shootsharp | open voicetest post.

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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It's his hand caught with her hand that Teddy looks to next in a sort of mild curiousity, but he doesn't pull his out of her grip, simply looking again at her upturned face. "You're Ms Mori," he says, helpfully. Then, after a beat, he amends, "Mako."

Not present. He hesitates. The limitations of his script are such that there aren't a lot of ready responses for deeper thinking outside certain themes, but he's not without ability to improvise, even if it takes him some seconds.

"I don't mean to cause you consternation. Sometimes a man's mind wanders far when he's reminiscing."

"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?"

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."

"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.

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.

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.

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