maskormenacelogs | And Listen Closely To What I Say,

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And Listen Closely To What I Say,

WHO: Jacob Taylor and OPEN
WHERE: Around Heropa
WHEN: First week of June
WHAT: An ordinary-ish week in the life of a future soldier stranded in the past
WARNINGS: Probably none!

[A: RESIDENCE #20, housemates and visitors welcome]

Since moving in, Jacob has done his best to be a model housemate. He’s polite, friendly without really being outgoing. He volunteers to cook some nights, and isn’t terrible at it. His space is kept clean and organized. He helps out with the chores. He’s honest and upfront about the fact that he probably won’t have his job for much longer, but that he’s doing his best to find new work and isn’t going to let himself be dead weight around the house.

There are a few oddities involved in living with Jacob, though. One is groceries- they disappear around him, especially when he has been using his powers a lot. The caloric intake of a biotic is head and shoulders above that of a standard human metabolism, and Jacob is no exception. The amount of physical activity he indulges in doesn’t exactly help: between his powers and his exercise, Jacob needs to eat.

Jacob’s exercise program defies description. Every morning like clockwork he’s in the living room, running through a series of squat thrusts, crunches, side crunches, and leg lifts numbering in the hundreds. Every morning he’s at it for hours, long enough to watch a movie on the old (by his standards) television. He keeps the volume down out of respect for his still-sleeping housemates, and always takes a minute to mop up his sweat. Hopefully none of his housemates mind the living room becoming a gym every morning.

All in all, Jacob keeps himself relatively busy outside of work, but usually has a minute to talk if a housemate or visitor wants him for something.

[B: RUNNING AROUND THE NEIGHBOURHOOD]

For much of his life, Jacob hasn’t been able to fit a lot of running into his exercise: most of his training and service has taken place in closed environments, aboard starships or within isolated space colonies. The last time he was really able to run outdoors for exercise was on Eden Prime, years ago, and that posting didn’t last long before the place got invaded. Being able to run in a place as sunny and upbeat as Heropa is a blessing for him, even if it does come packaged with an interdimensional abduction.

Jacob goes out in the evenings, when the air has cooled and his work is over. He sprints when he wants to push himself, and slows down to a brisk jog when he wants to relax a little. He wears loose shorts and a white undershirt, plus sweatbands around his wrists to hide the government’s tattoo- Jacob’s in no mood to put up with Heropan adulation when he’s trying to unwind. Despite that, he has time to chat with anyone who wants to approach him, and who can keep up with him.

[C: FIRING RANGE]

Last month, the experience of fighting the beasts of Hell armed nothing but fists, biotics and a moped prompted Jacob to ask why he didn’t have a gun. The answer to that question is now in Jacob’s hands: an ordinary black Glock suitable for personal defense.

Jacob is grateful for Florida’s permissive laws regarding firearms acquisition, but not for much else. He’s currently inside one of Heropa’s private firing ranges, and is finding out the hard way that there’s a world of difference between handling 21st-century guns and the weapons he’s been using for most of his career. The guns here actually have limited ammunition. He can feel the pistol getting lighter in his hands as he shoots it, and when it’s empty, he moves out of habit to eject a thermal clip that’s not there. The weight is different, the sights are different, the recoil is different, and it shows in Jacob’s accuracy. If the paper silhouette he’s shooting at was a real target in a firefight, the paper would be kicking his ass.

There’s no other real option, though. He just has to keep training and practicing until he’s able to fight with what’s available. Jacob lowers the pistol for a moment, adjusts the ear protectors muffling the sound of the gunfire, then loads a new magazine and prepares to fire again. Maybe this time he’ll manage to get better than half his rounds on target...

[D: WILD CARD - Post your own prompt as you wish!]

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Unlike Jacob, Major Alenko of the Alliance Marines is used to running in the open air. He never used to be, of course. Being cooped up in anything is unusual -- was unusual -- compared to how it'd been when he'd been stationed on Earth, but he'd been long away from Earth, or at least it felt like a long time.

Logically, of course, he knew it hadn't been that long, but it felt like it, the way he'd been confined to a hospital bed for what seemed like ages -- even if it had only been weeks -- and even after he'd gotten out, his knee still hitched and his shoulders still ached in an odd way, and the only way to fix that was with keeping up his physical therapy.

Which was much more difficult in the past. It hadn't been the first concern on his mind, but it ended up being a primary one, when he'd taken to running. Long runs, too, the kind that left him winded and aching, and exhausted, because it was the only way he could find that he slept at night, with how he kept antagonizing over the problem of being an import.

The figure, up ahead, seemed familiar, but he didn't really notice who it was, until he got closer, and he recognized the silhouette more from the network than anything from their world. Great. One of the people who seemed to think he was dead.

He slowed his pace, but it didn't help the telltale signs of a jogger from being obvious, if Jacob was paying attention.

For Ellie, it's nice to be outside without worrying about something creeping up on you with the intent to kill--though she's still wary, acutely aware of her surroundings. Cars, people, trees. Old habits die hard. She's doing her best to stay calm, walking home from work with an ice cream cone in hand to distract herself from the constant anxiety, not quite sure this coffee flavored ice cream is all it's cracked up to be.

When she spots a man sprinting, she can't help but look a little alarmed and check behind him to see if he's being chased.

Belatedly, she figures out he's just running for fun. She'd heard about that sort of crap.

Calm the fuck down, Ellie.

From one outdated weapon to something positively primitive...

Without Black Canary and the rest of the team, Artemis has been struggling to find opportunities to train. She hasn't been here long, but she's already become a familiar face at the firing range. Though she's under 18, It's not great, but it's the best she has at the moment.

Shooting stationary targets is boring. Shooting the same stationary targets day after day in a practically deserted indoor archery range is worse. After punching the same exact hole in a target that looks like a dartboard ten or fifteen times, Artemis has had about as much as she can take. Slinging her bow over her shoulder, she wanders off to see if this place has anything more interesting to offer.

On a whim, she stops by the pistol range--it definitely sounds more lively in there. After a quick safety speech from management (and the loan of some earmuffs and goggles) she's allowed to go inside to take a look.

If there's anything more boring that shooting arrows at a stationary target, it's probably shooting a pistol at a stationary target (not that Artemis has a wealth of knowledge to draw on in the latter case). She pauses at a safe distance to watch Jacob shoot. He's... not very good, is he?

Well. This was awkward.

Jacob slowed his pace about the same time Alenko did, once they were close enough to recognize one another. It was their first time meeting in person, at least from Jacob's perspective. The not-so-posthumous hero of Virmire looked just like he did on the holos advertising the Alenko Memorial Fund for biotic kids- minus his Alliance gear, though. Seeing Kaidan wearing local 21st-century clothing helped make it more real for Jacob: Kaidan Alenko was alive, he was from another version of their home galaxy, and he was here.

He slowed down further, not quite stopping when he was in speaking distance. It wouldn't be right to just jog past the guy without acknowledging him. Technically speaking, as a member of the first Normandy crew, Jacob owed Kaidan his life along with every other sentient being in the Galaxy.

"Major Alenko. Wasn't expecting to see you out here." Jacob gave him a quick greeting nod as they closed in on each other, a bit of sweat rolling down his skin from the movement. Jacob had been at it a while, but he wasn't tired yet.

Jacob likes kids. He's not always good with them, but he likes them on general principle. Part of it is his deep-seated impulse to protect, part of it is down to his personal aspiration to be a father one day. When he sees a young girl looking alarmed- even if it's just for a moment- his instinct is to slow down to double-check things are okay. And Jacob usually listens to his instincts.

So instead of running past the girl with the ice cream cone, he slows down enough to give her a casual wave. It's about time for him to ease off the sprinting anyway. "Hey. Having a good evening?"

Jacob finishes his second clip with much the same results as the first. He's not very good at all, and it grates on him. In the 22nd century he's a crack shot with a variety of high-tech weapons, but in Heropa he's a novice with one of the most basic handguns around.

When he looks over to see Artemis standing there, he doesn't ask why a teenager is in a live-fire zone or why she's carrying what looks like a bow and arrow. He thinks about how long it's been since anyone saw him messing up like the first day of basic training. Then he puts the gun on safe and lowers it before nudging his protectors off his ears.

"I'm usually a lot better than this," he says, his voice deep but mildly sheepish. "Trust me."

The first instinct, was to say something wholly inappropriate, something rather foul about how he wondered if Taylor thought the dead couldn't run, or something like that. He bit it back, thankfully, not willing to foul up a potential connection with home that badly, even though it was tempting -- Cerberus agent, and all. But no, that could foul things up, and if there's one thing Kaidan was starting to learn; had learned, after the attempt at a Cerberus coup, was that things were never quite how they seemed.

He slowed his jog, appraising the man carefully. He'd seen the holos, sure, Alliance intelligence was surprisingly good, after the SR2 had docked for the Alliance, and they'd started retrofitting the ship for their purposes -- although he'd really only seen the end result. He'd gotten enough information, enough to make the court martial stick a little harder in his head.

"Taylor," he greeted, not sure what else to say. He didn't have a rank, so, last name sounded appropriate. "I hate to admit it, but we all have to stay in shape, no matter whether we're stuck in the past or not."

And really, how else was he going to burn off this nervous, excited energy. The stuff that thrummed in his veins, made him want to move, and figure out what was happening, even while he struggled with how to do that. He'd been out of his element plenty of times, but it'd never been like this.

Criminally negligent management or the good impression of an import whose official job involves archery demonstration, the world may never know. Perhaps the manager on duty just has a thing for blondes. She does at least have the good sense to stay well back. She hardly notices that she still is, technically, armed--she's just here to check out the range, after all.

"That's what everyone says."

She can almost afford to be cocky--after all, though she may not be the best in the Green Arrow family of superheroes, she is at least the only member of the Arrow family who is actually present. That's got to count for something.

"Uh, sure," comes the reply, automatic yet unsure. It's still strange talking to strangers, though it's much easier over the network when there's so much distance between them all. She still has the fear of getting grabbed or attacked or tossed into some cage like poultry. She misses the days when she was only a little meek when meeting new people. All part of growing up, right?

But she has no reason to be afraid here. So, she takes a breath and tries again.

"You're pretty quick."

"Yeah. Just started going here." Jacob gives a small smile of his own in response, trying to pretend he doesn't notice that Renee's own silhouette has been drilled with absolutely perfect pinpoint accuracy. He suppresses a surge of gun-shame within him and lowers his gun to talk.

"Are you a regular?" She sure as hell shoots like one.

"Well, it's true," Jacob protests mildly. "At least in my case. I'm just not used to this kind of gun." He looks down at the pistol in his hand as though it was a piece of alien technology- which really, it might as well be.

He changes the subject to something slightly less embarrassing, nodding at the bow slung around Artemis' shoulder. "Didn't know they had an archery range here," he says. He's never really even seen a bow- they're pretty rare in the 22nd century. "Are you a competitor?"

Jacob passes Ellie, slows down more, then turns around to face her, jogging in place to keep up his heart rate. He's barely breathing hard, and his voice isn't strained as he talks. He smiles, trying to put the girl at ease. It's smart of her to be unsure around a stranger at evening, as far as he's concerned.

"Thanks. Been trying to build up my speed as well as endurance. This is a good town for running in."

"It wouldn't be much of a competition if I was," she says with easy confidence. "The archery range is on the other side of the building. You should check it out sometime."

Maybe he'd have better luck with a bow. Or maybe Artemis would just enjoy making fun of him.

"What exactly are you used to?"

"True enough," Jacob said agreeably. "You never know when things are going to hit the fan around here. Gotta stay fighting fit, right?"

In contrast to Kaidan's nervous energy, Jacob was fairly laid-back as far as interdimensional abductees went. It was practically his specialty- process, push past the bullshit, don't let it hold you back. He wasn't happy to be here, but after a month he had gotten used to it, determined to make the best of things however he could. See also: running.

Jacob passed Kaidan, turned around, and jogged backwards slowly, not yet ready to break contact, but also not ready to kill his momentum for the conversation. "You settling in okay so far?"

"Same to you, Renee. Jacob Taylor." Jacob steps forward to meet her with a firm, warm grip. He doesn't have a holster yet, so his weapon stays hanging down at his side, held in his other hand with his finger carefully off the trigger.

When they shake, he spots the faint blue gleam of the tattoo on her wrist, and nods in pleasant recognition. "Nice to meet another ImPort around here."

"That happen alot?" he asked, still jogging along. He was taking his time, but when he turned, he sped his jog slightly, taking the cues from the other man to set the speed. He didn't have any gauges on how fast he should go, and he had no qualms with speeding up, or slowing down, yet. Maybe eventually -- when the aches in his bones and half-healed joints finally started to grow too sharp -- but for the moment, he was fine.

He didn't like this, after all, but if what he'd heard so far was true, he would need to be in shape, and ready to go at a moment's notice. He would need to make sure that he'd be ready to take care of trouble. It wasn't like he could just sit back, and do nothing, after all. That impulse was lodged too deeply in his bones.

"It's been tough," he admitted, and shook his head. "I never though I'd end up in the past, or I'd have paid more attention to some of those old documentaries."

Jacob shakes his head. "Probably not," he says, confident that he would have just as much trouble adjusting to a bow as he's currently having with the pistol. "Archery's not really my style. I'm from the future, as far as this place is concerned."

He shrugs. It's odd how quickly he has gotten used to saying things like that in casual conversation. "I usually handle weapons with completely different designs than this one."

To each their own, but she thinks he's seriously missing out.

"Me to, at least as far as my friends are concerned... But I'm guessing that's not what you're talking about. I mean... guns are still pretty much guns, where I'm from."

She pauses to consider that statement.

"Unless they're freeze rays." She shrugs. "So... are spaceships a thing where you're from? Or is it some kind of gritty robots-have-taken-over sci-fi thing?

"You've got no idea." Jacob shook his head. This wasn't the best time for a briefing, but Jacob did feel like having someone to jog with, so he took up position next to Kaidan, matching his pace, talking easily as he moved along. It was a good evening for a run with another person, even if the other person was supposed to be dead in another world.

"Someone's gunning for ImPorts. We don't know who yet," he said. It was amazing how much of a saga there already was to relate after just a month here- shark-mechs, bombings, conspiracies. Jacob was used to fast-paced adventures aboard the Normandy, but filling people in on everything he'd experienced was always a challenge for a man who didn't like to give long speeches. "I had the same thought when I arrived- should have stayed awake more in history class. But now, I don't think it would have prepared me for what we're seeing here."

Jacob leans to the side, resting his frame against the wall of the shooting booth while folding his arms. "Well, robots haven't taken over yet. There are laws in place specifically to stop that from happening. Definitely lots of spaceships though. Humanity has started colonizing space."

Technically in his future a race of machines have been in charge of the Galaxy since before humanity evolved, but Jacob is not dumping that entire horror story on this complete stranger at a chance meeting. Speaking of which:

"The name's Jacob Taylor, by the way." He throws it in as though it were an aside. "Nice to meet you."

She'd seen people in the military jog around like that, though there was a lot more sweat and panting involved. Muscle and endurance were hard to keep up when nutrition was questionable at best.

"As opposed to... not good for running in?"

Jacob shrugs, then motions with both arms at the charming (sometimes subtly creepy) small pseudo-50s Florida town around them.

"You know what I mean," he says. "Fresh air, plenty of space, good weather. I've had to run in conditions a lot worse than this." Mud, rain, cold, insects, someone screaming in your ear- even in the future, boot camp still sucks. Jacob allows himself to stop jogging. Might as well stick around and chat for a bit.

[Peter Parker has never been much of a jogger. As a kid he'd sooner read or do experiments in his room than willingly put himself through side-aching, shin-splitting, sweaty misery outside of gym class (or, if he had his way, during). As Spider-Man, he hardly needs the cardio, and when he's feeling restless he'd rather go for a swing above the rooftops than restrict himself to the two-dimensional confines of the pavement.

But last night he forgot to wash either of his spider-suits, and the sniff test this morning was practically radioactive. Having no desire to get himself slapped with the CRIMINAL label for wearing either garment in public, he's traded in high tech layers of spandex for his shabbiest t-short and shorts.

Turns out the hardest part of this "exercise" thing is projecting a convincing vibe of hard work without breaking out of the range of normal human running speed. He's not entirely sure he's hit the right balance, but since he hasn't been attracting stares he must be on the right track.

Heh. Track.]

[Jacob sees Peter coming up alongside him, and is mildly impressed. This guy is really clicking along on his run, and he doesn't seem out of breath or anything. His ultra-dingy clothes suggest he's the kind of guy who does this a lot, and who doesn't put a lot of stock in expensive gear or surface appearances, which Jacob can totally respect.

When it looks like Peter is about to pass him, Jacob increases his own pace out of habit more than anything else- his fitness is a point of pride. But he also moves to the side of the track to let the guy go by, and raises a hand in greeting for his fellow runner.]

Hey. Good pace.

That didn't sound reassuring. Not that Kaidan was looking for reassurance, he was looking for answers, but the fact of the matter was, that he wasn't really going to be able to make heads or tails of this until he got over his confusion. Once he listened and figured everything out, then maybe they could make some sense, but he had to go through this period, and he had to take in all the intel he could.

Whether it came from a Cerberus agent or not, he could correlate it later.

He understood better, now, why Shepard had seen fit to utilized Cerberus's resources. Not that he agreed with it, or would ever take that step, but perhaps he understood, needing to rely on people who were supposedly "former" agents of the Illusive Man. He jogged beside him, making sure their paces matched, and neither one of them looked too willing to pull ahead yet.

"Gunning for us? What are they trying to do, take us out?" His voice wasn't so much confused as it was pensive. As a biotic -- something Jacob would probably understand -- the idea of people fearing them was a real memory, something that people still dealt with. The why was easy, but what lengths were they willing to take? "What are they doing?"

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And Listen Closely To What I Say,

B; evening

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