Jul 06, 2010 20:48
Sometimes those familiar with Xanadu and the agora can spot a newcomer simply by virtue of the fact that they've obviously just emerged from the wrong door. For example, right now. The weathered older man wearing a dusty set of fatigues looks like an extremely unlikely customer for the antique and curio shop out of which he just stepped. Those looks deceive, but the way he freezes to a standstill, shock flickering in his blue eyes, makes his new arrival status clear enough. Anyone passing near enough to take a closer look will see a total lack of insignia and W. ADAMA stenciled on his jacket pocket.
After a careful-if-stunned scan of his immediate surroundings, he lets military reflex take over and recconoiters, quartering the city as best as he can given the occasional shifts and strangeness. Oddly enough, he stands and stares at the carnival for a good twenty minutes, face impassive but eyes eloquent with memories. Eventually he reaches the ampitheater and takes a seat, watching the comings and goings and listening to the occasional questions asked. He does shift now and again but never actually rises, whether to answer, ask or just leave. The longer he sits, the more still he becomes, elbows on his knees and staring at his hands folded in front of him.
Finally, a single word emerges in his gravelled voice. "Frak."
*kings,
*bsg,
} agora