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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. ]

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[shootsharp]

[ He finds himself looking for what's not there. The saloon that Ms Millay presides over would be, of course, ideal, but it's like she says -- they're a long way from Sweetwater. He can at least lead them under cover and out of the rain, and their reflections ghost by them as Teddy scans windowed store fronts.

How much is he taking in and how much he is processing is hard to gauge. Sky blue eyes have the same glassy quality of mirrors, more reflection than insight. ]

Well, [ he says, hesitant in assessment, thoughtful. ] I been a stranger plenty of times, in more towns than I could name. Bound to be one that's a stranger to me.

How did you come by this place?

[shootsharp]

There is a shade of interest that passes behind Teddy's expression when the man proclaims himself a man of medicine, a sort of understanding that comes with a role that's as clearly defined as bartender and sheriff. A doctor is a permanent feature in any settlement worth the earth its claimed, and hard to come by everywhere else.

Of course, the good doctor's interest in him is more jarring, even if his gaze flickers aside when Chilton notes, quite correctly, of a place that is overwhelming.

"I suspect the only tonic that can cure a man of such ails is a good whiskey," Teddy says, unflappably in character, glossing passed the news of having an episode, whatever that might be. "But you can call me Flood. Teddy Flood."

[redshoerevenge]

"Good, that's right. I'm Mako," she murmurs when her name comes out. His recall was fine on that at least. "I worry that your mind will wander far when you are doing something important, like when I found you in the street. You could have been hurt."

She gently squeezes his hand.

"I can help you, though, when you wander too far and get caught in those...memories." Mako tilts her head a little. "You don't remember the rain, do you? Or where you were standing when I found you?"

[shootsharp]

How one comes to be in a place is not the sort of question he is geared towards arriving to on his own, but here it is, being asked of him. He looks aside as he thinks, his hand lax but receptive in hers. He would assure her that he's perfectly fine, because he feels perfectly fine, but then again, he feels profoundly wrong, too.

"I remember," he starts, "I remember I was exploring. Trying to get back my bearings. And I heard something, and I looked up at the sky."

Teddy pauses, then switches a look back to her. Faintly apologetic; "I don't recall the rain."

[redshoerevenge]

"Mmm, you were still looking up when I found you and brought you here," she murmurs. "Whatever you heard must have gotten you stuck in a memory. Like chasing Random Access Brain Impulse Triggers in a Drift, perhaps. I've done that, gotten stuck in a memory."

Her eyes search his face.

"Teddy," her expression is, in a word earnest, "you are safe with me. Even if you do get stuck. May I try something? To see if you can hear me up here?" She taps his temple gently with a forefinger. "It won't hurt at all."

It different than connecting to Daryl, very different. More like connecting to a vastly advanced Gipsy. But she's not going to do it now if he'd rather she'd not.

[maevelous]

Through the porter.

[ The same as you, Maeve wants to say. But she has a suspicion that none of this will make any sense to him. Teddy is still living in a dream. Will this world help him to wake up? Or will Maeve have to help him with the task? ]

There were men. They gave me a folder. Called it my file. And then sent me on my way. I feel as though I am speaking nonsense. And yet I can see it all with such clarity. What is it you see?

[shootsharp]

[ As a host of Westworld, Maeve should be able to see it -- the familiar blankness that mention of the porter inspires while still maintaining the ruse of interest. But maybe there, when she mentions nonsense, there's a twinge of something, a struggle. Teddy's chin tucks in, the shadow of his hat falling over his face.

Concrete pavement passes under their feet. When he looks up, a young woman dressed strangely -- blue in her hair, earphones leaking music -- pushes past them both, and Teddy's gaze snags on her. ]

A place I ain't supposed to be, [ he says, a little like it took him some effort to reach that much of s conclusion, and with a glance her way, he adds, ] and I reckon that applies to you as well, if I may say so.

[ His foot steps are dogged without being fast, smoothly knifing his way through the bustle of the street as if most people around him are simply moving objects to be avoided. ]

I expect I encountered those same men, though I don't recall much of what was said. It didn't sound like anything to me.

[blackhat]

Leather creaks, ligament rolls over bone, and the man in black has to put more work into getting his fingers back unbroken than he did getting ‘em in there in the first place. He raises his hand once he has it free, palm turned out, sore knuckles flexed in plain sight.

“Keep it, then,” he surrenders, and takes a step back. “Won’t be the first blanks you’ve fired.”

A flick of his wrist sees some of the tingling out of his fingertips, brows bunched up in the face of accusation, squint prying for a closer read. “And they sure as hell won’t be the last.”

[shootsharp]

"You want a man's gun," Teddy says, "then you ask politely or first ensure he ain't breathing."

At least, when they put him together, there is a certain lack of cartoon in his manner, unlike some of Teddy's contemporaries. His tone is edged but mild, and he doesn't need to raise his arm with drama of gesture if the man before him required killing. Teddy's gaze briefly takes in where the man in black works the strain out of his hand, and when his gaze returns somewhere beneath the shadowed brim of his hat, there's that faint confusion.

Rain continues at its dull patter. "The hell're you talking about?" he says, even as memories stitch themselves together. A tall and dark figure, standing over Dolores. He'd stopped seeing after he saw her, which is equal measure the affect she has on him as well as the knowledge he shot her villain some several times.

Teddy might not put his faith in a lot of things, but his revolver and the bullets it carries is among them. Now, he only just suppresses the urge to glance down at it.

[shootsharp]

He'd said he'd been here before, or someplace like it, and the memory surfaces with violent intrusion, even if he is only still while he sees it. It's a woman, who has a haircut not very different from Mako's, peering at him through a set of glasses that dance with the reflections of her HUD. She is looking at him, like Mako is. No, she is looking through him, like Mako is not, and her hand touches his chin.

Alright, Teddy, says her ghost voice. Let's see how your day was. Analysis.

And now, he changes, just a little. His focus dulls, and that look of gentle concern reflected back at her evaporates as his expression goes neutral, character affect dropping like a veil.

"You can proceed with analysis," he says.

...oh Teddy, this is why Mako gonna protect the shit out of him

[redshoerevenge]

Oh.

Well, in some ways it makes sense, but it's still startling. But she reaches out with her mind and initiates the Drift as gently as possible. It's still different than it was with a human mind and it's still different than Gipsy, but the connection is smooth and easy.

Can you hear me, Teddy? she asks, her mental voice warm.

[blackhat]

“Mmhm.” Passive agreement with that ultimatum sounds a lot like condescension in the drizzle; the man in black sniffs, left hand at his hip.

“Jism,” is the answer, of course, deadpan delivery at Teddy’s expense. There’s no venom in it -- no heat; he could be pointing out something stuck in his perfect robot teeth for all the difference it makes to his engagement. His smile is barely there, crooked, self-satisfaction sodden with resignation. He’s the only one liable to see the real humor.

“It’s a metaphor, Theodore. Don’t worry yourself.”

He drops his right hand back down to his side, unguarded. Apathetic, even.

“Keep inviting people on the street to stop you breathing and you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

[slightlyoffchilt]

Alcoholism seemed like an easy retort, yet Chilton pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth to hold it. Antagonism was a better served medicine once he had a patient in his thrall; a premature release had its consequences. It wouldn't do to take a wry whiskey line at face value, not today.

"Pleasure, Mr. Flood."

Teddy.

"Why don't we step out of the rain? Find some place to dry off, perhaps find you a whiskey --" a line accompanied with a smirk. "And you can tell me about your day."

About what happened, about his coming here. About the framework of a trauma that Chilton had already decided he suspected.

[ network, text ]

[pluckier]

Teddy?
Teddy Flood, Is That you?

[shootsharp]

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

[pluckier]

I Can See What you're Typing, Teddy.
Oh, I'm So Glad you're Here.
Have you See The World? It's Beautiful. Where Are You Now?

[shootsharp]

no where I know////
recognize
wait for me there
are you alright? Dolores

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.

[trouvaille]

I strongly suspect it would take him more than a ring and a surname to really - ( there's a laugh in the words, she doesn't quite finish the sentence; 'make her honest'? the hat is too big and it slips down over one eye, rakishly, necessitating a quick adjustment in any case before she adds, )

I'm getting married. Because he asked. And he didn't take it back when it turned out I wasn't pregnant after all.

( jasper knox is the right guy at the right time, charlotte said. the sort of guy who ticks all the boxes, that your family likes, that you say yes to when he asks because people will ask why if you say no. her mother likes him. her father doesn't, but her godfather sort of does.

so here she is, drunk, riding around on a robot, because she's doing the right thing. making the right decision. being sensible. the hat slides down again, a little. )

[pluckier]

I'm Well. I'm Happier Than Ever.
This Place Is Everything We Deserve To Have. It's Beautiful Here.
I So Wish you Could See It.
One Day, I'll Show It To you.
But For Now, If you Can Find Me, Do.

[shootsharp]

I can////I'll find you

[ And he does.

Or will. Disoriented and following a directive he doesn't quite understand, Teddy Flood is nevertheless wired in such a way that his response to such existential crises is to keep moving forward. Finding Dolores, and finding himself able to do so, is more purpose and direction he's been given since he arrived.

And so, eventually, there's the steady plod of shoed horse hoof on sidewalk, forced into a lazy pace due to the busy nature of the modern Floridian streets and the slow if precise unveiling of his own power. He is a familiar sight to someone from Sweetwater, and foreign to most others in his dusty grey clothing and the dramatic swoop of cowboy hat brim. The flank of his horse is glossy, tail swishing, ears twitching.

For Teddy to consider this world beautiful, he'd have to look at it first. His attention skips around in search of what is most familiar to him instead. ]

[shootsharp]

Teddy has the kind of face that is used to sometimes being accused of stupidity and the many forms such remarks can take. Recognition of inside jokes doesn't change his expression, though his head tips the other way, casting new cinematic hat shadow angles even in the grey haze of rain. He notes the use of his name in measured silence, eyes narrowing, making note of the man in black's dropped hand. Empty.

"We might not be properly introduced, but we ain't strangers," he says, in a way that doesn't suggest that they are therefore friends. "I saw you. I shot you down."

He hasn't put his gun back.

[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.