July Arrivals

[sixthiteration]

WHO: Arrivals
WHERE: The fountain park
WHEN: July 1, 12:00 PM
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: N/A
STATUS: CLOSED

---

In the snug circle of an old park, a fountain sits burbling beneath a broad, midday sky.

Once-neat paving stones have buckled and cracked from the slow nudge of wayward roots. Benches stand covered in lichen and rust. Three paths push into the underbrush like the spokes on a wheel, the encroaching forest creating lush tunnels through the dark.

But the fountain stands singular and pristine, brightly splashing in open rebellion of the deep, muffled sounds of a place long ago gone to seed. A vibration hums through the ground, there and quickly gone, and the water in the fountain trembles, lapping against the high walls of its cool, pale reservoir.

It is the first of July.

It is precisely twelve o'clock in the afternoon.

Comments

[thenewways]

The inside of the building seemed almost eerily quiet after the shrieking siren and the screaming of the wind, though both were still somewhat audible even through the door and the wall.

Nerys leaned her back against the wood, let her head fall back with a soft clonk from skull-on-material. She closed her eyes for a second to compose herself, half-hoping that opening them would change the situation. It didn't, of course, but there was always that inescapable thread of hope, even after all the shit she had seen.

Eyes opening, she squinted, looking around through the faint mist of dust motes, focusing finally on the man she'd entered the room alongside. "No fucking kidding," she replied, then checked the sound of his breathing. "Are you going to be okay?"

Not that she had any hypos or inhalers to help, but she had to ask.

[markwatney]

"Yeah, I'm good," I promise with a nod. "I'm just not as physically fit as I'm used to being. I won't bore you with the details." At least not now, and 'bore' probably isn't altogether accurate. Most of the world seemed pretty interested in the story at the time.

"I'm Mark," I say as I right myself and offer a faint smile. "And this was my first time waking up in a fountain in somebody else's clothes. You?"

[thenewways]

Recovery, that Nerys could understand--from being sick as hell, from getting hurt, and from being wounded. Sometimes all three at once, which was anything but pleasant. Now it seemed like 'being shot, then waking up drowning' was going to get added to the list of life experiences she would have rather not had.

She nodded a little in empathy, bringing one knee up and pressing her foot against the door, stretching aching thigh muscles. "Just wanted to make sure you were hanging in there--my doctoring skills end at a fireman's carry, triage, and keeping people from bleeding out," she admitted with a wry snort, then wondered if that wasn't exactly the best way to introduce herself to someone.

"My name's Nerys," she said, biting her lip a little. "And yeah, likewise. This seems to be making less and less sense by the minute--like a fever dream meeting a hangover."

[markwatney]

"Yeah," I reply with a slow nod, my face going pinched as I take in our surroundings. It's clear that we're the first people to set foot in this room in a long while, and I'm betting the rest of the building is probably the same.

"I feel like it would be stupid to pinch myself, and yet I keep thinking I need to pinch myself," I say with a faint, bewildered laugh. "I mean, seriously. What the fuck is this?"

[thenewways]

Nerys rubbed her nose--the dust they'd kicked up was starting to irritate her, though it was far better than being outside--to try to keep from sneezing. She laughed softly at Mark's statement, though, because she was just as bewildered as him.

"I've seen and heard about enough weird stuff in my time to make a few guesses, but without a hell of a lot more equipment and far more scientific skill than I've got? Just a load of hot air that doesn't get us anything." She looked around the room, squinting through the dim light. "I mean, damn. This stuff looks absolutely ancient. I'm thinking I'm not gonna find a tricorder hanging around."

[markwatney]

Here's the thing: I should know what a tricorder is. I know I should know what a tricorder is. There's a flicker of recognition there, but the knowledge has slipped just off into my periphery, like a name on the tip of my tongue.

To say the sensation is unnerving would be a severe understatement.

I briefly frown, eyebrows pinching together, but quickly enough give up on remembering. Did I hit my head on the way out of the fountain? It's definitely a possibility.

"Sorry, tricorder?"

[thenewways]

Nerys opened her mouth to exclaim in surprise, but paused and frowned, wondering if Mark, like Peggy, was from somewhere isolated, or some other when--tricorders were pretty damn basic, after all, and had been for centuries.

"It's a handheld computer," she said, and hoped she wouldn't have to explain exactly what a computer was, to the point that it was probably visible on her face. "Scans and processes and records, though it's not extensive by any stretch of the imagination. Even so, we'd be able to make educated guesses instead of stabbing around in the dark."