David (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
noman) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2015-10-02 09:17 pm
noman) wrote in ataraxionlogs2015-10-02 09:17 pm
Entry tags:
a series of meetings
CHARACTERS: David, Charles 'Groovy Mutation' Xavier, Erik 'Buckethead' Lehnsherr, maybe others.
LOCATION: Base Camp's makeshift science station, the wreck of the Tranquility, maybe elsewhere.
WARNINGS: Just a little violence.
SUMMARY: David makes some friends. :)
NOTES: Catch-all, closed starters inside. Drop a line if you'd like to collide.
EXT. BASE CAMP – DAY
Having only very recently made the decision to join base camp, David has spoken to few of its residents, but the number of faces familiar to him is growing all the same. Familiar at close range, that is. After days of observation, he can already identify many of the camp's residents at a distance, albeit not by name—and given his scientific leanings, which have brought him often to the very tents David now approaches, Charles Xavier is one of these people.
He stops shy of the raised platforms, hands at his sides, and for a while just looks at all the equipment laid out before him, his eyes moving about with interest while his head turns in brief but smooth increments. With his perfect posture, neatly combed hair and unblemished skin, he radiates the impression that the Tranquility jumpsuit he wears would have been pressed free of wrinkles if only he had access to a proper iron and board. Even his boots have been attended to, the mud knocked from the soles, the uppers brushed clean.
The moment he sees a body move into view—the one he recognises, not so coincidentally—this tall, bright-eyed stranger turns his face toward it and waits, looking pleasantly expectant. It becomes clear before long that he hasn't been noticed, and so:
"Hello, there."
INT. TRANQUILITY WRECKAGE – DAY
Hours later, once again zipped into his streamlined excursion suit, David is still vaguely contemplating his meetings thus far while he examines a bag he's found. Standard-issue, nylon, still flattened from previously airtight storage. This will do. He slips his gloved fingers through a hole in the plastic packaging and tears it away.
What's left of the Tranquility medical bay is still frequented by bodies on the regular, and so much of what is useful has been taken, but not all eyes are equally discerning. Once he happened upon a nearly complete set of dentistry tools, his shopping list grew organically—now his latest find, what looks almost like a pen with a little lever, he treats with especial care by wrapping it in gauze, slipping it into a side pocket all its own. A box of fine needles joins it soon, and some long-handled cotton swabs, and several precious doses of anaesthetic. The beam of his flashlight appears, sweeps to a neighbouring area cast into shadow by damaged circuits, searches briefly before he prudently snuffs it again. If X-ray machines of even partial portability exist here he'd like to find one, but that isn't in the cards today. It's just as well, since on his way back to the exit climb he's already carrying an autoclave the size of a microwave oven. With one hand. Cradled in his other arm like a bouquet of roses is a canister of nitrous oxide, and the accompanying tubes and variously sized nasal masks fill the bag on his shoulder. (He saw oxygen back at base camp, otherwise that would have been first priority.)
Whatever it was that had driven him to excessive caution regarding those at camp, he's glad it has past. If one must be marooned on an alien world, company is preferable, he thinks. And then he stops, astonished, having just come face-to-face with a man of uncanny resemblance to... himself.
LOCATION: Base Camp's makeshift science station, the wreck of the Tranquility, maybe elsewhere.
WARNINGS: Just a little violence.
SUMMARY: David makes some friends. :)
NOTES: Catch-all, closed starters inside. Drop a line if you'd like to collide.
EXT. BASE CAMP – DAY
Having only very recently made the decision to join base camp, David has spoken to few of its residents, but the number of faces familiar to him is growing all the same. Familiar at close range, that is. After days of observation, he can already identify many of the camp's residents at a distance, albeit not by name—and given his scientific leanings, which have brought him often to the very tents David now approaches, Charles Xavier is one of these people.
He stops shy of the raised platforms, hands at his sides, and for a while just looks at all the equipment laid out before him, his eyes moving about with interest while his head turns in brief but smooth increments. With his perfect posture, neatly combed hair and unblemished skin, he radiates the impression that the Tranquility jumpsuit he wears would have been pressed free of wrinkles if only he had access to a proper iron and board. Even his boots have been attended to, the mud knocked from the soles, the uppers brushed clean.
The moment he sees a body move into view—the one he recognises, not so coincidentally—this tall, bright-eyed stranger turns his face toward it and waits, looking pleasantly expectant. It becomes clear before long that he hasn't been noticed, and so:
"Hello, there."
INT. TRANQUILITY WRECKAGE – DAY
Hours later, once again zipped into his streamlined excursion suit, David is still vaguely contemplating his meetings thus far while he examines a bag he's found. Standard-issue, nylon, still flattened from previously airtight storage. This will do. He slips his gloved fingers through a hole in the plastic packaging and tears it away.
What's left of the Tranquility medical bay is still frequented by bodies on the regular, and so much of what is useful has been taken, but not all eyes are equally discerning. Once he happened upon a nearly complete set of dentistry tools, his shopping list grew organically—now his latest find, what looks almost like a pen with a little lever, he treats with especial care by wrapping it in gauze, slipping it into a side pocket all its own. A box of fine needles joins it soon, and some long-handled cotton swabs, and several precious doses of anaesthetic. The beam of his flashlight appears, sweeps to a neighbouring area cast into shadow by damaged circuits, searches briefly before he prudently snuffs it again. If X-ray machines of even partial portability exist here he'd like to find one, but that isn't in the cards today. It's just as well, since on his way back to the exit climb he's already carrying an autoclave the size of a microwave oven. With one hand. Cradled in his other arm like a bouquet of roses is a canister of nitrous oxide, and the accompanying tubes and variously sized nasal masks fill the bag on his shoulder. (He saw oxygen back at base camp, otherwise that would have been first priority.)
Whatever it was that had driven him to excessive caution regarding those at camp, he's glad it has past. If one must be marooned on an alien world, company is preferable, he thinks. And then he stops, astonished, having just come face-to-face with a man of uncanny resemblance to... himself.
no subject
"Thank you." For seeing reason, if only temporarily. "Sir." For good measure, in case the man's ego would resent going without it.
David is quite ready to be on his way now, thank you very much indeed, but that same notion of familiarity holds him there just before he's leaned all the way into his first step, brings his tone down to a more candid place.
"If I may ask... have you always been called Erik?"
no subject
He’s been called all sorts of things.
But that isn’t what David is asking.
“Get to the surface.”
Erik looks him over, tone and expression and formal address in a slender blonde package. If the android won’t take the first step away, he will, plotting a course for David’s salvage suspended in midair.
no subject
They turn at roughly the same time, not by coincidence; he'd be glad to stare awhile longer, but sees Erik's weight shift and takes it as a sign to do the same. He's slow to lift the bag, as it feels heavier now than when he first picked it up, and looping the strap across his chest is an uncomfortable process. Though he's frowning with frustrated effort by the time he's ready to depart, still he turns to wish his fellow well before picking his way out.
"See you at base camp."