ataraxionlogs | EVENT: SPACE PIRATES ▒ OXYGEN GARDENS

[This guy is all over the place, checking up on literally everything, and even if he wasn't getting his busybody everywhere a veritable wall of Dutchman on business by bicycle is hard to miss.

Or maybe he's carrying his bike as he walks through the camp on the second level, with it slung across his shoulder like it weighs nothing. Wheeling it into the livestock pen as he checks on the animals. Stopping to interrogate someone on the first level because only his staff and SEC are supposed to be here, you moron, are you trying to get shot? (Then again, not like he knows everyone on SEC. Whatever.) And on the rare occasion when he falls asleep, it's near Mattie's old camp, bike against a tree, back against the bike. No one is coming near his fucking bike.

Regardless of where he is, he probably wants to know what the hell you're up to, even if you don't work here. Especially if you don't. If you do, well - time for a status report.]

[It doesn't take too long for Bardo to make his way down from 011 to the gardens, and even less time to quickly surmise that there's a shit ton of people here and that's probably why Netherlands contacted him. So with a huff and quick hands pulling his hair back, Bardo scans the entrance of the garden in search of a familiar grumpy nation.

It doesn't take too long, and soon enough he's striding over, tail lashing behind him and he remembers the last time so many people had to stay in the gardens.]

Netherlands. [A polite greeting, ears flicking to catch sound.] What do you need me to do?

[For all the directing he's been doing, he's still on that goddamn bike. At least Bardo should be used to it - it's like his fifth limb, at this point. He looks rather pleased, but the closest Bardo's gonna get to a "thanks" is]

Quick.

[Good job, tigerdad.]

Right now, need people to help with setting up the camp. If y'know how, do that. If y'don't - we're gonna need food delivered to it. Keep people out of the crops who aren't supposed to be there.

[Pirates or otherwise.]

[The bike really doesn't draw a second glance, he's too used to it by this point and from what he knows of Netherlands, it would be foolish to assume he would part with it when there's the possibility of someone stealing it.]

Said y'needed help. [Bardo shrugs, like it's no big deal, but his tail gives a happy sway behind him and his ears perk.] Got it, others checkin' in yet?

[Huh. That garners quite a few respect points. He hums and nods, doesn't grin or really look any less serious but the approval is a bit more obvious, colors his voice when he first starts to answer the question. Though it slides into business quickly enough.]

Mm. Everyone but Tom an' Josias... [But Josias has been worrying him for well over a month now, and even if he suspects the guy is around it still stresses him enough for a hand to take its grip off the bike, make a swipe back through his hair. Huff.]

Not talkin' to anyone, anyway.

[Respect points or not, Bardo's always been the kind of cat to come running if someone needs help. Probably partially why he runs an inn, and partially some left over guilt he could never quite hide. So Netherlands' voice lilts with approval and it's unneeded but welcome all the same.]

If I see 'em I'll tell you. [He nods to himself, definitive. A pause then, because he hurried down here without really checking in:] Have you seen Konoe and Asato?

Thanks.

[Although that gives him pause as well. Asato's on security, and is probably out there, but where does that leave Konoe?]

Not... yet. [Frown.] Have you...?

[A shrug. You know. Talked to them, seen them, whatever.]

[There's a shake of his head, ears lowering a bit.]

Not yet, they'll show up eventually. Probably.

[He's worried, but only a little bit. Both of them can take care of themselves, and woe be the pirates that corner them together.]

If they don't...

[It's a grim line, his lips make, and he casts a look around the Gardens as he evaluates how much work there is to be done versus the amount of people available versus the work that can wait.]

You can go, if they need ya.

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dwellsonthe - 2013-05-22 22:07 (UTC) - Expand

Don't you have a helmet?

[Noah's seen that bike pass by at least four times already, though it wasn't always being ridden.]

Space pirate invasion or not, head injuries are the leading cause of bicycle-related deaths.

[He's not mocking. Not entirely serious either. Mostly he's just wanting someone to talk to.]

[At the moment he's "taking a break", which really just means he's strolling through the camp and making sure not a thing is out of line, person or otherwise, cigarette hanging from his mouth and bike slung over his shoulder.

It takes a second to realize that he's the one being spoken to, so he's gone a few paces forward but stops, blinks. Turns around and blinks again, hand to his cigarette, and makes the few paces back.]

Why would I have a helmet.

[An actual question. He pulls out the cigarette and tilts his head as he asks. Why would he have a helmet?]

They're standard safety equipment. What if you flipped over your handlebars and banged your head on a tree root? [A pause.] Which might be more of a danger if you were actually riding right now.

[Noah presses his lips together into a thin line. Is it too late for him to start over with the smoking lecture? Since that always goes over so well with Cillian.]

I believe I did see you riding it earlier though. You looked quite busy.

[Standard safety equipment in places not the Netherlands, maybe. As it is he's looking at Noah like the guy has just suggested he eat a spoonful of cinnamon, because he's pretty sure this is a joke. Or he's being trolled. Something. Despite the seemingly honest delivery.

Also he's been smoking for centuries can't stop won't stop.]

Never worn a helmet. Don't have one, anyway. [Speaking of busy - he narrows his eyes and smokes for a few seconds, exhales and asks. Another legitimate question and not his usual demand for an answer.] You need something?

[No one but Edgeworth actually cares about helmets, right.]

Perhaps someone has one that they're not using.

[Noah considers his own words. It seems a little unlikely, even to him, but strange things are always showing up in people's lockers. Maybe he could barter some ink for it.]

Need something? No, not at all. Where are you headed next?

[There's just a hint of eagerness in that question. He should get on that bike and peddle away, maybe.]

... right.

[Said in the tone of "yeah, no". Though there actually is a helmet on board - Mike's - but he's not about to go looking for it. Fucking depressing.

Except. Well. Noah probably has no idea what he just got himself into, because despite the actual words what Netherlands hears is "I'm free to work" and he's ready to take advantage right away. So he grunts, nods, and starts off toward the first level with a jerk of his head.]

First floor. [And the interrogation commences.] Know anything about cookin'?

[And Noah's ready to be taken advantage of. He really wants to help, but he also feels helpless. Because he can't fight, or won't. He's not good with machines or repairs. He has no medical training.

Know anything about cookin'?

He's on his feet and following at that question. Because Noah does know about cooking, and did before a diabetic boyfriend entered the picture. After that he learned even more, made sure he could cook things that would be tasty and nutritious and just a little bit creative. So yes. Yes he does.]

It's only a dream of mine to be on Master Chef. How did our food stock fare during the raid? It doesn't matter, I can make do with whatever is left. You'd be surprised what can be made into a casserole.

[It's kind of sad that he's not only not surprised with Noah's immediate response, but doesn't even acknowledge it other than a glance over when the guy begins speaking. And maybe raised brows and a quizzical look at the Master Chef bit, even as his mouth tilts down, because he's not sure if that's a joke or not. Doesn't sound sarcastic, at least.]

It -

[Is this guy for real.]

Been fine so far. Down here. Hard part won't be gettin' what you need, it's gonna be cooking without a fire.

[The gardens have him on edge. It's not the surroundings, persay, but the amount of people and the overarching threat of pirates that seep in his marrow and have Russia constantly on alert and constantly searching faces for threat. He's spent enough time down here to already have escape routes plucked out and embroidered in the back of his mind like a tapestry, but it's still something the paranoia that eats at him settles on. In truth, he's already considering heading back up to 002, hunkering down with Haymitch and maybe going scouting to see just what damage has been done already.

So seeing Netherlands arm his way through people, bike slung over his shoulder, is a relief. Russia heads over quickly, people scattering like they usually do when Russia's in One of Those Moods even if most people aboard don't realize. So there's a touch at Netherlands' shoulder, a greeting even as he settles pace.]

Hey.

[It's easier than the first time, even without Mattie around to help lay out the campsite and direct people in her matter-of-fact manner. The thought of it still pokes at him, though, in the back of his mind. Makes him a little more melancholy and snappish than might be expected for someone who knows Netherlands' ins and outs as well as Russia does. It's not something he's dealt with very well, hardly at all, and not knowing the whereabouts of Russia, Heather, and Takeshi all at once on top of it has him throwing himself into everything he sees.

When Russia touches him he jumps, spins halfway and nearly fucking slumps once he sees who it is. It only lasts a moment and he's moving on already, matching step for step and leaning his bikeless shoulder right into Russia's, uncaring of how it looks. Why should he give a shit.]

'bout time you showed up, bastard.

[Tinged with more fondness than he'd usually let out.]

[People are passing by too close for comfort, too many, and he skims faces and catalogues as was trained, fingers tapping against his leg in lieu of pipe. So Netherlands jumps and Russia takes an instinctive step backwards, eyes widening before his mouth flickers with a smile. The press of shoulder to shoulder is a comfort, a stable presence that draws him just a bit away from the steady building paranoia he lives with.]

Sorry to keep you waiting. [It's a dry tone, a joke, but still his smile is warm and his ears tinge pink to match the pleased look on his face at all that fondness. It nearly disguises that fact that he's speaking solid Russian, mired in his native tongue for an attempt at another comfort to keep him grounded.] Didn't want to get followed, wouldn't have been pretty.

[It's not funny and he brushes over it in favor of ignoring the way Russia jumps, ignoring the flicker of a smile and the step and ignoring it so hard he's pressing right back. Like if he pushes in with a shoulder, to the other shoulder, soft skin and cloth wrapped over a good foundation and most of all wanting for the return push - that it'll be matched.

And it kind of is. Step for step, tone for tone, they're on the same page as they usually are and maybe they shouldn't be reveling in it quite so much. It's too much of a comfort, though. His shoulder presses centimeters below Russia's and he hears an eloquent explanation and it's goddamned reassuring.

He knocks his head back - not a headbutt, temples hurt, but it's a tease - says something because they can't watch one another.]

For them, or for here.

[He already knows the answer. He just wants to hear it. Just in case.]

[They press together like two puzzle pieces; shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and Russia relaxes in the seep of warmth against his side. This is familiar after so many months and it doesn't take much for him to change his stride to keep in line with Netherlands.

Russia hums under his breath and turns his face into that little nudge, cheek to temple for just a second before he's scanning once more. His fingers taptaptap against his leg, a tell of how fidgety he is, how much he wants--no, needs to be on his feet and moving. He's never been expressly patient in times like this, not until he's found himself behind the scope of a rifle or in the middle of a battle himself. But Netherlands probably fully understands that about him.]

Them, 'course. [There's a flash of a smile, too wide and all teeth, and his eyes are dark. Usually Russia has a good control over himself, over all the broken little fragments like shards of glass in his mind, but the mask has unearthed all of that and tossed it on it's head. The loss of it compounded with the current situation had simply worsened that.] Not like they'd get far here anyway.

[Russia's never been patient until he's finally doing something, and it's something he's idly noted but now is coming to the forefront and drilling itself into his head all over again. They're way too similar, sometimes - some remote part of him wonders what would happen, if one or the other got back home, if they'd try to regain what's going on here - the rest tries to think of jobs.

Not that that's hard to do. There's a shittton of stuff that needs to happen.

And. Given that look, dark with promise, protectiveness, determination - he's not sure a menial job here will cut it. (Not that he thinks it's menial, but there's no guarantee for action, if that's what Russia needs to calm down again.)

To the chase, then.]

You're gonna leave again.

Mmhm. [There's relief at the fact that Netherlands understands without him even needing to speak, but he hadn't really expected otherwise. Not after this long together, and not after all they've been through. And to some degree it probably is dangerous, heading out there alone to find some odd number of pirates armed simply with his pipe, a knife and a pistol with a couple rounds. It would be foolhardy if he wasn't Russia, and in truth it still is.

He remembers Strela, remembers their dream worlds and somehow there's a deep foreboding throbbing beneath his diaphragm. Russia's not sure if it's that or the thrill of a hunt that makes it hard to breath but he's had practice in that. So he nods, breathes in and out and focuses on the flash of pale hair at the corner of his vision.]

I'll check in with you. [A pause, then softly:] I need to. It'll be alright.

[Of course. He can't help the small frown that mars his face when he hears it, even if he knew it was coming, but it'd be stupid to try to stop Russia from something he's apparently already decided. And hell. From an objective standpoint it might be useful to the ship, having someone so experienced out there. So he frowns but doesn't argue, just nods - throws a look over that's just as soft at the quiet I need to.

Looks away, ahead, looks back.

That's heavy, man. Something he might've kept to a look or tone, touch, maybe flowers if he'd had the appropriate ones sitting around, but he can't hide the fact that he appreciates it all the same. Reciprocates, even, though it's simply a clearing of his throat and a quiet nod followed up with a tight-lipped attempt at a smile.

And then he goes back to bitching.]

If your dumb ass gets hurt I'm gonna visit you in Medbay. Talk about your war with Japan 'till your ears bleed. [A hum.] Or that time Poland fucked with your bosses.

EVENT: SPACE PIRATES ▒ OXYGEN GARDENS

Netherlands | OTA | action or prose it's cool

doop doop tigerdad checkin in

yo tigerdad what up

the ceiling

har har har

you know you love it

shh shhhh

mwah

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if this is wrong poke me I'll switch it up

it's fine! sorry i missed the plurk ping about this.

it's cool it's cool, plurk's kind of a butt anyway

lmao, that article

hah right? like NO one wears them.

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drops in here a second time

yes good gotta catch 'em all

they're not pokemanz, gosh X(

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