crux_fleet | Uncontrolled Chaos [Open]

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Uncontrolled Chaos [Open]

Though Jonathan was separated from his home by a great gulf of space and time, it was not in his nature to shirk his duty. And one of his duties, as handed down by the holy Monastery itself, was the accumulation of mystic relics: medicines, electronics, gems, clothing, children's toys, office supplies, beauty products -- any convenience of the modern world, in short, that he could not readily identify or understand.

The problem was that the Teuberg was full of them. And all readily available for the right price!

Early this morning, the door to his room burst open, spilling his newly-collected treasures everywhere. A remote-controlled shark balloon, tubes of lipstick of varying colors, a multitude of semiprecious gems, hand lotions, socks, a horrible sweater with a misshapen turkey knitted onto its front, a small collection of shining metal storage discs, a fishing bait and tackle box filled with jiggly, soft lures imitating various types of alien bugs, packaged food (canned and boxed), and more all flooded out into the hall.

Jonathan followed shortly after, riding the small tide of trinkets to a stop a short distance outside his room. He looked uncharacteristically harried; a battery-powered toy that resembled a small baby fowl protruded from his luxuriant mane of curls. "I... suppose I underestimated the convenience that our local storekeepers afforded us."

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Anzu regards the flood of objects and their unfortunate new owner with something like resigned amusement, which quickly turns to anger and terror, as he accidentally steps on one of the tubes of lipstick and goes sprawling. He lands near the cause of all this commotion, glaring at him.

None of the lipstick can see is even remotely to his taste. Talk about insult to injury.

"Darling," he says, crisply. "What the hell is going on here? You're a public safety hazard! I could've broken something!"

Jonathan saw the expression on the stranger's face, and recognized it for what it was: enjoyment found in the misfortunes of another. Even a month or two ago, he would not have recognized it on the faces of his fellows, but his recent experiences had exposed him to much of the ugliness present in the human heart.

Jonathan did not even take satisfaction in the pratfall the stranger took while distracted.

"I apologize for the surprise," he said, politely but with none of his usual warmth. "I will clear the mess away at once." He began shoving his things back into his room quickly and efficiently.

Anzu rolled his eyes and got to his feet, gingerly. After a split second of watching Jonathan clear things away, he sighed, very deeply and began helping him.

"It's just that, darling, you might want to, oh, I don't know," he said, in the meantime. "Hire some storage space? Request bigger living quarters? What is all of this stuff for? Are you starting your own shop?"

Jonathan put up a hand to stop the stranger; these relics were his responsibility, and he did not trust this person or their motives. "Please, do not trouble yourself. I may not look it, but I am rather adept at cleaning."

And in fact he was making remarkable headway in his work. He pulled the battery-powered toy from his hair and tossed it back across the threshold to his room.

Anzu obediently dropped the thing he was holding (thankfully, it was made of plastic and did not shatter) and stepped back, hands held up, palms out, in mock surrender.

"No, really," he said, raising an eyebrow at Jonathan, growing more and more puzzled by the man by the second. "You shouldn't store all of that in your room, darling. This will happen again, if you do."

"I thank you for your concern," said Jonathan, shoving the last of his things back through the doorway. "But I do not believe we are acquainted, and I would appreciate it if you refrained from addressing me as such. If you'll pardon me, I need to get back to my work."

He shut the door behind him, disappearing back into his room.

Anzu shook his head at the door and clucked his tongue, before he realised Jonathan wouldn't hear his expression of mild disapproval.

Before he left, he took note of where Jonathan's quarters were, precisely. It'd be good to be forewarned. Plus, maybe some day he'd need to know where a taciturn collector of junk lives.

Lafiel was unused to living among non-Abh: the one time she had before, she was supposed to be hiding from an occupation. So she wasn't quite sure what was going on here, besides that no normal society would permit it.

"What... what even is all this clutter? Is it all yours?"

"To be quite honest, I am not sure what all of it is," said Jonathan, looking slightly sheepish as he rose from the pile of trinkets. A string of plastic beads fell off his shoulder. "But I must collect it nonetheless. Er... I apologize for the clutter. I shall clear it away forthwith."

He began collecting the fallen objects, sweeping many at a time onto the front of his coat so he could use it as a sort of makeshift net.

"Why must you collect it, if you don't know what it is?"

Lafiel is assuming some sort of mental illness. The Abh officer corps is full of eccentrics, though usually they keep their eccentricities to things that do not overly affect their duties... at least if they end up at high rank, they do. Given the Abh are atheist and have only a few rituals held over from their parent culture, 'religious rites' isn't the sort of thing that would occur to her.

She bent over, pushing some of the debris back into Jonathan's apartment.

"Thank you," said Jonathan. "'Tis a request from my superiors. On occasion, they request specific items, but we are to bring in whatever we find. I know not what most are used for."

Of course, they had other orders, too, but none that Jonathan could follow at the moment. Killing the Black Samurai, for instance...

Eccentric superiors was a totally acceptable excuse for behavior. Lafiel could tell stories from her military experience.

"You could ask whoever you purchased these from," Lafiel suggested. "But you may wish to suspend further acquisitions until you deliver this lot. You don't appear to have the storage space."

"I am afraid that I find most explanations to be of little help," said Jonathan, who was even more baffled by the alien technology available on the Teuberg than he was by the possessions of the Unclean Ones back home.

"But I am moving to a living area with more space than is available here. I do not wish to make a nuisance of myself."

Or attract people who were after his stuff.

"Some organization would also help," Lafiel suggested. "Perhaps something to secure it to shelves."

"Yes, I was thinking of doing as much once I have secured my new quarters," said Jonathan, carefully dusting off a rubbery plastic ball with brightly colored spokes.

"Though I daresay the appraisers will have to sift through everything again once I return."

"Then you're some sort of merchant?" Lafiel asked. She couldn't imagine what the market was for this stuff, but someone had to think it was a good idea.

"No," he said, frowning a little as if considering what the best answer here might be. Under ordinary circumstances, his impulse was to avoid revealing any details of where he was from or what it was he did.

On the other hand, he had no idea when or if he'd be able to return to Tokyo, and this stranger didn't seem connected to his world in any way...

"My name is Jonathan, and I am a Samurai. Ordinarily, I work to protect the safety of my kingdom and its people. However, there are times when I am asked to perform unusual tasks in the service of the kingdom. And even if the purpose of those tasks is not immediately clear, I must yet abide by them." Gathering relics was simply one of those tasks.

Lafiel nodded. "I can think of orders like that, though, in the military, some clarity can be provided, even after the fact, for those who one day might be giving the orders." The Abh had both a feudal system and a military (and merchant marine) where rank was almost completely independent of one's governmental and social rank.

Wow, go for a walk and suddenly someone's room explodes.

Tron just sort of stared at the giant pile of random objects. He could understand being confused and fascinated.. but why the glitch would someone collect all that useless stuff.

"Are you all right?"

Jonathan gave Tron an embarrassed smile. "Yes, I am fine. I believe I tripped over something in my carelessness, and caused a bit of a chain reaction."

He stood up, dusting his coat off, oblivious to the toy sticking out of his hair. "I suppose I should take this as a sign to move out of these barracks sooner rather than later. Somewhere with a little more storage space..."

Although of course the question was how he was going to get all this stuff back with him once it was time to leave.

"Do you... really need all of this?" Tron asked, puzzled.

It was still weird. Users were weird by default, but this was weirder than normal.

"Truth be told, I am not certain," said Jonathan, beginning to sweep up some of the mess.

"It is my superiors that determine which items are needed and which are not. However, without specific requests, I must simply guess. This, for instance..." Jonathan picked up a jar full of what looked like rows of fake eyelashes. Or were they eccentric barrettes? "Dried insects, perhaps? They might have some medicinal value..."

"Can't you look the items up?" Tron said, head tilting a bit in puzzlement. He'd managed to find an interactive dictionary database after a while. It had helped tremendously when he ran across unfamiliar things, which was frequently.

"Look them up? I suppose I could have Burroughs scan them for me more often."

Jonathan closed his eyes for a moment, then continued his cleaning. "But that would not help me determine which relics are needed and which are not. I am not the one who will be putting them to use, after all."

"Wouldn't critical items already be flagged in the fleet's database as such? So they make sure they don't run out?"

Tron was tiling his head, looking more confused by the micro. This was definitely beyond the realm of weird.

"The Fleet?" This threw Jonathan for a temporary loop.

"I believe you misunderstand. It is not for the Fleet that I am collecting these relics, but for my country. Objects that have value for those here will not necessarily be useful for the people back home."

Tron shrugged at that. It made a certain level of sense-- in the system things were radically different, and a lot of items critical to life here would be worse than useless there.. still...

"If you are in charge of field acquisitions, wouldn't you have the requisite protocols to decide yourself?"

"I am afraid not. 'Tis not we Samurai, but the Monastery that makes a study of relics such as these. Asking them to go out into the field would be asking them to risk their lives."

By now, Jonathan had gotten most of the clutter under control and back across the threshold to his room. "Ordinarily, they contact us for specific requests, but that is obviously impossible at the moment."

"Perhaps you should exercise your judgment anyway... that much stuff could be a hazard."

Really, now he's just acting like a slaved function, which is weirder still since Tron didn't know Users did that.

Jonathan sighed as he finished sweeping the rest of the relics back across the threshold to his room. Generally speaking, he didn't mind answering questions about himself, but this man was clearly lacking in social graces.

Making assumptions, questioning him about whether he needed this-or-that, and finally capping it off with unsolicited advice -- all without offering to lift so much as a finger to help. Not, he supposed, that he should expect much of his new neighbors.

"Thank you for your concern," he said politely but rather more impersonally than usual. He stepped back into his room as he pulled the door shut. "If you'll excuse me, I need to reorganize the rest."

Tron spent a few moments staring at the closed door, trying to parse the entire conversation. That.. had ended strangely.

Perhaps it was rude to point out if a User was slaved to another's decision trees? It made a little sense if that was a point of pride or something. Still deeply confused, Tron resumed his walk. Maybe he could ask someone else about it later.

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Uncontrolled Chaos [Open]

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