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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

[shootsharp]

Not long, [ he says. Reliably, Teddy is disinclined to dramatically do very little save for what he is told. His squints a little at the old man from beneath the shadow of his hat, but Ford has his attention. His engagement. ] And I don't care to stay any longer than I have to.

[ Whatever his loops, Heropa was never factored in. ]

You likewise find yourself off the beaten trail, mister?

[fordshadowing]

I suppose you can say that. Though I feel as though I've been wandering off the trail for quite some time.

[ He remarks in his own private amusement to himself, and doesn't bother letting poor clueless Teddy in on the joke. But all idle comments aside, Ford does address the more pressing point. ]

I do believe neither you nor I are going to be leaving this place any time soon. But perhaps there is something you can find comforting about this change of scenery.

[ A beat. And then: ]

Analysis: What is the last thing you recall, Teddy?

[shootsharp]

[ There's that spark of thought, or what passes for it -- a sifting through of scripted dialogue, the chance at improvisation, but gently, that single word puts Teddy's processing at ease.

His eyeline wanders off of Ford, watching the air somewhere to the left of him. ]

Prior to this interaction, I recall witnessing an object, hanging in the sky. There was a great noise from it and other unknown environmental artefacts. My sensory input capacity was overloaded and caused system failure. It was raining.

[ A beat, before he is compelled to volunteer, again; ] They call this place Heropa.