bigapplesauce | there is always a city, always a lighthouse, and always a man [open to multiple]

Current Location: Central Park
Current Music: 2nd August 2013 (backdated)

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there is always a city, always a lighthouse, and always a man [open to multiple]

The radio crackles to life an hour before dawn. Castor's already awake, as he often is, warming leftovers on the stove. The voice on the other end is cut with static, but his ear is trained enough to make out "Dock calling Boneshaker, come in, over." He flicks the burner off and steps across his drafty little room, picking up the receiver.

"Boneshaker receiving Dock, over," he answers. His voice is low and rich. Good for the radio, Inoue told him once. It was the closest she ever came to direct praise.

"Radar's---ind of interference---your location," says the dispatcher. "Any---wh---ing on, over."

Castor frowns. The static is worse than usual. He jiggles a few knobs but it seems like something more than the usual signal problems. A glance at some of the other instruments tells him whatever's causing this is causing a systemic problem. The whole circuit seems off.

"Dock, please hold, over." He sets the receiver down and studies the readout for a second, uncomprehending. Everything's off, unsynced and inconsistent with one another. Hell.

He leans toward the window, peering into the dark. He sees thick fog against the lighted horizon, but that's not new. He reaches back for the radio.

"Dock, this is Boneshaker - I'm reading interference here but I can't see nothing, over."

"Maintain-------and we'll------ming----v------"

"Dock, come in." Castor works the radio with practiced precision, trying to retune it and receiving only long bursts of static. "Dock, I'm losing you. Come in, Dock, over."

Another long burst of static, and then nothing.

"Nice," says Castor to himself, and drops the receiver. He glances woefully at the stove, feeling his stomach growl. Soup will have to wait.

He arms himself with the handheld radio and climbs the tower to the lamp, which is still burning away. He checks over everything just to be sure, but this, at least, is operational. The most important aspect. He peers out the window, trained eye searching for ships, but the sea looks dark and empty.

He lifts the walkie to his mouth and murmurs distractedly, "Boneshaker, calling all channels, come in, over."

He waits, and receives nothing.

This isn't that unusual. There've been problems before. Storms or maintenance problems, usually, not like this, but at least it's not a wholly unfamiliar situation.

Then, without any guttering prelude, the lamp goes out. Castor jerks so sharply he drops the radio, hears it clatter and break. He swears under his breath, gropes along the wall, blind in the sudden dark, his hand grasping for the lighter. There's a fierce, unexpected howl of wind, and he stiffens and stares out the window. Nothing on the water's surface. Calm and unbroken. Not wind, then. What is he hearing?

It's over in moments.

Suddenly, suddenly, light and heat and smells and noise. Ferocious and overwhelming. He staggers and falls, landing on green grass, surrounded by trees and paved pathways and most of all people. Some are staring at him, most are wandering busily about. There's a distant roar of traffic, a sound buried deep in the recesses of his memory. He hasn't heard traffic since he was in London, so many forgotten years ago. The smells and the heat are the worst thing; he strips his heavy coat immediately, strips down to his t-shirt, though that and his trousers are both black and absorbing the sun's brutal heat with a vengeance. His feet are bare. He scrambles to get up. He stares about himself, lost and afraid.

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The weird weather's finally cleared up and there's no further chance of being perception-filter-rained-on as he's been assured by multiple parties, but that's not going to stop Daniel from eying the innocuous blue sky warily. He's not completely sold on its cloudless status. Very suspicious, that. Still, he'll take advantage of the lack of fickle weather to get out of the apartment (as he's been more and more eager to do these days) and go hunting for job possibilities, hopefully find a less conspicuous potential residence. The trip has been largely unsuccessful, though not entirely uneventful. Daniel's just crossing Central Park, paper coffee cup in hand, when someone materializes right in the middle of it.

Daniel recognizes the lost, panicked look well enough, the very same look he himself wore not too long ago. He makes a beeline for the guy, slows his approach and raises his free hand in an effort to look as nonthreatening as he can.

"Hey," he says gently. "Hey, you all right there?"

He knows the answer isn't as easy as a simple yes-no dichotomy. It never is.

That someone is speaking to him should come as no surprise, but Castor startles anyway. Both approach and question are gently made, which helps somewhat, but he's still breathing hard and fast, and he doesn't know how to explain what has just happened. He's embarrassed by the prospect.

"Hi," he says, even managing to make that short syllable sound awkward, a dead giveaway for how long it's been since he ever had a casual, non-radioed conversation. "I, um. I think so."

In the general sense, the sense that all his limbs are attached and he's still breathing. He checks himself over distractedly. "Yeah." He looks at the man speaking to him and decides on almost no information that he looks official somehow. The way he carries himself and the way he approached. Makes Castor uncomfortable, like he's about to be scolded or rounded up.

"I'm not where I'm supposed to be," he blurts nervously. "I, I was somewhere else. I don't know how to explain it."

Okay, yeah, definitely a rifty. Daniel's never been a welcoming committee in this context before. The guy still looks pretty skittish so he takes a step or two back, gives him his space, trying to communicate that he's not in any danger.

"It's okay." He smiles, a sympathetic twist to one side of his mouth. "That's, well, actually pretty normal around here. You've just fallen through a Rift in space-time. It, um, it happens." Wow, so he's handling this with all the care and delicacy of a trainwreck. How's that for easing someone into this?

"You're in Manhattan, New York, Earth, 2013. It's uh, it's -" Daniel scrunches his eyes shut in an effort to recall the date. "August. Second? Yeah. But, but don't worry, you're okay. You're fine," he adds hastily, apologetically, hoping his muddled explanation is relatively understandable.

Castor stares at the man for a moment, trying to parse this. He knows 'Manhattan, New York' though he's never been there, never been out of the UK. 'Earth, 2013' is stranger. Is that not a given? Well, maybe not, if 'rift in space-time' is also on the table. Is this guy for real?

Suspicion would be stupid. He's the one who just appeared here, defying reason and physics.

"August," he repeats, as though that were the most startling thing. "How - how long as this been happening, I mean, do people - does the government know about it? I never heard anything about this."

Why would he? No one tells him much of anything, unless it's to do with his work. But now that it's affected him, shouldn't he have known?

He feels a twinge of nervous energy. The lamp went out - the radio died. What's going to happen to the ships out there?

"I need to get back," he says quickly.

"Yeah," says Daniel, drawing out the word with an empathetic wince. "It's, um. Complicated. There's no way back, nothing we've figured out yet. I'm, I'm sorry."

That's less easy to accept. There's still some part of Daniel that hasn't quite learned to work that into his worldview either, distantly, optimistically latching onto the hope that someday someone will work out something, some way to send people back the way they came.

"The government here knows," he continues, doing his best to systematically answer each question. "They monitor the place, the activity, doing their best to figure out how it all...works."

Another grimace, and his hand drops.

"I know it's a lot. I'm sorry."

"What?" Castor blinks at the man, feeling a bit dizzy. "There's no - no way back. What do you mean? Can't I get on a, on a plane, at least? Or something like that?" Again he remembers the mention of Earth, like that isn't the norm for everyone, and he can't imagine how this would be if he'd been taken to an entirely different planet. He'd have panicked already, probably. As it is all he can really summon up is irritation, as though this is only a waste of time, not just a complete undoing of everything he's ever known to be true.

"There is an England here, right?" he says, fearing the answer. "I mean, I - I have to get home, I have to get back to work. People are depending on me." As though that will make a difference.

"There - yeah, no, this is, it's more or less Earth as we all know it." He's assuming, anyway. Oh god, this is really not going to go over well. "Look, I'm sorry, we - when you come through the Rift, there's a, it's like a barrier. We can't leave the island, I'm sorry."

Like being frantically apologetic is going to help this guy adjust. It's never easy adjusting, it's always a shock, and Daniel wishes there was some sort of seminar. That would be helpful.

The true weight of the situation is now, finally, beginning to sink in. Castor sways very slightly but manages to keep his balance.

"Oh," he says thickly. "Um. Okay."

This is ridiculous. He can't just take one guy's word for it, but he doesn't know what to do, where to turn. Inoue never prepared him for anything like this. No one did. There is no preparation, no straight series of tasks. What is he supposed to do?

"Wh... what do I..." He shakes his head quickly, as though trying to expel that particular concern. "I'm sorry, I don't unders... I don't know what to do."

He's starting to get antsy, feeling like he should get away from this man. Not because he's threatened, not at all, just - it's too much. He's afraid he'll collapse, and he doesn't want it to be in front of someone he's just met.

"Hey, hey." Daniel reaches out one hand, hovers it in front of him. He's not sure how welcome touch would be at the moment, but the poor guy looks like he's about to collapse. "It's gonna be okay. All right? I know it's, there's a lot going on but it'll be okay. There're people here, organizations, they help people like us get on our feet. Here, um." He realizes too late he's been neglecting a rather important introductory step.

"I'm Daniel," he offers, trying for a reassuring smile, one side of his mouth ticking upward.

"Sorry, no, I'm fine." He shakes his head again, struggling to pull himself together. He is far from fine, but there's no point in shaking up a fuss over it now. He looks back at Daniel, sort of avoiding the hand still but managing a smile. He should be grateful, he realizes, that Daniel is expending this effort, and taking such care. It's a kind thing to do.

He forgot, too, to introduce himself. In his defense, he hasn't had to do so in many years.

"Bo - uh, Castor," he says. No need for the handle out here, on the mainland, so to speak. "Castor Nubari."

He takes Daniel's hand with greater precision than the motion needs, careful to grip it right, and gives it a quick shake. "Thank you."

Castor's doing pretty well for having just been hurled into an entirely different universe. Daniel answers with a tight smile and, "Well, it's nice to meet you. Sorry, I know this is, it's all kind, well. Confusing."

That'd be putting it lightly. Castor's movements are a little too jerky, too ill-defined for Daniel to believe he's in any way at ease, but that's perfectly rational given the circumstances.

"There are factions," he explains, quiet and even. "Um, organizations, meant to help rifties, people who come through like you and me. They can get you food, money, places to stay, whatever you need."

He's not sure if he should be giving Castor space or pushing right ahead to divert his focus, so he pauses and gives him a minute. It's a lot to take in. Daniel didn't handle himself quite so well, at least not the first thirty minutes.

"Okay," says Castor, nodding. "Okay. More than one?" The word faction is telling. It's not unified. There's some kind of opposition. What is he getting into?

"Can you tell me about - actually, can we sit?" He looks around, scanning the surrounding area, and spots lines of benches along a path, more in the shade. "Over there, out of the heat. I'm a little. Well, it was October where I was, and I was on the coast." He shifts his coat and jacket over his arm as if to prove it.

"Sure, yeah." Daniel moves in step with the new rifty, drops onto one of the benches. "October? Oof, talk about temp shift." No wonder the guy had layers.

Once they're seated, he arranges what he does know of the factions into something that's a little more organized and, hopefully, coherent.

"Basically, you've got ROMAC, who manages the Rift per the government's request. They've got good resources but they're known to be a little, uh. Sketchy, I suppose is, is the word." Not his word, but it summarizes them pretty neatly. "On the other side you've got the Rebels, who focus more on rifty protection, aren't too fond of ROMAC, so on and so forth. They're a little less corporate but, well, equally suspicious in terms of, of morality."

He wants to give them a fair assessment, but it's a little difficult when he's trying to make the factions' questionable methods abundantly clear to Castor. He deserves to know what he could be signing up for if he decides to cast his lot with either of them.

Castor listens attentively, absorbing this as best he can. This can't possibly be happening, can it? Daniel is being so earnest, wanting to help him, and he still feels like he's dreaming. He leans back with a long exhale, letting his gaze wander across the park, trying to accept the reality of it, trying to establish some kind of intellectual or emotional connection to the new land he inhabits. The whole idea makes his stomach turn.

He should say something.

"Okay," he says, swallowing, his throat still thick and dry. "Um. Okay."

He's been in government hands for his whole life, and for the most part they've left him to his own devices, and that's what he's liked best. The idea of offering himself up anew is terrifying. He doesn't have any of his papers or proof of his existence or anything, but... he supposes that must be the same for everyone. And they can't try to deport him to Nigeria, can they, if no one can leave the island.

Still, though. Maybe the Rebels would be more understanding. Such an organization has to exist for a reason.

"Which, um," he says stutteringly, "which one are you with?"

Ah. And therein lies the dilemma.

"Neither," he says carefully. "There's nothing inherently bad about either of them. I know people who've been helped and hurt by both. I'm just not really one for political involvement."

He deserves to get the truth here, and he deserves to know that it's not quite a clear-cut answer. Still, Daniel knows from experience that it can be kind of a lot.

"You doing all right?" he asks again, cause it bears repeating with how skittish Castor still looks. Gosh, poor guy. "I know, it's a lot and it's, it's all at once. D'you need, I dunno, is there anything I can -?"

"I don't know," says Castor honestly. "I mean... it is a lot. I don't know anything about this city, or... or this, this, what did you call it? A rift?"

He shakes his head slowly and presses a hand to his forehead. What he really wants is to be somewhere quiet.

"How hard is it to make it without the organizations?" he asks after a moment.

"I won't say it's easy," Daniel admits somewhat ruefully, rolling his shoulders back. Yeah, that's still an ongoing issue. "I got lucky. Friend lent me some resources and I'm staying in her old place until I can find a new one. Not legally, mind. I'm, ah, squatting there. More or less." Which he's less than comfortable admitting to a complete stranger, but it might give Castor some idea of how unofficial a lot of the establishments are.

He kind of wants to offer the place to Castor now, a la Lucy's initial offer when Daniel came through, but he doesn't know how well a suggestion like that would go over. They can wait on that, at least until Castor's maybe a little less on edge.

"It's not really difficult to stay under their collective radars if you do register with one or the other," he amends. The thought of striking off on one's own is intimidating enough without a space-time Rift being involved. "Lotta people don't actively work for either, just make use of the resources and lay low. They've got buildings, monthly allowances, stuff like that. I'm mostly staying out of it for, ah. Personal reasons." Which is definitely simplifying the issue, but Castor's got enough on his plate. What with the whole newly arrived and all.

Daniel really needs to get better at this.

Castor's not sure he likes the sound of squatting. He doesn't think he'd know what to do with that kind of freedom and responsibility - and the threat of being caught. What would happen if he was caught? He doesn't want to ask, and by so doing possibly cause Daniel more stress.

"Okay," he says slowly. "Okay." He rubs his hands slowly over his face, settling them both over his mouth. He peers over his fingertips at the ground, dazed, knowing he doesn't have to make a decision now and yet wanting to. Action is better than waiting and wondering.

"I guess, um..." He sighs and drops his hands. "I guess the government one. ROMAC?" Maybe they'll have clearer answers for him. Not that Daniel hasn't been clear - Castor figures he was probably very lucky to run into Daniel, though he's not doing a very good job showing his gratitude right now. Daniel probably understands.

Edited 2014-12-18 18:58 (UTC)

"Sure," says Daniel, again offering his muted, sympathetic smile. There's a solidity in finding a purpose and a set of directives to align oneself to, and a little stability is probably what sounds most appealing to Castor right now. "They're ah, east, I'm pretty sure. I can take you there, or just give you directions if that's, if you'd prefer that."

He's already digging out his phone, having gotten steadily better at deftly employing Google maps for his own needs since its usefulness was pointed out to him. He jiggles the phone and raises his eyebrows at Castor meaningfully.

"You have one?" he asks. "Er, if not you can get one once you register. But I thought maybe, I dunno, if you need my number, just to call if you need help with, with anything."

Castor shakes his head slowly. He never needed a phone at the lighthouse; he had the radio, and that was all. The idea of getting one now is comforting, the same way the radio was comforting. It represented access to a distant world. And now that the world is loud and close, a phone will represent access to the only person he knows so far.

"I'd like it if you could take me," he says. "If you don't mind that. I haven't really had to walk around in a city for a long time."

He stands up slowly. "Th-thank you for helping me, Daniel," he adds.

The smile slips into something a little more melancholic as gets to his feet along with Castor.

"It's not a problem."

After taking a minute to establish his bearings, Daniel leads him to the ROMAC building to register.

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there is always a city, always a lighthouse, and always a man [open to multiple]

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