auroraexpress | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Jasmine
When: Day 1, morning
Where: Jasmine car!!

[We've all got some DOORS TO WRESTLE WITH, huh]

No, sir, I am afraid not.

[it's a terrible habit, anyway. at any rate 80H is dressed like she's headed to the beach because those are the clothes that were made available, but she gives this gentleman a onceover]

[ he's pulled on a pair pants for the sake of decency, though not after a furious, muttered search for his usual garb. it really makes the jellyfish top pop, you know? and he feels naked, holds himself taut. what's a gunman without his gun, after all?

shrugging like his mind isn't a dustbowl weathering the biggest storm it's seen in a while. ]

Worth a shot.

[ gesturing next to the aquarium decor, which he doesn't recognize as necessarily being aquarium decor—just that it's water, everywhere. makes his spine tingle in a way that's not wholly good or bad, but a mix of both. ]

I dunno about you, but the scene ain't exactly setting me at ease.

It will get better. I doubt we would be here for matter to be awful all the time, but that does not mean that we have leave to be complacent, either.

[No rest for the wicked, it seems. And, to be honest, the state of affairs is...unnerving to her, but she masks it with a blank face.]

[ girl's hard to read. he's used to being able to read people pretty well, even their silences, their blankness.

shifting... ]

As it happens, I'm not the complacent type.

Very good, then.

[she takes her skirts in hand and curtsies elegantly, dipping her head politely out of respect for an elder.]

I am 80H. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

[ ...aw, hell. rubbing the back of his neck a touch awkwardly—which Wolfwood doesn't much like being—before holding out his hand. it's a rough, worn hand. ]

Wolfwood, at your service.

[She looks at the hand for a moment like what is she supposed to--oh right. She takes it in a firm shake.]

Ah, you remember your name. Do you recall much of your life, then?

[ you can tell a lot by someone's handshake; whether they've got a coward's weak touch or the crushing grip of someone trying to be bigger than they are and make everyone else feel the smaller for it. he relaxes a touch and shakes back, nice and firm, himself. ]

Uh... yeah. Why wouldn't I?

We have amnesiacs on board, and in my experience, [which is fucking considerable at this point, good grief.], it can be a very selective affliction in terms of which memories it affects, particularly if it isn't natural.

Amnesia, huh...

[ damn. some things just keep on comin' right back, don't they? except Livio was less amnesia and more a mean mix of full-scale brainwashing and somethin' else. ]

Must make me one of the lucky ones.

[ h-ha ]

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