revivalproject | Coming in at last call!

Entry tags:

Coming in at last call!

WHO: Drake Riley
WHERE: Coruscant
WHAT: Angrily bumbling through unsuccessful social interactions
WHEN: March Event catchall
WARNINGS: Language, but only if you speak Goa'uld

Arrival
For the second time in - what, a week? - Drake woke suddenly and with no idea where he was. And it was getting annoying. At least this time, he didn't feel as though he'd been pushed down a cliff and trampled by an upset moose. The ship gave a judder-

Ship? What? He sat bolt upright and staggered to the front just in time to see the planet spread itself out before them, glittering and vast. Astonished, he couldn't take his eyes off it, and only found a seat by fumbling blindly for one.

Later, after being ushered against every protest into the hotel and subsequently his room, Drake spent a few minutes going over his tablet to make sure it hadn't been damaged, and then promptly left. It wasn't like he had any belongings to unpack, after all.

Shopping
Drake's first impression of Coruscant was that it reminded him a bit of Tokyo. Except that he'd never been to Tokyo. But he knew it was vast and crowded and cluttered with bright signs, and he expected he wouldn't like the smell of all the street foods mingling with the steam drifting up from manholes, and he was assaulted by all of that the moment he left the hotel.

The first thing he tried looking for was an adapter for his tablet, both for powering it and for interfacing with new technologies he might encounter. (He didn't have much luck, only finding a few little scraps he could try splicing together later.) The next thing he looked for were any items that could replace what he'd lost in coming here: a proper torch, a canteen, waterproof matches or firesteel, binoculars, water tablets, a first aid kit, a weapon, and definitely some meal bars. Maybe a small shaving kit if he had room. So far, he's only found some meal replacement bars and a flashlight, and his increasing agitation with being unable to communicate with the shopkeeper (who he's sure is holding out on him for a better price, but is actually just getting fed up with his tone) is about to get him kicked out.

Underground
It didn't take long for Drake to get himself thrown out of the establishment, after which he'd yelled "Kel kek, mikta!" which didn't mean anything to the shopkeeper, but was clearly an insult if the rude gesture that accompanied it was anything to go by. They'd squealed angrily and thrown a small, hard bag of something foul smelling at him.

WELL.

It wasn't his fault they were too thick to understand easy-to-decipher body language regarding drinking, shooting, and bandaging (but could, for some reason, understand when he was calling them stupid). Oh well. That was fine. No upstanding citizen would sell a weapon to some random stranger without an identification, mailing address, or even a background to check, anyway, so he'd go looking elsewhere. After asking around here and there, Drake began to get the impression that he could buy just about anything he wanted the further down he went. No one really warned him about the violence down there, though.

That's how he wound up pinned against a wall with a blaster under his chin when he'd made too quick a move to reach into one of his pockets.

Late lunch/Early dinner
If no one came to his aide, he'll have escaped by offering up all of the power bars he'd bought earlier, claiming that they had "sun" in them - which he assumed they did. Vitamin D, that is, which appeared to be distinctly lacking down there. Weapon or no weapon, Drake will have taken the experience as a cue to retreat.

Tired, shaken, a bit smelly, and hardly having found anything on his shopping list, he turned his focus toward dining. He'd have given anything for a P.F. Chang's. Just someplace quiet to gather what remained of his wits, have something warm to drink, and try to calm down and formulate a plan. And have something to eat, obviously. He was starving.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

When Clarice steps between them, Drake takes an instinctive step back, surprise breaking through the indignation on his face.

"Miss Starling!" And for a moment, he's speechless with the astonishment of having actually run into someone else from Agra-10 in this mega-metropolis. Then he looks annoyed again.

"As a matter of fact, this...person-"

The shopkeeper gave a disparaging honk.

"-is trying to up the price of the tool kit, there. I think word's gotten 'round that we've got money!"

"They're big on bartering here," she says smoothly, shooting the shopkeeper an apologetic glance as if to say I'm sorry he's so rude. "So even if it hasn't, he'd probably be trying to haggle."

She glances at the price tag on the tool kit - she's learned the Aurabesh numbers first off, since they're most important for a traveler to know. If she knows how much more he's marked them up in talking to Drake, she can suss out whether or not he's being greedy or just haggling.

"How much did he say he wanted for them?"

"Forty-eight bloody credits! That's like-" He paused for one and a half seconds while he estimated in his head how much one credit should be worth based on context such as what was being charged for tool kits before changing the price and then converting it to pounds sterling, "-seventy-five pounds! 'Bout a hundred dollars! For a sixty-dollar tool kit at best."

The shopkeeper made a warning, rumbling dinosaur hiss and it took everything in Drake not to make a face back at him.

She pressed her lips together and breathed slowly. "While I can appreciate your capacity to convert their currency on the fly like that, Dr. Riley, there are other factors that might come into play here. The materials used may seem common to you, but maybe they're more rare here. Or maybe those kinds of tools themselves aren't common. Remember, a lot of the technology here is advanced. You might be holding a kit that isn't widely manufactured anymore... the equivalent of buying a record player new in the box when everyone is buying CDs."

She paused, glancing around the shop to gauge what else it sold, then decided to go back to her original tactic. "Try offering him thirty-five, though. See if he moves."

Drake did not like being lectured to about other factors. As far as he was concerned, the shopkeeper was a dishonest con man and probably made prices up on the fly regularly because he didn't have to report to a Better Business Bureau.

"But- D'tzch- The tag says thirty." He griped at her through tightly clenched teeth.

Then he took a long breath in through his nose and set his mouth in a hard, displeased line, tapped "3-5" into his comm, and held it up with a wordless scowl.

Whether or not he liked being lectured, it was clear to Starling that Drake had a lot of expanding to do in regards to his perceptions. Either he didn't get out much, or when he did, he always counted the minutes until he got home to whatever life he led.

The shopkeeper squinted at the comm, and then at Drake. It was clear he was torn between whether or not to be pleased that this strange human was finally figuring out how to barter, or to be annoyed that he wasn't really getting into the spirit of it. With a hefty sigh, he scribbled on a holo-slate and held it up. "45."

"See there," Clarice said encouragingly. "Lower than sixty. Go for something in the middle."

While nothing could be further from the truth, Drake definitely wasn't qualified for first contact, trade, or diplomacy. Instead, he almost always had other people nearby who were better at interacting with locals while he saw to some very specific task that required all of his attention and occasionally resulted in more problems than there were before (although he might leave that part out if he ever talks about it).

When he sees "45," his scowl deepens and his face goes red and he almost gets to spluttering angrily and nonsensically, but catches himself when the shopkeeper narrows his eyes. Instead, he stabs at his comm with unnecessary force, "40."

It really shouldn't be this much of a hassle, he thought, just to buy a stupid tool kit. What about all the military and lab equipment he wanted to look into? At this rate, he'd either run out of credits, or run out of time, and he didn't like the prospect of either.

"AH!" The shopkeeper grins, pleased that the strange angry little man has finally Gotten it, and cries out whatever forty is in his language, holding out one hand for the credits.

Once the exchange is through, Clarice gently ushers Drake aside and lowers her voice. "I didn't want to say it in front of him, for reasons that'll be obvious in a hot second, but ... you do know we have unlimited credit here, right, Doctor?"

Drake had completed the exchange with a sour expression on the entire time, completely unamused by the shopkeeper's delight. And when Clarice revealed the nature of their funds, his face went a little slack and a little wide-eyed. (His lowered eyebrows still made him look annoyed, though.)

"Well that would have been helpful to know beforehand!" He said as though it had been Clarice's personal oversight. "Where are they getting - no, d'you know what? Don't even want to know. Prob'ly makes exactly as much sense as anything else to do with the Agrii." After a huffy half a moment, he brightened, marginally.

"That does open up a much wider array of possibilities, though. What do I need a tool kit for, I could buy an entire laboratory."

“I wasn’t trying to lead you on or anything,” she swears with a shake of her head. “I didn’t want him to keep you there all day driving things up. Theoretically you could get all the scientific equipment you need, sure. I don’t see why not. I helped a young man buy kitchen appliances earlier today.”

Starling shrugged, glancing around as if to scout places where Drake could find what he needed. In reality she was trying to figure out a way to put forth what Tommy had explained to her without having another entitled tirade on her hands. Dr. Riley was smart, but he had the sort of self-important personality that might, if unchecked for too long, make her want to punch his reasonably attractive face.

“The electrical grid on Agra 10 is different from here. But there are people on a couple of the ships who have the training to handle their electrical system. Tommy said they were named Cal and Tony. One of them might be able to tell you what would work if you brought it home.”

"The electrical grid!" He snaps his fingers, letting his forefinger stay up in one of those annoying, lingering points, and then shakes it thoughtfully as if he's remembered or just thought of something.

Uh-oh, here comes a self-important ramble!

"Someone mentioned that the Agrii use crystal based power. Fortunately, I'm an expert on crystal based technology. Unfortunately, I'm only an expert on the crystal based technology I've studied, but it doesn't exactly vary much in terms of structure or function, just in programming. Still, I'll be wanting some analytical and manufacturing equipment, and plenty of raw materials. Have you ever heard of naquedah?"

If it's about a useful skill, Starling thinks to herself, she doesn't care how self-important the ramble is, he might just as well be proving his salt. She listens intently, just as keen on learning about the process as about the professional.

"I haven't, but walk with me while you enlighten me? I helped someone find appliances earlier so I think I might know a good place to look."

Drake falls in line immediately, perfectly comfortable taking direction from someone who appears practical and competent and rattling away about top secret military operations.

"Naquadah is a rare mineral, super heavy, very dense, you know, and it has magnificent conductive properties. It's why it's so valuable. Refined naquadah can store and amplify tremendous energy. So much that liquid naquadah is routinely used to power energy weapons by at least one race, and the ore is foundational in the technologies of many others. It's ultimately at the very core of most of my professional work. Crystal technology evolved from naquadah technology." He bobs his head and spreads his hands, as if still as amazed by what he's saying as he was when he first discovered the connection.

"If I had even a small amount of refined naquadah, I could build a generator producing safe, clean power. Not my design, admittedly, someone else developed the first one on Earth, but I'm very familiar with them, and engineered a series of interface crystals for use between them and alien technology."

"Wow," she says, genuinely awed by all of this. "It almost sounds too good to be true. Must cause at least twenty times the trouble oil does in my place and time, but ... that's remarkable."

She leads him through the winding stalls, shops, and narrow, busy alleys of the market district where she and Tommy had recently haggled over chest freezers and other appliances for the diner as though she'd walked them for years, instead of only once the other day, easily able to focus on the conversation without getting them lost.

"If anything else catches your eye, let me know, we can stop, I'm just taking the path of least resistance. ... Also: hold up, when you say 'energy weapons', is that ... honest-to-God scientific talk for 'real life ray guns'?"

"It..." Drake pauses for a moment, trying to be thoughtful, "...has caused a great deal of death," he finishes, slowly nodding his head. "Far greater than fossil fuels. It's also responsible for the advancement and exploration of a number of races."

He had been following along, not really paying much mind to where they were going. She could probably have kidnapped him without even trying if she wanted to - and he probably wouldn't notice. It isn't until Clarice asks about his use of the phrase 'energy weapons' that he stops short, suddenly paling a little.

"Uh- .....y- .... I mean, I- ... I shouldn't be- What, uh....when are you from? Again?"

Drake was already not the best at honoring NDAs, but ordinarily, talking about program specifics was fine on other planets because anyone on other planets was either a native, so it didn't matter (or, in fact, needed to be divulged to them for one reason or another), or another member of the program. He had never been in this situation before, where he ran into another human who was neither a native, nor had clearance.

"Double-edged, for sure, then," she acknowledges gravely. His other question isn't as odd as she would have found it a few days ago ... but his stammering is interesting. Then again, given his military bearing, he's probably thinking about clearance.

"2003. But I'm pretty sure in our circumstances, you don't have to worry about where my clearance level's at, Doctor. Why, what year was it for you?"

"Oh right, of course, I mean it's only the best kept secret on the planet, why worry about that?" He rubs his forehead, wishing he'd gotten some painkillers somewhere along the way.

"Listen, I'm aware that the likelihood we're from the same reality is astronomically improbable, but infinite realities mean infinite Stargate programmes, and it's more likely than not that-" He interrupts himself with a hand over the mouth, momentarily chagrined at himself.

"Wait. 2003, you said? That was after Apophis' attack. That narrows it down marginally. I mean, not really. Infinite realities and all. Sorry. You asked a question. 2006. Not a terrific year, if I'm being honest. Oh, hello!" He suddenly points at something that looks a bit like the Mars Rover, but bulkier. "Is that a remote sensing lab? That could come in very handy."

Starling's intrigued by whatever a Stargate is, but she can recognize an attempt to change the subject a mile away, especially one as blatant as Drake's. If he was involved in some sort of attack, there might have been trauma involved, and she can absolutely understand wanting to veer away from something like that. She gives him a pass, intrigued by the rig he's been distracted by.

"You'd certainly know better than I would, Doctor," she says graciously. "I don't think they're as likely to haggle on equipment like this, either, if that helps."

The event itself hadn't been necessarily traumatic for him, as he hadn't been directly involved, being preocupied with frantic correspondence with the Nellis and Vandenburg bases regarding prototype naquadah enhanced warheads created specifically to defend against said attack, and how they obviously wouldn't work because obviously the attack ships are going to have shields, they were wasting their time with projectiles, they needed to contact allies with beaming technology, are you even listening to me!??

They didn't work. Obviously.

And one day, he might even tell Clarice all about his work, but she'll have to catch him in a particularly forthcoming mood, or at least while he's half asleep.

At the moment, he's already looking over the machine, inspecting its instruments, tapping the camera, and asking for a demonstration.

"Starling! Come look at this! This could be perfect for remote expeditions into the unexplored areas around Temba, don't you think? If it works, that is. I might have to recalibrate it for long-term reconnaissance, but that'll be easy compared to building one from scratch. You there! Excuse me, how long does this last on a full charge? Can you move it around for me? What are these ports, have you got any adapters that'll fit this tablet?"

Forty-five minutes and 18,737,985.6 credits later, Drake was happily tucking a receipt away in a vest pocket, the proud new owner of Coruscant's version of a mobile analytic laboratory probe.

All of it was thoroughly beyond her ken, but she watched with interest anyway, glad that someone had the sort of scientific knowledge required for unknown territory like what lay beyond the ruins of Temba. She had to admit that some of the things he'd asked for a demonstration on were impressive.

"Well done," she said as they made arrangements to have it delivered to the hangars where their fleet had been parked. "I have a feeling the others are gonna be pretty impressed with this, Dr. Riley. ... It's all pretty over my head, but ... you could use this to find ground water and ore, things under the surface, yeah?"

"You mean for a geological survey? Not very deep under the surface, I'm afraid," Drake shoved his hands in his pockets, visibly more at ease now that he's managed to find at least one Useful Thing to bring back.

"It does have a form of ground penetrating radar, but if it's anything like Earth's, it'll go twenty, maybe thirty feet down at best. Now spectrometers." He wagged a finger in the air, "That's what I think will be the most useful. It's got a couple different types, laser breakdown, alpha particle X-ray, but basically, they'll analyze the elements and chemical makeup of the environment. The radiation sensor that picks up the X-rays for chemical analysis can also pick up any other energy signatures down to the minutest trace radiation, don't worry, yes, I tested it, and I'm sure I can remove any of the instruments for lab use when not needed, so I don't think I'll need to look for more spectroscopic equipment. I do still want a glove box! Or a few of them, if we can find them, they...seem to get breached more often than not. Remotely operated robotic arms wouldn't go wrong, for that matter. S'ppose I could build that myself easily enough. You know, I wonder if I should be concerned about available space on the ships. I hope not everyone's a complete buffoon loading up on construction paper and colored pipe cleaners..."

The way he grumbled that last line suggested that that's exactly what he expected from other people.

"Twenty or thirty's a decent enough start," she said, as she let her mind process the rest of what he'd said from context. "Gives enough leeway to dig basments and lay plumbing or ground wire without having to worry about hitting water or anything that'd get in the way. Still damn helpful."

She had a feeling his idea of 'glove box' was far more complicated than the one in her Mustang back home, and just sort of let that drift, filing it away to ask for clarification. She was just about to, when he made the comment about construction paper and pipe cleaners, and bristled.

"Excuse me, Dr. Riley," she said sharply, "but how many people on this expedition have you actually spoken to in depth since you arrived?"

Drake stopped and turned at the sudden shift in tone. What was her- oh. He was being insensitive again. Oh well, he could afford to be; he was very good at his job, after all. Indispensable, even! Except...he didn't exactly have a job here, did he?

Right then. He supposed he ought to...-sigh-...explain.

"In depth? Two, I think. But that's irrelevant; do you honestly think a group of people, all acting individually, will all act in the best interest of the group? You, at least, recognize that this is an expedition, but it isn't exactly a well planned or coordinated one. No one was given a list of things to look for and retrieve. There isn't anyone tasked with gathering medical suppplies, or agricultural development equipment, or seeds and bulbs, or shelf stable foodstuffs. Not to be Marxist about it, Miss Starling, but without that direction, most people will act for themselves and gather only what they want. Not what's needed for the collective. And so, I do hope the things I've prioritized will have room on the ship between all the unnecessary luxuries people are sure to be missing, since Temba is, in fact, a rubbish heap devoid of niceties."

[[ I love this. 'Maybe he's not such an asshole after a- oh, no. Wait. There it is.' Also, in the other thread, just wanted to note: he does not have a sudden random 'thing' for redheads, or Clarice in particular. His wife had red hair, is all. ]]

Edited 2021-05-13 02:21 (UTC)

Oh. Oh, if she came from a time after the phrase 'mansplaining' was invented, she'd be shoving it right down his throat in that moment. Instead, she set her jaw until she felt her molars settle into each other's divots, mindful not to clench too tightly for the sake of her fillings, and breathed slow and steady through her nose while he rode out his little rant.

When he gave her a pause long enough to speak, she opened her mouth slowly to get that little telltale thk as her tongue dislodged from the roof of her mouth. He was edging the line from egotistical into rude, and that didn't bode well for either of them. She kept her tone carefully polite, hovering on the edge of that distinctly Southern disdain she was so in danger of plummeting into.

"Oh, I see. So your list of priorities is qualified enough to be well-coordinated and planned for the needs of a community you've set foot in and done recon on for - what was it? Maybe twenty-four hours? We don't live in the caves, Dr. Riley, and the majority of the folk here have been here a good deal longer than you and I. I took it on myself to make introductions, and I'm sure it'll be a pleasant surprise t' you that several of them have specialized in certain fields to help develop and rebuild things ... and I did hear the words 'medical' and 'agricultural' mentioned specifically. I'd suspect they take a bit more of a socialist view than a communist one." She paused, wanting to throw in one last dig, but thinking she should be gracious and give him a chance to correct his slight first.

For a few precious moments, Drake felt wonderfully vindicated and quite pleased that Starling seemed to be affirming his reasoning. He had even closed his eyes and begun nodding his head to acknowledge mutual understanding.

“Maybe twenty-four hours?”

His eyes snapped open. Uh-oh.

“Uh…”

As she continued, familiar alarms and klaxons started ringing in his head.
It may be a different person with a different accent from a different time, but he’d realized that he knew that careful, measured tone, and he knew what was hiding beneath it.

It shouldn’t have bothered him. He got off on the wrong foot with most people, who cares about one more? When lives were at stake, it didn’t matter who liked him or not, as long as he knew what he was doing. Still, he was finding himself staring straight ahead, unseeing, and trying very hard not to let his shoulders do that rounded thing that let his team mates know he was feeling tired and hungry.

He wasn’t sure if she expected an answer, but she wasn’t about to get one for a few minutes, at least, even though there was a great deal he’d have liked to say, if only his mind hadn’t gone blank.

Re: Shopping

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may want to check w/ mods about bringing this back ;) s/b fine but just in case

Will do!

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