August 12 | 10:45 PM | The holodeck, open to everyone.

[wise_ass]

It's late, but still a fairly respectable time to be up and about. He passes a few people on his way up to the holodeck but thankfully, when he gets to the door, he finds there's nobody else in sight. He lights up a cigarette and stands in the center of the dimly lit room, a blank page waiting impassively for his command. Bert takes a long, easy breath and sighs; the cigarette smoke is toasty, familiar, divine. The first one he's had in days.

"You wouldn't happen to know Mejis, would you?" he asks. His tone is polite-- it sounds like he's already forgiven the computer for not having the first fucking clue about where Mejis is, but before he can explain himself, the room has already started coming to life.

It flickers a few times through scenes Bert's not sure he recognizes as even from his world, but when it finally settles, he finds himself standing on one of the rolling hills overlooking the little town. The oil derricks, far over the hills to his left, are backlit by a fiercely beautiful sunset. On his right he can see a wide, treeless horizon that tells him he's not far from the Clean Sea.

It must have been a market day. The people below are packing up their stalls and loading up their carts. There's a tense moment where he's terrified he'll see something, someone he'll recognize before he realizes that the computer's brought him to a Mejis about fifty years prior to his ka-tet's infamous visit.

He heads down the hill and wanders a bit, trying to stay out of people's way, but enjoying, as he usually does, the novelty of secret immersion, not even minding when a woman gives him the obligatory small-town stink eye reserved for unfamiliar, unaccompanied young men. In fact, it makes him smile. It doesn't seem to improve her opinion of him any, but he can't help it. He walks through the market with that shit-eating grin, hands stuffed in his pockets, enjoying the alien quaintness of it all with a bizarre brand of contentment he figures can only be enjoyed by holidaymakers in other worlds.

He's in another world even now, though, isn't he? The station? The idea is an uncomfortable but not unwelcome knot at the base of his skull. He's spent nearly all of his time here doing penance, even if he hasn't realized it, but the last month has actually been penance in earnest. Bert had been drinking whiskey when zombi Alain had helpfully suggested he eat a bullet to better cope with his guilt, and mayhap it was a blessing, because the stuff just hadn't tasted the same after that. Or mayhap it was his own self-pity that didn't go down sweet anymore.

Cuthbert wasn't sure what he'd expected to feel, standing in the red dirt of Lower Market, surrounded by the smells and sights and sounds he's spent the last seven or so years trying to smother from memory. And mayhap it'd be different if he'd been dropped in at the right time and seen ole Kimba Rimer or Cordelia Delgado strutting through town. Mayhap.

But right now, the air feels clean, and somewhere a hundred wheels away, Cuthbert Allgood hasn't even been born yet. He closes his eyes and lets the idea sink in.

Behind him, the holodeck door opens, and he smiles-- that wide, idiot grin that says he's actually pleased for company-- and squints to see who it is.

"Hey there," he calls out, his voice warm and animated. "Just mind the cow pies."

Comments

[onlythefire]

Sandor still hasn't given up hoping this thing will provide him with a whorehouse when he asks for one-- it's only been a week or so, he's got lots of stubborn left before he gives up-- so when he realizes not only is there someone already in the holodeck, but it's the one-eyed kid with the guns, it's like two disappointments rolled into one.

He's ready to turn and leave, but something about the scene catches him. Maybe the fresh smell in the air, maybe the quaintness of the town square in front of him. Maybe he's so eager for something that doesn't resemble the angles and planes of the station-- something rougher, more natural-- that he doesn't even care who he's got to thank for it.

"Think I'll spot 'em before I step in 'em," he says, waiting for a cart to pass before joining Allgood at the edge of the square, adding with a smirk, "Twice as likely as you are, anyway."

[wise_ass]

Cuthbert gives him a bland look, eyebrows raised, and takes a long drag of his cigarette.

"Funny guy," he remarks after a beat, squinting against the sun in his eye. He likes something about the man-- maybe it's that he's one of the few new people that doesn't seem to be going to any pains to hide what he's about-- but he's watching his step with all of them, just the same.

He gives Sandor a sideways look, then, perhaps for comedic effect, a long, skyward double take.

"You know, it's interesting: tall men aren't intrinsically funny, nor are wide men, really. But it seems when an individual reaches a certain ratio of broad to tall and they've got sort of a mean look about the face, everyone laughs at their jokes! You ever notice that particular phenomenon?"

Bert's lips are puckered against a smile as he takes another drag of his cigarette.

"It's, ah, usually kind of a nervous laugh," he explains, sounding a little less confident when Sandor doesn't respond immediately, and then seems to offer a demonstration: a weak, emaciated chuckle that ends on a question mark.

[onlythefire]

"I'm not much of a joking man," Sandor says dryly, "but the nervous part sounds about right."

What's funniest of all is how he's mostly stopped trying to tease that panicked whimper out of people. It used to be one of the few sure-fire joys in his life-- scaring the shit out of idiots and watching them wet themselves in an effort to avoid tasting his knuckles. Since coming here, it's lost its luster-- and not for any lack of idiots.

The kid sucks on his smoke and Sandor can't help noticing-- it was all half of them could bitch about, Kara and Spike being the loudest and most annoying about it, but Sandor hadn't even known what a cigarette was before this place. "Surprised Thrace didn't slap that out of your hand the first time she saw you with it," he says, nodding at it. "Though I guess there being replicators means it's not exactly a commodity."

[wise_ass]

Well, Sandor's arrival has certainly not ingratiated Bert with the Hambry townsfolk. The streets are really clearing now, with a handful of people retreating into their houses and (loudly) shutting and bolting their doors.

Bert's surprised to find that he feels slightly responsible for, and therefore a little embarrassed by, their behavior, but he opts to just ignore it and continue with the conversation.

He follows Sandor's eyes to his cigarette, and gives a clipped, sudden laugh.

"Really! Mm, I wouldn't bet on it. They're not easy to get. For me, anyway. Sai Rogers gets them without even asking and he sends them on to me." Bert sidesteps a cart and spots a saloon down the road. Pint of beer would go down nice. Not so hard as whiskey, just a little something to soften the edges of this awkward meeting.

"But if you tell anyone my source, I'll have to kill you," he says seriously, flicking ash off.

[dr_lauren]

Lauren picks her way gingerly across the marketplace - not that digital dung is the worst thing to step in, necessarily, but why not avoid it if you can? She feels a bit guilty for having followed Bert into the holodeck; she had seen him enter as she had been heading away from the medbay so it isn't as if she's stalking him, but then again she hadn't passed up the opportunity to check in on him either.

So she's a concerned friend. There's nothing wrong with that.

"It certainly feels authentic," she says as she nears him, giving him a small smile. "Though I guess it's really up to you to be the judge of that."

[wise_ass]

He gives her a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. It's the healthy shame of having turned away just about everyone who's shown him kindness or concern over the last few weeks, the embarrassment of his black mood throughout their little war against the monsters and in the days afterward, when he should've been helping to clean up, and the confusion of where to pick back up with her, gracefully, without denying any of it.

"It is indeed. Right down to the friendly townspeople," he says with a wry little smile, because they're both getting a look, him for being a single male marauder, her for her complete lack of bonnet and hoop skirt.

Bert moseys over to a porch swing in front of the general store, making room for Lauren on it.

"I hope the new people aren't mussing up your lab too much."

[dr_lauren]

"Not too much, though you wouldn't know it from Sherlock's huffing," she says, putting an hand on the arm of the swing and then sinking down onto it. "I think we were already pushing the limits of his patience and now there's two more bodies in the mix." Not that she blames him entirely; it's almost like a real lab now, and that's strange for so many reasons.

"How are you settling in with the new neighbours?"

[wise_ass]

Bert gives her a sideways smile at the mention of Sherlock. It's not hard to imagine.

"Fine, I guess. I've been keeping to myself so I haven't made too many friends, but it seems like most of us are playing our cards pretty close anyway."

There's a lot more he'd like to say, but not here, not when anyone could just walk in.

"I came up here to be alone and think," he says after a moment, and heaves a big sigh, fully reclining on the swing with his arms outstretched. "Had about five minutes of that before I got bored, and five more minutes later you came in. Saved me from counting cows, so that was a kindness."

[firstcylon]

Zoe watches the program before she looks over at who's called out to her. She's really not dressed for this, in her tunic, fake leather leggings and boots. Her weapons are in her room again, now. She decided to put them away the day of the swimming pool, so they'll be fine in there unless she sees something to make her change her mind. Or unless they get another countdown, of course.

People around her are giving her clearly disapproving looks, apart from the one person she knows, the one real person in the room - or on the market place, depending how you look at it. Cuthbert Allgood, as she lived and breathed, and there was a time when she couldn't have done anything but answer that wide smile of his with one of her own. Before she'd seen the darkness inside, and before he'd bitten her head off for caring, afterwards.

"Cow pies?" she asks with a small frown. She has no idea what it means; she's always been a city girl.

[wise_ass]

Oh. Zoe.

If he'd known, he probably would've chosen a more graceful greeting. Cow pies.

"Ah-- dung. Crap. Bovine excrement," he tries out, finally giving up on the last one, because he can tell from the get-go his mouth is in one of those moods where only a boot is going to stop it from digging a hole.

Kind of a lost metaphor, that.

"Just don't get it on your nice boots." There's a beat, where he can't decide whether to plow right ahead into what he needs to say or whether he should wait awhile longer and take her temperature. He finally opens his mouth weakly and looks her in the eyes.

"Hi, Zoe." It sounds like more of an apology than a hello, but it's a start.

[firstcylon]

Zoe could care less about the crap. Not only is it virtual, but even without stepping out of the holodeck, she could wipe it off of her boots with a thought. Not that Bert knows that, obviously. Part of her wants to fling the truth of what she is in his face, just to make him react in a way that is... she doesn't know what, but she misses him, and they live in a group of what, thirty people. It's frakking ridiculous.

But then he says hi on that tone, with that look in his eyes, and her resentment softens. "Hi," she answers, and she sounds reluctant, but deep down inside, she can't help but be hopeful, and maybe that shows in her eyes a little.

[wise_ass]

"Will you walk with me a little?" Normally he'd offer his arm, but he doubts if she wants to touch him right now, so he just nods toward the road ahead and waits to see if she'll sidle up.

"C'mon. It's sunset, we're young, and the smell isn't too bad."

It's not great, either, but despite that, he's feeling good. This feels right, facing up to her, facing what happened that night, and if he's forcing her to deal with a little bullshit at least it's only the literal variety now.

[theoutlaw]

Boyd had been hesitant to step into the holodeck, and not for a lack of curiosity. Maybe it was superstitious wariness or maybe it was the very practical fear of getting sucked into the illusion, which, given the kind of reality he'd been living for the past three years, could easily become an enticing prospect. Boyd wasn't an escapist by nature, but in this case, he preferred to steer clear of temptation.

When he saw Cuthbert Allgood heading inside, though, he decided to follow. The boy had caught Boyd's attention from fairly early on, his jovial nature coming into contrast with the difficult-to-ignore facial decoration. His fondness for drink and the clouds of smoke he often produced seemed to tie in with that second part of him. There was a story there, and not a happy one.

When Boyd stepped into the dream machine, into the town square, he was grateful that the sun had almost completely disappeared under the horizon. Even the thin slice of light left had him transfixed, standing motionless for a long moment.

The hills, the fresh air, the thinly-veiled xenophobia -- it wasn't Harlan, of course, but as he walked toward the one-eyed owner of this illusion, it felt achingly close to home.

"Thanks for the warning," he said once he'd neared Cuthbert, his smile wry and almost modestly small compared to the grin the kid had shot him. "Frankly, it's nice to see cows at all, illusionary as they may be. The last cow I encountered had two heads and, perhaps as a result of such a dual nature, was somewhat poor-tempered."

[wise_ass]

Cuthbert wasn't sure what he'd expected the man to say, but when he'd said it, whatever generic greeting he'd had for one of their slightly suspicious new neighbors flew right out of his head. Instead, he just wagged a finger at the man, looking excited, all fired up.

"We've got two-headed cows," he began, with slightly less amazement than if the stranger had confessed himself a long lost twin. "I mean, here. Well, back home. Two heads! Creatures that aren't live stock sometimes have more. One time--"

Then came that curious, internal feeling, almost like an invisible hand on his shoulder, a presence, that always seemed to come up when he told a story that had something to do with his tet. Before that he'd laid eyes on that ghast calling itself Alain, it had been a dark feeling. Haunted. One time, me and my best friend, my brother in arms, the fella I shot to death by accident--

But just then when he'd said it, though the feeling was still there, it was less like that and more like a little conversational speedbump. It didn't choke him, just made itself known. He took a half a second to register the change, barely pausing, before he continued.

"--me and my compadres saw a three-headed deer walking on three legs." He gave the man a wide-eyed look. "Three heads. Three legs. Moved like a nightmare, poor thing. We cringed, then we laughed, then felt like asses and took pity on it. My friend Roland said we oughta shoot it." Bert huffed a laugh at the memory. "That was usually his answer to just about any quandary. I said for all we know it has self-esteem and a philosophy. Al sided with me. I think we did the right thing."

In the wake of that awkward soliloquy, Bert blinked as if coming to and swiveled to the side, sticking out a hand.

"Cuthbert Allgood. One head," he said, by way of introduction, and then fast on the heels of that: "One eye, too. I'm a minimalist."

[theoutlaw]

Minimalist was not the first word Boyd would have used to describe this young man. Then again, he could hardly point fingers in matters of verbosity, and he found the enthusiasm refreshing. It was hard to resist smiling at the excitable way in which Cuthbert relayed his mutant animal tales.

"Well, don't go cuttin' off one ear to complete the look -- there's nothing wrong with a little imbalance," he said, and shook Cuthbert's hand. "It's good to meet you, Cuthbert Allgood. I'm Boyd Crowder. One head, two eyes, but hopefully not quite as generic as that combination implies."

He had to wonder exactly what kind of world Cuthbert came from. His manner of dress, the large gun he carried, those spoke of a wild west, but two-headed animals were a staple of the post-apocalyptic genre, usually meant to be twisted remnants of a nuclear war.

"I've got a friend back home who likes to solve problems with bullets. He's something of a modern-day gunslinger: tall, laconic, has some issues with anger management." Boyd wasn't too certain how Raylan would approach the dilemma of the three-headed, three-legged deer. He could, however, easily imagine the look Raylan would give such a strange beast, having been on the receiving end of that look several times. "I'm with you, though. If Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer could overcome the discrimination he faced and find his true calling, I see no reason why your mutant deer wouldn't."

[wise_ass]

Boyd's response is funny, charming, and it all seems to come easy to him. It's a solid handshake, but Bert regrets that he feels a shard of suspicion just as he lets go of it. He's not sure what it is, if he's surprised to find a smooth-talker with social skills among the upstairs neighbors (who, by Bert's count, are not by and large a very friendly bunch) or, hell, maybe the Hambry setting has him on edge after all. Either way, it's diminished just a few seconds later when Boyd offers up a personal anecdote that Bert absolutely buys.

Maybe he just knows exactly the type Boyd means. And Cuthbert's never heard of Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, but he knows a joke when he hears one. He cracks a smile.

"My olden-day gunslinger is also tall, also laconic, and I imagine if he really tried all day and all night to feel an emotion, it might be anger. But it might also be hunger. Roland doesn't spend a lot of time on feelings," he summed up quickly. "I'm sure he shed a tear or two when I bit it, but only because he'd've found I'd already smoked all my tobacco before shuffling off. Downright inconsiderate way for a man to die, but I hadn't exactly been planning on it."

[withmyshield]

Sharon makes no reply; she'll never admit the extent of her 'country mouse' childhood, but it would take a lot more than cow dung to register as a threat.

"Hi, Bert." She musters a brief, tight grin.

As much as she'd like to be able to enjoy the holodeck herself, this program especially, which seems pretty similar to the one she and Cuthbert visited before, the arrival of the new contingent has changed everything for her. Again.

[wise_ass]

Bert knows Sharon well enough to know that that's not one of her good smiles.

"Hi, Sharon."

It's been weeks since they've had a real conversation, just the two of them. He'd thought that maybe all the recent action would force it, but as it is, he's only seen her because of a few group pow-wows discussing how to proceed with their neighbors. He has no idea how she is besides on edge, but that much is obvious. She'd come to talk to him after everything that happened with Zoe, but it had been too soon, he'd been angry, in a bad place and he'd given her a cold shoulder. She's got every right to be wearing the look she is now, and frankly, it makes him marvel that after the ass he's made of himself since he's been here that anyone here even cares enough about him to be angry.

He nods at a tavern down the road.

"Sarsaparilla? It's on me."

[withmyshield]

That sets her teeth on edge a bit, considering last one she was offered was in Tombstone, AZ.

"Anything but that." But she falls into step with him anyway so they can talk. "This is more Gilead?"

The urge to talk shop is strong, but the influx of strangers has also underscored the few genuine connections she's made, which is still a shock to her system.

[wise_ass]

"What?! No." As soon as he's had the reaction, he realizes it was perhaps a little over the top. "Well, uh, yes, this is All-World. But we're five hundred wheels away from Gilead. This is Hambry. Not a city. Not even the same country, really."

He gives her a sidelong look.

"Does this really look like Gilead to you?"

[plaguedrat]

There's a strange familiarity that tugs Rat back three years. It's not so different from the market in the West District, if he squints. Some of the smells are different (fresh, rather than fetid) and the market is cleaner (fewer bums and prostitutes), but a market is a market. It's strange and powerful and for a second Rat expects to turn and see Shion at his side.

"There's worse things in life than shit."

[wise_ass]

Bert frowns deeply, philosophically, as he considers the maxim.

"I'd have to agree with you there."

He extends a hand, not entirely sure it'll be met.

"Cuthbert Allgood."

[plaguedrat]

Rat takes it and shakes with a grip that's a shade too firm. "Rat."

He's still too cautious of all the people from below, no matter how well Sandor might vouch for them.

[good_cop]

Sam's smile is small but genuine. Amusingly, they're dressed not far differently and so in a weird way she fits in, with her button-down shirt and her neat, fitted vest, thumbs hooked into her pockets, hair (longer than she likes it right now) scraped back into a neat little ponytail.

"How've you been, Bert?" It feels like some time since they've really spoken.

[wise_ass]

"Sam!" Bert gives her a real, warm smile and crosses over to her. "Sorry about the locale, I was just reminiscing. I've been..."

He almost gives her a rote response, but then seems slightly chagrined.

"Well. I've been better." His smile isn't quite apologetic, but it comes close. "Doing much better over the last few days. Just needed some time to think, I guess."