Jack has been asking himself why it's called morning sickness, when it's apt to hit a person any time of the day: he's been keeping as active as he can, keeping watch and roving the edges of the woods, but the nausea and the hormones are cutting into his energy level and making him cranky.
But not cranky enough to avoid turning to get a second look at the newcomer as he passes by, perhaps in a hallway. "Hey there, you findin' your way around the joint okay?" he asks.
He's rather young, and more than a little androgynous looking if one looks hard enough at him. Also his sway tells of something, as if he's 'practicing' to walk manly. Cal remains silent for a while. This is still a new place, with all sorts of people he still doesn't know.
"Well, if you need a guide, I'd be more than happy to offer my deep knowledge of the Mansion," he says, playfully but in earnest. And no double entendres for a change, though if Cal was about four-five years older, they'd be there in earnest. "Captain Jack Harkness, at your service."
Which gets a grin out of Jack. "You got a good eye, fella," he says. "RAF, to be exact: I was an American volunteer, before the U.S. got involved in Europe.
"So, history buff or fashion expert?" he asks, curious.
"Ahh, a smart fella," he notes. "So does our smart newcomer have a name, or are you goin' undercover and telling me 'ud blow it?" he asks, with that odd mixture of seriousness and whimsy
"Stephanides, eh? Sounds Greek," he notes. "Been there a few times: lovely country. Knocked heads with a few Spartans: those boys sure know how to give a man a work out," he says, with an appreciative "whoo..."
"No shame in that: you're making your own history in a country that's been all about forging out and making your own life and telling your own story by your terms," he says. "One reason why I've always loved the place: that and the people there. Most varied bunch I've ever seen, on earth, anyway."
He notices that terseness, and it gives him cause for concern: might be the hormones kicking in some kind of parental instinct. "Take it your road wasn't as easy as you'd hoped," he says. "You can lay it out on me, if you're up for it: I've had my share of bad luck. Good luck, too. All balances out." He'd say "in the end", but his path hasn't ended yet...
"No shame in that, if you've got something to run from or run to," Jack replies, completely free of judgement. "Ran away from home myself, when I was just a bit older than you. I wanted to join the army, and I was in a hurry: so I packed kit and hoofed it.
"You can talk about it if you're up for it: I'm all ears."
"Why would anyone be in a hurry to join the army?" After all his father joined to navy to forget about a girl and his brother was very nearly drafted into Vietnam.
But not cranky enough to avoid turning to get a second look at the newcomer as he passes by, perhaps in a hallway. "Hey there, you findin' your way around the joint okay?" he asks.
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"Yeah... I guess so."
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"Thank you..." Some silence passes...
"You're wearing a forties era army greatcoat..." Yes, Cal is a bit of a history nerd.
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"So, history buff or fashion expert?" he asks, curious.
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Cal thinks that he's merely joking around and shrugs. "I'm a third generation immigrant, I'm actually very American."
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"You're right about that..."
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"I'm what they call 'a teenage runaway'."
He's only going to tell more if Jack asks for it, and even then he'll still hold some stuff back. Jack does look old-fashioned.
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"You can talk about it if you're up for it: I'm all ears."
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