Teta (Revan), KotOR, Barplace and Gordon Freeman, Half-Life, Anywhere at all

[mm_anomalous]

[[OOC: Double EP! Tell me who you're tagging, and for Gordon, I have NO idea where to put him. I'm thinking about putting him in Paradisa or possibly even di_namaste, but other than that, just go off where you want your pup to be!]]

Comments

[mm_cam]

"Hm. Interesting choice of armor, sir," comes a voice from up in the rafters. The Prince has found that there are days when things familiar grate upon his nerves, and Persia and India alike simply won't do at all. And why not the rafters? They're as simple to reach for him as anywhere else in the place. "Although I should say, you do look lost."

[mm_anomalous]

Gordon blinks once, twice, and then takes off his glasses, reaching down to--

--right. HEV suit. No shirttails.

The glasses go back on, and he just settles for giving the other man a look that clearly says that his supposition is more or less self-evident. In other words: duh.

[mm_cam]

The Prince chuckles. "A moment, if you please," he says. Without waiting for an answer, he pivots lightly to a handstand, pushes off with his fingertips, and somersaults to the ground. Brushing off a little theatrically he notes, "Your pardon for the dust. As fond as I am of alternate perspectives, I don't think the servants take much time to clean up there on their own initiative."

[mm_anomalous]

Gordon watches with the sort of scientific interest that makes it clear he's sizing the man up based on the arc and speed of his descent (he really can't help it), and he nods at the apology. But servants... he looks around. He doesn't see any servants. Maybe this man is crazy?

[mm_cam]

The Prince is just a bit unclear on the distinction between 'servants' and 'janitorial staff', as there isn't one in his father's palace. Nonetheless, he offers a brief yet elaborate bow. "Allow me to introduce myself- Darius son of Shahrahman, king of Persia," he says as he comes up from the bow. "Be welcome in this place, removed as it is from the streams of Time."

[mm_anomalous]

Gordon inclines his head briefly, and tries to hide the nervous habits that he's learned over the course of his runs through Black Mesa and City 17. Nevertheless, he can't help as his eyes flick back and forth, watching every corner as he slowly backs away from the rafters. He's unarmed at the moment, which isn't exactly a prospect he enjoys.

[mm_cam]

"Hm," says the Prince, one eyebrow rising in thought. "Well, I've met enough silent warriors in my day- though you seem no creature of the Sands, so I'll suppose you've got a will of your own and only choose not to speak. Fair enough, then. A soldier in the armies of Greece, are you?" He nods at the peculiar armor's chest plate. "Or some other, outlying land?"

[mm_anomalous]

He shakes his head at the first, and nods again at the second. It's as close as he can get without drawing a diagram. And that would be too much like Magnusson. It's a little much for him, after so long in the dark, and he'd be sure that this was a dream or some sort of intricate hallucination, except for the fact that all he's seen is black for--well. He supposes it could have been mere seconds. It's not as if his biological clock was functioning properly after Xen, anyway.

[mm_cam]

"Good. There's been no love lost between my father's kingdom and Greece after what happened in the days of great-grandfather Xerxes." He signals to one of the passing waitstaff. "Bring this man something restorative, would you? And treat him as my guest; he may not speak much but I'll wager the look of him speaks volumes."

[mm_anomalous]

He's clean, and any wounds have healed quite nicely into scars (nicely being a relative term, of course--relative to death). But he's tired. His eyes have seen too much for a man of his age, and while heavy wrinkles certainly don't form after four days and nights of misfortune, the bags under his eyes are the precursors. He inclines his head again in a silent Thank you before looking around once and sitting down.

He hasn't sat down leisurely since that tram ride into City 17. It's admittedly nice, though he's still wondering what exactly is going on here.

[mm_cam]

"By all means, do take your leisure here," says the Prince, deftly slipping into a chair of his own. "It makes small enough difference outside, I've found. This place- by whatever name they choose to call it- stands outside the normal ebb and flow of the Timeline, and neither circumstance nor fate mean very much here. No foe can pursue you here, whatever the reason- although I can't say they'll wander off without your presence, either, so I hope for your sake no battle awaits you outside these walls."

[mm_anomalous]

He shakes his head--nothing's outside these walls for him at all. He's not even sure what happened to his world at all. For all he knows, the same man that imprisoned him let the world explode. He's hoping desperately that isn't the case; there weren't any nuclear weapons in evidence in the Citadel.

[mm_cam]

"Good. Only so much ought to be asked of a man, after all."

About then the order arrives, but it must be said that this is the sort of thing that the Prince would find useful for keeping him on his feet after days and nights of struggle, whether on the battlefield against men or abominations of sand and magic. As such, there's rather a lot of it- food and drink alike.

[mm_anomalous]

And it's certainly a lot when Gordon realizes that he really hasn't seen anything more than that Chinese food container, some water and nutrition bars from Kleiner, and then whatever the slop it was that he got after fighting that giant antlion.

Which is to say: his stomach speaks for him, even through the HEV suit.

[mm_cam]

"By all means, be my guest," says the Prince, gesturing to the plates. "After the battle comes the feast, doesn't it?"

[mm_anomalous]

Gordon smiles gratefully, and begins to make up a plate for himself. Apparently, it does. And if this is an illusion, it's a damn good one.