sixthiterationlogs | July Arrivals

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July Arrivals

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.

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Nerys wasn't a large person, for a hominoid, but she was in good shape and had quick reflexes; even so, she was completely caught off guard by the wind, thrown back onto her ass thanks to the lack of balance from her arms. She swore in Bajoran, not that the guy or anyone else could hear her over the shrieking din of the siren.

It took a second for her to get back on her feet, and in the process she found enough presence of mind to grab a large dead branch that had also fallen, using that to pull herself up. She could feel herself blushing, standing unsteady in the continuing winds, but she couldn't find herself more than cursorily embarrassed, all things considered.

Bracing her stance a little more in case there was another hard gust, she followed the man's gesture with her gaze, then made an exaggerated nod and struck out, as best she could, for the path into the treeline. The idea of getting whacked on the head by a branch wasn't appealing, but Prophets only knew how long the winds would keep up. They were, even to Nerys' untrained observation, pretty unnatural.

I feel pretty shitty for not helping her up, but I think I should get an E for effort, seeing as how my instinct to immediately reach out and offer a hand had me nearly faceplanting on the cobblestones. My mom raised me right, she just didn't account for random, physics-defying gusts of wind.

The branch is actually a good idea, but she's grabbed the only one of a decent size nearby, so it's just my own two unsteady feet as I plunge into the breach. I can't hear the shaking of the trees over the siren, and as we duck onto the path through them, I'm not sorry -- I keep my focus straight ahead so that I don't have to see the ferocious whipping of foliage above our heads. If this keeps up much longer, something more than a few branches is going to come down.

The good news is that the wind is at our backs now. The bad news is that we're not on wheels, and several times I nearly trip and fall from the force pushing us forward.

Like now, for instance, when my feet can't keep up and I nearly bring the both of us down in an effort to keep my balance.

"It's okay," Nerys said automatically, after the man nearly fell trying to help her back on her feet--not that it mattered, as the wind tore her words out of her mouth. She wedged the branch between the stones and dirt as they moved down the path, slowly at first, then far more quickly as the wind hit their backs.

Too quickly, actually, causing her as well as him to stumble again, but the branch provided enough leverage to keep her up. She reached backwards for his arm as he started to lose his balance, fingers catching on the thin fabric of his scrubs. "Shit," she hissed, planting her feet as best she could, and prayed a second gust wouldn't come along before they could get fully upright again.

Fortunately, though, they managed to stay up, and Nerys kept one hand on his arm as they walked, figuring they had better balance together. More weight, anyway. In a moment or two, they emerged onto a road, lined with several ancient-looking buildings, though Nerys was in no mood by this point to try to do any anthropology, with her earlier discontent now turned into a raging headache from the screaming of the siren. She looked over her shoulder at her companion and made the hominoid-universal any ideas? shrug before jerking her head towards the nearest door.

"Your guess is as good as mine," I shout in agreement with a nod. She's motioned to the biggest building around, and while it's shut up and half-overtaken by vines like it's been unoccupied for awhile, it seems a good bet. There were others back there at the fountain, and having a place where we all can take shelter seems like an A+ idea right about now.

Supporting my theory, the door proves a challenge to open, the ancient hinges frozen with rust. It takes the both of us to force it open, but it's worth it once we shut away the wind and have a moment to get our bearings in the dusty dimness inside.

Panting, I pause with my hands on my knees. I'm still not back up to top physical form. The doctors told me I needed to take it slow.

"Shit," I huff, which just about sums up this whole experience.

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.

"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?"

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."

"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?"

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."

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?"

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."

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July Arrivals

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