Confused steampunk knight, incoming!

[surlyknight]

[When Fakir comes to himself, he is lying on a grassy sward. He is stiff and sore and feels rather as if he's been run over by a carriage. And he doesn't remember how it happened. He scowls fiercely and gingerly sits up. Nothing seems to be broken or sprained or bleeding. Sword, check. Tool belt, check. He does a quick inventory; miraculously,

Comments

confused, achey roboderp on the way

[42341_130i]

[Mytho does not like pain. Coming out of an unexpected stasis in a great deal of it had upset him so greatly that he had huddled in a half-dressed ball for a few minutes before leaving the building he'd come around in to investigate.

His bare feet do him little good on the rubble-strewn streets. He's bleeding, now, but he presses on, scanning the streets for familiar faces and any sign as to what happened to the town.]

[surlyknight]

[And there's a Mytho in distress. He's not sure he's met this one before, but it doesn't matter: Mytho is to be protected. Fakir approaches the boy and speaks to him gently.]

Mytho? What happened to you?

[42341_130i]

[Those vacant eyes widen slightly, a spark of life showing behind them as he turns to the familiar voice.] Fakir...

[He processes the question for a brief moment.]

I awoke injured, and the debris scattered over the streets has only made the problem worse. As for how I was initially damaged, I do not know.

[surlyknight]

[He nods. Mytho's account meshes with his own experience. He doesn't know yet what happened, but he will find out. He glances at the boy's injured feet.]

Idiot. Don't walk around barefoot. You'll hurt yourself.

[And unless Mytho stops him, Fakir is going to pick him up bodily, as the best way to prevent further damage.]

[42341_130i]

[Mytho makes no move to stop him; the only resistance Fakir might encounter is that he is slightly heavier than one might expect. He winces a little when his bruises are pressed on, but does not complain.]

I have no shoes. How would I investigate if I did not walk?

[surlyknight]

I'll help you find shoes.

[His house is farther away; it's probably smashed up like the rest of the town. But he thinks there's a fountain nearby. He carries Mytho there.]

Is there a Fakir in this town who takes care of you?

[42341_130i]

Thank you.

[The words are automatic, immediate, but not without actual gratitude. Mytho allows himself to be carried, and looks over at the fountain.]

There is not, and there is no Fakir quite like him.

[surlyknight]

[He sets Mytho down on the edge of the fountain, dips his handkerchief in the water, and kneels beside him. He starts cleaning the cuts in Mytho's feet with a gentleness at odds with his brusque manner and tone.]

What is your Fakir like?

(OOC: Is there anything that reveals Mytho as a robot? It seems he bleeds like a human?)

[42341_130i]

[Mytho winces, his toes curling. He does not like pain, but this is necessary. He calms when prompted to speak.]

My Fakir works with machines. The Fakirs I have met in this place, if they do produce things, work with paper, like Autor does.

(OoC: He is partly biological, and on the surface appears totally human in most circumstances. At the moment, there is nothing that would reveal him as anything but human. Further, I just realized the amusement of these two meeting.)

[surlyknight]

I work with machines. At least I did, back at home. [He hasn't found any exciting machinery here.]

(OOC: Yup, this Fakir <3s machines. *grin*)

[42341_130i]

[Again, that brief flash of interest and recognition behind the stillness. Then, he looks almost relieved. He leans forward, hands on his knees, watching curiously.]

What is your home like? Where do you live? With what sort of machines do you work?

[He speaks with a vague insistence, though he does not know exactly why these questions take such priority in his mind.]

(OoC: News that just made the poor little robot's day.)

[surlyknight]

[He finishes cleaning the cuts and tears strips from his sleeve to bandage them so they won't get infected. He is silent for a moment before he speaks.]

I come from . . . a big city. There are laboratories and museums and libraries and theatres. Parts of the city are beautiful and open. Trees, fountains. Other parts . . . are near the machines that keep everything going. It's grimy and noisy. Narrow streets, and the buildings are high and close together.

I was trained to work on airship engines, but in the shop I worked on anything people brought me.

[He's certain he hasn't spoken so many words in a row since he came here.]

Are you hurt anywhere else?

[42341_130i]

Trees... [The word carries a note of awe and reverence.] The Fakir I know keeps tomato plants. The city I know does not fit any conventional definition of 'beautiful.'

[Again, a brief silence as he processes, this time taking mental note of his injuries.]

My skin has not been broken anywhere else, but my chest aches. Bruised ribs are a possibility.

[surlyknight]

. . . tomato plants? [He almost smiles.]

[Fakir stands.] You need to rest. And food. And warmer clothes. And shoes. I don't know how badly my place is smashed up, but if you come back with me, I'll get you what you need.

[42341_130i]

[Mytho stands with him, supporting himself on the edge of the fountain. He lights up - as best he can - at the offer.] That would be appreciated.