singillatim | See the sun set;

Character Name: Heartman + you
Who: TDM continuation + a few open prompts re: prelude
What: The prelude dream doesn't bode well for someone like Heartman
When: Night of Jan 1st
Where: Community hall, Outside

Content Warnings: TBD, will update as needed

i. The Dream;
Heartman's a very light sleeper. Doing everything in 20 minute cycles means his body's circadian rhythm is severely off, if nonexistent at this point. There's no Beach to go to, no wandering black sand and smelling the salt and decomposing fish, following familiar footsteps until he tires himself out. It's just him.

When he does sleep, his dreams are never. It's usually the same dream, one Heartman stopped dreading once he knew the scientific reason but still finds deeply unpleasant. He should be glad--is glad--that he only suffers a mild case of DOOMS. He lacks the homicidal tendencies for one, the suicidal behaviour is thankfully non existent. The dreams, though. The nightmares are relentless, sharp and vivid but never in colour.

This dream is not the same.

Heartman wakes with a gasp in the community hall, hand flying to his chest out of habit--no, his heart is fine, it's still fine here--and knocking the sleeping person next to him in his hurried attempt to rise. His brow furrows, determined, panting from the adrenaline as he scrambles up and shoots to the closest scrap of paper on a table, knocking over a chair in his haste to reach for his glasses at the same time.

"It's different--" His lips frown deeply, immediately twitch into a half smile in a temporary moment of sheer scientific excitement, and his face eventually settles on a very stern sort of look, lips parted as he scribbles madly.

"This... is... different."

ii. Outside;

He can't go back to sleep. Time seems to stretch on here, elongated and like a giraffe neck in comparison to the nice, neat, short and compartmentalized moments he's so used to. He's left rudderless, aimless without his research, and while he's already started to shift his work to solving this puzzle and trying not to focus too much on the one back home in order to retain his sanity here, it's difficult.

This dream, the wolves and the voice, even the word interloper is both a blessing and a curse. Heartman decides to go for a walk, bundling up as tightly as possible and throwing a blanket around his shoulders for good measure. The air is crisp, reminiscent of the mountain air swirling around his lab, but it has far more of a bite. Temperature, perhaps. Or the sense of foreboding that new dream has weighted him down with has clouded his judgement.

If someone else is taking a night walk, Heartman will politely raise his hand in greeting, sticking to the town itself and never straying too far from the community hall.

He does nip out a second time, this time to watch the sun rise, bundled just as tightly. For all of the unanswered questions he has, Heartman still has time to enjoy the natural beauty of it all. There's no Timefall to worry about. Just sheer, natural beauty.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ continued from here ]

"Oh, your bodily fluids won't be nessecary at this time," Heartman says immediately, "but your need for currency, however relevant to the situation it may be, is very good to know. Just a little further, if you would, please--"

They're close to a nearby cabin, Heartman struggling once they get to the front steps.

"The kitchen table," he instructs between grunts, "may I ask where you're from?"

"What, you didn't wake up here with your pack missing and your pockets emptied?" Complaint colours his tone, though it's nothing too serious. "Besides, if I'm not upfront with that people get the idea that they can just start taking things."

He's definitely keeping an eye on Heartman now, a little more worried the more he seems to strain to keep up. He can't quite help it; a hand reaches out to steady the man as he shifts to shoulder more of the burden before ascending the steps.

"I'm from America, the East Coast. Capital, around the DC ruins. 2278." He says it so matter-of-factly, not just the area with increasing specificity in case Heartman's familiar, but the year as well. He knows it's not the same for everyone, so it becomes just as much a part of where he's from as the physical location. "Dogmeat, get the door."

Handy that the mutt can do that, isn't it.

"Not quite," Heartman murmurs to himself about the stranger's location. There's no explanation but it seems to mean something to Heartman, who's finally at the door and--oh, there's a dog, that's helpful--doesn't say much until the body is on the kitchen table. He sighs heavily, wiping the sweat off his brow with a fingerless gloved hand (not ideal) and leaning against the furniture with his other hand, finally addressing the younger man.

"Thank you," he says, giving him another thumbs up. The guy's earned two from doing most of the lifting. "Ehm--by America, do you mean the United Cities?"

Tobi's fine with waiting. Once they've got the body set down in the right spot, he keeps Heartman in his periphery while he glances around. Curiosity, mostly, an idle wonder whether this is just a random abode or some place the man's chosen for a specific reason - he's not really worried he'll pose a threat.

He smiles again at the thumbs-up, apparently easy to please, before answering:

"I haven't heard anyone call it that. Closest thing we've got to a city in the Capital is a bunch of jackasses holed up on a rotting aircraft carrier." Someone isn't too fond of them. "But I haven't really been further than what's left of Pittsburgh yet either. There might be a real attempt at large-scale government further up the Commonwealth."

Straightforward, watching Heartman behind his shades for signs of recognition, though at this point he expects to be alone. So far he hasn't seemed to encounter anyone who's from the same place as someone else here; he doesn't know if that's better or worse.

"Ah." Regrettable. Heartman has enough sense not to say that last part out loud, at least, and takes a brief moment to get his breath. This is why he prefers sticking to his lab. Far less cardio. As conflicting as his lack of cardiac arrest is, emotionally, at least he had an excuse not to do physical work.

"We all seem to come from different worlds, although in my experience--however limited it is--it all seems to be Earth. Confusing, don't you think? And fascinating."

A glance at the man and his sunglasses, a slight awkward smile.

Tobi wouldn't have been offended, and if anything might be inclined to agree. The state of things is regrettable, though there's not much they can do about it. Heartman shares his observation, and he nods along.

"I can imagine the effect might be localized," his tone is lower this time, slightly, as if subconsciously he expects a risk of being overheard. "If this happened on Earth, maybe it's pulled us in because we're closer somehow."

It would be more strange, he thinks, if something more like half of the population was from Earth, but the rest were from other places.

"But I'd wonder why it doesn't grab more than one person. Were you alone when the aurora appeared?"

"Of course." Heartman answers without hesitation. He's almost always alone. It suits him just fine--although with America connecting once more thanks to Sam, it's been easier.

"I believe there are there are others from the same world, although I'm not entirely sure. After I try to find any trace of Chiralium in this body, I'm going to be looking into talking to the other Interlopers to try to find some sort of commonality."

Even a lack of one would be something to go on.

"Are you well versed in the art of conversation?"

"I think I'm all right." An equally immediate answer, confident despite being a blatant hedge. "But hold on—"

That's the second time the man's said something strange about what he's doing and blown right past it. Tobi sets the heels of his palms on the table and leans over the frozen corpse between them, sparing it only a quick glance before his focus returns to Heartman.

"After you try to find what? Chiralium?" It's obvious the word is unfamiliar to him. "What is that?"

"The crystallization of Chiral matter." That's not helpful. Heartman tries again.

"Something from my world, a contaminate of sorts. There's an hour glass over there containing some," he motions with his head where he'd set his hour glass on a shelf next to a picture.

But, quickly: "Please don't break it. While this is a shot in the dark that chiral contamination has a hand in this and is present or is even active in this atmosphere--world, I suppose--I'd hate to expose you to it. Just in case."

Solid redirect. Tobi keeps Heartman in his periphery as he turns to follow the gesture, but once he's taken stock of those points of interest he withdraws again to investigate them more closely. In his absence, Dogmeat takes his place; paws find the edge of the table, and the mutt's mismatched eyes bore into Heartman, tail wagging behind him.

"Contamination, huh." As he leans in to peer at the hourglass over the rims of his shades, he raises a hand to gently tap at it with a single gloved fingertip. "What would it do?"

"Correct. Think of it as form of radiation, almost, if you're familiar with that? A detriment to your health--sometimes fatal. If you're aware of what happens when you're exposed to high levels of stress, it's a lot like that. Heart failure, immunity issues, impaired memory, not to make light of the mental aspect."

Heartman's beginning to undress the corpse, casual as he talks.

"There are certain people who have a resistance to it, such as myself. But it's still not very pleasant. My worry is even if there is no Chiralium here, there may be something similar."

He is familiar with radiation. Intimately familiar, in fact, though whatever change happened with the aurora has left him with a disturbing sense of silence. He isn't healing, not like he should be, and the screen that tracks his rads on his pip-boy seems frozen on the last count before he woke up here.

Easier not to get sidetracked by the unpleasant implications, when he's listening to a description like that.

"If you've got a way of testing for it there's no reason not to," he agrees. Then gives his left hand a shake to draw attention to the monitor clinging to his forearm, if Heartman happens to be looking at him when he continues. "Since you mention it, my geiger counter hasn't picked up shit since I got here. Status says it's still functional, so I guess you can take that as a consolation."

Now he'll glance back at the man, offering up the extra information freely: "We bombed the world to shit about two centuries ago, where I'm from. I don't know how much yours has in common, but there's nowhere this clean in the wasteland."

See the sun set;

TDM > Lone Wanderer

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now with the right account

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