They said you never got used to it, the way people appeared out of nowhere. After a year on the island, Max certainly found that to be true, although he scarcely had time to recognize that fact before he was nearly knocked over, slender hands lifting swiftly to catch his cigarette before it slipped from his lips. He swayed once in place, caught himself, and blinked.
"Obviously," he replied, and lifted a corner of his mouth in a lopsided smile. "No harm done, man."
"Thanks," Sam said, and the guy seemed so cool about the whole deal, about where they were, that he actually turned, took a step back the way he was heading. He stopped himself, after a second, tried to clear his head. What was he looking for if not somebody to figure this out with? And hell, didn't hurt that the cigarette smoke was the best thing he'd smelled in a while. Sam had left his pack with Bake, on the train, a fact that he greatly regretted in hindsight.
"Say," he said, putting his hands in his pockets and trying to be casual about the whole thing, like he found himself on a deserted island every other week. "You wouldn't be able to fill me on what's going on here, would you?"
The laugh that worked its way from Max's throat was involuntary but not derisive. If anything, it was sympathetic, to match the arch of his brows. "If you come from anyplace normal, man, you're probably not going to believe me. But I swear on my last cigarette that I'm not bullshitting you."
A deep breath, as he considered how to present this and seem less insane than it had to sound. "You're on an island. They call it Tabula Rasa, and it's... well, magic, I guess." He's nearly said, fucked up, but that was a bit obtuse for his purposes. He motioned to the guy with his smoldering cigarette. "Let me guess, you were someplace else, blinked, and bam! Strange-ass jungle, right?"
Of all the things that Sammy expected to hear out of the man's mouth, it definitely wasn't a confirmation of everything he'd imagined the situation to be. A hallucination, maybe, a fever dream, or even a giant practical joke set up for some funny-paper story. But just this; abandonment on an island with no good explanation other than magic? It knocked him for a loop.
"Yeah..." Sammy said distantly, thoughts running through his head at a mile a minute. "Yeah, I was on a train. Penn Station." He took another look around them; now that he thought about it, it seemed pretty clear that people passed through here on a regular basis. Footprints and all that. Shit, what was he supposed to do now? What would Joe do? The answer was that he had no fuckin' clue. "Um," he said, quite clearly at a loss. "So... what do I do now?"
"Hey," says Priestly, turning the corner out of the kitchen and grabbing some guy's arm before they can full-on collide. "So much for my quick getaway. I'm stealing cheese."
Stealing is probably not something he'd normally confess, but it seems an acceptable risk when the purloined product is cheese, and anyone he runs into on his way back outdoors is more likely an accomplice than someone who'll turn him in to the kitchen police.
The first thing that struck him - besides the guy himself - was what he looked like. Outside of a circus show, Sammy'd never seen anybody who looked quite like that. The hair, the tattoos, the piercings - it took him a minute to figure out exactly how to react.
"Good luck with that," Sammy said when he'd recovered himself, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The way the guy looked, the remark about the cheese - it was like a panel out of one of the funny side features he and Joe sometimes did. He could see the way it'd look in his head, when they wrote it. It was impossible not to laugh. "But, uh, I was under the impression that they gave that kinda stuff out for free?" He wasn't quite clear on the way the whole thing worked, but from what he'd been told, everyone here was provided for without paying.
"Okay, yeah," admits Priestly, looking back over his shoulder in case anyone noticed his thievery. "But it's the last of the cheese until the next batch is ready, and I've been craving - really craving - a grilled cheese sandwich. So I'm not so much stealing it as... relocating it for my own, later use."
"Aha," he said, understanding. He'd done enough of that in his own time - mostly in self-defense, to be fair. You had to, when faced with a lifetime of eating Ethel Klayman's cooking. "Well, your secret's safe with me."
He held out a hand, figuring that his days to come were bound to be full of introductions, and he might as well get a start on it now. Least he'd cleaned up a little bit since he'd arrived. "Sam Clay," he said, "Arrived today from Brooklyn."
"Fuck me!" said Kirk upon spottin' an all-too-familiar face. There'd been an abundance o' those, fucked-up ones includin' his and Not-Cate-Motherfuckin'-Blanchett, but he'd know this guy anywhere, in or out o' his goddamn spidey suit.
"Tobey! How ya been, man?" He grabbed him in a bone-crushin' hug 'fore he could get away.
Sammy barely had time to blink before he was caught up by somebody, with an exuberance that too powerfully reminded him of Bake to ignore. He pushed the thought away and managed to wrest himself out of the man's grip.
"Uh, sorry," he said, taking a couple quick steps back. "I think you've got the wrong guy. Name's Sam."
"Sorry about that," Sammy said awkwardly, feeling a touch of absurd guilt. The guy was clearly upset, which he got; he'd give his left foot to have Joe there. Or Rosa. No one would be able to appreciate the surreal aspect of the place quite like Rosa could.
"Hey, you never know," he said, "the way this place is, he could show up any day." Might as well try to help him look on the bright side.
Bridge was, when he wanted to be, very, very quiet. He wouldn't call himself a ninja. He'd seen ninjas in action and knew that plenty of Rangers before him had been ninjas. But he worked very hard at getting his skills almost ninja worthy. When he remembered to.
He was standing on his head, leaning against the wall, being ninja silent when the guy walked in. All the ideas were trickling straight into his head, so he had no choice but to say the first thing that came to mind.
"Jesus!" Sam jumped at the noise, not just because he hadn't known there was anyone in the room when he walked in, but also cause the voice seemed to be coming from somewhere near his feet. He turned and was confronted by a guy with feet where his head ought to have been; he was dismayed to realize that he wasn't as disturbed by this as he should've been.
It only took a second before the situation resolved itself into something a little more sensible, and Sammy answered. "Thanks," he said, though really his shoes were nothing special, a little old even. "You shopping for a new pair as efficiently as you can, or just like the improved blood flow?"
"Close!" Bridge answered, and the upside-down grin on his face signaled that he really meant it. Most of the time people didn't guess what he was up to. They just stared blankly at him and asked what was going on. But it was so much closer to obvious if you actually tried. "I like the improved idea flow," he said.
"...Although I probably should start shopping for a new pair," he remarked after a moment's thought, brow furrowing. "Mine are going to wear out sometime."
Sam raised his eyebrows at the guy's clarification. Really, though, considering all the artists and actors he'd hung around with, who was he to judge? Not like he hadn't heard crazier.
"Was actually wondering about that myself," Sammy said, fingering the tear in his shirtsleeve at the shoulder. "If I'd known I was going on a trip, I probably would've packed a little better." He didn't miss the irony in the fact that he did, actually, have a very serviceable suitcase packed and waiting for him at home. It wouldn't be getting used now, albeit for a very different reason than he'd first assumed when he'd left it.
Joan looks up, eyeing the man hovering in the doorway of the rec room; she hasn't met too many people here newer than herself, but something about his expression makes her wonder if she's just found one.
Discreetly, she tucks the battered paperback Women in Love down the side of her chair before drifting purposefully over to him.
"You look a bit turned around," she says, all wide eyes and cool quick business-voice. "Should I try and help you find something, or do you just need to sit down for a minute?"
Sammy's been wandering around the compound for a good hour, trying to find something that'll help all of this make sense to him. In the end he hadn't had much luck, although the sandwiches he'd found in the kitchen had been a comfort, if nothing else. There seemed to be a lot to be done - he'd gotten his name added to the list of inhabitants, and listened as they'd told him about the housing request process, and where he could find something to replace his torn shirt, and even gotten the cut on his forehead bandaged up - but right now he couldn't muster the ambition to get to any of it. Instead, he was standing in the doorway to the rec room, trying to figure out if a book would help, or make him more thoughtful than he wants to be right now
( ... )
"Well, take your pick. This place is dead today." She brushes her hand lightly against his arm before leading him over to one of the chairs near hers by the bookshelf, not looking back to check if he's following.
She takes her seat again, resting her hand discreetly over the spine of her book, and smiles up at him.
"As of this afternoon," Sammy said, settling into one of the chairs she'd indicated. "Still tryin' to find my feet, I guess." Typical for most people, he'd think, although surely there were a few who slipped into this kind of lifestyle as comfortably as anything. Tracy, for instance; Sam didn't think that this place would've put him out for more than a couple minutes at most. Just show the man where he can exchange his tux for some board shorts and a visor, and he'd be all set. "You been here long yourself?" So far he'd run into people that had been here for weeks, and others who'd been living and thriving here for years.
Comments 42
"Obviously," he replied, and lifted a corner of his mouth in a lopsided smile. "No harm done, man."
Reply
"Say," he said, putting his hands in his pockets and trying to be casual about the whole thing, like he found himself on a deserted island every other week. "You wouldn't be able to fill me on what's going on here, would you?"
Reply
A deep breath, as he considered how to present this and seem less insane than it had to sound. "You're on an island. They call it Tabula Rasa, and it's... well, magic, I guess." He's nearly said, fucked up, but that was a bit obtuse for his purposes. He motioned to the guy with his smoldering cigarette. "Let me guess, you were someplace else, blinked, and bam! Strange-ass jungle, right?"
Reply
"Yeah..." Sammy said distantly, thoughts running through his head at a mile a minute. "Yeah, I was on a train. Penn Station." He took another look around them; now that he thought about it, it seemed pretty clear that people passed through here on a regular basis. Footprints and all that. Shit, what was he supposed to do now? What would Joe do? The answer was that he had no fuckin' clue. "Um," he said, quite clearly at a loss. "So... what do I do now?"
Reply
Stealing is probably not something he'd normally confess, but it seems an acceptable risk when the purloined product is cheese, and anyone he runs into on his way back outdoors is more likely an accomplice than someone who'll turn him in to the kitchen police.
Reply
"Good luck with that," Sammy said when he'd recovered himself, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The way the guy looked, the remark about the cheese - it was like a panel out of one of the funny side features he and Joe sometimes did. He could see the way it'd look in his head, when they wrote it. It was impossible not to laugh. "But, uh, I was under the impression that they gave that kinda stuff out for free?" He wasn't quite clear on the way the whole thing worked, but from what he'd been told, everyone here was provided for without paying.
Reply
Reply
He held out a hand, figuring that his days to come were bound to be full of introductions, and he might as well get a start on it now. Least he'd cleaned up a little bit since he'd arrived. "Sam Clay," he said, "Arrived today from Brooklyn."
Reply
"Tobey! How ya been, man?" He grabbed him in a bone-crushin' hug 'fore he could get away.
Reply
"Uh, sorry," he said, taking a couple quick steps back. "I think you've got the wrong guy. Name's Sam."
Reply
"But..." Kirk's lower lip trembled some. "You look just like my mate- my bro Tobey." This wasn't fair. Cate he could unnerstand, but not Tobey.
Whyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!
Reply
"Hey, you never know," he said, "the way this place is, he could show up any day." Might as well try to help him look on the bright side.
Reply
He was standing on his head, leaning against the wall, being ninja silent when the guy walked in. All the ideas were trickling straight into his head, so he had no choice but to say the first thing that came to mind.
"I like your shoes," he commented.
Reply
It only took a second before the situation resolved itself into something a little more sensible, and Sammy answered. "Thanks," he said, though really his shoes were nothing special, a little old even. "You shopping for a new pair as efficiently as you can, or just like the improved blood flow?"
Reply
"...Although I probably should start shopping for a new pair," he remarked after a moment's thought, brow furrowing. "Mine are going to wear out sometime."
Reply
"Was actually wondering about that myself," Sammy said, fingering the tear in his shirtsleeve at the shoulder. "If I'd known I was going on a trip, I probably would've packed a little better." He didn't miss the irony in the fact that he did, actually, have a very serviceable suitcase packed and waiting for him at home. It wouldn't be getting used now, albeit for a very different reason than he'd first assumed when he'd left it.
Reply
Discreetly, she tucks the battered paperback Women in Love down the side of her chair before drifting purposefully over to him.
"You look a bit turned around," she says, all wide eyes and cool quick business-voice. "Should I try and help you find something, or do you just need to sit down for a minute?"
Reply
Reply
She takes her seat again, resting her hand discreetly over the spine of her book, and smiles up at him.
"So, am I right in assuming you're new here?"
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment