TDM 004

[etrayamods]

⏵ the usual arrival ⏴ NOTES\WARNINGS: Horror elements, themes of addiction, supernatural changes, light mind control Arrival goes as anticipated. Characters awaken in the sterile white glow of artificial lights, the hum of soft machinery thrumming in the background like a mechanical lullaby. The hospital room is pristine - almost too pristine - sterile, but oddly calming. Every surface gleams in a way that feels calculated as if someone had specifically designed the space to be comforting. Yet, a faint whiff of antiseptic clings to the air, and the silence feels unnatural. The first face they see is Aurora's: her smile appears to be warm, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She might offer a quick explanation, or leave characters to figure it out for themselves depending on their approach. The door to the room swings open, revealing a hallway that stretches out ahead of them. They're free to explore their surroundings now, but something tells them this place is more than just a hospital. The lobby is a stark contrast to the sterile rooms above. It's warm, almost welcoming. Currently, an array of cookie trays are strewn about the area just inside the door that leads them to the outside world, decorated with frosting shaped into leaves, pumpkins, and the occasional snowman. They aren't perfect, but - the companion bots tried their best, they're still figuring out this whole cookie decorating thing. At least most of the cookies are normal cookie flavors this time. However, it doesn't feel as if this is what they should be eating. Something is telling them to go outside. To find something more filling. ⏵ the unusual arrival ⏴ Perhaps you skip all of that, somehow, slipping through the cracks of the system. You arrive outside of the normal purview, outside of the hospital walls. Perhaps you come to, standing in line for a food truck covered in slime. You could be anywhere, though. At the Diner, perhaps the apartments, or a random shop. Anywhere. It’s okay, though. This has happened before, and they are more prepared for it. No matter where you are, the helper bots will be ready with a quick and convenient remedy. A companion bot approaches you, bidding you to step into a clear tube. Should you do so, it will seal before power-washing you from head to toe in an efficient handful of seconds. And then it will release you, sopping wet but clean! Oh dear, are you catching a bit of a chill? …They will come up with a solution for that next time, I’m afraid. ⏵ lunchtime ⏴ As the swelter of summer begins to fade into the first hints of autumn, a small fleet of food trucks arrives in each part of Etraya. When you arrive at one they offer a stamp card with a little map of Etraya and the location of each truck’s loop. "Make sure you don’t lose it," the cashier warns in a friendly tone despite their vague and shadowy visage. Once you begin sampling their offerings, stopping becomes near-impossible. The food is delicious--or seems to be. However, each dish comes with a catch, and the more you eat, the more its effects intensify. To break this curse, one must sample all and fill their stamp cards. Traveling between the Apartments, Hospital, Ramsey Farm, S.T.A.R. Labs, Bangsan Market, and Corrine’s Cafe, Bau Haus serves dumplings and bao so good you'll start feeling feral for them. And the more you eat, the more animalistic you become - your senses sharpen, your temper flares. Senses and reflexes may become sharper, and boy does that slab of uncooked meat sound satisfying. Do you feel the need to growl at people who come too close to you and your meal? Surely that can't be related. Moving between Hannibal Lecter’s house, Sector 5 Church, Wayne Tower, Daily Planet, Shinra HQ, and Clint Barton’s Apartment Building, the Owl Feather serves soothing tea and delicious boba. But overindulgence may make you overly affectionate and obsessed with helping others, whether they want it or not. Muy Biento serves Mexi-Japanese fusion bento boxes from the Avengers Compound, Bishop Publishing, Dhali-Wal-To-Wall Books, and Cafe Millennia. There are teriyaki chimichangas, tempura carne asada, carnitas onigiri, and more. After a meal, you begin seeing ghosts out of the corner of your eye, always vanishing when you turn to look. Serving fried chocobo and "popoto" wedges, The Golden Chocobo makes you ravenous no matter how much you eat. Soon, you'll be eyeing increasingly strange items to satisfy your hunger. It travels between Ebbet’s Field, the Diner, Wayne Manor, and the Bunker. Offering crepes between Xavier Institute, Harry’s Hideaway Pub, Roxx, Kwikk Trip, and Big Belly, Thyme Served’s food seems innocent enough—until the night terrors begin. The more you eat, the worse they get, with the truck still there the next day, calling for you. Perhaps… a banana one this time. Bill’s Buffalo Burgers travels between Beviin-Vasur Farm, Point Blanc Academy, and Muten-Ichi-Ryu Dojo and serves only one burger - topped with pork rinds for a satisfying crunch, but it sounds good to you. However, after your first bite, you're told there's a price: a lock of someone else’s hair. Refuse, and it will feel like hair is stuck in your mouth, driving you mad until you pay the price. After all that trouble, you go home and can’t stop thinking about getting another burger. Offering blue milkshakes and ice cream, repeated visits to the Milk Man will turn your tongue—and eventually your blood—blue. A creeping chill settles in, growing worse each time until no amount of warmth can help. ⏵ nova city ⏴ Nova City, vast and sprawling in its corner of Etraya, remains mostly abandoned. Its towering buildings stand silently, watching over empty streets where only stray cats and the occasional bird roam. The dragon, Zhaera, perches protectively atop the tallest spire at the heart of this desolate city. She has been guarding her egg since her arrival, waiting for the young dragon within to mature enough it can survive in the outside world. As its incubation period draws near, her anxiety grows. A tremor spreads through Etraya, an instinctive call to those nearby. As the egg nears its hatching, strange forces awaken within Etraya itself, spreading too into Nova City. Shadowy creatures crawl out from the ground, surrounding the tower the dragon and her unborn child have taken shelter on. The air crackles with the energy coming from the egg itself, and the cats throughout the city seem unsettled. The sheer amount of magic the egg gives off is enough to attract anyone capable of sensing it. The dragon, normally composed and fierce, appears to be visibly distressed by the changes going on in the city below it. Her maw opens, sending flames to ward off the inky black tendrils intent on getting to her egg. But she may need some assistance keeping it safe. ⏵ NOTES ⏴ This TDM covers September and October. The events happening in the TDM are game canon. Threads can be kept as game canon if wanted! For any questions relating to the contents of this log, please use the mod queries thread. All other questions can be directed to the FAQ.

Comments

shadows

[equivo]

[ A young man in a red hoodie appears at the mouth of an alley across the street, producing something from a pocket with a flourish. He flicks a light in his other hand and touches it to the bang snap firework.

He tosses it into the street, producing a loud cracking pop when it goes off. The shadows stir, although it's unclear if it's the firework or the intruder that's caught their attention. ]

Hey! [ The young man calls out to Harold. ] Does the word 'teleportation' mean anything to you?

[ This isn't his usual gig at all. But there's being a dick, and there's letting some poor schmuck get eaten by shadow creatures when it's barely going out of Krouse's way to do something about it. ]

[ornithologist]

[ The fireworks are very clever, and Harold immediately has about ten further ideas for things he can engineer to defend himself from the shadows in the future. He wonders if sources of light would affect them... something worth testing.

But not right now; his eyes are wide and panicked behind his glasses. ]

If that's an offer to get out of here, I accept with alacrity, [ Harold answers tightly, voice a little high. ] I hardly think I'm in a position to evince skepticism.

[equivo]

[ This guy isn't beating the nerdy professor allegations any time soon, Krouse thinks, with less disrespect than might be expected from a hoodie'd hooligan flinging firecrackers in the street. ]

Great - this isn't going to feel like anything!

[ Krouse looks directly at Harold for a moment, and they swap places.

He's telling the truth. It doesn't feel like anything to be teleported with his power, and it happens instantaneously. Harold is on one side of the street, then he's on the other, facing the exact same direction he was where he was standing before. That means his back is to the street, and it also means that depending on how he was balanced against the wall, he's going to have to catch himself before he falls backwards. Krouse's teleportation preserves orientation and momentum.

Which means Krouse is face first against the wall where Harold was flattened until he shoves off of it, pivoting to dart at an angle past the shadow creatures and down the sidewalk. ]

Up the alley! [ Krouse calls out to him. ] I'll be there in a minute, just move!

[ornithologist]

[ Whatever pride Harold may have ever had was squashed long ago, at least as far as it goes in accepting his occasional need to be rescued. He jolts at the teleportation, shocked and disoriented -- the lack of sensation is almost more confusing -- and the books spill out of his arms, tumbling to the sidewalk in a ruffle of pages. This is probably not the time to be mourning their loss, especially since they are not actually important. Harold is probably too old to go around with a comfort item of old NYC public library books that spell out someone's social security number in code.

Krouse ending up back where he was, in the thick of the danger, is not at all what he'd expected or intended by accepting his offer. But Harold did accept and he has to trust that the teenager can take care of himself and isn't being needlessly self-sacrificing for a total stranger.

He follows directions and limps away as fast as he can, which is decently fast if not winning any races, about the pace of the average walking speed of a New Yorker. ]

Please be careful! [ he yells back over his shoulder, truly distressed at the thought that someone might be hurt on his behalf. ]

[equivo]

[ The genuine distress registers somewhere at the back of Krouse's mind, a piece of information to hang onto and process after the electric-quick impulses of forward momentum subside. He's thinking, because he's always thinking, but it's all about the next move.

He doesn't actually have a plan. He saw the guy, he made a call, now he's here. ]

Always am!

[ That's a lie, but Krouse thinks he's calculated his risks in this instance.

He bolts down the street, off the sidewalk and onto the street. One hassle of this part of the bubble is the lack of smaller objects to tag onto and swap with, but he can work with one equivalent mass. It's just a constraint. He zigzags to double back, circling around the shadows, and sprints right back Harold.

The guy's limping. That wasn't something Krouse factored in, but he'll adjust. He slows to spin on his sneakered heel and shoot Harold a cocky grin. ]

You ever play Leapfrog?

[ And Krouse swaps them again, sending Harold forward in the alley to where Krouse was and setting Krouse down in Harold's place again. The shadows are reorienting to spill to the mouth of the alley, and Krouse spins back around to catch up to Harold. ]

We're clear once we get to the other side!

[ There's a fire hydrant, and Krouse can compensate for the mass differential if he has a hand on the guy for the jump. It's workable. He just needs this guy to stay mobile and they're golden. ]

[ornithologist]

[ He can remain mobile. His injuries are old at this point (not as old as he likes to imply, but old enough) and however much pain he's in, Harold is used to ignoring it. He's certainly not going to put his erstwhile savior in danger because his spine is radiating flame all down his nerves.

Harold does know what leapfrog is, and given the lack of sensation whenever Krouse teleports them, he stumbles a bit but gamely tries to keep up. At this point he isn't going to argue with whatever insane plan his rescuer has going on, he's just going to grimly go along for the ride.

Whatever depth of survivor's guilt he has, he doesn't truly want to die. Not like this. Not when there's so much left for him to do. ]

I hope you have a better plan than leapfrog, [ he yelps between breaths, panting heavily but keeping himself going. His neck doesn't turn fully and his left leg swings from his hip awkwardly, the primary cause of his limp. But he's used to running for his life even with the disability and maybe that's apparent in how he doesn't ask questions or freeze in shock. ]

[equivo]

Of course I do.

[ Krouse flashes Harold another sharp, confident grin as he spins after another dash forward, keeping the leaps short and quick. Run, swap, run. The alley isn't that long, and they're at the exit on the far side soon enough.

He doesn't have a better plan yet, but he'll get there. For now, when he catches up with Harold at the end of the alley he takes hold of Harold's left arm above the elbow and scouts the fire hydrant a few block down the street to the right.

This might really not be great. ]

Sorry.

[ Krouse says, swapping them with the fire hydrant and bracing for the eruption of water to follow.

Which doesn't come. Maybe there's no real connection to a waterline under these fire hydrants, or it's something localized to this street, or the shadows are doing something in the pipes that's probably a source of concern, but Krouse will take a lucky break on the rare occasions he gets one.

He breathes out roughly and takes a split-second to glance at Harold, his eyes darkly gleaming with adrenaline. ]

How are you holding up?

[ He asks, briskly urgent, open to whatever answer he gets. He's dealt with moving bodies that aren't moving themselves plenty, if it's coming to that. He just needs the feedback to adjust. ]

[ornithologist]

[ Nothing makes Harold feel old and stuffy like being around people who seem to be inveterate adrenaline junkies. There's a reason he'd had to hire John, and Dillinger before him, and it's because he knows his limitations. He'd learned them, painfully. Harold was once a person who went on jogs in Central Park; now he's someone that has to go up stairs one step at a time.

And until he accepted that, people died, and he watched them die. Because he wasn't capable of helping them.

So he's far past accepting his physical limitations, though they do still annoy him, and he doesn't like being thought more incapable than he actually is. ]

I'm not a complete invalid, thank you, [ he retorts with palpable annoyance. It perhaps loses some impact with the way he's heaving breaths between words, the physical exertion getting to him and the repeated teleportation dizzying. ] They're-- old injuries. [ And that's the entire explanation he's ever going to offer. He only gives this much to ensure Krouse doesn't think there's some acute medical emergency that needs to be handled.

But back to the threat: ] Are we clear now? Are they localized? [ It would not have occurred to him that traveling enough distance would be enough to cut off their pursuit. In Harold's experience, people trying to kill him are not dissuaded by moving a block down the street. ]

[equivo]

[ When Harold protests about not being a complete invalid, Krouse's eyes don't soften. He's not that guy. He doesn't think Harold would appreciate that guy right now anyway. There are few things as annoying as a complete stranger acting like you need pity because you've got an issue.

Krouse doesn't know that firsthand, but he knows that bead of frustrated annoyance rising up in Harold's voice. He's been the cause of it before, but he's been trying to be better.

So he just nods, his gaze not softening but firming up, taking Harold at his word. Harold can keep moving. That's the only thing Krouse needs to know, and for once, he hears someone drop a hint at a detail about their past and shunts it somewhere unexamined. ]

No, [ Krouse says, skimming to Harold's question without missing a beat ] I just needed a minute to line up the next -

[ They're five more blocks away, standing where a concrete-sided garbage can used to be. The garbage can sits at a tilt where they were before, its corner sunk into the hole the fire hydrant occupied. ]

- jump, [ Krouse continues saying, swivelling his head to scan for another anchor. It won't be hard to pick up on the fact that however else Krouse's power works, he seems to need to be able to see what he wants to swap with. ]

I have to hang onto you until we stop. [ He explains, adding another detail free of charge. ] Just bear with me.

By the way - you got a name? I'm Krouse.

[ There. Another concrete garbage can. Krouse pushes his power into it, an invisible, imperceptible extension no one but him can pick up on. He weighs it, his head tilting slightly as he keeps his focus on it, and there's a very, very slight sense of the air shifting around them both. It'd be easy to miss if someone wasn't trying to pay attention to what was happening close at hand. ]

[ornithologist]

[ Indeed, he's not looking for sympathy and doesn't spare a moment of it for himself, either.

He stumbles, hard, at the distance of this last teleportation, and it's truly for the best that they maintain contact because Harold needs to hold onto Krouse just to keep himself upright. He uses his free hand to straighten his glasses, suddenly scared he's going to lose them in the chaos. Wouldn't that be perfectly awful? ]

Harold Finch, [ he returns succinctly, offering his full name automatically since he uses either based on the level of formality. (One might think quite literally running for his life would constitute a lower level of formality for Harold, but it's the opposite.) Harold isn't catching the finer details of how Krouse's power works, but he is paying attention, used to having to operate his brain on all cylinders in the midst of life-or-death situations. ]

You need line of sight, and it's preferential to exchange us with objects closer to our equivalent mass, [ he summarizes. ] May I assist in locating suitable objects? [ He'd like to be less of a dead weight if he can, and it's his normal role to be supplying intel and support in an emergency. ]

[equivo]

[ Krouse would give Harold a look of modest respect at his deduction if he didn't need to keep his eyes on the target. The expression still crosses his face as he makes the next swap, moving them down the street. This time, he thinks he's a little better at compensating for Harold's disorientation with support. ]

If you see anything, yeah.

[ Krouse's eyes flicker over the street ahead. He hasn't looked back once. He doesn't know if the shadows are still in pursuit, and that occurs to him as another issue. ]

And if you could tell me if you see your new shadowy stalkers behind us, that'd be great.

[ He's not going to actually stop until they're near the city outskirts, but that's a detail. It's good to have the information. He's kind of curious about how persistent these shadows are over greater distances. ]

Good guess on the mass thing. Most people don't think of that right away. While we're guessing - does the acronym PRT mean anything to you? And if it does, can you define it? Give me your gut level take?

[ There's something about this guy that's suggestive. Krouse just wants to know. ]

[ornithologist]

[ Harold was already scouting ahead visually as best he could between jumps once given the go-ahead. Being asked about an acronym like a pop quiz leaves him fully nonplussed, brain scrambling to go in a completely different direction. ]

... Normally I would say the ISO country code for Portugal. As an acronym? [ Trust Harold to be pedantic about use of the word acronym. He sounds vague and uncertain as he says, ] Pension Risk Transfer?

[ He uses his covers as a boring finance person regularly, he'd studied up for it.

Harold files away a mental note about the odd question and moves on to addressing their immediate situation again. He does, actually, come up with extraction plans on the fly for John on a near-daily basis, so although he's woefully limited here, not sitting surrounded by computers rife with maps and camera feeds, it doesn't take him long. Given the urgency he should explain his plan more succinctly, but Harold sure is Harold and goes through the mental reasoning out loud. ]

I would say we have three minutes until they catch up to us. So long as the mass and not the dimensions are what's relevant, and you can teleport several times in quick succession, I suggest you move us down the main thoroughfare by way of the lamp posts. They look to be roughly 150 kilograms and you can pick the furthest one you see while replacing the one you just left.

[ Perhaps Harold guessing about the mass thing makes sense with this hint that he's a math nerd. ]

[equivo]

[ Interesting answer.

It doesn't necessarily mean anything, but Krouse is getting a sense that there's more to Harold than a boring - accountant, maybe. He could be an accountant, or a pension fund manager, or anything else in that vein. Some people are just interesting with what they do in their spare time.

That doesn't trigger a sense of suspicion. By definition, being here means there's probably something about Harold that stands out. But there are civilians here, as much as Krouse finds that terminology annoying. Regular people. Just ones above average.

The important thing is Harold isn't a fucking cop. ]

Good eye.

[ Harold's right. Krouse had been looking closer to the ground, but the lamp posts are right there. Krouse usually keeps the things he swaps with compact, but he realizes - with some annoyance at himself - that doesn't matter here. There's no one else around, no one in the buildings, no collateral damage to worry about. The bots will clean it all up anyway.

So Krouse swaps them with a lamp post. Down the street, where they were, the displaced city infrastructure topples sideways and crashes into a building with a shatter of glass and clang of metal on concrete. Krouse's shoulders twitch slightly. ]

I'm a little young to be worrying about retirement yet. [ That's a joke just for him; parahumans don't live long enough to retire, with the lifestyle being what it is. ] Parahuman Response Team. I thought you might -

[ Another swap, another crash of a lamp post behind them. ]

- be in the organization. Since I don't really take you for a -

[ Again. Effortless, frictionless, another lamp post falls. ]

- cape. No offence. That's slang for parahuman, which is -

[ He could literally do this all day. ]

- what I am, and I'm hoping you're from a world with comic books so I don't have to explain what a superhero is. I'm not one. I just have a power.

[ They're dozens of blocks away now, in a section of the city that seems quiet. Krouse releases Harold's arm, after he's sure the guy won't topple over, and pivots to look back. ]

I think we're clear.

[ If not, he'll move them again. Not a big deal. He glances at Harold, eyebrows raised in mild sympathy. ]

Sorry about your books.

[ornithologist]

[ Harold does not truly, sincerely, regret his suggestion since it gets them expediently out of danger. But he does have to stand in silence for a long moment before responding with his hand covering his mouth and his eyes closed so he doesn't ungracefully vomit on the sidewalk.

Fortunately, Krouse has provided him with a suite of information to process, which helps him move past the physical symptoms.

He opens his eyes. Lowers his hand. Coughs into it once. ] I do know what comic books are. [ He sounds hoarse, but not hoarse enough to mask the depths of bone-dry sarcasm. Harold's old enough to have read comics in their silver age as they were released. ]

I could not be further from being a member of an organized governmental force, but thank you. I think. [ That is absolutely 100% unreservedly true. Suddenly Harold meets his eyes with serious intent. ] And thank you for saving my life, Mr. Krouse. However nauseating the end result is, I greatly appreciate it.

[ It speaks something to Harold, an intrinsic part of Krouse's character that he's learned to look for in others: the type of person who will save a stranger if they can, simply because they can. He holds those people in immense esteem and although he wouldn't be so churlish as to suggest an exchange of favors, that he owes him, he isn't soon to forget it. ]

[equivo]

[ Krouse smiles at the sarcasm. The old man has some bite, and he seems adamantly opposed to being a member of an organized governmental force. That's enough, plus how handy he came in for reminding Krouse to think about all of his options, to incline Krouse to an initial good impression.

The hiccup is when he thanks him. Krouse shifts slightly in place, his mouth thinning and tilting in a momentary grimace, and he finds something to scout on the other side of the street for a second. ]

Don't mention it.

[ Krouse reaches into his pocket and produces a pack of cigarettes, Newports, and a cheap disposable red lighter. He taps a smoke out and starts to fold the top back down, then hesitates. ]

You didn't exactly put me out of my way.

[ He doesn't save people's lives. If he did, it was incidental. Not the point. The point was that he happened to see what was happening, could easily do something about it, and he did. That's not heroic, or whatever Harold seems to be thinking. That's just -

He was being pragmatic. If he walked away, Harold might have survived, and he'd remember the guy who could have helped and didn't. It doesn't count if it was selfish. Krouse was really looking out for himself. ]

Do you smoke?

[ornithologist]

[ That's very like John, enough so that it twigs Harold into not pressing his gratitude further. Saying it once is enough. He isn't the effusive sort in any case; he shows his generosity and appreciation through actions, not words, and he's patient in waiting for the right opportunity. It's shuffled away for further consideration, when he can make an appropriate gesture that is respectful of the recipient's clear aversion to sentimentality. ]

No, thank you, [ he answers quite properly, still trying to catch his breath. ] I can't imagine inhaling a carcinogen after that escapade.

[ There certainly is some bite in there when he's not actively in fear for his life. ]

Your teleportation ability is rather remarkable. You seem quite practiced at it. [ This is his courteous way of fishing for more information, though he is sincerely impressed by it, having never been exposed to anything like it before. ]

[equivo]

[ Krouse makes a sound like the last note of a laugh Krouse didn't actually laugh at carcinogen, shooting Harold a look with a flicker of respect for managing to balance politeness with directness as Krouse puts the filter of that carcinogen to his lips and flicks the lighter to spark the cherry. ]

Yeah. I am.

[ Practiced at it. Which is the less courteous way of seeming to shut that whole line of inquiry down before Krouse exhales, except - ]

Going on...three years. Give or take a few months in the temporal mix. [ He waves the cigarette as he exhales, leaning against the nearest building wall. ] Since I got it. I could give you the whole intro spiel on parahuman science, if you wanted it. It's not relevant to anything happening here, but hey, if you're into trivia.

I'm more curious about you, though, Harold. Not to be that guy, but to be that guy - what the fuck are you doing wandering around the most ominous fucking cityscape available? I mean, forget the shadows for a second. The whole post-apocalypse energy, that didn't twig anything for you?

[ He's only being a little judgmental. He's mostly interested, looking sideways at Harold with dark eyes that glitter with more intensity than the deliberately relaxed set of the rest of his face implies. This is a young man who's used to schooling his expressions, but not enough to control them completely. ]

[ornithologist]

Apart from the general post-apocalyptic energy going on, you mean? [ he asks pointedly, a bit exasperated.

Truthfully, Harold is disappointed in himself as well. He's not usually so reckless without good reason. But it's like something had come over him; he'd felt compelled to help, a sensation that he's particularly weak to in the first place. He'd love the full trivia rundown on parahuman science at some point, but Krouse is right that it's not their current priority. ]

It seemed that there was... [ He hesitates, then sighs, letting himself in for it. ] Someone here that needed help. How was I to know that I am incredibly unsuited to giving it?

[ There's plenty of times he does effectively help people, after all. Just not this one. Er, or this dragon?

Harold rubs at his eyes, glasses pushed up to allow the motion. He feels overwhelmed, mildly terrified, more than a little in shock. It's been a few days since he woke up here but he knows from experience that real, life-altering traumatic events don't make themselves quiet companions that quickly. He wonders what his means for John at home without him, what this means for the numbers -- John had made clear he wouldn't do it without him, for some reason -- and what this means for his whole world. He doesn't necessarily believe his whole world is in danger, but he can't discount it, either.

And he's really just so tired of people who want to play games with human lives. ]

[equivo]

[ Harold looks tired.

It's more than just this, Krouse thinks. It has the feel of a larger tiredness, a continuity of effort. The kind of tiredness that sinks its claws into people who think of helping as a call they have to answer, whenever it comes, whether or not they're equipped for it. ]

We've all got our strengths.

[ The words slip out before Krouse can think better of - what, trying to be comforting? That feels like a joke. Harold's right. He's not cut out for this kind of thing, and whether he's cut out for anything else isn't relevant to the situation.

But Krouse still said it, and the words hang in the air as he awkwardly glances at a manhole cover. No shadows. ]

It's not all like this. A lot of the tests are more intellectual. And you're supposed to do them in pairs, at least. So.

[ Right. Because that's what Harold wants to hear, Krouse is sure. Reassurances from someone maybe a third of his age. ]

Just be more careful next time, yeah?

[ornithologist]

[ Does the survivor's guilt weigh so heavily and, more to the point, so transparently on him? Perhaps it does to someone familiar with looking for it. Harold is not a trained spy, merely a naturally private person. He recognizes the attempt at comfort, awkwardly offered as it is. There's just the smallest hint of a smile around the corners of his mouth. He would not discredit someone for their age, just increase his protectiveness. They deserve to have time enough to make mistakes, in his opinion. ]

I assure you I will be, [ Harold says sincerely. ] Particularly as I have a rather long walk ahead of me back to civilization. I shall not be repeating this visit to Nova unaccompanied.

[ The apartments and shopping center being what passes for civilization. Harold truly isn't looking forward to that walk, which is probably obvious based on how painstakingly he'd limped after Krouse. ]

Please do let me know if I can be of intellectual assistance to you in the future, Mr. Krouse, [ he says mildly, with a delicate tenor, as though it means nothing. Just an open-ended offer for no particular reason. Tests that are more intellectual and in pairs, is it? ]

[equivo]

[ Krouse laughs a little, dry and papery, and flicks ash off the end of his cigarette with a light flick of his thumb. ]

You don't have to walk the whole way. I'll take you.

[ If he's aiming for not being seen as helpful, he shouldn't be compounding his lousy attempt at being comforting with offering a free ride - but he rationalizes it with the fact it'd be a waste of all his previous effort if Harold gets eaten by something else, or falls into a pit trap (he's seen what some of these people get up to), or winds up laid up for a couple days from overdoing it.

Krouse lifts a hand to ward off protest: ] I need to pick up some things from my place anyway.

[ He could go for an energy drink. He could pretty much always go for caffeine. Makes a decent excuse for many occasions. ]

And thanks. I'll keep it in mind.

[ornithologist]

[ It's a bit like playing chicken, Harold thinks. Ms. Shaw is especially like this, even more so than John; she doesn't want to be thanked or appreciated no matter how many times she does something good. Harold isn't about to press the sentiment on someone who isn't interested in receiving it, but he is paying attention, he does notice, and actions speak louder than words. ]

It's not as if I have any meaningful sense of pride left anyway, [ Harold sighs, openly sarcastic. He used to be an avid runner, and now here he is dreading several hours' walk. It's a loss he still hasn't fully become accustomed to.

But Krouse is right; this is not the time to be taking chances, and this much physical activity could make it difficult for him to function for a while as he recovers. He doesn't have his usual medication here. Whatever short-term nausea he experiences from the rapid teleporting is likely to be far better than the alternative. ]

Is your introductory spiel on parahuman science still on offer?

[ If they're going to be traveling together and need a topic of conversation, Harold may as well spend it productively. ]

[equivo]

[ Parahuman science makes for a viable reason to pace the jumps. Harold's not going to get anything out of it if he's heaving the whole way back.

He's tempted to overexplain himself as he stubs out his cigarette on the nearest wall and tucks the butt into a pocket ashtray he carries thanks to a chorus of annoying voices in his memory. He could tell Harold he doesn't see it as something that should wound anyone's pride. It's just easy and convenient for Krouse to do it, and a little queasiness isn't a big deal, and it's not even really about the limp.

But a voice that's not annoying, older than the chorus, tells him that you realize that telling me it's not a big deal makes me feel like it is one, right?

So he just cups his hand under Harold's elbow instead, nonchalant in comparison to his tight grip from before, and inclines his head. ]

Yeah. Revised crash course edition.

[ He turns his head, scanning for something to swap with, able to take his time now that the imminent threat is behind them. ]

So. Let's talk brain structure. I have an extra lobe in mine. It's called the corona pollentia. A lot of people where I'm from have them, and most of the time, they don't do anything. Just a little node of extra neural tissue.

But under the right conditions, that little node develops. We call it a trigger event.

[ He swaps them forward, replacing another concrete-sided garbage can, and waits a few seconds before he keeps talking. ]

When it develops, you get a power. It's not generated by the lobe itself. It's more mediated by it. Think a signal controller on a control valve. Following so far? Any questions like 'wait, does that mean your brain did spontaneous rapid neurogenesis?' or 'what the hell are you even talking about?'