tushanshu_logs

Entry tags:

[Open]

Characters: Hellboy and YOU!
Date: April 1st through the 6th
Location: All over the place.
Situation: Hellboy wanders around trying to be useful.
Warnings/Rating: None.

As signs of sickness settle over Tu Vishan, Hellboy finds himself getting more and more agitated. There's not much he can do about the dying trees in Wood, or the black mold that creeps and consumes the Water Sector like a death shroud. The place is literally falling apart around him, and he's feeling pretty damn helpless to stop it.

Meanwhile, the office he opened in the Metal Sector sits empty. He's already gotten into a few tiffs over rent with the guy he leases it from. Money is tight, and everybody wants more of it. But agreeing to pay a higher fee will keep the guy off of his ass for now, at least until he runs out of money. Or until he decides to close the place down.

So that leaves him pretty much broke. But worst of all, it leaves him sober. Two years spent chained in the bottom of the ocean taught him he really didn't need to eat or drink to survive, but hell if he really even wants to think about that. He doesn't want to think about a damn thing. But having no money to waste on liquor doesn't leave him with a whole lot of options.

And what does Hellboy do when he can't metaphorically run from his problems, you ask? He does it literally, of course. So here he is, trudging his way across Keeliai, looking to stumble upon people who might actually know how to fight this environmental disaster and offer help if they need it. But most of all, he's just looking for a distraction.

Feel free to swing by the office in the Metal Sector; the one with the sign above the door that reads "Paranormal Investigation". Or you can find him wandering around the most diseased parts of the turtle. After several days of traveling, he'll wind up down by the exposed shell of the turtle's edge, looking out toward the sea. The mainland is a hulking grey ghost lurking on the horizon, drawing nearer by the hour. There, he lights one of his last cigarettes and waits.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

While out in one of the barren, diseased sections of Tu Vishan, he will actually run into someone who is trying to fight the environmental disaster at hand. Bruce isn't the type to wait for someone else to do something for him, so he's out taking samples on his own.

It's not too far from Keeliai, perhaps less than a day's easy walk, but there is someone out there kneeling down on the exposed shell. He's a thin, scraggly figure in cheap kedan clothes, remarkable for his drabness against the opalescent sheen of the shell. He has a modern Earth style backpack, even more ragged than the rest of him but holding together, and it's placed on the ground beside him. There's a few wires trailing out of its open top and over to a handheld device he's holding over the ground as he peers at the read out. It's obviously cobbled together and handmade, but serviceable.

It'd be almost impossible to miss someone like Hellboy with the complete lack of trees or grass or any other landmarks around. Bruce glances up, and his eyes widen, but truthfully after a second of concern what he feels is pained empathy. Sometimes he thinks getting to hide the Hulk behind his normal, human appearance is just a lie he shouldn't have the privilege of telling.

All he does is raise a hand and wave in greeting from a few dozen yards out, waiting to see if he'll approach.

This is a lonely place, out here where what sparse grasses once clung to the barren shell have withered and died. All the animals have either picked up and left for greener places, or were long hunted to extinction by hungry city dwellers. Not far away from here, there's an abandoned village left crumbling on a hilltop, its history dissolving with time and the elements. That's where Hellboy's headed now, and where he planned to spend the night alone under the stars in the company of ghosts.

It's a windy late afternoon as he makes his way across naked shell, his hooves scraping for purchase where the surface is worn smooth. The ocean is still another day's walk, but the breeze smells deceptively like the sea, sweeping at the heavy folds of his duster.

The man crouched with his equipment in the middle of the desolation is the first person he's seen in the last several hours. Most people don't bother to leave the city. Especially now, with Keeliai sickening all around them. Everyone's turned their focus and their resources inward.

That was exactly why Hellboy had to leave, had to get away from the tension building in the streets and clear his head. And maybe he'd find something in the meantime.

At the man's greeting, Hellboy raises his own hand in reply. The left one, for reasons Bruce may notice as he approaches, since the right hangs heavily, seemingly carved from massive stone at his side.

The guy looks like he's fallen on hard times. Haven't they all, these last few weeks. Especially the Foreigners. But he looks even more hard-pressed than most. And he has no idea what that equipment is.

"How's it going?" He asks when he gets a little closer, gazing curiously at the device in his hand.

The crumbling village is admittedly interesting to Bruce, and he was planning on heading over there himself at some point just to investigate. He was curious by nature and out here, more than anywhere else on the turtle, he was safe. If there was an incident, the Hulk would probably tear through the emptiness and abandoned structures until he wore himself out and collapsed, no one the wiser. Bruce had always felt relieved to be in a barren wasteland for precisely that reason, though he didn't precisely like it.

He notices the other hand hanging heavily, notices everything, really, but doesn't comment on it. His palpable wariness is the normal wariness he has upon meeting anyone. Bruce absolutely hates discussing his monster and assumes someone else wouldn't want to have something like that brought up, either, so he doesn't. He's here for a reason and he's doing that.

There's a notebook balanced precariously in his lap, his free hand taking down careful, neat columns of numbers in black pen from the device's screen. He doesn't stand, just looks up at Hellboy and gives a nod back in greeting. It's a very reserved sort of nod, but not unfriendly.

"It's alright. I'm rechecking some data points I got earlier." He's not sure how interested this guy would be, so he doesn't elaborate-- most people are fairly put off to have technobabble spouted at them with little warning. "I'm... uh, I'm surprised to see anyone else out here."

Data points... right. Pretty much anything Bruce could have said beyond that would've made Hellboy's eyes glaze over. But the guy mercifully spares him.

"Yeah," he breathes, swallows. His mouth is dry from battling his cigarette craving, and his last two mock him from his jacket pocket. But he's smart enough to save them, and glad for the distraction. "I'm headed for the ocean. Just getting a feel of how bad the damage is out this way."

"I haven't been out there yet," he answers with more visible interest. Since it seems like he's stopping to have an actual conversation, Bruce carefully sets the hand reader down on top of his notebook and pen on the smooth, crackled shell before rising to his feet. He's a little achy from crouching for too long, and might as well use the chance to stretch his legs.

"I haven't been here long, so I'm a little... wary to go out too far. But I'll have to at some point. I'm trying to get a sense of the, the extent of the corruption, too." He gestures down to the supplies at his feet.

Like reflex, Hellboy's gaze turns toward the direction of the sea. The salty ocean breeze is like an invisible compass, a silent beckoning to the shore.

After spending two years in chains at the bottom of the ocean, you'd think it would be the last place he'd want to be. But it calls to him, pulls at his bones with longing, dark and deep. It's the type of longing that wormed its way into the hearts of old sailors, of those who have lived and suffered the ways of the sea, and have seen her secret mysteries.

O, Stormy, he is dead and gone...

His tail lashes slightly behind him, and he frowns at the echoes of memory. Gone, but not forgotten. This is exactly what he doesn't want to think about.

What he wouldn't give for a drink.

"Don't try heading out to sea and you'll be fine," he says, his gaze drifting back to the man. He nods at the device and notes piled on the ground. "Find anything?"

Bruce notices the frown and the tail lashing, eyes drawn to it from pure curiosity, and realizes that there's more behind his opinion on the ocean than he's saying. But if he doesn't want to talk about it, he's not going to pry, and he nods in acknowledgement.

"Nothing new, just confirming what I already found. I'm getting some weird readings around here, but they're so subtle I'm not sure if it's mechanical or human error, or actually significant." His voice gains confidence and quickness as he talks about the technical, much more at ease with it than regular socialization.

"To make a long story short, I'm testing the mass density of the turtle. Irregularities might indicate the spread of the corruption."

"Any way of finding out what's causing it?" He asks, only grasping a general idea of what the guy's talking about. Another strong breeze off the ocean kicks up old dust, stinging skin and rattling the husks of grass like a breath shuddered through a dying throat. It's heavy and cool with the promise of rain.

Sure, ask any kedan and they'll say the turtle's sick. But sick isn't very specific. It's hard to tell what stories of pointing fingers at the Foreigners are true, or if it's all just speculation in the first place. Sometimes people just need something to blame. Hellboy knows that better than most.

He just wishes there was something he could do about it.

Edited 2013-04-20 05:59 (UTC)

"I couldn't tell you the definitive cause from what I have right now," he responds, "but if these readings aren't due to error, then there's some sort of tumor inside the turtle. Though I hesitate to use the word tumor, because I don't know what it is, exactly, just that there's pockets of differing density from the expected norm."

This is actually a lot for Bruce to say at once, who is naturally a taciturn person. He stops, gathering himself again, swallowing. He realizes he doesn't even know who (or what) this guy is, but he's always felt that information like this should be public, and shared.

He finishes his thought with, "What it does mean is that the sickness could be due to some sort of-- of cancer. I don't know, turtle biology isn't my area. But my current data would support it."

"Great," he sighs. Definitely don't like the sound of that. If this guy's right, that means there's really nothing anyone could do to fix things aside from magic. And he just really hates magic.

It's about then Hellboy realizes they never made a proper introduction. He's pretty used to being instantly recognizable, so it's a habit he's still getting used to.

"Guess I haven't introduced myself yet. The name's Hellboy," he says, offering the guy a left-handed handshake. It's awkward, but when your right hand is ten times the size it should be and made of stone, you learn to use the left for obvious reasons. "You knew around here? Can't say I've seen you around."

Edited 2013-04-26 06:40 (UTC)

There's a moment's hesitation not just for the fact that it's left-handed, but because Bruce generally doesn't like to touch people. He gives into the courtesy, though, not wanting to be rude, and offers a brief handshake. It's not tentative, despite the fact that most people would probably be at least a little reluctant; it's just reserved.

"Bruce Banner. I am new, not even a full week yet. I just, thought I'd jump in feet first with researching. I'm used to looking for impossible answers." It's a drastic understatement, because if anyone knows how to be undaunted at difficult to answer questions, it's Bruce. This one he thinks he might even find an answer for, unlike his own questions, which he has a thousand of. But Tu Vishan is a mystery more easily solved than the Hulk, as seen by the fact that he already has made a little bit of progress on it.

"What do you do around here?"

"Lately? Not much," he says, scratching at the patch of hair at his chin. Things have been on a slow decline ever since the turtle got damaged. He's not really sure who's to blame for the real reason the turtle's health is failing, but he sure as hell knows he's pretty damn helpless to stop it. "I set up a paranormal investigations office down in the Metal Sector, but things've been pretty quiet since the zombies."

"I heard about the, uh, zombies," he says, looking visibly uncertain what to make of it all yet. Bruce's previous experiences with the unbelievable all had to do with what was inside of him, and briefly, recently, with Emil Blonsky exhibiting the same symptoms; all of this is a little beyond him, and it's requiring adjustment.

"What does... paranormal investigations do? Is that what you do at home?" He can't help but be curious. The fact that he has no frame of reference for the idea as a legitimate profession, and not a hoax, means he's interested in the answer.

Things like zombies, or the paranormal in general, aren't something most people are familiar with even in his own world beyond movies and fairytales. At least not for the lucky people.

The Bureau was pretty good at keeping things quiet. People talked, sure, but even then most people took the stories with a dose of fantasy. There were some people in his world that even thought he was some kind of hoax despite seeing him all over the news. But people had their own ways of coping with things they couldn't quite wrap their heads around, and that's fine by him. Denial was probably a better state for most people.

But here, they aren't most people. Not with the things that have happened. You can't really ignore something like zombies falling from the sky, or the entire city being invaded by poltergeists. You had to prepare for it the best you can.

"Yep," he replies, nodding. "It's exactly what it says on the tin. We go to places people report having weird crap going on, check it out, and take care of the problem if we can."

A odd smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, hardly recognizable with his strange, angular features. "Don't worry. It's a hard thing for people to wrap their heads around even where I'm from." And the sciency types always seemed to have the hardest time with it.

Bruce is adjusting pretty well, in that he's not incredulous of anything he's heard in a way that truly doubts that it's possible, he's just exasperated with how little sense it all makes. The universe is meant to be consistent, and this is anything but. It seems like every person here operates on a different set of rules, and it means he can't predict or understand anything except on an individual, case by case basis. He's had this frustration with his own mutation for years, but having it suddenly crop up everywhere makes him a little long-suffering.

"I'm, well, I'm wrapping my head around it, I just don't know anything," he says with a slight laugh, running a hand through his hair. He's not embarrassed to admit his shortcomings. "There's... a little of this at home, but it's not-- occult.

"What do you usually investigate? I'm guessing not just ghosts."

Sabriel hadn't been expecting much in the Metal Sector, until a sign stirred some memories of her first day here. Someone on the network had said that someone else was starting a paranormal investigations bureau. She straightened up and knocked smartly on the door, already rehearsing what she'd say.

On the other side of the door, there's a heavy creaking and the sound of footfalls down the old flight of stairs. No, not just footfalls, but the unyielding thunk, thunk of someone in hard-soled shoes.

Then, the door swings open, Hellboy's bulk completely filling its narrow frame. He leaves his left hand on the doorknob, the right hanging huge and heavy at his side. His eyes glow a dull yellow in the poorly lit threshold.

"Hi," he says simply, trying to sound friendly. In truth, he feels pretty ragged around the edges. It's been too damn long since he's had a good drink, and sobriety's been grating on him more than he'd like to admit. But he won't let that on. "Can I help you with something?"

"I-" There's an instant where Sabriel's hands reach for the sword at her hip and one of the bells carried in a bandolier on her chest, but she forces her hands back to her sides as the thing- person? in front of her speaks, and she forces her hands back to her sides before speaking, her unnaturally pale face carefully neutral. She'd chosen to wear what she arrived in- a mail hauberk and a deep blue surcoat, dusted with the repeating pattern of silver keys. The clothes of an Abhorsen, though Sabriel certainly didn't feel like one.

"Hello, my name is Sabriel. I was told that there was an agency dealing with the supernatural upon my arrival, and I-" There's an embarrassed silence, "Have not been able to find employment with the Kedan, but I thought the skills I have might be suitable for this."

Hellboy just watches as the girl gets her bearings, keeping an eye on that sword. It's not an unusual reaction to his appearance. He's had worse, and it's something he's pretty used to. Does it rub him the wrong way? Sure. But that's not her fault, and any hard feelings are completely unreadable. Whether that's by sheer will or the fact that his hard, angular features are pretty incapable of most expression is anyone's guess.

Either way, he doesn't look or sound the least bit offended as he steps aside and invites her in. "Sure, come on in."

He turns to lead her up the dark, creaky stairwell that leads to the makeshift attic office on the building's third floor. As he climbs, Sabriel may notice the sound she'd heard from the other side of the door was not shoes, but the sound of cloven hooves clacking against the old wood. And that sure is a tail snaking out of the folds of his duster, bobbing behind him with every step.

Sabriel followed, pausing for a second after taking in his hooves and tail, before starting to speak again, trying to fill the silence and stop herself from staring as she walked behind him.

"I have heard that the City was attacked by the Dead before- have there been any other incidents involving the Dead or magic?" The only other mage she'd encountered seemed too kindhearted to be involved in anything like Free Magic, but others might not be.

"Yeah, there's plenty of both," he answers without looking back, sounding less than thrilled about the whole thing. The stairs creak dangerously under his weight the farther up they climb, but he doesn't seem too concerned. "Last time it was zombies falling out of the sky. Before that, ghosts. And don't forget the giant magic turtle crap," he adds wryly as they reach the top.

Upstairs is a sparse, one room place with a single window and a gathering of chairs arranged in one corner. The musty smell of dust and disuse still lingers in the walls over the fading smell of cigarettes.

Hellboy crosses the room and takes a seat in one of the sturdier chairs, gesturing for Sabriel to do the same. When he speaks again, his tone is serious. "I don't know how much you know, kid. But the Emperor is one powerful witch. And every time she summons another one of us here, far as I'm concerned, that's as much of an "incident" as any."

"So Dead both with physical bodies and without," Sabriel murmured as she sat down, lacing her hands in front of her.

"I have walked between Life and Death since I was twelve," Sabriel admitted, "But I never heard about this place before I came here. The Emperor is powerful- and using some kind of magic that I'd never heard of." Which was rather a shock to realize- but then, ever since she left Ancelstierre, she seemed to find more and more things she was completely ignorant of.

"Though if she's preventing the dead from passing on, it may be a form of necromancy." Which would mean it was an Abhorsen's duty to remedy the situation. Her duty, since she was the closest thing to an Abhorsen here.

He listens with a thoughtful look, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Hellboy knows a lot about the supernatural, but there's also a hell of a lot he doesn't know, especially with all the lore and inner-workings of other worlds thrown into the mix.

All he knows is the word necromancy sets his teeth on edge. He knows plenty about that, and thinking of the Emperor's power that way lights an angry spark in his stomach.

But he'll save that for later. For now, it's business. Fact-finding. For now that's all he can do.

"So you're a medium," he offers, hoping she understands the term. Right now he only thinks he has an idea of what she means.

Sabriel tilted her head at the word, then cleared her throat and decided to hope for the best. Surely, someone who looked like this wouldn't judge her for the more disturbing things she knew.

"I'm not familiar with the term, but- where I'm from," Sabriel swallowed, a little nervously, "I'd be called a necromancer, though I do not- and will not raise the dead- my duty is to undo the work of those who do." Her father's duty anyway. One that had now fallen to her, until he returned to Life.

"I also have some skill with Charter magic," Sabriel added, almost as an afterthought, "And I'm good with a sword." Might as well let her potential employer know more about her skills.

Yeah that's... not exactly what he had in mind. Hellboy's expression is flat, flatter than his usual mostly-expressionless face. It makes his golden-eyed gaze that much more intense beneath his heavy brow. "Charter magic?" He asks in a tone to match.

All this talk about necromancy and magic is making him pretty damn wary. She seems like an okay girl, but that doesn't sit well with him at all.

"Normal magic," Sabriel said, before realizing how unhelpful that was and elaborating with an uncomfortable look on her face.

"It's... orderly, and safer than Free magic and Necromancy- and can be used without the risk of corruption, and is one of the best means of defense against the Dead and Free magic creatures."

Safer, right... Far as he's concerned, no magic is "safe". There's always the risk of corruption, and usually you need to be corrupt to begin with. There's certain rituals and pacts with horrible things that have to be made. It's always bad, and it's always ugly.

"Okay," Hellboy sighs, trying to keep an open mind. "Listen, I'm not the biggest fan of magic. But you seem like a good kid, so I'll tell you why."

He rests his left hand atop his massive stone one, where it's sitting huge and heavy in his lap. As he speaks, his eyes narrow. Thinking about witches makes his blood boil, especially now. Especially after that thing at the Sabbath. They were stupid enough to think he'd want to be their king. God damn...

"Where I'm from there's really nothing "safe" about it. We're talking about making pacts with demons, sacrificing children... Nasty stuff. It's something people don't usually tend to mess with unless they're evil or just plain stupid."

But there are exceptions. Like Molhomi. He was an okay guy. Maybe he could cut this girl some slack. Maybe. He just has to let her explain herself better.

Edited 2013-04-20 03:44 (UTC)

"I'm not sure what 'demons' are," Sabriel said, "But that sounds like Free Magic, which is... inimical to Charter Magic, and life in general, in almost all cases. The Charter is-" How on earth could she describe the Charter?

"Symbols," Sabriel said, "Order. It describes everything that has ever existed or will exist, and the bonds that tie everything together. Drawing upon it can be- exhausting, but even in the worst possible circumstances, it is always the mage casting it who pays the price."

"And I've never made any bargains with any Dead or Free magic creature. What power I have I gained by study, or was born with- such as my sense of Death," Sabriel finished.

Sense of Death seems like a pretty lousy power to be born with, but he won't say that out loud. Not that he's really that sure what it even means. But he's trying to take it all in stride.

Still, it makes him pretty damn uneasy.

"So," he says, his tail twitching restlessly on the floor like an impatient cat's. "What can you do?"

She mentioned putting the dead to rest. That didn't sound all that bad, other than the way she kept saying necromancy. In his mind, it brings to light memories of ghouls and zombies, of moth-eaten corpses wandering from their graves. Nothing good. Nothing restful.

"I can sense the presence of the Dead, as well as when living things die," Sabriel explained, "And the- impression left behind in places where there's been a great deal of death, or bodies buried- places where the boundary between Life and Death is thin." It wasn't an ability she was fond of- she'd hoped that moving further south into Ancelstierre would lessen it, though she hadn't gotten the chance to try.

Sabriel let one hand rest on the handle of the smallest bell. The bandolier had been designed to secure the bells thoroughly- they weren't able to ring unless they were removed, and all of them were silver, with mahogany handles.

"These bells w- are my father's. When rung correctly, they force the Dead out of their physical bodies and into Death- and then past the point where they could ever return to Life," Sabriel added. Listing the precise functions of all of the bells didn't seem necessary- some of them she would hopefully never have cause to use in her life.

Edited 2013-04-21 05:32 (UTC)

"I'm guessing by "Dead" you mean the undead. Unless those bells actually kill people," Hellboy rumbles, eying those bells a little. Magical death bells... he's seen stranger.

"Undead?" Sabriel blinked, "I suppose you could call them that. No longer alive, but not properly dead either."

Hellboy nods once. That he can understand. "It's a catch-all term for that kind of thing. Zombies, vampires, ghouls..."

He reaches up to scratch his chin, his tail flicking thoughtfully on the floor. Finally he's started making sense of the whole thing. The terminology is different, but it sounds like the girl is pretty much a medium paired with a very powerful exorcist. At least that's how he's taking it.

"So that's Charter Magic."

The mark of a good Guardian is to assess the surroundings. Since this isn't her home turf she needs to get to know the island and she needs to know it well, not that she's excited by what she's finding. It looks as though a group of Overlanders barreled their way onto the island and had a field day...it looked so...polluted. That was probably the sickness she had been told about.

In any case the island is a descent size, big enough that it makes walking a huge inconvenience so she can be found gliding overhead, sailing from one high spot to the next. In Lara-Su's endeavors she discovered that there were places that were entirely inaccessible to her and that there were limits. A swim in the ocean told her she could only go so far, but she did learn one thing...that the island was indeed a very large turtle...

...Lara-Su had seen stranger things.

Her reconnaissance of eventually took her to the very same place it took Hellboy, not out of coincidence, but a hulking lone figure gazing out at the horizon does have a kind of eye-catching sort of appeal. In a dramatic kind of way. Or maybe it's just suspicious. So Lara-su will go ahead and touch down not too far away...she's not afraid okay...she can take anyone, but it never hurts to err on the side of caution now and then. Especially when she's barely four foot zip and he's kind of twice that. Which is gigantic for her.

It doesn't take her long to notice what he's watching, that they are approaching another landmass, "is that where this island docks?"

After fifty odd years of working for the Bureau, then another five years spent being flung around different dimensions, getting stabbed by a giant fish, attacked by a skeleton army, then ending up here means Hellboy's seen his fair share of weird things. But a giant flying anthropomorphic echidna... that's new.

It distracts him pretty easily, and he squints at the sky as she passes over, one of his precious last cigarettes dangling limply from his mouth.

"What the hell...?" He mutters to himself, turning as she touches down a couple yards away. At least the question seems to mostly snap him out of his daze. "Yeah. Seems like it."

Behind him on the horizon, you can just make out the gray outline of massive battleships in their ports. The sea wind whips at the tails of his duster, stealing away the smoke coming off his cigarette. But all he can concentrate on is his present company.

It was difficult for Lara-Su to accept the fact that there were people in this world that thought of her as being strange. She certainly never had to deal with the concept of being different before, not in Portal where Echidna were abundant and then Mobius was just bursting with anthropomorphic life all over...but this guy didn't seem like much of a threat to her so she sallied forth to join him.

"So the island does make pit stops," she idly wondered if this was the first time or if the big guy made port close to the mainland multiple times. It gave her something to think about, in the meantime she pushed her sunglasses up along the bridge of her nose taking a closer look at the strange rock formations...no...those were ships.

"Those...ships..." pointing to the warships, "...you don't think they're a threat do you? I've seen ships like that before in books...they were used by Overlanders."

She's different, sure, but not any stranger than a lot of things he's seen. Not any stranger than most of the company he keeps a lot of the time. So he doesn't dwell on it too much. Hellboy, of all people, knows better than that.

A bit of ash falls from the tip of his cigarette, and he remembers to take a drag. For a moment he just savors the feel of it in his lungs, squinting at the horizon as he slowly exhales. "Guess we'll find out. Up until about a minute ago I didn't even know anything like this was out there. Last time the place was just a wasteland."

But it could still be abandoned. The Emperor, with her desperation to kidnap people from other worlds in the vain hope they'd protect her kingdom, made it sound like the rest of the world was completely devoid of anyone who might help her. Just them, this so-called "enemy", and everything else their war had destroyed. But this... this was different.

"Huh...well it's still a ways out, isn't it...I guess there's no point in worrying just yet," after all it wouldn't do much good for her to lose it at this point. They don't know what they are dealing with just yet, it could be good or bad and it could be absolutely nothing at all. Still, it was no reason for Lara-Su to drop her guard just in case things turned hostile.

"So...would you happen to know what's up with the decay of this island?" Change in subject to something they can both relate to immediately. She was still pretty new in this zoo and she had no idea what was going on just yet. Ultimately she wanted to get home, but surviving the experience was important so learning all of the information she could was vital.

He glances down at his strange companion, frowning. That's something hardly anyone seems to know anything about. "Ask any of the locals and they'll say the turtle's sick, and they're blaming us for it."

Helpful, right? He takes another long draw off his cigarette, then breathes a slow stream of smoke into the sea breeze. At least here you can barely tell the affects its had on everything. At the shell's edge it's nothing but bare scutes where the ocean waves have worn everything smooth as polished stone. The air is clear and salty, free of the awful stink of dead fish and rotting kelp that hangs over the Water Sector. And not an ornery kedan in sight.

"I'm guessing it gets sick enough, the whole place is pretty damn screwed."

The tables turned and public opinion of the Foreigners are straight in the gutter. Ororo returns every guarded look with a flippant gesture or a sassy remark, all too familiar with the whims of a herd mentality the way that society trends to. Earth, turtle; they're all the same. Things turn a bit sour and suddenly it's the odd ones out that are to blame.

All that means to her is to hold her head high when she's alone and walk like she's proud. Like she's better than them. Ororo does that as she picks up her rations for the week and turns on her heel, heading out.

The air tempts her upwards. Take to it and miss the sidelong looks and the bitter comments? Ororo curls her lip down with distaste and keeps her feet on the ground, showing them that she's not afraid.

Halfway home, she sees him come around the corner and nods in greeting. "What's up, big red?" she calls out.

Hellboy, on the other hand, just ignores any crap he gets. It's something he's pretty damn used to, and he's not in the mood for putting on any airs. The confidence comes easily, sure. Most times it even feels genuine. But today he's downright grumpy, keeping his head down and stalking his way back into town.

His trip to the ocean told him nothing more than what he already knew. All around the turtle things were going to crap, and there was nothing he could do about it.

And he was too damn broke to drown his feelings in booze, not to mention he smoked his last cigarette days ago. So all he can really do is head back to his suite and do what...? Maybe he'll just finally call it quits with the investigations agency. He could sell back the equipment and get enough booze to black out for a day or so.

God damn.

Ororo's voice thankfully pulls him out of that dark train of thought as he trudges his way through the suite. He lifts his head and gives her a small wave from a short distance away.

"Hey, kid. How you doing?"

Him... he looks like crap, but he's still moving. Even if it's more than he really feels like doing right now, it's all he can do.

"Living the high life." A reference to the skies for an escape. A way to lighten the darkness that's been hanging over everything since the rationing started. A statement to maybe pick him up, because he looks... well.

"You look terrible," she comments, returning the half wave and walking up to him, giving him a detailed once over. He reads as tired, maybe. Strained. Tense. She's no people person like Xavier, unable to pluck their state of mind right out of their heads, but she can tell his bearing's different. "Been on the short end of the kedan stick or something?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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"Knew" That sure was a typo

and I sure was super late... sorry for the delay!!

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BRB, hoarding all of your beautiful CR

Come to me, you lovely thing

my CR heart beats only for you