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(Setting) Fisherman Jones's Fish Tank
| >As the man gets closer, his face, previously overshadowed by the crowd around him, becomes clearly visible. Somewhere in his 30s, already deeply-wrinkled, stern face shows uncharacteristically warm smile, as he keeps looking at the giant blue fish in front of him.
"Man, so much for punctuality."
>He mutters, reaching the Fisherman's entrance.
"If only i still had a phone on me, i could've written to check if the guy even waiting for me still."
| >Man opens the door, and steps inside, only to wince a little as the smell of fish... No, the Smell of F I S H punches him in the face. Man makes another couple steps and looks around a surprisingly, given the place, tidy dining room, with a couple groups of people enjoying their fish-filled meals and drinks. He looks through the room more thoroughly, but doesnt notice anyone being alone at the table.
"Hm. Should I ask someone, or wait outside for a bit?"
| >After a couple minutes of careful thinking, man decided to wait outside. Its not like he didn't expect the Smell. He thought of himself to be quite ready for it, actually. He knew it would be strong.
>But this was a bit too much. He turned around and stepped outside, into the nanomachine-filled air of Glitch City. It's not like it smelled much better, but it didn't smell F I S H and it was enough for him. He can always enter a bit later. He's already an hour late anyway.
| Across the street from the restaurant, a tall, unusually slim individual, rather snappily dressed in a hooded black jacket with white fur lining, surgical mask, black drainpipe jeans, and a pair of awkwardly oversized chrome boots fell into the outskirts of the crowd from roof of a nearby building.
| >He almost tripped over himself trying to make haste towards the giant fish, but despite being noticeably taller than most of the faceless mass, he still got pushed around hard enough that it took him awhile to make any progress.
Upon fighting his way to the restaurant’s entrance, he rushed inside, too eager to get off the street to notice the other man.
| >Just as the man collected himself enough to embrace the Smell one more time and try asking inside for a person he was looking for, something tall, black and blurry crashed through the Fisherman's door, with the noise that almost made the man to take cover like in the old times. Then the realisation striked.
"Oh wait, why did I think I'm the only one who can be late?"
>He took a very deep breath, then took another one, and followed the newcomer in.
| >As the door opened behind him, the other man spun around to face the entrance, obviously startled.
“A-err, I’m sorry, please go ahead.”
>He moved to the side entryway to make room.
| "Erm, actually, erm... Do you, by any chance, happen to have something to do with the real estate buisness?"
>The man started from afar, still unsure if he got the right person.
"My name is Jòzef, and I'm waiting here for someone. And, well, I just had an idea that you might be the very person I'm looking for, so..."
>Jòzef felt really awkward for some reason.
| >Jòzef’s awkwardness was shared. The taller man hesitated for a second, trying to figure out what Jòzef was asking him.
“Oh oh! You’re from, uh... Sayibe? Is that how you’re supposed to pronounce it it? Sorry, I’m probably saying it wrong.”
>He had a noticeable but impossible to place accent, pronouncing /cyb/ with three elongated syllables.
| "Uh, 'Sayibe'? No, I'm from England actua–"
>Something clicked in Jòzef's head
"Ah, you mean kib? Well, i have zero idea how to pronounce it either."
"Anyway, um, we probably should get a table at the very least? It's a bit cramped here to talk, um... I don'think I know your name yet?.."
| “Ah god, where are my manners... I’m still a little dazed from surfing through that awful crowd.”
>He offered a heavily gloved hand and bowed slightly at the waist.
“Lennart Achterberg.”
| "Jòsef Kitsukian."
>The man looked Lennart up in the eyes and firmly shaked gloved hand.
"The crowd is sure something today. It's a miracle I managed to get through it at all! I assume you had the same problem."
>Jòzef took a look inside the restaurant looking for a free table.
"Where would you prefer to sit? Sometimes people are real picky about this, so I think it would be better, if you chose the table."
| “How about somewhere near the kitchen? That way the smell might not be so bad for you.”
>Lennart surveyed the restaurant for a moment before realizing that he probably just said something he shouldn’t have.
“Err, no offense intended,. but in my experience most people who aren’t accustomed to it find the smell of raw fish to be... Somewhat unappealing, to put it mildly.”
| "No offense taken. Granted, the smell is, khm, fascinating indeed. But I think I'm used to it by now."
>"As much as it is humanly possible to get used to the feeling of a blobfish being pushed up your nostrils", Jòzef added to himself.
"I don't think its bad anyway, just the sheer intensity of it is amazing."
>The shorter man slowly took a step further inside, as if inviting Lennart.
| >Lennart followed Jòzef’s lead, not particularly caring where they sat.
“Really? I’m surprised. We have places like this back home, and the last time I saw a foreigner visit one, they almost passed out from how strong it is.”
| "Oh, well... The thing is..."
>Jòzef approached a table to the right of the door he assumed was the kitchen
"I had a misfortune of smelling gases designed to kill people. Not gonna say I particulary liked it, but it really takes a little more than a smell of fish to turn me off."
>Jòsef moved one of the chairs out of the table, and sat in another.
"Application of a particulary big fish to my head at top velocity might knock me out cold. But not just the smell of it."
>He smiled.
| “A-oh, I see... Well I’m, um, I’m glad that those gases apparently didn’t do their job very well!”
>Lennart forced an awkward smile as he sat down.
“Do you mind if I take off some of my gear? It’s getting a little stuffy in here...”
>He tried his best to change the subject.
| "Not in the slightest, unless you plan to go nude. Not that I would really mind that either, but other customers may find it unsettling."
>Jòsef made a slight shoulder movement, but too subtle to have a meaning.
"Do you know, if there is any service, or if we gotta go and order stuff ourselves? I kind of took this place without thinking."
>Jòsef paused for a second.
"Or we can just move straight to the deal, if you're in a hurry."
| >Lennart removed his gloves and his surgical mask, which he stuffed in a jacket pocket, which he then unzipped and took off. The heavy jacket had obscured both how disproportionately long his arms and webbed fingers were and how bright white his skin was, which contrasted with his long black hair, tied behind him in a loose ponytail.
“I’m in no hurry, though thank you for considering.”
>As he spoke, his sharklike teeth glinted in the light.
| “Now that you mention it, I’m not sure how we’re supposed to order... There was no front desk attendant as far as I could tell and no one said anything when we waltzed in, so I guess we go to them? Did you see any menus?”
>Lennart loosened his tie as he looked around the restaurant.
| >Around the restuarant you can see wooden decorum, nets hang from the walls. Most of the clientel seam to be older men. You can also see a scotsman walking around in a kilt and has a machine gun for a leg. At the bar you can see a young woman in a blue sailor uniform tossing up bottles. You hearing ringing and soon comes down a naked portly man holding giant crab legs on a platter as he heads to another table.
| “... Maybe we should try asking the hostess at the bar? Honestly I’m kind of lost here, this isn’t like any restaurant I’ve ever been to...”
| "Honestly, I'm not really sure this is what you'd normally call a restaurant."
>Short man stood up
"I'll go ask her then."
| “O-oh, thank you.”
>Lennart seemed relieved that maybe he wouldn’t have to interact with these crazy people.
| >Jòsef walked across the hall up to a bar, and addressed the young woman.
"Good evening, milady. Would you humor me for a bit?"
"You see, me and my friend over there, we are first time here and not exactly familiar with the place. A... friend of ours recommended this place, but he didn't give us very clear instructions on how to behave here."
>He smiled slightly, looking the woman up in the eyes.
"Would you explain to us how and specificly what can we order here?"
| >the girl in the sailor uniform looks at you
"Milady? Well lassy. You take the menu on the table there, and the scot over there will come around and take the order. Then he comes back about 15 minutes later with the food or my father Fisherman Jones does. I come by with drinks if you order any. Behavior? Just don't bother the other guests."
>she starts cleaning some glasses in the circular bar in the center of the room.
"Anything else mino?"
| >(OOC: terribly sorry, it was a bit late and I just didn't notice myself pass out) —UKT
| (Its fine. I was asleep after you're previous thing so.)
| "Menu on the table there, huh? That's actually why I—"
>Jòsef looked back briefly, only to instantly notice a menu on the table in question. He wondered, if he should be getting more sleep than he does already.
"Scratch that, I see. Big thank you, milady, that would be it for now."
>Man tipped his non-existant hat and went for the menu at the table. A moment later he offered the acquired menu to Lennart.
"They do have service after all."
| >Jòsef sat back and took off his grey jacket, putting it on the back of the chair. Then he unbottoned the neck of his black shirt and slouched down a bit in the chair.
"The Lady of the Counter told me, that this chap over there will eventually come pick up our order, unless Jones himself beats him to it. In the meantime, while we're waiting for it we might as well go on with the deal. But before that, I have a question."
| >Jòsef leaned a bit forward to maintain eye contact with the tall man in front of him.
"You see, when I was posting on the jobs thread back on kib — Lord above, how do you actually pronounce it? — I kind of expected to deal with the guy, or gurl for that matter, himself. Hence the way I stated the reward."
>He made a vague jesture with his hand, and the light reflected from the prosthetic palm.
"Since you won't be dealing with my contract, I'm not sure how to reward you here."
| >Eventually a scottish man comes by, a click following every other step from his machine gun leg.
"Aye, what can I do for ya two?"
| “Oh yeah, I completely forgot about that!”
>Lennart avoided sustained eye contact, glancing down at the table or across the room every so often.
“I don’t need a reward though, no worries. We just happened to be in the same part of town and I just happened to have what you were looking for, sort of.”
| >Jòsef looked up, distracted.
"Oh... Uhm, actually, I'd go with anything you recommend for me. I'm the first timer here. So, uh, yeah, any kind of a big meal and a suitable drink."
>He eyed Lennart
"Not sure about my friend, though."
| >As he was explaining how he didn’t want Jòzef’s money, he was interrupted by the machinegunned Scot.
“O-oh, eeh, I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet but, umm... Maybe let’s start out with some of those giant crab legs? Oh and if you have any in stock, sea urchin? Raw, if that’s okay.”
| "Alright so you'll have todays special. Salmon fillets and crackers. Any drinks?"
| "Alright crab legs and sea urchin raw. Alright. Be about 15 minutes."
| "Any drink of your choice, I'm not picky."
>With that said, Jòsef turned back to Lennart.
"I'm afraid I wont stand this. No matter the case, information *is* a resource. And, since you made all the effort of coming here, AND since I *was* looking for a knowledgeable intermediator, I feel oblidged to pay you for the information I receive."
>He reached to scratch his cheeck with his right hand, but stopped halfway through.
"Say, 7k zeni bonus for coming covered in ketchup?"
| “I’ll have whichever Chardonnay you would recommend, thank you.”
>Lennart turned his attention back to Jòzef.
“W-well, if you insist... Though if it’s okay with you, how about a non-monetary reward? To, uh, to be perfectly honest, I don’t really need money. Like, at all.”
| "Now, you see, non-monetary reward is a bit tricky, since it heavily depends on capabilites and skillset of a person paying, right? And my, urm, skillset is quite specific. To be completely honest, I moved to Glitch City to avoid using any of it, no matter how ironic it sounds."
>Short man made a wide gesture with his right hand.
"If thats the only way you would accept payment, I will comply, of course. But I really doubt you would have any use of me."
| “Err, y-yeah... I was thinking more along the lines of, like, just maybe we could talk every once in awhile, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble? Like I said on sayibe-kiib-whatever you call it, I don’t really have any friends here. It’s starting to get to me a little.”
| >the scot begins to move and talk with the woman and moves to the stairs in the back.
| "Oh."
>...
"I'm sorry, my pragmatism is getting to me again. Also one of the reasons I moved to GC — I heard this is the way of life here, so being overly pragmatic doesn't sound especially rude or out of place. Anyway, yeah, I have no problem with having a talk here and there, sure. It's always a good thing to have a familiar face in the city."
"But now that I think about it, wasn't that person you wanted to recommend me some kind of a friend of yours? Or did I misunderstood it?"
| >Lennart looked around the room awkwardly, trying to to compose his thoughts.
“B-but yeah, umm, th-thank you for understanding. It really means a lot to me. I don’t have much in common with most of the locals I’ve met, and I’m always kind of worried that my, ah, how should I put it... ‘Alterations’ will scare them away.”
>He gave Jòzef a big, toothy grin and opened and closed his fingers.
| “Even in a place like this, where practically everyone is at least slightly outside the baseline standard, the teeth are apparently intimidating. That or my webbing is gross, or my eyes are too big, or... Well, you get the picture.”
| "Well, maybe for some people it looks unsettling. I've seen my share intimidating humans, and most of them didn't look all that intimidating at first. You kinda learn to not judge the book by its... khm, cover, so to speak."
>Jòsef tilted his head to the right a bit.
"I don't feel intimidated by animalistic features either. Sure, this one guy might have sharper than usual teeth and whatsnot. But until he actually tries to bite you with it, what's the problem?"
| "I mean, lets take guns. You sure would be unsettled, having a gun be pointed at you. But do you freak out when you see a police, or military patrol just passing by in the distance? Hell, you might not even notice them. And they all have a gun! Each one of them. So, yeah. It would be weird to be freaked out by mere teeth when you don't mind a gun."
| “Exactly! I mean, with all the cat people and techno-zombies and chromed-out mercenaries and terrorist dogs and real-life Super Sentai and who knows what else running around, are sharp teeth or big eyes or gills really *that* strange?”
>Lennart tsked in disapproval.
“I guess that’s what I get for working in in fashion. Appearances are everything.”
| "Well, I guess I can see some point in looking for appearance first when dealing with, well, appearances. What I was talking about more coils around general human relationships. Now buisness, I can see how that would be different."
>Jòsef put both his hands on the table and sloached forward.
"Lets get more specific and less realistic example. Like, you're a therapist thats helps people overcome their fear of fish. Sure, there is shock therapy. But usually looking like fish would.."
| "...be counter-productive. Most of the time. You want to look clean and fashionable when working model buisness, you want to be as less noticable when working investigations and spywork, the list goes on."
>He stopped for a breather.
"That would usually apply to whether people will want to work with you or not in a specific buisness. This does not, however, have any say in personal relationship. Not being a best work partner doesnt justify shitty personal treatment."
| “I guess. It’s just, well, a lot of people in the fashion business often go out of their way to be ‘accepting of diversity’ and ‘socially conscious’ and stuff. You know, the kind of people who think they’re waging some kind of radical war against oppression by wearing t-shirts with slogans or liking something on social media. So it’s kind of depressing, watching them show themselves off as paragons of tolerance while they act like I’m an undesirable because of how I look.”
| >Lennart snickered humorlessly.
“Or maybe it has nothing to do with me being a freaky fish thing and I just have such a horrible personality that no one wants anything to do with me.”
| "Hey, i still hasn't run off anywhere."
| >the scotsman comes by with a large plate with a salmon three lemon slices and a small plate of crackers.
>in his other hand is a plate of at least 3 foot long crab legs surrounded by sea urchins
"Your drink will be here in a minute."
>the woman comes by with a beer and a 'chardenya' beer.
"We don't have chardonnay. Heres a beer made to look like it."
| "Oh thank you big time! Man thats a big salmon."
>Jòsef moved on the chair to sit properly, then reached in the pocket of his jacket for a pack of wet tissues, and started wiping his hands with one.
"Anyway,"
>He addressed Lennart
"You think too much about how other people react to you. Thats a quick way down emotional drain. Find a few friends that wouldn't care what you look like, but what you are. Then you can just ignore any opinion other people might have. Strangers."
| “Ah, umm, Thank you.”
>Lennart looked at his glass of ‘chardenya’, puzzled. He lost all interest in the drink, however, once he noticed the massive amount of shellfish piled on his plate.
“Oh wow, I was *not* expecting this much uni. And it’s still whole! My compliments to the chef.
| >He quickly snapped off the spines of one of the urchins and bit it in half, eating the thing shell and all.
“I guess you’re right. I’ve been trying to make connections through hobbies and stuff, but it hasn’t worked so far. I haven’t found any bands looking for bass players, and tag crews don’t really exist in Glitch City, so I’m kind of at a loss...”
| "Yar, thank ye kindly"
>comes from a tall portly man with a large grey beard and no clothes.
"I'm Fisherman Jones. Glad you're enjoying yourselves."
| >On the menu the salmon special was about 600z the large crab legs were about 1200z and the sea urchin about 250z the beers were 150z each.
| "Pleased to get to know you, Jones. I'm Jòsef."
>He turned to Lennart
"You mind if I pay for the both of us? At least I'll pay for something today."
| “Oh, well...”
>Lennart considered insisting on paying for everything, but decided against it.
“If you insist. But next time, I cover the bill, okay?”
| "We'll see about it."
>Jòsef looked back up at Jones.
"So, what kind of payment do you accept? I have a bank card on me."
| "That works. If you don't plan on getting anything else I can ring this up now."
| "Please be so kind."
>Jòsef reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, and then passed his bank card over to Jones.
| >Jones takes it and walks, still naked, to the front desk for a few minutes he processes the card and comes back and gives you the receipt and card back
"Yar thanks for choosing Fisherman Jones."
| >Jòsef took the card and put it back into his pocket
"Thank you as well."
>He bit a big piece of salmon, and smiled.
"That's the stuff I can eat for days."
"Back on topic of hobbies and connections though, Lennart, it's better to seek out likely-minded people, rather than people with similar hobbies."
>He took another big bite.
"Delicious. Like, hell, people from dangeru, for all I care. You need people who think like you, not people who like the same stuff."
| “Like-minded in what way? I don’t really have many strong opinions about most things. As long as they're not a foaming-at-the-mouth violent extremist or something, the way a person thinks never mattered to me as much as what they did.”
>Lennart chewed on one of his crab legs as he contemplated.
| “Though admittedly that was back home, where there’s a lot more... Homogeneity, you could say. Everyone born in Rosshaven has had a fairly similar life. Even the lowest income families were rich and highly educated, especially by the rest of the world’s standards.”
| "When I say 'like-minded', I mean exactly that. You don't really spend much time, coiling yourself around forming an opinion about every single little thing? You don't like violent, radical ideas? You care for actions more then for thoughts?"
>Jòsef made a cracker dissaper in a single, swift move.
"Well, then you've got all the criteria you need to look for people likely-minded to you. The might not play guitar, hell, might not even care for music. But they *think* the way you do."
| "Having different interests and having different mindsets are, I'm sorry, *different* things. People I once used to serve with were best described as a bunch of misfits. We had different backgrounds, different believes, different tastes, different ideas of what has to be done with the world. But we all thought the same way."
>Jòsef put a slice of lemon on a cracker and swallowed it whole.
"Not the same 'what' needs to be done, maybe. But the same 'how' it needs to be done."
| “I think I’m starting to get what you mean, but...”
>Lennart picked up his glass of ‘chardenya’. He cautiously brought it to his nose and almost took a sip, but stopped at the last second.
“I don’t actually have anything against people who hold extreme or radical ideas, and I don’t really care about action vis-à-vis thought. I mean, I spend plenty of time thinking and daydreaming about absolutely nothing. It’s more... I’m not sure how I should put this."
| >He took a moment to formulate his thoughts by cracking open and eating another urchin.
“It’s more that as long as they’re not going to attack me and they’re not just intolerably painful to be around for whatever reason, I’m happy to be friends with pretty much anyone.”
>Another urchin.
| “To use your terminology, I don’t care what they think needs to be done *or how it needs to be done, so long as whatever “it” is doesn’t involve violently wiping me or the things I’m invested in off the planet. But even then I don’t actually care that they feel that way, I just don’t want to associate with them out of pragmatism. Does that make any sense?”
| >Jòsef hummed slightly, and went on rampage against what was left of the salmon, puting a quite long pause in the conversation.
>When he finally finished it off, he exhaled loudly and looked back at Lennart.
"Gotta say, makes zero sense to me. Or, rather, it does make sense... But this is the way you treat strangers. You sure don't give a damn what they do, or what they want, unless they hurt you, or what you hold dear and so on. But this is no way in getting close with people."
| >He swallowed another cracked with a slice of lemon, and continued.
"Like, you see. People tend to have this stupid shtick, where they enjoy tremendously whenever there is someone out there who gives a damn what they then, and what they do, *and* how the do whatever the hell it is. Now, people also dislike, when other people care, when the first people do what they, first people, don't care for. That's a bit cryptic, so lets go for examples."
| >(ooc)what they want*
| "Let's take, for example, Bob and Alice. Bob really likes playing card games, and doesn't like drinking heavily. Now, if Alice where to take interest in Bob playing cards, or even compliment him on the way he does it, he would feel like a lizard that has finally found a warm and sunny place. He would practically melt, in a good way, from that attention."
>Two crackers in fast succession dissappeared.
"But woe betide Alice should she show her face when Bob is drinking his face off."
| "In this case, Bob does something he doesn't particulary enjoy or take proud in doing. And if someone was to raise attention to Bob doing this, even if the Bob is the kindest and calmest person on this piece of space rock, he would feel annoyed. At least slightly."
>Jòsef took a short look at the last cracker, then finished it off.
"The more exact examples are tougher to bring to the light."
| "Anyway, what I'm getting at is: if you want to find people you can call friends, then you gotta start thinking exactly what, how and why you care for yourself. And then look out for people who are the same. But finding yourself is the baseline, it's always necessary to have an idea of why you do what you do and how you prefer it to be done."
>Jòsef reached for his tissues, and wiped his hands, then his face.
"You're sure to find a friend or two among the line."
| >As Jòsef explained, Lennart finished off the first of his crab legs and got through half of the second.
| “I get you, yeah. I think this might partially be a cultural thing. Rosshaven is almost as isolated as a space colony–actually it’s more in some ways. Making sure everyone gets along enough to do their job and not go psychotic from being stuck in a box on the bottom of the ocean with people they hate is incredibly important. So a kind of “let’s work together and live and let live” mentality is pretty thoroughly drilled into everyone.”
| >Two more urchins in quick succession.
“Like, for example, in my crew back home there was this guy who was a guy who was pretty much the ideal hypercapitalist. Everything was about profit and business with him. There was also this girl who was about as close to being a socialist as you possibly can be while living on a megacorp installation.”
| “They disagreed on pretty much everything and had totally different habits and quirks, and stuff but they still got along well enough to work together very well every day. I think they even dated for awhile, though I might be misremembering...”
>He gnawed the rest of his second crab leg down as he tried to recall the relationship status of his friends back home, but gave up once he noticed how long he had taken.
| “Err, anyway, so yeah. It’s normal where I come from to not care about a person’s actions or opinions so long as they aren’t violent, plus there are neurological differences between us and baseline humanity that might have something to do with it. I wouldn’t be surprised if our nervous system adaptations for underwater living also effected how we relate to others. Or maybe Iosis did it intentionally, who knows.”
| >He briefly debated trying his drink one more time.
“But I guess none of that actually matters, does it? I get what you’re saying now and it makes sense, even with our differences.”
>Lennart tried to hide his awkwardness behind a forced giggle, but came off more sheepish than confident.
“Sorry for blabbing on about something so boring.”
| "Well, I mean, you asked for a talk from time to time? The talk is provided. I have quite a lot of free time until I'll eventually find work in this city, so feel free to blabb about anything you want as much as you want."
>Jòsef waved a used tissue around a bit before opening a section of his right palm and putting tissue inside it.
"And dont automatically assume anything about you being boring for you being boring for others. Thats a wrong type of humbleness nobody really likes."
| “R-right, sorry. Honestly, since moving here, my self-confidence has been hit pretty hard. I’ve started to doubt and second-guess everything I say and do out of fear that I broke some local rule of etiquette I didn’t know existed.”
>Lennart took a deep breath and stretched his neck. For a brief moment, his gill slits were visible.
“Buuut enough about me, I’ve kind of monopolized the topic of conversation all night. What about you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
| "Depends on what exactly you're asking about. Anyone who lived long enough will have a lot to say about themselves. I'm yet to encounter any problems in the Glitch City itself, except for that little tentacle incident."
>Jòsef paused for a bit.
"I don't really have self-esteem issues of any kind. I sure don't have much contact with people here, but then again, I barely started. I've quit my job, but my pension is big enough that I'm spared financial problems for the time being."
| "I basically moved to GC to try out a different way of living. Find a completely new profession, diferent home to sleep at night, different bars to be a regular at, so on. Anything I would be able to tell about myself would concern my past. And I've come here, well, maybe not to get rid of it — that's plain impossible. But not to stay in said past, so to speak."
>...
"So, yeah, if you want to know something specific, you'll have to ask about it. I don't really mind."
| “O-oh... Umm, well...”
>Lennart hemmed and hawed.
“I, uh, I noticed you have an opening on your right palm. I know a lot less about cyber augmentation than genetic, but it looks like a high quality piece. I didn’t even realize it wasn’t organic until you opened it up. May I ask what model it is?”
| "Oh that?"
>Jòsef waved his right palm
"Both of my arms are prosthetics, actually. That's military equipment, and I can't really tell you much about the techy stuff behind it, unless I wanna risk my nice big pension."
>Jòsef rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a prosthetics palm, merging with the skin on his wrist.
"Its a black ops design, made for field medics working under severe pressure or/and suppressive fire. Never shake and have a set of medical equipment built in."
| "I have a thread and a needle in my index finger, a blade and a mini-saw in my middle finger."
>Jòsef went on activating the features on his hand as he kept naming them.
"Then here you have a burner in case I would have to treat wounds without proper antiseptics and a drug injector for obvious reasons. Ah, and bio-tissue disintegrator, so operatives wouldn't leave too much of their DNA samples to the enemy. Fingers are quite strong as well."
>He smiled and rolled the sleeve back."
| >Lennart’s already large eyes widened in awe.
“Oh wow, that’s some serious kit! I could tell they were high quality, but I wasn’t expecting mil-spec.”
>He admired Jòsef’s prosthetics as he finished off all but the last of his urchins.
“I, umm, I know better than to ask for details about anything related to military service, but is it okay to ask about medical work in general?”
| "Yeah, sure."
>Jòsef replied carelessly
"Although I must admit, I'm not a proper doctor. Paramedic would be pretty much the best description for me."
| “What’s it like? Being a paramedic, I mean. I, uh, I was actually in medical school back home. Really early medical school and on a totally different specialization track than paramedic stuff, but still, I’m really curious.”
| "It wasn't pretty. I'd say it just as far from a general medics routine as you can possibly get."
>Jòsef's face blackened a little.
"When I deployed, it was usually either resque slash medivac missions, balls deep in the enemy territory. Under shitstorm of fire as well. And when you get there, you usually see broken, demoralised people, full of holes in them, that tell you 'I'm fucking fine, don't bother, check John over there he lost a leg'."
| "And then you go there, and look at John, and you see that he's long dead, but people keep telling you to check him first. Or he's still alive, but already lost too much blood and won't survive transportation. And you're given a choice of wasting your meds on dying shell of a man, or bitchslapping the rest of his unit, administering meds to them and packing a body, returning to base all guns blazing."
| "Or you drop down in the middle of a firefight, and start running from a person to person, slapping bandages on them while they curse your soul for covering their line of fire. But you do this anyway, while your armor catches bullets, because thats your job. You will patch them up even if someone else will later have to collect you piece by piece."
>Jòsef paused and smiled warmly.
"But how they look at you after you retrieve them in one piece. It's priceless."
| "Sometimes you get deployed with the unit. It's the second rewarding type of deployment. You eat what your unit eat, make sleeping shifts with them, run when they do, fight when they do and hopefuly don't die when they do."
"You tend these idiots when they got bruises, help them with food poisoning, extract bullets from them and sometimes you do some more gruesome things. And they might not say much thanks, but their eyes, their eyes tell you all you need to keep it up."
| "And then there are disaster deployments. These are the best. I mean, sure, disaster happened and people are suffering. But thats not your fault, is it? You are going to help these people, and you go, and you help them."
"Nobody is shooting you on disaster responses. You don't shoot anyone. You just go around and help people, that shouldn't suffer at all, to suffer less. And when you manage to save them, or just apply a bandage, and they thank you... Thats a great feeling."
| >His face darkened again.
"There are downsides as well. When you see bodies. Especially children, at least for me. When you start helping a person you know can't be saved, just so they don't panic. Or when you don't manage to get people out to the proper medical treatment in time. That one is the worst. You know it's your fault, and you can't do anything about it. You had your shot, and you missed."
| "And these are civilians. I never understood, how civilian paramedics actually manage to keep going without breaking down. A soldier knows he eventually will be shot and might die. They're ready for it. Some hotheads even seek death on the battlefield, those retards. But civilian never expects all this shit to happen to him. Usually you find more shocked civilians on disaster responses, then you do shocked soldiers on medevac. And their panic transfers to you."
| "So, to answer your question shortly, it's like some sort of crazy emotional rollercoaster. Short moments of awesome intertwined with depression, dread and sense of guilt."
>He tapped on the table, looking slightly off Lennart.
"Don't take my word for it tho. If you feel like trying out being a paramedic, then more power to you. You spend a couple years in short study, and then you help people. Which is always good."
| “Ah... Y-yeah, that’s... That’s not what I expected. I mean, I was going into genetic research more than actual medical practice so I wouldn’t have had the usual doctor’s routine either, but it’s not the same thing at all...”
| >The enthusiasm and excitement rapidly drained from Lennart’s expression.
“I could never handle that kind of life. I have no problem with blood and gore, but not all the emotional stuff. I don’t even like watching sad movies. I guess I’m oversensitive or something.”
| “I’m sorry for bringing up such awful things. I mean *you weren’t awful; q-quite the contrary actually you were great, but like, the situation and all that stuff... At least it wasn’t all bad though. Not that I’d know, I’ve never been through anything anywhere near all that... But at least there were those short moments of awesome, right?”
| "Yeah, there were short moments of awesome."
>Jòsef smiled slightly.
"The reason I can sleep at nights."
| “Well you deserve at least that. Seriously. Putting yourself through all that is really, really admirable.”
>Lennart almost bit into his last urchin, but stopped just as his teeth were about to hit it.
| “Oh! Would you like to try one? They’re delicious, trust me. Like, uni is usually a premium delicacy, the kind that costs at least a couple grand per kilogram. I was actually kind of suspicious that they were trying to pass off textured soy or krill paste as the real thing when I saw how much they brought out and how little they charged for it, but it’s definitely legit uni.”
| "Oh no, I think I'll pass on that."
>Short man crossed his hands in rejection.
"I'm already full to the brim with all that salmon. There's a limit to how much a human being can consume."
| “Is there? I can pretty much eat forever.”
>To demonstrate his point, Lennart wolfed down the urchin and the third crab leg within a just few seconds.
“But I guess whether or not I count as human is debatable.”
| "I'd say the limit just varies from one human being to another, and I definitely reached mine."
>Jòsef finally reached to scratch his cheek.
"Say, Lennart, moving closer to the deal we're here about. Did your apartment come stuffed, or did you have to find furniture and whatsnot yourself? I'm staying at the hotel for the time being, and I didn't really bring anything to GC, except for my clothes and some personal equipment."
| “Personally, mine wasn’t furnished, but that was by request. I just brought some of my furniture from home. But finding you a furnished place should be easy, if that’s what you’d like. My agent works for one of the biggest real estate agencies in Glitch City. It’s pretty much guaranteed that someone there will be able to find exactly what you’re looking for.”
| "Would you be so kind to give me your agent's contacts then? It would be nice to move out of the hotel I'm staying at asap, it really chews through my wallet. Not that I have problems with money, but these expenses are just unnecessary."
>He paused.
"Getting a proper phone would be a nice idea too, now that I think about it. I was bound to use my SRR one when I was in service, so I never bothered to have one."
| "Do you even use phones in Glitch City? I've seen anyone to talk on a phone proper since I moved here. Am I just behind the bus on that?"
| >'ve not*
| “Honestly, I’m not sure either. Like, a lot of my co-workers use these retro flip phones for hipster points, and I do see people carrying more modern models sometimes, but I can’t help but wonder if those are something other than phones. Maybe they’re drone controls, or handheld consoles, or some other specialized piece of hardware that just happens to look like a phone.”
| “Personally I don’t use one, but I have a thing in my head for that. I guess I can physically write his contact info though. It’s a good thing I know how to do so, apparently most people my age can’t...”
| "Huh? They don't teach you writing in your arkblock-thingy or how its called? I'm sorry, I'm terrible at remembering new terminology."
| “They do, but it’s not mandatory. Whether it’s cyber or bio, everyone has some kind of augmentation that makes writing with your hands obsolete. So unless you’re into art or are on track to a position that requires it, most kids don’t bother learning how.”
| >Jòsef raised his brow.
"Now I'm starting to feel old. You have something to write on?"
| >Lennart checked his pockets, then the pockets of his jacket, but to no avail.
“Damn, I must have forgot my pens... Usually I have at least one with me wherever I go in case I get bored and want to doodle, but in my haste to get here I must have spaced it.”
| >He got up from the table. Without his jacket it was easy to see that most of his height came from his legs, which were even more unnaturally elongated than his arms. If his proportions were less abnormal, he would probably be around Jòsef’s height.
“Maybe the restaurant has something we could use? If worst comes to worst, we can just drop by my place. It’s not too far from here.”
| "Well, I say asking never hurts. We need to know what to do with the plates anyway."
>Jòsef got up as well and put on his jacket.
"Think the bartender girl might have something of use?"
| “Oh yeah, I hadn’t even considered what to do with the plates. Asking her sounds like a good idea though.”
| >Jòsef looked at Lennart.
"...Yeah. All right, I see what you're getting at. I'll go ask her."
>Short man walked towards the young woman behind the bar.
"I'm sorry, milady, but I'll have to distract you for a bit. Do you by any chance have a pen, or a pencil? Or anything that can be used to write, really. Oh, and a piece of paper to complete the set would be just lovely."
| >the woman in the seifulu looks over she seams to be setting up as old men star sitting at the bar.
"Paper? Nope sorry mino. Pen though.
>she pulls a pen from her breast pocket
>on the pen reads "Free as the Fish"
"Here ya go."
| "Okay, this much is fine already. Thanks you lots."
>Jòsef turned turned back to Lennart and raised his voice a bit.
"Lennart, can you do with just a pen? Thats about as much as I can requisition here!"
| “Yeah, I can write it on on that tissue you put your hand compartment. Or just on your hand itself, whatever works.”
| "I'll borrow the pen for a second."
>Jòsef noded to the girl in the sailor uniform while waving the newly-acquired pen, and then walked to Lennart.
"You'll have to work with my hand — the tissue I put there is long desintegrated. Actually, I'll write it down myself, thats my hand after all."
>Short man stood closer and rolled up his left sleeve, pen in right hand.
"Allright, I'm ready to write it down. Just not too fast, please."
| “Right, let’s see...”
>Lennart stared into space, like he was focusing on something that wasn’t there.
“His name is Liu Jianhong, at Forsyth & Lockwood Properties. His office number is XXX-XXXXXXX, and his ID on the agency’s app is LiuJ5241. Tell him I referred you.”
>His attention returned to reality.
“Did you get all that?”
| "Leeuu Jeeaan...hong, god their names, Forsyth & Lockwood Properties. Office number XXX-XXXXXXX, office ap id LiuJ5241... This guy's not very creative, huh? Referred by Lennart."
>Jòsef finished struggling to write with a ballpen on his skin, and noded.
"Yeah, looks like I got it all. Anything else?"
>He found yet another tissue in his pocket and started wiping off the tip of the pen.
| “Nope, that’s everything. If he can’t find you a place, he’ll know someone who can.”
>Lennart stretched his arms over his head and cracked his knuckles,. Then put his gloves and mask back on.
“I guess we should head out? It’s getting a little late, and I’ve already kept you here long enough.”
| >Jòsef checked his wristwatch.
"Yeah, a good idea. I'll just return the pen and we can go."
>He moved over to the bar counter and put the pen on it.
"Thank you, milady. Do we have to bring in the plates, or is it fine to leave them as it is?"
| >the woman fishes chugging a bottle of whiskey and pulls out a lighter
"You can leave them."
>she blows on the lighter sending fire over the heads of a few patrons
| "Then we'll be going. Have a good night."
>Jòsef turned around and waved to Lennart, and went for the exit.
| >Lennart nodded and followed after Jòsef, catching up quickly despite struggling slightly with his awkwardly oversized metal boots.
“That was really good! I had heard that pretty much all but the most exclusive restaurants in Glitch City just served plastics and soy paste shaped like actual food, so I was expecting a lot less. I’m glad to be wrong though!"
| "Maybe thanks to the sailor's influence? From what little I understood, sailors are a big deal in the city."
>Jòsef opened the door and went outside, still holding the door for Lennart.
"Considering what happened to the GC Airport, you'd expect them to get even more influential now, having control over the main transport hub in the city."
| “Yeah, I heard a little bit about that and some of the other weirder disasters to hit GC. The the thing with the tree actually made the headlines back home.”
>Lennart resumed stretching.
“But hey, if weird disasters end up helping people who know how to make good food, at least that’s some kind of silver lining, right?”
| "I actually had to get a ferry to get to the city because of that. Landed in the neighboring city's airport and—"
>A long, heavy coughing interrupted Jòsef's speech. It went on for about dozen seconds. Short man extracted yet another wet tissue from the bottomless pocket of his jacket and wiped off the blood from his lips.
"And then spend a night there, before the ferry arriwed. Then half a day on the ferry to GC. Did I mention the tickets were crazy overpriced as well?"
| “Getting here was pretty pricey for me too. But that’s the norm for traveling to anywhere from an arkoblock.”
>Lennart stopped his stretching and moved closer to Jòsef, his expression worried.”
“But yeah, umm... Are you okay?”
| "Sort of. You don't just inhale CWA and expect yourself to live to tell the tale. At least I'm alive."
>Jòsef waved off with his hand, then put the blood-stained tissue into disintegrator.
"Is your place somewhere in the general direction of the city centre? I wanted to find myself a phone anyway, so I can keep you company on the way home if you thats the case."
| “Yeah, sort of.”
>He turned to face the city center and pointed up at one of the hypertall skyscrapers which dominated the skyline.
“It’s that one, the neo-futurist revival triple helix with the asymmetrical setbacks and the cluster of domes about halfway up. See it?”
| >Lennart debated whether or not to press the issue of Jòsef’s health. He decided not to, but was still visibly concerned.
| "Neo-futuristicwhatnow? Anyway, I think I see it, the one that looks like a giant confetti, right?"
| “Uhhh, I guess the domes *kind of maybe look sort of like some kind of confetti behind the clouds and from this distance… But anyway, yeah, it’s that one. There’s actually a decently big shopping center on the first five floors that has a lot of electronics stores, so if you’d like we could just go there for your phone. Plus I get a discount on some things for being a resident, so it might be a little cheaper.”
| (OOC — would you create new setting thread for the apartment? — UKT)
| "C'mon, it looks just like a big damn confetti, hands down."
>Jòsef made a series short, coughing sound representing a laughter.
"But yeah, sure. If I can get a phone there, then I'm skipping on the whole 'wander around Glitch City at night like a suicidal idiot' part, which is always nice."
| (Will do~)
“Yeah, it’d be nice if we could get off the street soon. It looks like tonight’s going to be cold...”
|
This thread is permanently archived
| >A somewhat short, fit man in a classic grey suit hastily makes his way through the streets of West Port. He keeps checking the time on his watches, swearing through his teeth. He stands up on his toes, and even jumps, but even then he can barely see outside the crowd, most people taller than himself. Finally, a giant blue fish on the side of the street catches his attention.
"Damn, thats a stupid looking fish! I guess thats the place."
>Man whispers, as he rushes towards it.