Everybody wants to rule the world

[maskormods]

WHO: YOU.
WHERE: Downtown Cape Canaveral
WHEN: Wednesday January 15th, around 5 PM EST
WHAT: Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome.
WARNINGS: None anticipated; let us know if this should be edited.

Cape Canaveral. It's no longer the heat of the day and in January the temperatures will be livable; not too hot and not too cold, either. A pleasant change from the City, perhaps. The sun is on its way to setting but the last light of the day still fills the sky, bursting the city into color. The air smells like ocean.

The locals are friendly and smile and wave, looking on at you in awe. They'll approach if you ask for help, or a question, but they don't want to interfere, either; if you want to be left alone you probably will be. American flags can be seen in many windows and restaurants are rolling out their dinner menus. There's no parade, no big banners, but many storefronts have handmade signs and posters that read:

Welcome, imPorts! We love you!

The woman at the Porter told you what to expect: You know what your tattoo means, you've been given your file, and you know in a few hours they're going to be here to answer more of your questions and see if you'll stand with them or if you'll go off on your own. "It's your decision," one of them had said, but you were already told what you get if you agree and what you don't if you don't. After that's done, she told you, you'll be driven to your new homes.

In the meantime, enjoy the area, or try to. It may not be what you're used to, but after the apocalypse even Florida might seem like an improvement.

Comments

[enabeled]

Why the flags was a thought Abel Gideon also had as he wandered Cape Canaveral's downtown a little aimlessly, his hands in his pants pockets and his eyes sullen but observant. Well, why not the flags?

There. A little harmless patriotism was really the least of his worries, Gideon imagined. The tattoo on his wrist bothered him, not only for what it said but because he couldn't fathom how they'd gotten it on him without his noticing. There was something unnerving about being in the dark about himself even now.

Eventually as he walks the toe of his shoe hits against a lobster claw discarded on the ground that appears to have been there for at least ten minutes or so, judging how even the birds have finished picking it clean. He crushes it underfoot and looks in the direction it presumably came from.

"I think that's littering."

[amoray]

"I think nobody's gonna say shit about it."

Eridan says it without looking back, assuming it's meant for him (god, why wouldn't it be); it's been a good ten minutes of equal parts sulking and dread, food only slightly more picked at than before, but he feels a little calmer. Not happy, but calmer. He even hazards a delayed glance back, arm slung over the back of his seat, eyebrows raised in a flat line.

"We just liwed through the fuckin' apocalypse, folk like me. Think that calls for some celebration. And I'm a sea dweller, we got different ideas a confetti." A little wave of his fingers. "You're lucky it ain't guts. Chum. Suchlike."

Trying to intimidate humans had never failed to lift his mood a little.

[enabeled]

Standing there, hands in pockets, Gideon looks at Eridan with a calm, deadpan sort of observation, his head even quirked a little curiously. Eridan has a presence that implies imPort before he suggests it himself outloud; Gideon turns to regard him more fully.

He smiles thinly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Guts never really bothered me," he says, his tone has even as his expression. He walks over, still regarding Eridan inquisitively. "That was something, wasn't it? Not every day that you witness the end of the world... the end of a world. Almost remarkable."