In a day of many surprises, Goliath has found another. The ship that has stolen him from his home - or rescued him from its destruction - did not take him alone
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The sight of wings against the sky had drawn Tess, the high heels of her suit momentarily retracting to let her dart smoothly across city streets. Running is one of those things grasshoppers like her have to get used to... without reliable vehicular transportation on-planet, the only other good option is to go around on foot.
As she gets closer she sees-no, this isn't a-what the heck? She slows to a walk, with a slight hiccup in her walking rhythm as the heels reform, click-clicking against the city street.
He hears her before he sees her, but he does see her quickly enough, even in the bright light of the sun. His wings help to shade him from the sun's glare, but his eyes are made for the gloom of night, not the brilliance of day.
He watches from the street, relaxed but wary - so far, the humans here have displayed remarkably little fear towards him, and he does not want to give them reason to start feeling it. He nods at the woman, grim but polite and nonthreatening.
"Uh... howdy," Tess says, offering up a gloved hand in a little wave gesture. "I thought you were somebody else fer a minute there. Haven't seen many folks 'round here with wings."
Tess shakes her head, and her fingers lace together across her belly. "I thought you mighta been a grasshopper fer a minute there. It was silly o'me... this place doesn't have the thermals for unpowered flight anyway."
"Folks like me." Tess points a thumb at her back, clicks her teeth, and mumbles something.
And one of the hard-shell segments smoothly opens, smart meta-materials unfolding into a dramatically multilayered set of wings, fractally folded on themselves to reduce the full wingspan, spread out to both sides of her. The material is the same color as the rest of her suit, and the way it smoothly folds and shapes, with no seams or support structures, is almost reminiscent of marine animals...
"Glide," she says, squinting a little. Well, he clearly has some idea of it... "The metamaterials can change shape t'best use wind conditions, but there ain't the mechanical support for powered flight. It can get pretty good cross-country if the weather's right, though."
"I lived most of my life in Scotland in the 10th century, but slept for a thousand years as a statue before I resumed my life in 1994. Is this your past?"
"Some... UV reaction?" Tess guesses, still looking confused. She's read the sci-fi and the sci-not-so-fi, seen the stories about almost-intelligent beings that would shift between living and almost-inanimate states of being dependent on environmental conditions... but that all involved worlds so drastically different that it would be a question if a plausible example of such would even be able to survive in an oxygenated atmosphere.
Yeah, good luck trying to tell Goliath his species is scientifically unsound - his universe has weird science. "I . . . don't think so. It has more to do with the cycle of night and day than the sun itself."
As she gets closer she sees-no, this isn't a-what the heck? She slows to a walk, with a slight hiccup in her walking rhythm as the heels reform, click-clicking against the city street.
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He watches from the street, relaxed but wary - so far, the humans here have displayed remarkably little fear towards him, and he does not want to give them reason to start feeling it. He nods at the woman, grim but polite and nonthreatening.
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Her manner is cautious, but not exceedingly so.
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If there's anyone here sympathetic to missing familiar faces -
Still. He looks at her curiously.
"Do you know other gargoyles?"
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"I do not think I am thinking of the same grasshoppers you are."
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And one of the hard-shell segments smoothly opens, smart meta-materials unfolding into a dramatically multilayered set of wings, fractally folded on themselves to reduce the full wingspan, spread out to both sides of her. The material is the same color as the rest of her suit, and the way it smoothly folds and shapes, with no seams or support structures, is almost reminiscent of marine animals...
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"Strange magic," he says, inspecting the wings and their structure, or lack thereof. "Or technology. Do you fly, or glide?"
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"Yes, that I understand."
He gives her wings one more look-over, the distraction doing him good, before returning to their conversation.
"In my time, humans do not have such constructs."
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"What time are you from?"
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A... statue? Huh? 'Scuse her, she's still trying to get used to this 'magic' thing.
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"My kind turn to stone at dawn and sleep through the day," he says, eying the sky again. "Usually."
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