It would be an advantageous position for him, and it didn't matter to him who they were, particularly, it didn't matter who he worked for, just like it had never mattered in Gaia. As long as he could pursue his goals in that position, he was content.
His thoughts were cut short by a rustle behind him; he peered over his shoulder, glancing back expectantly.
What: Hojo goes to meet with a native. c: Also with a warning for some horrible writing on my part. I'm so out of practice with Hojo, shit.
Where: The location the NPC pinged him to. I KNOW NOT WHAT IT IS.
When: After this, so about a year ago.
The location was a barren, quiet place; very soft and still, and Hojo didn't mind the absence of life, the absence of birds or worms in the soil and the hushed, secret silence that came with this world. There was no hum of machinery, either, no synthetic glow of too-bright lights or the unnatural pulse of mako tanks, the bubbling of liquid that wasn't water. And that, that was a little harder to adjust to.
He slid his hands into labcoat pockets, his mouth a long, thin line; expectant and, thus far, unimpressed.
Well.
No sign of them yet, but no matter. He'd only just arrived, after all. He had little better to do than wait.
... If nothing else, it was likely to be informative in one respect. Hojo had only seen mere glimpses of the armoured beings before; here and there, out of the corner of his eye, and he was never quite fast enough to get more from it, to pursue the vision, never quite prepared to approach and call for their attention. He imagined the same frustration was shared with most of the Nuadorian population, but nevertheless. Unlike them, he had purpose for meeting them. Unlike them, he had a reason for being there, for needing to meet them, and it was irritating.
Even more so when they made themselves known to the vandals who'd damaged the library. They were worth their presence, their attention, and not him?
Hojo tipped his face up to the grey sky, contemplative, and straightened somewhat from a slouch he didn't realise he'd fallen into.
He had so many questions, and it wasn't precisely pleasant to be in a world where no answers were offered, where his freedom was limited by vulnerability, enemies, exposure. No laboratory to return to, no chemicals all labelled with his tiny writing, no folders of data and books of history. Nothing familiar except the specimens, except their colleagues and AVALANCHE, and he was hardly in any condition to pursue them for new data.
... That could change, of course. And he fully intended for it to. He could write those files, collect the necessary samples.
If only he had his laboratory. If only he had his equipment with which to study it all.
At least some of the answers, the natives could offer. It'd open a way to gain allies, to gain power and some sense of safety before he resumed his work, and perhaps he could win them over, perhaps - if they truly held any sway over what powered this world - he could request that laboratory, and the necessary equipment, and then he wouldn't be dependent any longer. It had to be his target.
Their response to his challenge had been more than promising. He had remembered sitting in the half-light, hunched over the device, reading, trying to interpret, trying to understand. Typical, he supposed. How very typical that their capability to communicate was so very lacking.
No matter. The answer was worth the trouble, wasn't it?
Perhaps they wouldn't be averse to assistance. Perhaps he could convince them to permit him closer, and pipe dream or not, the idea certainly held some merit. It would be an advantageous position for him, and it didn't matter to him who they were, particularly, it didn't matter who he worked for, just like it had never mattered in Gaia. As long as he could pursue his goals in that position, he was content.
His thoughts were cut short by a rustle behind him; he peered over his shoulder, glancing back expectantly.