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[shootsharp]

MASK OR MENACE, HEROPA; floating in a most peculiar way.

[ The mood of the street changes when it begins to rain with a cheerful summery patter that is nevertheless relentless enough to cause a stir. Umbrellas bloom and raise. Footsteps quicken, and the open-sky mall clears of people as they change their trajectory for cover.

Except for Teddy Flood.

It's been some minutes. Water gathers between the crevices of the bricked ground he stands on, boots fixed in place, and rain strikes off the wide brim of his hat, finding a path to run and coming down at a intermittent trickle down his back. The flare of his jacket only barely protects where his conspicuous revolver hangs at his hip, because he's making no effort to do so. He's making no effort at all, still as a statue. Not even breathing.

His blue eyes seem both blank and focused on some mysterious point in the air, raised up, roughly towards where the city skyline looms up into the patchwork clouds above. He is midstep, one hand raised, his expression relaxed into inscrutable.

Some pause to take in the sight of him, as if judging whether or not this is some kind of street performance. Someone's shoved a five dollar note into his breast pocket. Others snap pictures.

Teddy doesn't notice, watching the sky. ]

MASK OR MENACE, NETWORK; the stars look very different today.

excuse me i seem to have fallen
off the beaten trail you wouldn't
happen to know which direction
lies sweetwater would you

MASK OR MENACE, HEROPA; planet earth is blue and there's nothing i can do.

[ Metal-shod hooves click and plod on wooden planks as Teddy slowly steers his horse across the boardwalk. He cuts a distinct figure amongst the beach-going Floridians, boots dusty, hat unironic, good form in his saddle and an openly carried gun at his hip. The novelty drags some glances his way, and he tips a nod to those nearer without too much in the way of conviction.

Because he is distracted.

A subtle redistribution of his weight in the saddle is enough to stop his horse from his slow meander to a halt as Teddy looks out over glittering blue ocean. After a moment, he swings his way out of his saddle, touching down with the subtle thump of boots on plank, the jingle-jangle of horse tack. Keeping leather reins wrapped over his knuckles, he moves closer to where wooden railing bars off the drop onto the yellow sand that stretches off into the frothy waves. ]

Comments

heropa.

[indocile]

( oh, no.

oh, no, no, no, no-- )

Teddy, ( with a worried sort of exasperation, conscious of how absolutely nothing she says now he's going to register in any useful way, ) not again.

( what does she even do with this. how did he come right the last time? where is catherine, catherine would probably know exactly what to do with a computer box person, there is probably - maybe it's like that time she saw someone jumpstart a car with another car??

margaux slowly types how does computer turn on again into her phone's search engine, jerking abruptly when she realises she's started leaning against teddy like he's a post to do it. )

[shootsharp]

[ Rain continues to patter and soak dusty grey suit even darker, and Margaux's lean only does not tip him over for virtue of the fact she's small, and while he doesn't tower over anyone, he's solidly built. Despite his preternatural stillness, when she leans, there's no robotic inflexibility. He is warm where he should be warm. Flesh and bone.

Seemingly. He doesn't blink, but maybe Margaux will when her phone suddenly stops working in her hand, shutting down, but rebooting when she hits the on switch.

In that moment-- ]

Margaux, [ Teddy says, angling aside from her. He squints, faint calibration, a flicking glance upwards. ] You'll catch a death out in this.

[indocile]

( blink, yes; she also makes a small noise of frustration and smacks it against her hand a couple of times before thinking to hit on, and - )

Oh, for the - you will catch something else, Mssr. Flood.

( catch these tiny hands, giving him a little shove that will probably not impact him any more than her leaning did, actually. )

How long have you been out here? What happened?

[redshoerevenge]

Mako doesn't mind the rain too much, not since Hong Kong, so when it starts to fall, she doesn't open her umbrella. Not immediately. Not until she sees the frozen man. Her eyes sweep his features, his stillness, she touches him with careful fingers.

It could be a power. It's her first worry. But it's that stillness, his unblinking eyes that that convinces her otherwise. Her umbrella folds and she tucks it away, her wings materialize in black with blue and orange-red markings that glow as she shakes them out.

"Let's get you somewhere dry," she murmurs, "and see if we can't fix your problem." Mako tucks the five dollar note further into his pocket and delicately places her arms around his midsection. They're going to De Chima on the Mako Express, heading straight for the laboratory she uses for work.

She waltzes in and through security with her motionless guest without issue, gently sets him down, rummages for a towel and begins to dry him off. For awhile, once he's at least drier, she studies him.

"If you are a robot," she says softly, "you should have an emergency reactivation card in your pocket. It would help, you know." Mako drapes the large towel around his shoulders before reaching for a diagnostic unit. She'd used them as an easier way to diagnose software and hardware issues in her AI programs on many occasions, hopefully, it'll turn something up here.

[shootsharp]

Teddy is impervious to what would have been a spectacular view, and unflinching when a towel is draped over his shoulders, and unresponsive when she offers her gentle rebuke. However, there's a life boarded up inside of him when Mako goes to make her evaluation. The technology doesn't sink of perfectly, but perhaps both are suitably advanced enough that signals can be detected that at least indicate that he is precisely what she expects him to be.

He also isn't broken, although that focus grouped face remains unmoving, still staring skywards, even if now all he sees is a ceiling.

But there seems to be some kind of internal errored loop that just needs a little untangling--

[redshoerevenge]

In building her own AIs Mako had determined that she could work through the errors if she mentally connected to them. It wasn't really a Drift, though, but it was more of a connection with a fine touch to, say, detangle a sequence. So, she reaches out in just the same way she had to them, and though it seems to take ages, she very gently manages to set the error right and slip back out again.

Her nascent AIs weren't that complex. By the time she came back to herself, it was much later.

"Hopefully," she murmured, "you can sort yourself out, now."

[paintedblack]

It occurs to Hector, for one brief moment as his leather-clad frame creaks to a stop directly in front of the living statue of a man he has a funny feeling he's shot before, that he may well have done this himself the first time he'd stepped out into this impossible city. Stopped still as a cow in mud. Time skipping ahead without him. Oblivious.

He probably would have pulled the look off a little better. With a vaguely serpentine tilt of the head and dip of the shoulder, he peers around the other man's frozen form, down the line of his lapel, to his hip. Water streams off one side of his own curve-brimmed hat.

And a black gloved hand reaches down to pluck the revolver from under Teddy's coat.

Much obliged.

[shootsharp]

Moving faster than thought can carry, Teddy's half-raised hand snaps cross to close on Hector's wrist, shoving both it and gun aside while letting go of neither. Waking up is what happens concurrently as the grey-coated gunslinger fixes a wintry stare on the scarred face of his current opponent.

Recognition sharpens in his expression.

"Look what we have here."

A bounty, if he ever saw one.

heropa.

[villieldr]

( Magni Fjorleifdóttir has no love of this place. The people stray too close, lingering at a distance even if they retreat with some haste. The sun beats down too readily, and nothing is at it should be. There is an emptiness in her head where so often there had been a warm presence before, even if there had been silence, and though she had been flung far from the home of her ancestors when they took to the seas, now she wondered if this place was the gods damning her for their arrogance. To be bold and strong and ready was one matter. To see so many lives lost, stolen by the seas? To be the last survivor?

Aye, she was damned, if this was the place where she had been sent. There was no Valhalla for any of their number. Only madness, and only this.

She snarls at the footsteps that venture too near to the boat - this flimsy excuse for a sea-going vessel was poor at best, but better this than none. )

Away. ( Her voice is harsh, her hair in braids that are as grimy and blood as the rest of her, though her hands and legs at least have been cleaned a little by the touch of seawater. )

[shootsharp]

[ Teddy, to his credit, at least halts -- and while he can conduct himself like a gentleman, he isn't one, and doesn't obey the lady's short, sharp command. He looks at the boat, first, and then at her, blue eyes curious beneath the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat.

To most, she probably looks strange. She does to Teddy, but a different kind of strange, and less than the locals, in his opinion. ]

Didn't mean to disturb you, [ he says, in his easy, lilting accent. ] I was just admiring your [ he flicks a glance at the vessel ] acquisition.

[villieldr]

( It should be noted, possibly, that the women of Scandinavia some thousand odd years ago were not famed for their height; tall for a shield maiden meant only being north of 5'2", and though she is— the fact remains that she has to look up at this man more than she has to look up at many men of her own homelands save the very tallest, and that irks her. She is a raw, exposed nerve wrapped in leathers and chain mail, and at his words, at his lack of distance, she leans into the boat to draw up her sword, directing the point towards the stranger with a motion that is both easy and tense. )

And mine it shall stay.

( His hat might be the single most offensive thing at this point, and she taps the edge of the brim with the sword's tip. )

See first to acquiring yourself a better helm.

[maevelous]

[ Maeve had wanted to get out, but this certainly wasn't the sort of departure she was expecting. Her hands were still coated in the reassigned Clementine's blood as she darted through the street. The madam had been very eager to get away from her captors at Cape Canaveral, but this has led her to something entirely new. A great, new world. And no detonation charged vertebrae could keep her contained. Except she was still locked in a memory and couldn't exactly focus on her surroundings -- the memory of running from those who would capture her back in Sweetwater.

That was, until, Maeve ran straight into Teddy. Literally.

And only after the collision did she notice the rain, the people gathered to take pictures -- and Teddy, standing there mid-stride and solidly frozen in place. How he had gotten here with her, she doesn't know, but her eyes sweep the crowd before she leans in toward him, mumbling. ]

Upon seeing a familiar face, the man decides to be chivalrous and get Maeve someplace warm and safe -- away from these untrustworthy wretches and reprobates.

[shootsharp]

[ Maeve doesn't need magic words to summon Teddy back to life -- her voice is just enough, and he draws breath as if he hadn't ever stopped. But magic words give him a sense of continuity and purpose, pupils dilating, shrinking, finding focus. He sees a familiar face, and not for the first time in his life, or what counts as one, he decides to be chivalrous.

Or at least look the part.

His hand goes out to take her elbow, not roughly. ]

Here, [ he urges, his voice low between them both. He scans a look out at the onlookers, and gives the nearest huddle his shoulder, turning away and inserting himself between them and the madam. ] Best we move on, ma'am. Let's get you someplace warm.

[ He means safe, a sensible dose of distrust simmered in his voice. ]

[maevelous]

[ Maeve is pleased to know that it still works here. Wherever here is. She falls into step alongside Teddy, the sway and swagger of her hips so ingrained that she doesn't even notice she's doing it. With Teddy leading the way, Maeve's eyes veer around the streets with a hint of suspicion. Whatever is going on here is almost too much to process -- too much for words. She's not sure what to make of it.

As a car floats by, she can only stare after it in amazement. How much of this is Teddy taking in? How much is he processing? ]

Seems like we're both a long way from Sweetwater. What do you make of this all?

[ Maeve regards him with curiosity. ]

a wet dream

[blackhat]

“Hell, Teddy.”

There’s a sigh in the voice that hazes through the rain behind him, patience drawn deep from a well of dry brick and old mesquite. Warm. Familiar, in a way. Bleary figures pointing phones in his periphery disperse when the shadow that drawls past him flashes iron at his own hip, black holster, black jacket and black hat.

The same hand plucks a bill from Teddy’s breast pocket.

“Five dollars?”

Face to face, he flicks it into his puppy nose and reaches to twist the robot’s gun from his holster instead. His eyes cut in casual aside as he thumbs the latch. Rain runs loose off his brim.

“I’m insulted on your behalf.”

i don't see dolores anywhere

[shootsharp]

That Teddy is frozen on the spot does not necessarily mean he isn't a little operational. Muscles and bones hold him upright in place, even if he stands a little slack-jawed and stupid while what constitutes for him as a brain whirs and processes whatever rabbity loop its trapped itself within. But all the while, his senses are exposed, taking in everything, affecting response to nothing.

Not until given righteous cause, of course. Like a man laying his paw on his gun.

More offensive than nose flicks or even that voice, recollection lodged somewhere beneath layers of memory, dormant but present. There's time, anyway, a split second when indignation and realisation calcify into grit, and Teddy's bare hand goes for the gloved one making off with his weapon, coming to life.

His reflexes are good, fluid, accurate. Enough to present a challenge, at least. But his vision is full of darkness, this figure he's contending with more shape and shadow than man.

me neither ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[blackhat]

A split second’s head start is plenty in quarters this close -- the man in black’s caught fast, stiff through the wrist, grip bit down like a wolf on a throat around Teddy’s piece.

He grunts -- pushes and twists -- slow, testing resistance. Doesn’t take more than an initial failure for him to settle into stalemate low between them. Keeping his claim without wasting more energy than it's worth.

“Whole lotta innocent bystanders out for a walk in the rain today, Teddy. Sidewalks all slick and clean.”

Salt rakes coarse in his appeal -- primed for rubbing in raw wounds at a lazy remove. His eyes are marble grey in the gloom, watchful for familiar stirs of weakness. Minimal effort.

“You wanna hold hands, there’ll be plenty of time for that once I’ve seen what we’re working with.”

of malls and men.

[slightlyoffchilt]

"Hardly performance art, is it? Not when the performance is unwittingly performed."

His voice circled as he walked a crescent behind Teddy's back, pitiless and focused, a vulture caught on the scent of carrion. This man had captured his attention, and that fact alone made him worthy of unsought analysis. Unwanted observation could come as cheaply as oxygen when psychiatrists were concerned. Frankly Frederick Chilton's gaze had been drawn even before those frozen minutes had clustered a crowd, before the rain made its debut for the day, before the cell phone cameras thundered with lightning photographic flashes. He had watched because he had noticed the details of difference that electrified this man's evident persona. The antiquated clothing. The foreign caution. The dusty gait. All evidence of a potential imPort -- or something just as dangerous.

Chilton had his own hunger to sate.

"I know a place that might be able to help you," he said. His hospital, in Maurtia Falls.

[shootsharp]

In the first instance, there is something borderline off about the way Teddy sets Chilton in his sights, like a living doll turning its head, unseeing until abruptly in focus. But it's only a split second, because he's breathing, and the hand that wanders to hover near his revolver looks like a twitch borne of instinct, and the tip of his head of curiousity. There is a moment of fluttery-blinked re-calibration, chasing some sound -- a distant car horn, or a helicopter, or music flooding out of a storefront -- with a twitched glance.

But Frederick has command of Teddy's attention. Anyone who addresses him so directly gets that privilege.

"Help me," he says in a question echo, but too flat to earn a question mark. "Just what kind of help do you suppose I need, stranger?" The casual lilt in accent and tone makes that epithet not unfriendly, just like the hand resting on the hilt of his revolver isn't exactly a threat.

The look up and down is definitely assessment, though, committing him to memory. A new guest.

[ network, text ]

[pluckier]

Teddy?
Teddy Flood, Is That you?

[shootsharp]

dolores? dolores
can you see////
hear me
it's me teddy

plot twist.

[trouvaille]

I am not -

( ilde clutches her hat. it is a good hat. it is actually teddy's hat, on teddy's head, but for this weekend teddy (and his hat) is entirely at her disposal, so, there you go. also on teddy (his shoulders) is ilde, thus the ease of hat-clutching; she wobbles a little as she tries to right her seat and gesture inanely, )

I am not getting married so I have a surname people can spell.

( or at least not only??? for sure not only. if she still had the riding crop, there would be further gesturing. in lieu of this, she takes teddy's hat and perches it on her own head, contemplatively. )

I mean, I won't say it isn't a perk. Teddy and I are going for a walk.

( is it strictly necessary to dig her heels in. )

[shootsharp]

[ Teddy goes for a walk.

If robots can enjoy themselves, fundamentally, then he seems to be, in his understated way. There is only a slight glance upwards when his hat is removed, but no protest as he navigates through the party. He's gripping Ilde's legs securely in spite of her wobble and heel digging, broad shoulders making for a solid perch as he roams towards where a table of glasses are set up.

On Ilde's head, the hat probably sinks a little lower than it ought. ]

Does that mean there's a particular reason for your blessed union to come?

[ Teddy releases one of her legs so as best to grip a champagne bottle by its skinny throat, upending it, filling a glass to the brim, a slight overflow that is more along the lines of thematic excess than it is a fault in his wiring.

He isn't wearing a shirt. His revolver rides low at his hip.

He doesn't remember Dolores Abernathy. ]

Besides this gentleman making an honest woman out of you.

[fordshadowing]

Bring yourself back online, Teddy.

[ Ford steps up to the frozen popular attraction. It's fine for people to stare and take photos of him, but it's not fine for Teddy's system to have this unplanned cultural shock. Ford supposes he will have to make a few adjustments. Fortunately, the detonation in his spine hadn't been triggered by the porter. ]

Do you know where you are?

[shootsharp]

[ There it is -- life, or whatever within him that imitates it, lifts Teddy's chin, sparks behind his eyes. His posture settles out of its still-frame and into the slope of his shoulders, and his focus settles calmly on Ford's recognisable features.

Recognisable to an extent. He could not tell you this man's name.

Nonetheless; ]

I'm in a...

[ It's on the tip of his tongue, the scripted response, but his gaze breaks away, follows movement, one of the many distractions of the busy street. He says, instead; ]

They call this place Heropa.