trans_9 | [OPEN] What do they want?

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[OPEN] What do they want?

Nicholas Angel was, by nature, not the happiest of men. There was no doubt about it from anyone that knew of him that he loved his job, that he was married to the service. Official vocab guidelines say "the force" is seen as too aggressive. The notepad was the greatest weapon any officer could ever have—that was one of his most fervent beliefs about his entire training, all of his school, you could catch lies if you wrote everything down.

He'd managed to put Danny to the back of his mind as he took in the new surroundings, hated the organic, living, undulating, pulsating, sick and twisted and disgusting suit that was apparently the only thing he had to wear. Or anyone had to wear, for that matter. He had no pocket to put his notepad in. This meant he felt silly just walking around in the ugliest thing he could ever imagine without a place to put his greatest weapon.

There was a deep exhalation of stiff breath as he came to an area he didn't know. As a matter of fact, he didn't know any of the areas around this place. He hadn't asked, too busy taking in all the surroundings and memorizing them for later. He'd know his way around this breathing, moving, living "ship" in a few hours if he walked around even more.

He put his hands on his hips and stared up at the "ceiling" if it could be called that, not oblivious to the sounds of the ship and any others who might pass by, but completely lost in thoughts of...a Greater Good.

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Holly was exploring - since the fight on the bridge, she was working on mapping out the ship. She wore her helmet, which recorded video of where she'd been, and then worked it into a map on the helmet's computers. It helped her focus, and gave her something to do.

Of course, to anyone who wasn't familiar with her species, she would have looked like a three-foot-tall child wearing a full-face motorcycle helmet and a toy police belt wandering around the ship.

She rounded a corner and saw a man holding a notepad, staring at the ceiling. She raised an eyebrow, though it wouldn't be seen past her visor, and called out to him, her voice sounding metallic because of the helmet's speakers. "...Do you need help, or something?"

Nicholas heard the voice, ears rolling upwards as he took the sound in. A sigh escaped. As much as he didn't want to speak with anyone, he also had to recognise that it was the only way to learn more about his abduction, the ship, the place, and why he wasn't able to find a real pair of clothes to wear. Oh, how he longed for his firmly ironed, starched, perfect pants, his button-up, his bullet proof vest, his radio holder, his pockets, his shiny black shoes his...his everything. He was covered in a thing of disgust and yet...he still felt naked.

At least it didn't give him a bulge. That would have been unacceptable, and he would not have gone out in public if that was the case.

"I doubt I'm the only one in need of an explanation," he replied, turning around to...

Wow. She was short. She? The voice...it sounded rather androgynous. Metallic, rusty, coppery, just like the taste of blood in his mouth thanks to Simon Skinner and the fight over Aran A. Aranson and the entire town of Sandford in the model village. You want to be a big cop in a small town? Go fuck off up the model village!

"Watch yourself." Javert said sharply, suddenly. "It stares back." He grinned a little strangely, staring at (or past) Nicholas.

Nicholas didn't jump; he'd heard the footsteps coming up and barely blinked at the sharp tone in the voice. He turned on a dime, staring across the way at the other man. Well, at least he wasn't floating or making phantom green fists and hands with which he was supposed to shake. He was just a normal man.

Hopefully.

"I see no eyes."

"No, no I imagine you don't." He made a noise deep in his throat, still staring through the other man, smile fading.

No, Nicholas, he's not a very normal man.

"I would stay vigilant in either case."

Nicholas noticed that, the strange smile, the awkward line of vision. He was tempted to turn around to see if there was anything behind him, perhaps another "Green Lantern" floating upside down and the like ready to read over his shoulder all over again.

Again, he was reminded of Dickens. The way he looked at him felt like the way Ebenezer Scrooge had looked at his business partner's specter. Had he no bowels? Was the man capable of seeing through him?

...he must have been on drugs, certainly.

"And you are?"

"Inspecteur Javert." Javert, suddenly, briefly, was looking directly at Nicholas. It lasted for one peircing moment before he again was staring through the other man.

Well, that wasn't creepy as fuck at all!

Well, well, if he was going to be semi-ignored and stared through, what was the point in continuing any sort of conversation with the (probable) junkie? Only the worst of those in need had ever looked through him like that...like they could ingest the contents of his stomach and go without need of food for all of a half of a day.

"See anything you like?"

Better not be looking at my crotch.

Javert snapped his eyes back to Nicholas again. Despite his admittedly...strange behaviour, his eyes were entirely, extremely clear.

He studied Nicholas briefly, considering. "No."

...Jesus Fucking Christ, everyone was on drugs. Was it something in that...saliva placenta mucous phlegm disgusting vulgarity he had been shat out of? How had he been breathing in there anyway? Naked and vulnerable...stuck in some of sack like sperm in a...sac. Ugh, the comparisons he was coming up with for that thing were revolting. He'd been eaten, drugged, and shat out. That was all there was to it. That was all there could be to it.

This man...thing. Freak. Circus clown. Was a hallucination. Had to be. Maybe it was all because of that joke about Doris not minding a bit of manpower. Oh, he shouldn't have said that in the first place. Sexual harassment lawsuits thrown his way, Janine hearing about it...poor Janine. Poor peace lily.

His thoughts were so rapid and disjointed he knew without a doubt in his mind that he'd been injected or infected with some horrible substance that he'd never heard of before. This was something Danny would have jumped at the chance to be a part of. Spaceships, saving the universe, floating note-pad-readers, "proper action and shit."

Nicholas said nothing.

Javert snorted. It wasn't his place to explain the joke, and the other man looked somewhat...despondent. He could almost feel bad about it-- He didn't, but he almost did.

He elected to fold his hands behind his back, staring out into general empty space, thoughtful.

Oh, so it was a joke? Like Nicholas had even the slightest ability to pick up on a joke. So he didn't like what he saw with Nicholas. What was the point in saying anything more? What was the point in even giving this hallucination another thought? He was just talking to himself anyway. Or was he?

He thought of a question only he would know. Well, Danny would know as well, but if this was a hallucination, then it was a part of him as well. Right?

"Who gave me the pedal car?"

Well, if this wasn't a hallucination, it would certainly be an interesting topic of discussion!

Only not really.

...

All right, that made Javert blink and look vaguely confused.

"...I'm afraid I have no idea what a pedal car is. Or who would give you such a thing."

The people here are strange.

Nicholas blinked back, lifting a hand to run through his (short, closely cropped) hair. Well well. This was going...this didn't make any sense.

He put his face in both hands and exhaled deeply. "Are there any drugs here?"

Holly took a good look at the human. He seemed to be partly off in his own world, but there was something else about him. A sort of air about him that seemed a little familiar. Maybe some of her coworkers.

"No, you're not," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "We all want explanations. Even if we've already gotten a few."

No, no, short lady, Nicholas wasn't lost in his own world. He was lost in this world. He was hallucinating, had to be. He'd been born out of slime and possible smegma. Disgusting. He was naked and stuck in this piece of shit plant thing that moved around and that he could feel moving around. He'd been shat out, rolfed, birthed from the bowels of a spaceship that acted like it/she/whatever was his mother and just cared oh-so-much. What the fuck?

"Are you on drugs?"

Holly paused for a moment, then reached up to her helmet. There was a whisper-soft hiss as the seals released, and she removed it. The face under the helmet was small, but fierce, a few scars here and there. And it had pointed ears.

She'd removed the helmet just so that the human could see her eye-roll.

"No, Mud-man, I'm not on drugs," she groaned. And if she were to try some, she'd probably loose her magic. But she didn't mention that.

"I believe there is a small ring of men trafficking tobacco." Javert, himself, has snuff. He doesn't usually smoke his supply.

"If you wish and thing else, well. I'll remember your face." Nicholas ought to know that tone-- the tone of a suspicious police officer.

Nicholas took out his pad again immediately, scribbling down something that would probably make the little girl...elf...fairy scarred up hallucination laugh. Unless she was able to float upside and look over his shoulder, well, she'd never get to know. Poor thing.

"Mud-man?"

Those eyes narrowed, and he pulled his pad out, standing at attention as he began to write down the name he'd been given. Jah...vear. Jahvar. Jaa...verr. Nicholas' strong point wasn't French, obviously. Inspector...Java Java...

"How do you spell your name?"

The notepad inspired a bit of paranoia in Holly. Generally, humans taking notes on a fairy was means for a mind-wipe (with one exception). But there wasn't really anything she could do about it, being pretty far outside of LEP jurisdiction.

"Yes, Mud-man. Because your species crawled out of the mud." Basically, a species slur. But Holly was so used to using it that she didn't bother to mention that part.

Javert snorted. "J. A. V. E. R. T. Do get it right, won't you. I know the English have difficulties."

Inspector Javert—prick of the highest degree. Very suspicious fellow. Likes to look through people as opposed to at them. Makes the Andes look like saints.

"Police Sergeant Nicholas Angel," he replied with a curt nod, extending his free hand.

"That's only a theory," Nicholas replied immedHiately. Having studied sociology and politics at Canterbury, it only made sense for him to allow room for other theories on the creation of the world to be spoken of. "We very well could have been made out of sand and woman from bone. Or even saffron creme. There are many thoughts out there about the creation of the world, many religious beliefs to take into consideration. You may as well just call us all uncertain-as-to-where-man-came-from-men."

Javert looked at his hand a moment before shaking it. "Well. More officers of the law. A pleasure, I'm sure."

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