It's almost a reflex by now. Eduardo has lost track of the number of people he's had to explain this place to (the really important ones stick out in his mind anyway), but it's more than a couple, enough that he hears a question called out like that from just a little ways down the beach and has a pretty good idea right away of what's going on. New people show up all the time, after all. He just tends to be in their vicinity frequently, and while he won't jump to conclusions, fortunately having not actually seen the guy appear out of thin air (he doesn't know what the hell he'd do with that), it isn't difficult to guess at what's going on here.
"It's okay," he starts with as he nears, hands held up in front of himself almost defensively, though it takes only a moment - and a glance at the cane - for him to realize that it probably won't make a difference. "My name's Eduardo Saverin, and you're - you're safe."
There's a twinge of accent that makes Auggie wonder, briefly, if maybe he'd somehow been wrong and they had landed where the plane had meant to go. Who had taken Khani, then, he doesn't know. But the fact the airport turned into a beach still doesn't make sense.
"That's comforting," he replies, letting out a mostly strained laugh. Despite assurances, he still doesn't quite let his guard down. Suddenly going from one place to another can make a person suspicious, as it turns out. "I seem to have been put on an impromptu vacation to the beach. Any idea how that might have happened?"
Information is what he needs, and quickly. It's the only thing he has right now. The distinct lack of being as startled as he is makes him think this stranger might be able to give him something.
"Ah, yes and no," Eduardo says carefully, pulling a face. It isn't an answer he likes, but it's the best, most specific one he's got, the easiest way of beginning to explain what's all but inexplicable. It's not like it's so sudden, after all, or like people don't show up here the same way all the time, but when it comes to how it actually happened, there's no scientific way to make sense of it. "This is, this is probably going to sound really crazy, but believe me when I say that it's all completely true."
"Not at all ominous sounding," he comments, eyebrows furrowing. When something is prefaced by anything like that, he's pretty sure it means he actually is going to have a huge problem believing it, just like he's having a huge problem believing he hasn't gone absolutely crazy right now just by the sudden change of scenery.
It's been three days since Sawyer's been wholly topside. Three days, most of which have been spent wandering in and out of the showers, trying to wash away the scent of blood from his hair, trying to ease dirt and grime out from under his fingernails, but sometimes it feels like a losing battle. He swears that he can still smell decay in the air no matter where he walks, can hear the rending of metal as walls give way to floods, can hear the whispers of little girls and giggles that echo through the halls. He's woken up each morning in a cold sweat, although he never remembers his dreams, and the resulting fatigue is starting to put him on an edge
( ... )
"Well, I won't have to call you Guy With Southern Accent if you did, for one," he replies with a light shrug. If he were at all part of the FBI, he'd have introduced himself as such. If he's going to be difficult, Auggie can at least figure out who he's not. "I'm going to say no, since I have no idea what you're talking about right now. Island?"
"James Ford," Sawyer replies, nose wrinkling a touch at being referred to by his accent- not that his accent isn't pretty distinctive on an island where so few folks are from the South, but somehow it doesn't even have as much of a ring as Redneck Man. "Though folks call me Sawyer. Nice t'meet ya."
Stuffing his free hand into his pocket, Sawyer saunters a little closer, although he maintains some distance, just in case this guy's history gives him ample reason to be the nervous and jumpy type. "And yeah, island. You're on an island that all of us call Tabula Rasa, and ain't none of us got a clue how we're brought here, or how to get back. Some people have been trapped for six years, most 'round one to two."
"Auggie Anderson," he replies, feeling, for a moment, that the guy's name was strangely familiar. He shrugs it off just as fast as it comes on. And despite the early gruffness, he seems like a person looking to try to be helpful.
One who was apparently trying to make himself sound insane, too.
He tries not to look skeptical or any of the other responses that come to mind when someone is seriously trying to tell him he was whisked off to some magical island. Instead, he jokes, weakly, "What, are there no ship builders around here to make escape boats?"
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"It's okay," he starts with as he nears, hands held up in front of himself almost defensively, though it takes only a moment - and a glance at the cane - for him to realize that it probably won't make a difference. "My name's Eduardo Saverin, and you're - you're safe."
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"That's comforting," he replies, letting out a mostly strained laugh. Despite assurances, he still doesn't quite let his guard down. Suddenly going from one place to another can make a person suspicious, as it turns out. "I seem to have been put on an impromptu vacation to the beach. Any idea how that might have happened?"
Information is what he needs, and quickly. It's the only thing he has right now. The distinct lack of being as startled as he is makes him think this stranger might be able to give him something.
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Stuffing his free hand into his pocket, Sawyer saunters a little closer, although he maintains some distance, just in case this guy's history gives him ample reason to be the nervous and jumpy type. "And yeah, island. You're on an island that all of us call Tabula Rasa, and ain't none of us got a clue how we're brought here, or how to get back. Some people have been trapped for six years, most 'round one to two."
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One who was apparently trying to make himself sound insane, too.
He tries not to look skeptical or any of the other responses that come to mind when someone is seriously trying to tell him he was whisked off to some magical island. Instead, he jokes, weakly, "What, are there no ship builders around here to make escape boats?"
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