trans_9 | Watch your feet! [open]

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Watch your feet! [open]

The sounds of muffled thumps and crashes (and not-so-muffled swearing) can be heard from inside one of the rooms of the Sensoriums. Sure, it looks like a peaceful, picturesque little stone cottage near the edge of St. Andrews University, but inside is chaos and disaster. Or at least it looks like a very small localized hurricane hit many rooms at once (which is basically what happens when you live with nine other people).

Wyn can be found sitting on the floor in the kitchen, surrounded by bits and pieces of broken crockery (and random pieces of machinery in various states of disassemblement, and a bowl of cereal, and a blue-and-gray scarf, and the manual to Disgaea...). Anybody feel like finding out what happened?

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Robert pokes his head in, investigating the noise. He blinks, scratching his head as he walks further into the room. The private detective squats, picking up a piece of crockery and examining it before he looks back up at Wyn, raising an eyebrow.

"A bomb go off in here or something?"

"Um. Most of this is just a bunch of messy people living together. What used to be a plate, on the other hand..." Wyn says, biting her lip. "I told Tristan it wouldn't stay up there."

"Hi, by the way." she continues, smiling up at the newcomer.

"Ah, right." He's not quite used to it. He was in the army, and now he lives by himself so he's not quite used to the disorder.

"Hello. I'm Robert. I don't think we've met." He stands, offering the young woman hand.

To be fair, college students can be spectacularly messy when they want to be. "I don't think we have either! I'm Wyn, nice to meet you." she says, taking the offered hand and pulling herself up to her feet.

"So, uh, welcome to Pierce Hall." Wyn says brightly, snagging the scarf from the ground and wrapping it around her neck (never mind that she's already got headphones around her neck and that the blue-and-gray stripes clash horrifically with her red-and-blue plaid lumberjack shirt).

That's true, of course. But then again, he didn't go to school until after the war. "Nice to meet you too." He smiles, looking around the messy room one more time with a faint shake of his head.

"Thanks for the welcome..." He eyes the scarf, headphones, and the horrible, horrible shirt.

"I thought it might be nice to go home, just to see it, but it's weird with no people and I so don't want the imaginary people from Stacy's brain in here. So now it's just awkward." Wyn says with a shrug.

She likes that shirt! To be fair, she likes that shirt because her ~~boy~~friend gave it to her and it's all comfy and reminds her of ~~him~~ home.

"Yeah, it's just not the same." He wanders over toa counter, running his hand sover the surface. It's nice to feel something besides creepy living flesh, even if it's not real. "And she'll pop up imaginary people? Something tells me I don't want to see that."

"Well, the way I understood it was that she could pull memories from you and make simulacra of people you know from your memories of them. Which, um... do not want." Wyn says, playing with the tassels of the scarf. "Not even Oliver, and it's not like you'd be able to tell if he was the real thing or something Stacy made." Oliver is an AI, although he's accidentally become sentient and is currently (unhappily) inhabiting her laptop.

"You said it. That's just downright strange." He jams his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, which he is eternally greatful to have, considering it does a better job of preserving modesty then the damned plantsuit.

"I'd hate to see what she'd do to my son. Or some of my buddies..." He shivers and looks around the scattered room again. "Nice place though. I bet it looks nice when it's cleaned up." He teases, giving the young woman a grin.

Wyn just snorts. "This is clean. You should see upstairs. ... or maybe not." she says with a grin, looking up the stairs apprehensively. "I don't even want to know what upstairs looks like. And yeah, this is basically the best dormitory ever, even if we're the people who couldn't get a room anywhere else."

She suddenly remembers her cereal and leans down to pick up the bowl, trying very very hard not to spill. It works about as well as you'd expect, and some milk and Froot Loops cascade over the rim of the bowl and onto the floor. "... well, dammit."

"Clean? Really? I've never let my kid keep his room like this. Or any room in the house for that matter." He chuckles. "I might just be uptight, but I like everything squared away."

When she spills her cereal, he just shakes his head grabs at the roll of paper towels on the counter, offering it to her. "These might help."

"... yeah, sadly. Like I said, this is eight messy people and two fanatically neat ones living together, and the neat ones are fighting a losing battle." Wyn says with a shrug. "It's not that uptight, really. People are just different."

"Thanks." Wyn says sheepishly, delicately placing the bowl of cereal on the counter and taking the roll of paper towels. She drops a couple of squares of paper towel on the spilt milk, using one foot to maneuver them around the shards of pottery and pick up most, if not all, of what was on the floor. "I swear I can be coordinated. Really."

"I suppose so. Though really, deep down we're all very much alike. Sometimes I think you hafta put people in the worst situations to see the best of them." He shrugs, scuffing a foot against the floor.

"And no problem. I believe you." He chuckles softly, then blinks. "Wait, can you get real food here?"

"Y- well, sort of. If you bring your tray of Stacy-provided glop in here, you can make it look and taste like whatever you want. It's still glop, you're just tricking yourself into thinking it's something you can actually eat, if that makes sense." Wyn says, cereal heaped on her spoon, trying to think of how it was explained to her. "Hence the Froot Loops."

Om nom nom Froot Loops.

"You mean I could pretend I'm having a delicious, delicious steak instead of that mush? Hell, even SOS would be better than that crap, and I spent four years in the army!" He grins, the prospect of tasting real food again obviously improving the man's spirits.

Om nom nom indeed.

"This is probably a bit of a stupid question, but what's SOS? I'm just assuming you don't mean SOS as in the panic signal on boats, which, um, isn't edible-- although maybe that was your point, I don't know." And now Wyn's brain is meandering down little random pathways of things that should probably never, ever be connected. She hurriedly takes a bite of cereal, hoping to cut off more rambling before it starts.

"It's...ah....'Shit on a Shingle.' You take the canned creamed chipped beef, the 'shit,'that the army gives you and put it over a piece of toast or biscuit, or the 'shingle.' It was kind of disgusting, especially cold, but it was better then not eating anything at all." He grins, shaking his head. "Yeah. There you go. SOS is the polite way of putting it, really. Or 'Stew on a Shingle.'"

"Oh. The sad thing is, that actually does sound better than the I-don't-even-want-to-know-what Stacy provides." Wyn says, frowning at her cereal. "Anyway, yeah, you can make real food in here, kind of, which is probably the best news I've had on this godforsaken ship."

"You're telling me! At least now I can pretend to enjoy something half-way edible. I was getting tired of mush morning, noon and night. Now if only we could find a way to get some real clothes." He grumbles, tugging on the collar of his plantsuit. He's mostly used to the tight and revealing clothing now, but that doesn't mean it doesn't offend his sensibilities.

"Shoes. I would love to have my shoes back." Wyn says fervently. She's fine with just the flannel shirt-- it's got pockets and is long enough to pretend that the plantsuit is just a pair of very creepy leggings-- but she would kill to have her Chuck Taylors back.

Robbie adjusts the sling of his rifle slightly, finally deciding to lay the damn thing on the counter. He's taken to carrying it everywhere to insure it isn't stolen by ~~Sawyer~~ unscrupulous fellows amongst the crew.

"Shoes! Yeah, that'd be lovely. At lest I have my coat and belt...but the damn thing is too warm to wear all the time. I hope we stop somewhere we can pick up real clothes. Though I heard that last planet was pretty bad."

Wyn doesn't want your rifle, so no worries there! "I heard bits of the story, but not the whole thing. If they're all in the wilderness, though, I'm going to have a couple of issues with these mission things." Wyn says. She's a city girl at heart, and St. Andrews is out in the middle of nowhere for her. Anything beyond that and she's hopelessly lost.

"Hopefully not. I mean, I'm okay with wilderness. Go camping and all that and I had to run around in the infantry in the army...but I'm more comfortable in the city." He sighs, glancing out one of the windows of the simulated house.

"This is too much like the army for my taste. Going somewhere we've never heard of with no idea what's going on."

"This is about as wilderness-y as I can take, honestly." Wyn says with a slight frown, gesturing out the window at the campus. "This isn't very wilderness-y at all, I know that, but..." She grimaces, making little finger-wiggly motions of distaste.

"I definitely did not sign up for this. I mean, I didn't sign up for any of it, it was a kidnapping, obviously, but I especially didn't sign up for the army." Oh, she's definitely not happy about that bit of the kidnapping-by-alien-spaceship.

"I don't think any of us signed up for it. I just wanted to kick back with a beer and watch the Twilight Zone before picking up on some more casework." He sighed and shook his head.

"Next thing I know I'm in the Twilight Zone. Hopefully we can get this job done soon and go home."

"I hope so, anyway. If we're here for too much longer, next thing you know I'll actually be looking forward to English class and then the whole world will turn upside-down out of sheer improbability." Wyn says with a shrug and a slightly rueful smile.

"Ha! I was never much for English in college. I was a criminology major myself." He leans back against one of the counters, sighs.

"Think I might go crazy if we're cooped up much longer, though."

"So what do you do with a major in criminology when you're not kidnapped by squishy flying spaceships to do something-or-other-we're-not-entirely-sure-yet?" Wyn asks curiously. The answer is actually somewhat obvious if she thinks about it for more than two seconds, but... well, for a smart person she asks very stupid questions sometimes.

Robert chuckled at the terminology, nodded at Wyn.

"Well, I was a cop. Started out on the beat before the war, but then the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor and that was all she wrote. Went in the army for the war, got out, went to school on the G.I. Bill so I could get my degree. Then I was a cop again, for thirteen years. Made detective and everything...." He pauses, growing thoughtful for a moment.

"Then I went private. Mostly I track down runaway teenagers, snoop on people, work missing persons stuff. Sometimes I help the department out with a case."

"Oh, okay. That... makes sense." Wyn says slowly. "Meeting people from the past is weird, sorry, even if it is an alternate past. Unless it's not an alternate past-- you haven't got magic in your world, have you?" It makes tracking down missing persons and runaway teenagers a lot easier...

"It's weird meeting people from my future. Talk about things that haven't been done or made yet..." He shakes his head, then raises an eyebrow at the next question.

"No, I'm afraid we don't have magic, unless you're talking about the parlor tricks variety."

"Not exactly, no." Wyn says, grinning. "I can think of a few people who'd get offended at that, actually, but no, not parlor tricks." She'd demonstrate, but her understanding of magic is theoretical only. She's got a shiny glowing rock, if that works...?

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