( open ) arrival

[tailorspy]

Who: Garak and YOU!
What: Arrival and exploring the city
When: First few days after his arrival
Where: Some random abandoned buildings and shops, the hotel
Warnings: None expected


I ▹ INFORMATION

[ One thing Garak has learned can be more valuable than virtually anything is information. The bright orb waiting for him upon arrival was useful, but incredibly lacking in many aspects, and Garak finds himself needing more to know what he's dealing with.

Yes, he realizes that a dying species likely had other things to worry about than just how much information they left readily available for others to come, but that doesn't mean some isn't laying around somewhere. He takes to exploring each and every building, pushing through the overgrown plants to step inside, climbing up stairs where he can manage, poking his head into different rooms as he passes them.

He'll approach any computer screen he finds, and he'll promptly open the nearest control panel to try and see what the circuitry looks like, and if there's any chance to get power running through it again. When that fails, he heads back outside and walks towards the outskirts of the city, trying to find whatever path the power might have once followed, hoping to find some sort of energy central.

The same goes for the plumbing system. At least plenty of people seem invested in getting power back up again, but Garak has a feeling they will all be in dire need of a decent bath sooner or later, and things will get rather unbearable if they don't get the plumbing working again.

If he finds anyone else exploring anywhere he happens to go, he'll smile at them, tilting his head all too politely. ] Greetings. May I ask what you're looking for? Perhaps it's the same as I, and we can help each other.

II ▹ CULTURE

[ Garak has found himself a place to sleep in at the rundown hotel. It's far from perfect, and he fully plans on finding something better eventually, but for the moment it has a door, a mostly intact window, and a whole ceiling. The bathroom has a tub that could be filled with water for a bath if need be, and having pushed the bed frame aside, Garak has gathered a few old blankets and sheets to serve as a small bed by a darker, warmer corner of the room.

He's not sleeping currently, however. Door open, he's sitting on those blankets, legs crossed, hunched over what looks like some kind of electronic device in his hands. He runs his fingers over the screen with a frown on his face, tapping and clicking like he's looking for something...

And then music just starts playing. Garak groans, eyes practically rolling back on his head. ] Oh, useless.

((ooc: Garak is new and can be found pretty much all over town, wherever you'd like to run into him I'm game! Feel free to write your own adventure, or friend/ping me @ extreminator if you'd like to plan something out!))

Comments

[pileofspirits]

Lovely?

[they bring up their hands to cup the ends of the curls hanging around their own face like they need to catch them, keep them from spilling. like they don't know what to do with the change now that it has been brought to their attention.]

[tailorspy]

Yes. Do you understand what it means?

[ Garak isn't quite sure he can properly explain its meaning without using other words that Phalanx might not understand either. He watches as they cup their own strands. ]

It won't fall.

[pileofspirits]

[Garak's question causes a strange look to pass over Phalanx's face. it's not quite a wince, but does seem uncomfortable. when you have dozens of differing opinions suddenly clamoring to answer, it can be a little jarring.

words come out clumsy and crowded, even as Phalanx puts forth visible effort to work with them.]

Lovely is. When it's... pretty, or there's. Lovely, love, lo--longing. Or... beautiful or charm or... something that you like? Liking...

[they miss the part about how their curls won't fall. they fidget with the strands, twisting them between their fingers until the color begin to change to a reddish hue.]

[tailorspy]

Quite so, my darling. I meant that you are pretty. I have always liked pretty things, and pretty people.

[ What an odd one they are, Garak thinks, admiring the way their hair keeps changing colors, seemingly answering shifts in their state of mind, their demeanor. Nothing truly seems to be wrong with them, however, so Garak doesn't worry in the least about those changes. ]

[pileofspirits]

[continuing to feel no confusion or distress coming from Garak is helping them to calm any of their own that bubbles up. their furrowed brow smooths out and they slowly shift from twisting their hair to playing idly with it.]

"We were pretty, sometimes. Some. And liked."

[tailorspy]

Are you not liked now?

[ Garak could say a thing or two about that. About being liked, or the pretension of being liked. Now he thinks that perhaps he used to be too dependent on that, the need for approval and love from all the wrong people. Or the wrong person, in any case. ]

I rather like you, so far. You're very interesting.

[pileofspirits]

[with human-looking eyes and some life and color to their features now, subtle expression comes a little easier to them. and their reaction to his question is to look a bit sulky.]

There's yelling. Throwing. Sometimes. Chasing, running, scaring...

[and then they consider Garak's statement. it's easier to watch them think it over, while they're a little more animated like this. the line of their mouth flattens and they glance to the side.]

Rather. So far.

[tailorspy]

That's unfortunate. Luckily I'm not the sort to yell or throw things, even with good reason.

[ He's menacing in different ways. Not that Garak expects to use those methods on Phalanx, but he won't discard the possibility that it might come in handy during his time here. ]

Let's walk together for a while. Would you like that?

[pileofspirits]

[they murmur happily at the question and immediately begin to stand instead of answering it with words. they don't really think about it before the rest of them is already carrying out the motion.

and by this point, they have long forgotten their sewing project. so, as they stand, the half-sewn pieces of fabric with the threaded needle still dangling from it flutter to the ground.]