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Ginger
Posted: Mar 6 2012, 12:17 PM



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The thing was, when one really got down to it, that there was something distinctly odd about the small planet that the human race was trapped on until they developed improved methods of space travel. Even by the standards of other, fantastic races, it was an odd place; an advanced form of life that had managed to get the intellect up to build an enormous global dominion, but hadn't quite managed to funnel that into anything productive yet. It remained mostly ignored by other races in the 21st Century, if only because they had better things to be doing, but that didn't mean that its oddness went completely unrecorded, or that it never received any attention - only that the locals, humans, tended to ignore the attention. It brought about a dichotomy as odd as the world itself; though there was plenty of evidence of extraterrestrial life, even the most curious of human beings didn't really want to know.

The universe, after all, if the few visitors to earth could be believed, was a terrifying place.

Perhaps it was this wilful ignorance that had allowed a thin, homeless alien to have gone unnoticed for so very long. Certainly, it was his own wilful ignorance that had stopped him from noticing that he was altogether different from other people. In the year that had passed since he'd found himself naked, amnesiac and alone, washed up on a shore, he had managed to achieve precisely nothing bar getting himself some clothes and making friends with the homeless population. He knew, in a vague sort of half-conscious way, that he was significantly more intelligent than most people he knew, and he was aware but ignoring that he could effortlessly fix or hack any sort of computer system, and sometimes - just sometimes - he thought he could feel a sensation in his chest like there were two hearts pumping out of sync.

But chatter to other homeless people had proven that that idea was insane, and so Ginger had simply accepted it, because Ginger wanted to be a normal person. The itching feeling that he did not quite belong had been crawling at the base of his skull for all of his short life - if a little self-deception was all it took to still it, for even a moment, then wasn't it worth it in the end? So he'd stuck to his moulding purple velvet trousers and his odd, almost romantic-poet-style shirt (both of which had been stolen from the back of a theatre), and wandered around with no coat in the height of winter and no shoes - ever. He had proven resistant to infection and illness, and he was never in one place long enough for anyone but him to question it. The feeling of not belonging was what kept him moving, whether conscious or unconscious. He had been through more towns than he cared to name by the time he turned up in Cardiff.

Taking the time to absently wonder why all the signs in Wales appeared to repeat themselves, he had planted his hands in his pockets and meandered through a rainstorm without really feeling the droplets splashing around him, nor his carrot orange hair slicking itself down. The trousers, as they so often did in the rain, acquired a distinctly mouldy sort of smell to them, and he was just thinking about perhaps (finally) finding a different pair - something to celebrate that he was pretty sure today was his first birthday - before there was a crack of something like thunder, a loud whooshing and he was falling face-first into a floor that seemed distinctly ill-equipped for people falling into it.

Nursing his nose as he sat up and feeling that it had become bloody, he squinted absently at the bright lights and was forced to conclude that something even stranger than his continued existence was going on. First concluding that he had no idea where he was, he picked himself back onto his conspicuously bare feet, fought the sense of vertigo that seemed to have come from going from walking on the pavement to falling straight down, and felt a distinct sense of foreboding. The room he was in was sterile and, in some way that seemed to bother him deep-down and almost instinctively, resembled a mental hospital. All stark lines, foreboding medical equipment and military colours, it gave him pause for more than a moment.

Ginger was changeable by nature - given his amnesiac past and his status as a homeless, it was something of a given that he be ready for most situations. This, however, seemed weirder than even Ginger was used to coping with - he knew hardly any time could have passed, because his hair was still slick and his nose still dripping. Tentatively, not knowing what he was expecting, he peered around the room again, taking note of a shielded hospital bed, and took a step or two towards it, bare feet slapping on the tiled floor.

"'Lo?"


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allimac
Posted: Mar 6 2012, 01:07 PM



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A sect of religious wing nuts no one had expected to gain traction now had mayors stationed in fifty seven American towns and cities. The New Catholic Church was adamantly opposed to abortion, genetic modifcation, body modification, homosexuality, pets, evolution, space travel, it went on. It was a strange conflagaration of Catholicism, Luddism and just plain old insanity, and they were the main reason that Allimac had spent the five years of her odd existence in a military labratory. It wasn't where she'd been grown, or operated on. She'd been seized from that lab like some kind of contraband on tenuous legal grounds. No one was sure whether she counted as property or a human being and the jury wasn't in on that, although the army - run by a surprisingly good and Leftist General - had decided on the latter.

This New Catholic Church believed it was impossible for Allimac to have a soul. They believed her to be some kind of omen and that her soulless body would act as a gateway, letting all sorts of evil into the world. The New Catholic Church wanted her dead.

They probably would not have to wait long. She'd been made to serve as an organ farm for a national starlet, Camilla. Camilla the songstress, temptress, saint who travelled to battlefields across Iraq and Afghanistan, singing to soldiers and bringing them good cheer. Camilla had become synomous with patriotism and the whole country had gone into mourning when it learned of her terminal skin cancer.

A fringe group of scientists stationed in a dingy lab just north of Ravenholm City had offered a solution and in that moment it seemed all ethics were cast aside. It wouldn't be conscious, they promised, it wouldn't even feel pain or register brain activity. It would simply be a collection of fresh organs that would ensure Camilla's survival. They'd taken a lung, a kidney, large portions of her digestive tract, skin, bone marrow, most of her liver before the truth had come out thanks to a group of radicals and a viral video of Allimac reciting the alphabet.

The army had intervened, she'd been swept away to the military lab, installed with mechanical and animal replacements where applicable and watched the city set itself on fire in the wake of her exposure. Camilla claimed ignorance and horror, the New Catholic Church called for Allimac's head on a pike and the radicals insisted on her status as a human being. But even Allimac wasn't sure about that.

Five years she'd been alive, her blood more the synthetic, drug-laced kind than that human swill, her organs more metal and pig than primate. There were numerous per-day injections and numerous health issues and then there was just how unlike any other human being she looked. Skin so pale it was literally transculent; the network of her veins and the faint pinkness of muscle under layers of the translucent epidermis visible. Her stomach bared revealed her botched insides. She was covered first with older, lazier surgical scarring from her birth-lab, the one that hadn't cared to treat her with dignity and then the lither marks of the military doctors. Her thin, fragile hair was short and sparse and fell out in clumps.

She did had Camilla's eyes; big, brown, perfectly shaped set in a face that exposed all its cartilidge and bone.

The lab was quiet at night, most of the scientists went home. There was a nurse on-call in case one of her numerous health concerns mutated into a crisis, but she had her own room. There were guards, too, outside each door; protection against the Holy agents of the Bishop-Mayor Ancash Jones. But otherwise, Allimac had been granted her privacy, allowed some normalcy. Hers was the only bed, the walls were decorated with pictures, posters, news clippings of the singer Camilla and her illness; none of the ensuing drama, however.

Center focus was even a picture of Camilla and Allimac together, when the singer had come for a visit as a press stunt. Allimac had tears in her eyes in the photo; Camilla did not. That had been four years ago. The lab was home, it was better than her birth-lab, and she felt something approximating love for and from the scientists who worked here.

Nights got empty and so she was all surprised, concerned and excited when she heard the sound of body colliding with floor and mistook it for the door being swung open. When she poked her head out from around the curtains, then, she couldn't understand why the oddly dressed man was on the floor. When he began to move, she immediately pulled her head back in and got dressed. Although her figure was largely adrogynous and she slept without clothing or blankets because most material irritated her sensitive skin, she had adopted like any true human being, self-consciousness of her body. Her dress was shapeless and sleeveless; belting at the waist with a pouch for carrying things and touching to her knees it was about as fashionless as a potato sack, but the material it was made of was the most tolerable she'd found yet.

Once that was done, he was calling out so she poked her head out again and considered him. "Who're you? What're you doing here? Are you alright? Guards'll be in here soon, best keep your hands above your head and all that."
^
Ginger
Posted: Mar 6 2012, 03:08 PM



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It was true that, when he'd called out, Ginger had been looking for answers, but that didn't make the subsequent sight any easier to deal with. Stopping abruptly short in his attempts to move forward, he pinched the bridge of his bleeding and rapidly bruising nose as he stared, rather openly, at the apparition in front of him. There was an immediate conflict in his mind; the first and more logical reaction of kjdfghdfkjgfdg what is that and the second and completely loony (in his opinion, anyway) notion, which consisted of a vague knowledge that he had seen stranger, and that this was only marginal on the scale of things wrong with the universe. There weren't very many moments where his mind was allowed to be in direct conflict with itself, and this one didn't last long - the human part of his memory shunted away the fluttering half-cognition, and he blinked twice in her direction.

Brow furrowing and eyes moving to the door as other people were mentioned, it wasn't long before he returned them to Allimac again. This time there was more confusion than there was revulsion, as though he had stepped out of his own time and into something entirely foreign and new. Ahem.

"Who are you?" He answered, after a couple of seconds of attempting to sort through his now-ringing headache, his slowly beginning to throb nose, and what felt like a barrage of questions. Still, there was nothing confrontational about it - as a general rule, Ginger veered away from confrontation. He had no pull towards violence and was a more confused personality than he was a dominant one; he and his creator had very little in common in that way. Glancing towards the door again and wondering what in God's name she'd (if it was a she) meant by putting his hands over his head, he was entirely distracted from examining the place in any more depth by the strange girl's presence and by his own throbbing confusion.


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allimac
Posted: Mar 6 2012, 03:24 PM



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His stunned reaction was not something she was used to any longer. The scientists concocted and cultivated uglier things than her in their lab daily and they'd had five years to get use to her. The new ones had that veneer of professional distance. and for a lab there was a pointed lack of reflective surfaces. She shied away a little at it, pulled further behind the curtains, more for his own sake. Did she frighten him? The fact that he didn't know who she was meant he had to be some kind of foreigner. The idea that anyone in Ravenholm could have escaped the posters, news reports and articles about her was laughable. It had been years since someone had been shocked to see her. "I'm Mac,' she replied, a little snottily. She was offended, just a bit, that he was so stunned.

Catching his glance to the door, by no means stupid if a little stunted, she nodded. "Yeah, guards. You know, men with guns? You're not supposed to be in here. As long as you're not with the New Cathys, you'll be fine. You're not a New Cathy, are you?"

It didn't actually frighten her, the possibility he might be here to set her on fire or throw her on the rack or what have you. First, he wasn't wearing shoes. It was hard to be worried about a man who couldn't even remember to wear shoes. She didn't really think he was with the New Cathys, but he probably deserved the warning that if he was some misguided soul they'd recruited, he'd not be in for the best treatment. "Just do what they say. If you tell me who you are, I can vouch for you."
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Ginger
Posted: Mar 6 2012, 03:49 PM



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Well, at least he had a name to put to the weird face thing now. Attempting a nod and finding it hurt his nose, he brought his free arm up to rub the other side of his face as he worked hard on processing all the new information. Still soaked through from his jaunt in the Cardiff rain, he found himself further stumped by the mention of a 'New Cathy', and was reminded not-so-absently of a homeless girl he'd curled up by one night for warmth. Her name had been Cathy. She'd smelled of hopelessness and marijuana. Pushing the thought from his head, certain it was irrelevant, he was mildly alarmed to hear the words 'men with guns', and gave a longer, harder look to the door.

"Ginger," he muttered, almost absently, in a response to her introduction that had only taken several minutes to formulate. He had no idea if it was his real name, of course, because he had no idea who he was, but the first few people he'd met had given him it on account of his flaming red hair. It wasn't a name he fully identified with - it didn't seem to fit him, however much he tried to get used to it - but it was a name that would do as long as he wasn't aware of what his real one was.

Turning back to her and wiggling his bare toes on the cold tile as much by nervous habit as to actually feel out the floor, he squinted past the swelling on his nose and pushed his wet hair backwards; it spiked absurdly. "Who's New Cathy?" He asked, halfway between anxious and absent as he thought he could hear footsteps in the background.


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allimac
Posted: Mar 6 2012, 04:09 PM



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"New Cathy is a religion. New Catholics? Where you from? How don't you know?" She began to emerge from behind her thin curtains and thought better of it, frozen with her neck and one leg protruding. He was a curiosity - it was also a flip of her position in life. Usually she was the one earning the looks and tone she was now giving to Ginger. That incredulity at ignorance sort of expression that she was so used to from others. She didn't want to frighten him but she wanted to know where he was from, why he was wet, why his name was Ginger.

"So since you're not a New Cathy we'll be friends, no problem. Okay? The guards won't hurt you if I say we're friends. Well they might hurt you a little. They'll sort of barge in and storm, you know? But then once they tackled you to the ground I can let them know you're alright." She shook her leg about and then pulled it back in, guessing that seeing more of her would not help his anxiety.

Mac stayed crouched on her bed, staring out at him, but covering her face up to her eyes. She wasn't sure she liked him; her vanity was a weird thing. She didn't think herself pretty but she was unsure enough of her own existence that causing shock in others was upsetting. "Can I come out without you hurling?"
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Ginger
Posted: Mar 6 2012, 04:48 PM



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"I don't have a religion," he replied, startled to hear that something with a name so absurd was a thing rather than a person. Pausing at her questions and, surprisingly, managing to stop himself feeling painfully ignorant by virtue of knowing that something was dreadfully out of place here, he itched the back of his neck and finally released his throbbing nose. The blood, fortunately, had clotted by now, but the steady stream of it that had dripped across his mouth and down his chin had left its gory legacy on his face; he looked a fright, even without the bizarre outfit.

"I guess I-- well, I'm not really from anywhere? England? I was just in Cardiff two minutes ago..." Disliking the idea of being in more pain, he decided that if he was going to be tackled, he might as well get on his knees now and save everyone the trouble. "Cardiff's in Wales though, I think. Where am I?" The last part was almost a mutter, as though he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Her comment about hurling and the distracted, scattered nature of his mood made him look back at her again only briefly, and he shrugged as he tried to get his head straight again.

"I've seen worse," came a comment from the depths of his subconscious, and then he paid attention as though he hadn't said as much. "Yes. Sorry. Didn't mean to stare."


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allimac
Posted: Mar 6 2012, 08:27 PM



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"Oh well then,' she muttered, 'if you've seen worse." Still, she took it as permission and slipped out from behind her curtains, refusing to feel sorry her dress didn't cover more. Slipping on the slipper-boots she left at the foot of her bed, Mac approached her visitor but decided not to get too close to give the guards plenty of room when they forced him to the ground as they would inevitably do. In fact, she was unsure what was taking them so long. They were usually pretty prompt.

She had, finally, taken note of his face. It wasn't her fault; it was pretty dark. "Lights,' and the lights came on, gradually brightening so it wasn't such a harsh transition. Sudden changes in lighting usually left her blinded for several minutes. Padding over to a long table, she picked up what appeared to be an extensive first aid kit amongst a litany of other medical paraphernalia and syringes. Most of which she used on herself when things went awry. All of which she understood the basic use of. She rummaged about and then approached him, again maintaining respectful distance as she offered him wet alcohol wipes to clean and disinfect, gauze and tape to bandage. "Don't know why I'm bothering. Properly hurt yourself all over again when the guards come in."

The no religion thing warmed him to her a little and she nodded in companionable agreement. "Me neither. Seems all very stupid to me. The scientists agree. They tell me there's nothing to what the New Cathys say about me. How'd you get in, anyways?"
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Ginger
Posted: Mar 7 2012, 07:24 AM



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Grateful of the gradual lighting, his face still hurting quite a bit and his nose still throbbing, he nonetheless still squinted against the gleam from the tile. Wondering how he'd managed to get himself in such a surreal situation, he glanced up now at the door that allowed one to leave again, noting quietly that he'd never seen anything like it before, and his mind shying away from consciously acknowledging that it would only take him seconds to figure out and work through. His attention was soon shifted, however, back to the odd looking girl-thing he'd ended up in the same room as, and he found an odd disquiet in the back of his brain as he acknowledged the oft-frightening-looking medical instruments. He'd never liked medical attention, and had never understood why he'd been so reluctant to walk into a hospital despite the all-encompassing nature of his amnesia.

Still, he was happy enough to reach out and take the wipes from her. It wasn't like he hadn't been injured in all the time he'd been on earth - quite the contrary, it was exceptionally difficult for someone as young and homeless as he to go without picking up scrapes and scratches here and there. The difference was both in healing times and in the likelihood of infection. No matter how many needles he had stepped on, he'd never come down with anything - admittedly, he didn't know this for sure, avoidant of hospitals as he was, but he seemed to know it as intrinsically as he knew that the cold didn't freeze him and that he could work out anything even vaguely technological simply by looking at it.

"Thanks," he muttered, belatedly, dabbing away at the blood that had slid down his mouth and more tentatively beginning to clean his nose. "What do they say about you?" He added, a moment later, tilting his head sideways as he observed her in more depth (and without the disgust of only a few moments before). Sighing as she asked how he had gotten there, he brought his shoulders up in an exaggerated shrug and suddenly realised exactly how damp he was. Sniffing at his trousers, he pulled a face. "One minute I was in Cardiff, the next I was walking into the floor."


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allimac
Posted: Mar 7 2012, 07:51 AM



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"Well this is Ravenholm, Massachusetts, America,' she explained, putting distance between them again now that he'd taken the supplies off her. She was beginning to think he was crazy, as harmless as he seemed. Her experience with strangers had been varied, but always tumultuous and while she'd never quite understood her own importance it'd been coolly explained to her that it wasn't really about her. That because the army had staked a claim in her against the New Cathys's demands she had become a symbolic thing or something, Mac had stopped paying attention.

She was about to explain that according to them she was devil fodder and needed to die, the guards burst in. Finally, but apparently entirely unaware of Ginger's existence because their dual panicked expressions stopped short at the sight of the sopping wet boy. "Who the fuck is he?" He glanced at Mac and then figured she probably wouldn't have an answer, turning his look to Ginger and training a pistol at his forehead. "Who the fuck are you?"

The other didn't wait for answers and went forward, gripping Ginger's left arm and twisting it back, oddly enough using his gun to pull the boy's shirt open at the nape of his neck so he could get a good look at his back. "No cross, not an initiate anyways."

"Mac we've got to get going, the compound's been compromised, the Cathys's," Was all the explanation she got, but she did keep her promise and vouch for Ginger. "He's just a friend, got in by a fluke."
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Ginger
Posted: Mar 9 2012, 12:09 PM



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"Shoot," he replied, widening his eyes slightly at the revelation that he was in America. It was not a place he'd ever been before - though he did feel that odd, memory sort of itch whenever he thought of the President - but one that, even being homeless and without a memory, he'd heard plenty about. It had all seemed so hilariously far off that it was hard to believe he was there now; after the almost-endearing veer away from proper swearing, he glanced around his surroundings again, feeling even more befuddled by what exactly had happened to him. His mind filled in the gaps with a few explanations that had too many variables and equations in them for him to properly think about, and so they slipped away from him again as easily as the tide. He was never sure if this unwillingness to think about his origins or how he worked things out was a conscious or unconscious decision and - naturally - he never had enough time to consider it properly.

But he was diverted from his thoughts by the arrival of new people, and though Mac's warning was not exactly forgotten, things happened too quickly for him to really process anything she'd said. His arm twisted behind his back before he really knew what was happening, he could only stare down the barrel of a gun in dumb shock before his shirt was being pulled at.
"Uh --" he managed to start, but apparently no one actually cared whether he was talking or not, and he shivered a little with cold as the chill of the air got to his back. Curiously, there was no fear there - in fact, there was an odd and fleeting sense of glee, as though his last encounter with a weapon had been a fun one.

"Ginger," he managed, belatedly and eventually, after he was declared a non-initiate (whatever that was) and knowing already that there was futility in having only his name to give the armed men. Still, it was all he knew; he only glanced at Mac in mild bewilderment as there was talk of containment being broken.


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allimac
Posted: Mar 9 2012, 01:08 PM



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The guards seemed prepared, under pressure as they were to clear out the lab, to believe Allimac and although one kept his gun trained on Ginger, he was allowed his arm back They were then guided through a series of dark corridors, most of which were set with large glass windows that looked into rooms with complicated machinery, some of it obviously weaponry. Most, however, had indistinguishable purposes even if they possessed an almost malicious, clinical presence. Mac wasn't the only project housed in the lab, but as far as she was aware, she was the only sentient one; the only one attached to a political message so divisive.

Occasionally shouts could be heard, or there'd be a few bodies littering the ground. Most were military men, one or two were red-hooded figures. Mac seemed rather perturbed by the sudden shift in her reality. She was used to a rather clean, disinfectant life style in which every day was the same and in which even her various organ failures and body issues failed to provide any sort of panic any longer.

She hung back around Ginger and the second guard who was keeping him in check, while the first forged the way. "The ones in red are the Cathys,' she explained, but tried to look at the bodies as only blobs of colour. She had known and befriended some of the guards; she didn't feel like recognizing their shrapnel-shredded faces.

Promptly told to 'shhhh', they were lead finally into a wide garage in which a flurry of activity was happening. Several men were lined in rows on the ground and being tended to, while others packed things in vehicles and checked things off lists all while shouting really loudly. Mac put her hands over her ears, beginning to breath heavily enough that she knew she was at risk of collapsing her one biological lung. The synthetic one should reboot it for her, but it was still an unpleasant experience. Any attempt to calm herself before it happened, though, only made her more anxious until she was wheezing unhealthily as both she and Ginger were guided into the back of a brute of a vehicle.

Punching her pigeon-chest with surprising vehemence, she forced her synthetic lung to wake up and do its job, which resulted in an almost comically large intake of breath. "You can stay if you like,' she advised Ginger as if she hadn't turned incredibly blue just seconds before. Deoxinization was quite obvious on someone who was see-through. "The New Cathys probably won't bother you."
^
Ginger
Posted: Mar 10 2012, 02:36 AM



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Having no time to wonder at the surroundings that they were led through but finding them fascinating nonetheless, Ginger felt nothing like fear or upset as they passed by bodies, whether of friend or foe. It was difficult to notice, but the excitement of the whole event seemed to be stirring up bizarre feelings inside him that he was reasonably sure shouldn't be acceptable to an ordinary person; rather than feeling at all bothered by the situation, it was exciting him a little - had he been possessed of much introspection, he might have been disturbed by that.

Still, he was distracted from the deaths here and there by peering into other areas of the laboratory, finding the glimpses of other projects tantalising, and half mourning the fact that he was quite sure that, once upon a time, he'd known someone they might appeal to. That thought held his attention for a little longer than usual, and he attempted to explore it in more depth, but, like so many of his half-baked memories or considerations, it slipped away again. Whatever he had been before Ginger, he was reasonably certain that his brain was taking steps to make sure he did not become it again. Giving up on the idea of remembering whoever he might have known, he turned his attention instead to Allimac and the soldiers.

"What are they doing here?" He asked, in reply to her helpfully pointing out which bodies were on their side and which weren't. He was almost reverentially quiet, however, and so his comment could easily have been missed - particularly as they passed into a garage full of vehicles and soldiers a moment later. 'Shh'ing immediately, as directed, he peered around him with a now-typically wide-eyed gaze, only glancing back at Mac as her breathing became laboured and feeling instantly rather concerned about her. "Are you alright?" He managed, though the gun at his back twitched as he made a noise, and he found himself rolling his eyes at it.

Though her turning blue before his eyes did not bother him, exactly, it did fascinate him, and he followed her as much because he wanted to see what happened as he did because he had no idea what else to do. Gratified and at the same time a little bemused to see that her hammering on her chest brought her back to a normal colour, he only raised his eyebrows and rubbed gingerly at his still-sore nose as she made her suggestion. "That's probably not a good idea," he informed her, glancing back at the soldiers even as he stepped up into the vehicle. "I don't think they'll like inter-dimensional travel, either." If he knew what he was talking about, he wasn't showing it.


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allimac
Posted: Mar 10 2012, 10:21 AM



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It was relatively quiet inside the car; a partition separated them and the drivers, there were no windows and all that was obvious was that the road was smooth and they were going fast. It was dark, mostly illuminated by dials and buttons that Allimac had no idea how to use, but she felt calm and safe inside. It was like a little mobile techy cocoon. She was likely the opposite of claustrophobic; she truly enjoyed being enclosed in tight spaces.

She considered for a moment telling Ginger that the New Cathys were after her, but she'd been taught to be wary of strangers and although he seemed relatively harmless, she didn't think it wise to explain too fully. "Who knows,' she replied quietly, looking to the side, already feeling a little guilty for not being truthful. Beyond not fully trusting him, though, was a worry that he'd agree with the religious fanatics. Maybe he'd be weirded out even more and new faces were few and far between.

Pleased he'd decided to stay, she nodded when he asked after her well being. "I have bum lungs,' she explained casually. And just about bum everything else, but she didn't have to give him the long list of her medical issues; it was really quite dry. Inter-dimensional traveler sounded so incredibly glamorous that her bovine eyes widened in delight. "Is that what you are then? That's really neat." She had a vague conception of what it meant from various science fiction novels she'd received as handme downs. Not surprisingly it was the majority of the fiction the scientists read. There were often notes mocking the science in the margins or, on occasion, a question mark as if the scientist reading had been curious if whatever it was was actually possible.
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