See the sun set;

[20likes]

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.

Comments

[20likes]

"I am," Heartman confirms with a small, terse smile. Sociability, while delightful, often eludes him. Goodsir doesn't seem phased by his lack of manners, so he gently presses on.

"They call me Heartman. I'm in need of--" he pauses briefly, gesturing with his hands. "--Perhaps assistance isn't the right word. I'd be very interested in an answer to a question, among a few other things. Is there any one here to your knowledge that has come to this place and been healed?"

[bestsir]

Ah. That's a question that Goodsir knows he can answer rather too well.

"To clarify," he says carefully, "do you mean, healed here, or in the ... process of the transition here?"

[20likes]

"The process." There's a twitch of Heartman's usually somewhat slack face, curling up into a bit of a half-smile. He's always liked this, the moment just before information gets bandied about, the small thrill of questions and answers and comparing notes.

"Within precisely 20 minutes of my arrival here, I should have died. A heart condition--if you're familiar with it, myocardial cordiformia. But I've yet to slip into cardiac arrest and it's been more than 48 hours." His gesture is vague, sweeping the room. His lips turn up into a quick smile again, this time apologetic.

"Ehm--May I--?" He's motioning with his chin motioning to an empty chair.

[bestsir]

"Cordiformia—" He pieces out the Latin, shakes his head. "I've not heard of it. But please—have a seat, tell me more."

[20likes]

Heartman happily does as he's told.

"Myocardial Cordiformia," he repeats--always good to have verbal confirmation--and gives the other a quick, pleased thumbs up after getting comfortable. The second he's sitting he continues, peeling off the bulk of his warm clothing. He bundles up a bit more than others, finding his circulation poor.

"I'd show you the X-Rays if I had them here, it's my favourite thing to do--but, as an explanation: my heart is deformed. Twisted, for lack of an appropriate term. Knotted to look like this." He pauses his shuffling to make the shape of a cartoon heart, thumbs pressed together, each hand forming half before he goes back to shrugging his parka off.

"As you can most likely surmise, a combination of a weak, irregular heartbeat and constricting pressure does not make for an ideal major organ. Which brings me to the reason why I'm asking this: I should, for all intents and purposes, be dead, Doctor Goodsir."

[bestsir]

Scientific curiosity and concern immediately go to war in Goodsir's head. Concern wins for the moment, but only just.

"There are a number of us here," he says, choosing his words carefully, "who were previously in dire straits of health before we woke. Those symptoms were instantly alleviated, or banished altogether. So you are not alone in being surprised at your vitality."

A tiny smile at the end there. That's almost a joke.

[20likes]

"Oh, yes--" Heartman doesn't slouch unless he's dead, but his shoulders so square just a little more in interest, hands moving and gesturing wildly as he talks despite his slightly monotone, sometimes halting sometimes rambling delivery.

"I can only imagine your struggles. I'm... relieved you're here, despite your hardships." He'd caught the 'us' and the 'we.' There's another flash of a smile--genuine, but quick--and his fingers curl into each other before relaxing. He pauses for a brief moment, remembers what he was doing, and takes off the last layer of warmth, revealing his blue suit and a defunct yellow box strapped to his chest, wires protruding from it and snaking up his shirt's buttons to disappear onto his chest.

"I should be going into cardiac arrest every 20 minutes. This device sends a shock to my heart, restarting it every 3. I haven't so much as lost consciousness the two days I've been here, and I should effectively have died here within less then half an hour upon arrival. Yet the rest of my condition remains: shortness of breath, inability to do much physical activity, poor circulation..." He taps the AED device.

"I'm quite used to being dead. It's the unknown variables now introduced to the equation that concerns me. I'm sure you've a lot on your plate, but perhaps a collaboration might interest you?"

[bestsir]

Harry's eyes go wide at the sight of the box. Attached to the man—it's a little nightmarish to his eyes, but also fascinating. He approaches to get a better look, and just stops himself from reaching out to poke at the box.

"I ... goodness. I am not certain how much help I can be, for this is far beyond any mechanisms I've seen in my own time. Which, I ought to tell you—I was brought here from the year 1848. But I have been trying to learn all that I can, and if there is something I can do to help you, I would certainly be happy to do so."

[20likes]

"Feel free." Heartman doesn't care if the other pokes or prods--it's what he would do. He probably wouldn't think to stop himself, either. Goodsir has restraint.

"You sell yourself quite short. Any man with the mind or inclination to study the unknown, be it via technological advancement or perceived rudimentary in tools in nature, is what's truly needed in a society." Heartman smiles, encouragement coming fairly easy to him. The remnants of a father he once was--and his understanding that the world will only end if humanity fails to cooperate.

It's a bit like here.

"I rather enjoy listening to music from your era--Chopin is a personal favourite. Have you heard of him in your world?"

[bestsir]

Goodsir colours a little. "I have always tried to learn—and with everything I learn, I discover the further depths of my own ignorance," he says. "But I consider that a spur to keep going."

He leans forward, examining the box further.

"I'm afraid I don't know Chopin. A Frenchman?"

[20likes]

Always here to give a boost, whether it's needed or just perceived to be needed. Heartman flashes a thumbs up at Goodsir, quite pleased about the situation. It's been quite a long time since he's left his lab, after all. Social anything doesn't come very strongly for him, even before the end of the world.

"I believe so. A lot of things have been lost in my time period, but I try to collect the remnants when I can. Antiques are a bit of a hobby of mine between studying--books, music--anything I can easily consume in a 20 minute window."

A quick glance down at his AED. Obvious reasons.

"Do you...enjoy music? Reading?"

[bestsir]

"I am rarely not reading, when I have time for it," he says with a smile. "The captain of the ship on which I sailed before coming here—he permitted me to be a sort of unofficial librarian for the collection of books in the great cabin."

[20likes]

Heartman weighs his options. He could retreat back to the familiar--logic, talk of science and math--or, maybe, he could have a normal conversation? How long, exactly, has it been? A normal conversation, not about repairing the world, an extinction event, the situation at hand, or his heart?

The scientist beams once he's made his decision and leans forward. He's half tempted to pull out the small journal he's found since there's no chiral network to leave himself notes with.

"Your captain must have been kind. What's your favourite book? Or genre, if you're like me and can't choose."

[bestsir]

"Sir John and Commander Fitzjames were good men. Very tolerant of the scientific aspects of the expedition—encouraging, even."

He seems to be finding a spot on the floor very interesting. It's better than thinking of his last sight of both of those men. What was left of them.

"I don't read novels much, in truth," he admits. "Practically all of my reading is scientific texts of one sort or another." He gestures to the books he's left on the shelves in this room. "Whoever lived here before clearly felt the same way."

[20likes]

Heartman straightens up at that, unable to hide what can only be described as a gleam in his eye. He fixes his glasses with a gentle push of his middle finger, using that hand to then sweep over, gesturing to the shelves.

"May I...?"

Please please please let him look, you're already the coolest person he's met here, do him another solid, Goodsir!

[bestsir]

"Of course," Goodsir says, with a make-yourself-at-home gesture.

None of the books are especially technical, nor are they likely to shed any light on what's going on here—but it's a solid selection of late-twentieth-century popular science books, covering a wide range of subjects from biology to earth sciences. There's a physics primer that looks like one of the least-handled books on the shelf, as well as a couple of college-level chemistry books.