maskormenacelogs | another small adventure with rip and marty

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another small adventure with rip and marty

WHO: rip and marty DUH
WHERE: MF
WHEN: an afternoon
WHAT: a token of nonhuman friendship
WARNINGS: n

Martin sits on a concrete ledge encasing some of the landscaping around the Endeavor Center, his bag of soccer clothes in his lap. While he waits for Rex, he picks at a piece of knitwork Andy passed off to him after her own frustrations with it left it barely finished. This sort of thing doesn't bother him much -- it fills his wait with a task he can focus in on and lose himself in, the repeating patterns satisfying to see take form, and he can almost tune out the rest of the noisy world around him. Passing traffic isn't as loud in his head, and he can stop thinking about the sun baring down on him so much.

As far as afternoons go, then, it's...not bad. It's acceptable, even. As acceptable as still being displaced and without real purpose can be. But hey, if he's got his attention on knitting a tea cozy his attention isn't on his constant anxieties!

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A fucker approaches... fortunately for Martin's sanity, Riptide has opted to wander down the street in his human form and double fortunately, he's not being mobbed by reality tv fans. It's a good day, and Riptide certainly thinks he's more famous than he actually is. He notices Martin and normally wouldn't do much-- usually he doesn't interact with imPorts he sees around unless they go first, but Martin...

Well, he's a non-human, apparently, and he quite likes the weird little guy. As much as he's a little sad most of the non-humans are organic, it's still a bond they have over the rest of the population of the planet.

"Hey," he says, sitting on the ledge next to Martin. "What're you doin'?"

He assumes Martin remembers him. He's starting to learn this human form is hard to miss.

"Oh--"

Martin startles a little, the time between a towering shadow wandering in and then plopping down beside him and then talking at him all too brief for a better reaction. He does remember, but only once he's had a chance to inch away and peer up past his sunglasses to see the streak of blue on his head.

It's just the name that escapes him; it was said only once, in passing, and shopping had been more in the forefront then. All he remembers is this guy isn't actually the human he seems to be, and he likes to give people pieces of paper with his name on it.

"Hel-hello," he utters. His hands, which curled up instinctively toward himself, slowly settle back on his lap. "Um, I'm just. Just waiting. And working on this..."

He curls ends of fabric against his fingers to hold up the little pattern he's been working on.

Riptide smiles lightly, cocking his head as he leans in to look at what it is. He has... no idea what the hell that is, though he can at least recognise it as a pattern.

"It looks nice," he says. "I'll have to be honest, though, I've no idea what it is."

He pulls his legs up to sit cross-legged.

"Waiting for what?"

"I don't really, either," Marty admits, shrugging. "I'm just following a pattern Andy gave me." Kind of doing her homework, but he hardly realizes that. Or minds; he actually likes doing it.

He blinks, watching Riptide get comfortable. So...he's just going to sit there? Maybe he doesn't have much to do, so he's fine with wasting his time around him. Who knows. He's strange.

"Um, Rex," he replies. "We walk back to the house when he's done with his job." He tilts his head to look sidelong at Riptide. "How come you're out here?"

"No idea who those people are," he says with a shrug, clearly not caring to ask.

"I don't really have much to do today. Goin' out with some natives, but that's not for a few hours."

He also knows enough about organics to realise he shouldn't talk about drugs and alcohol with a young one.

"Well, that's fair. I guess they're the humans you're living with?"

"Um, Rex, yes," Martin nods, idly picking at the open loops of his knitwork with his pinky. "Andy doesn't, but...but she comes around a lot. She brings me these patterns to try, so I'm not just...sitting around, I guess."

It's for the best; he's not one to take initiative on much of anything himself.

Riptide picks up on that, cocking his head.

"Don't you... do stuff yourself?"

"Huh?"

Martin exchanges the look and head-tilt, confused for a beat.

"Oh-- um. I, I guess? I mean...I practice letters..." As Archie encouraged. "And, uh, help with getting food..." As Anderson suggested. "And--and keep training?" With Rex's encouragement.

He frowns.

"I kind of figured that was enough..."

"Well... maybe."

He falls silent for a moment, looking down at the road, watching a few cars drive by.

"I know it's rough when you have to try and work out what to do in a culture that's not your own," he says, eventually. "Hell, I have enough trouble working out what I want to do among my own people, let alone in a place like this."

"What do you mean?" Martin's frown grows, concerned. "Your own people don't tell you what to do?"

"Hmm... they used to," he says, raising a shoulder in a shrug. "We used to be fighting a massive war-- I was born to fight in it. It's over now, though, so there's not really much left for me to do."

That's a bit vague-- his nose wrinkles.

"I mean, for them to tell me to do. Now I'm just trying to figure out what I want to do myself."

He makes a soft, acknowledging sound.

"Me, too," he mumbles, clicking his needles together. "A-about what to do, I mean..."

"It's annoying," he says, looking up to watch a few more cars pass. Undoubtedly with humans in them that know what they're doing with their lives. "Especially when nothing here is similar to what you knew amongst your own race."

That's what Riptide's struggling with the most, even if a lot here is similar. It's the peacetime that feels shaky and Getaway's betrayal.

"He is a human, but I know someone else in a similar situation. Try as they might, people here just don't get being made for a single purpose the way he does."

Martin watches Riptide as he gripes, a little surprised to hear such similar sentiments. He's gotten so used to everyone just trying to encourage him to adjust and accept the way things are with humans run things, being saddled with his frustrations that he keeps mostly to himself, save for those brief, explosive moments.

He's quiet for a beat longer, a little nervous to offer input, but ultimately gives in.

"I'm...I keep telling people that I'm made for a reason, and it's...it's not to be a human. I just...look like one so I don't scare anyone. That's-- that's how Darkovs are." He grimaces. "But...there were only people there. Back home. Not--not other things, besides monsters."

"What are you meant to look like, then?" he asks, raising an eyebrow curiously.

"I..."

He grimaces, looking down at his lap, picking at his fingernails.

"I don't know. I heard that...long ago, it was just...people were trying to forge weapons strong enough to stop the monsters. And it didn't work until they started looking...like this."

"I guess you look right, then."

That does remind him, though--

"When we were made to fight in the war, we had to be made to suit a certain purpose. I function well underwater because I was made in response to a flood."

The water is dangerous back home. The murkier it is, the more potential evil may come of it, and all Darkovs know to steer clear of stagnant pools out in the wild. The things you can't see can come creeping out if they see you, and many animals desperate for a drink fell victim to some horrible things.

Martin glances back up, trying to picture this person dealing with all that. And more -- under the water, where all kinds of unimaginable things may be. He frowns.

"...Isn't it scary?"

"Nope! I'm real strong and brave so nothing scares me!"

Nothing under the water, at least.

"It's really quiet under this planet's water, anyway. Nothing's tried to kill me yet."

He makes a faint sound, considering that. It's probably because Riptide is very tall, besides strong and brave. Martin's only acquaintance with sea life is a screaming shark-creature and the tiniest little fish...not a fully fledged view of that world at all. His own home still informs a lot of his opinions on it.

"There's no people down there, is there," he wonders. "People still stay on land..." He gives him a side-eye, an unspoken right? implied.

"Nope. Not unless they have a special suit on, I think. I don't breathe, so I don't know how humans do it..."

He rubs his chin, thinking of it. He's only seen human divers a few times and both times he scared the living shit out of them.

"People like to stay on the land instead of being in the sea or up in the sky. I'm made for the sea, but I actually spent most of my life in space."

Special clothes for water... that's-- wait. Martin squints. Riptide doesn't breathe? He stares more intently at him while he muses about where people do live, trying to watch his neck and shoulders for breathing movements.

"Huh-?" He blinks, drawn back to attention. "Sorry. In--in what space?"

Probably extremely confusingly, Riptide breathes. In human form. He's not talking about himself as he is now.

"Uh... the space," he says, pointing upwards. "Like... up there. But in a different galaxy."

There's a long pause where Martin just frowns, squinting up at the sky.

"...Just. Just in the sky? Flying all the time?"

"The sky? No, beyond it. In space. You know what's past the sky, right?"

...He should probably... realise Martin doesn't...

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