open voicetest post.

[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

[ 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

[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. ]

[pluckier]

[Dolores isn't there, and then she is. A pale hand on the neck of his horse, her upturned face limned in city sunshine.]

Hello, Teddy.

[Her dress is the same shade of cornflower blue, but different in this time and world. A more modern cut, no laces at the small of her back, nor ruff around the low neck of her bodice. Her shoes are nude, sitting on three-inch kitten heels, shapely around her feet. Mascara thorns her eyelashes dense as a jungle. She looks like she could be going to work at a bank, or some sort of consultation job; a stranger in a strange, strange land. But some things about her are unmistakably familiar. The tiny ringlets that frame her forehead, the drawl of her voice when she asks, mild as ever,] Did you take the train today?