superposition: ((walk))
Qubit ([personal profile] superposition) wrote in [community profile] maskormenacelogs2015-08-07 03:01 pm

(no subject)

WHO: Qubit and anybody!
WHERE: De Chima #003 and elsewhere
WHEN: First week or so of August
WHAT: A new guy settles in, where by "settles in" I mean "immediately starts making a mess."
WARNINGS: none known!

A. De Chima #003 : Interior (closed to roommates)

The first night, it was all Qubit could do not to collapse the second he came in range of a bed. A "long day" didn't begin to describe it. He ached all over, his head was pounding, and yet... there was no way he could just pass out like this. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Tony's withered face, sunken eyes glaring up at him - hateful, wretched, for the first time weak. And when he opened them, he heard the echo of Modeus laughing at him in Bette's voice.

By now it was dark out. What with having jumped from evening back into morning, he must have been up for well over 24 hours already. But he couldn't sleep. He knew he wouldn't be able to, not with so much work still to do.

He knew as soon as he walked in that the house they'd sent him to wasn't vacant. But getting to know whoever else was staying here wasn't high on his list of priorities at the moment. If Modeus was around, Qubit would almost definitely be his first target, and he'd rather not make it easy on him. He might be able to rig the house's wiring into a makeshift perimeter alarm, but he'd need a control panel for that at the very least, and ...

... and there was a blender in the kitchen. "Ahh, you'll do nicely."

So, yeah, residents of #003, there's a strange man in your kitchen telekinetically taking apart your nonessential appliances and reassembling them into things that are very much not kitchen appliances. Also, his eyes and hands are glowing bluish-green whilst he does this. Hope you didn't need that crockpot.

B. De Chima Neighborhood (open)

Over the next few days, Qubit was in and out a lot. He'd wasted no time throwing a proverbial armful of irons into the fire - secure the house, look for Modeus, locate the army's Porter, build his own Porter, make a better computer, find a good source of scrap, keep an eye out for anything suspicious ... Realistically, it was probably more projects than he ought to take on at once, but it felt as if a sort of mad restlessness had taken hold of him and wouldn't let go. And occasionally, when he caught a glimpse of his reflection, startled himself with the haggard, half-frenzied look in his own eyes, he wondered if maybe its grip wasn't the only thing holding him together.

But it wasn't as if he could stop. His own Earth needed him. No - strike that, Earth could probably do with a bit less of him. But Kaidan and Gil needed him. He was the closest thing they had to a leader, his embryonic ideas the closest thing they had to a plan. Of course they were more than capable of fending for themselves, but he knew Kaidan, she'd never settle for fending. She'd do everything in her considerable power to help, and more, if she could manage it. Really, she was the least alone out of any of them, but he couldn't help worrying all the same.

He spent a considerable amount of time away from the house, at least in absolute terms, but mainly in spurts of an hour or two throughout the day. In between, there were ample opportunities to catch him porting in and out, and he wasn't really bothering to be surreptitious about it.

His teleportals, not exactly engineered for stealth, glowed bright blue and made a distinctive humming noise whenever they were open. Sometimes Qubit came through with nothing, sometimes with a few scraps of broken technology that he'd toss into the shed, and once or twice he got lucky with an armful. But so far he'd had slim pickings...

C. near any of the Porter cities (open)

... which was why he was surveying junkyards. And scrapyards, and the occasional garbage dump.

Sometimes he'd be scanning the area with a tricorder-sized device he'd whipped up for that purpose the other day; other times, poking around in the midst of it, trying to find something that hadn't already been stripped for copper and such; but more often a combination of the two.

So, if you were the kind of person who liked to hang around junk- and/or scrapyards, there'd be a pretty good chance of running into him there.
curada: (Buck up)

A new crock pot please

[personal profile] curada 2015-08-08 03:12 pm (UTC)(link)
Victor was another man who'd been unable to sleep. Since coming into this world he had begun losing sight of the boundary between light and dark, morning and night, dawn and dusk. He doesn't leave the house much other than to attend his place of work; a local elementary school where he finds strange comfort in tending to wounds. Between the days he reads local newspapers and boils a kettle of water on the stove for his tea.

It was a ritual. One of the few familiarities from home that brought some elements of nostalgia. Except here he had no company for afternoon tea. There was no company that he wanted; that he could tolerate without thinking of Victoria. He can hear her voice as he steps into the kitchen during the early hours, saying she finds her tea too hot. Or too cold. His hair is loose, his scarf undone, and he wears everything but his long coat. This person... is new. The others he hasn't bumped into too much.

... Then he eyes his kettle. Which didn't look anything like it had before. And there's a tiredness behind his eyes that does a remarkable job of hiding his annoyance at being disturbed this early in the morning. The weight on his shoulders isn't about the kettle. It's about every memory that it presented.

"Pray tell, what are your intentions? And for that matter your name, sir."
curada: (Oh bother...)

[personal profile] curada 2015-08-10 08:52 pm (UTC)(link)
Both eyes were on the kettle as it changed shape and purpose, and reassembled into something resembling nothing Victor had seen before. It was a curious thing. The light shone on the metal scraps before it dimmed. Victor was considering what to do with the remains already, but it didn't answer the question of what he was going to use to make his tea. But that was of less concern than making certain somebody felt safe in their own home.

The idea of having warning before meeting someone new would have been appreciated. But that was easily solved by registering and thus securing funding for a home alone. But he did not want to stand on either side of the fence. He wanted to keep out of this war they were fighting. This way, rent was cheaper, plus there was the warmth of feeling close to people too.

Though half the time he didn't know what to think about that after-

He spared Qubit a glance before his eyes darted back.

"That is a security system?" How absurd. But he's more dumbfounded than anything. "How does it work?"

From the way Victor's dressed - his hair undone, his clothes loosened, it was an easy guess this was his place of residence. He's also something of a scientist himself; medical, really, but that doesn't hide natural curiosity.
curada: (And how are we feeling?)

[personal profile] curada 2015-08-12 12:03 pm (UTC)(link)
Though he had not witnessed such technology at work before, Victor was able to imagine the result by pondering the words and descriptions with which he was familiar. There was no prior knowledge to understand the function of infrared, to pick apart the word and analyse it till he garnered some meaning. He knows of switches, wiring, magnets and control panels - though he was not well-versed in the machinery of the flying airships used by his homeland.

He glances around the kitchen, to find if there was any device he could use to create what had been his reason for coming here in the first place.

"Indeed. You seem quite capable, sir. I would offer you a cup of tea, but that seems quite impossible now."