Scene #4326: Uncreative Title

Owner	Pose
Inga Freyjasdottir	"They're also delicious," comes a female voice from behind and slightly to the right of them. A petite form, standing no more than five feet in height wearing a long blue dress in a decidedly dark ages style with a woven belt from which hangs a leather pouch, a small knife, and a variety of small objects--mostly bones. She holds a wooden staff in one hand and a basket filled with plants in the other. That was why she was here. Gathering herbs in a unknown place, looking for something novel and useful. There's a small smear of blood on her forehead but she doesn't look wounded. "Are you going to kill the thing or just gesticulate with it?" she asks, raising a brow slightly.
Taro	The person accompanying Nine may as well be his anthesis in appearace: small and lean, a face that might be considered pleasant if not for that thin dour frown persistently tugging on his lips, his shoulder-length hair neatly drawn back in a small stub of a ponytail. Currently bemused by Nine's lesson in all things organic and running free outside of barriers, specifically the poor pheasant that's trapped by the Golem's massive hands, more generally that the Golem suggested the nature hike in the first place. Well, it is true he needs to get out more. "We do have trees..." Taro begins, then cuts himself short as a stranger sneaks up on them. Perhaps too strong a word, 'sneaking', but he didn't notice her until spoke. He turns away from Nine and the poor bird to face the woman. "Are we trespassing?"
No. 9	There's a pause. They're also delicious? He'd referred to birds. He'd talked about... let's see. Trees, shit, and seeds. He's gonna go with trees. Trees? Trees are delicious? Trees are not delicious. He's bitten a few. A glance to Taro. "...Why would we /care/?" Trespassing. A cool thing to do. Yeah- speaking of, he pauses, pulling out a bulky phone. "Hold on, got a buzz." and, with the bird tucked under his arm, he shakes the phone awake and makes some flicking motions at the screen, grunting and muttering. "Fucking zubats." There's a pause, as he looks up, bird under arm and hands full of phone. Staring. Unfortunately the combination of 'gesticulates' with the connotation of 'cock pheasant' is too much for the mentally broken, crude minded immaturity of the hulking, ugly mutated man- and he chokes on a wrinkle-lipped snicker. Which snorts thickly, wetly, a half smothered mucky chuckle, head going down- and bird coming partially free, beating him soundly in the face and flying off with a cloud of feathers. "Ah, well, shit." He shakes feathers off his face, hits a couple of buttons and pushes the phone in his pocket. His head tilts. "So, who're you?"
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga looks thoughtful for a moment. "You may be, but if you are than so am I," she replies, shrugging. Inga walks forward, leaning on the staff she carries. She walks with a limp, which the stick helps to even out. She certainly didn't sneak up on them using traditional stealthiness. Inga blinks at the large...man..(if we're being generous) as he tucks the bird under his arm and pulls out his phone. Inga sighs quietly. Poor bird. Better to kill it and be done with it. She wouldn't mind roast pheasant for supper. But then it's gone. No pheasant for supper. Oh well. "Inga Freyjasdottir," she introduces, bowing slightly. "And yourselves...?" she asks, looking them over again. They're both odd. Off somehow. The brute obviously so--just look at him. His face looks as though it was molded by a five year old with lumpy clay. The other's sense of wrongness is more subtle. It occurs to her in a distant sort of way that she might be in danger. Huh.
Taro	Taro gives a small, smooth shrug in answer to Nine's question. "I like to be aware of which rules I'm breaking at any particular time." Though it seems that they aren't trespassing on Inga's property, which means it's slightly less likely they'll be shot at by her just for being hers. When Nine pulls out his phone, he gives a tiny half sigh of 'yes, this is the fifteenth time today, but at least he's not doing anything dangerous right now'. He gives a curious glance at the phone screen, thinking that's what he's giggling over...just in time for the pheasant to break loose and flail for freedom, getting clipped in the head by a wing for his trouble before it gets away. "...nature seems rather difficult," he deadpans. Ah, right. Introductions. Taro gives a small polite bow, hands at his sides. Never mind the feathers clinging to his hair. "Taro Daisho. My valued associate, Number Nine."
No. 9	The man sniffs in her general direction, ugly face thoughtful. "Yea nature can be a bitch- ooh, goldeen." and then he's fussing with his fucking phone again. Ugh. A glance up, looking up from his phone. His teeth are actually... rather nice, surprisingly, his grin sardonic. He offers an overly exaggerated bow, Go screen flashing as he does so. "GOLEM-Style ANMC King Unit No. 9, atcher service m'lady. How fare thee this fine eve? And may there be anything we may do'ist for thou?" What the fuck Nine? What's with the sudden language? He grins over to Taro, chuckling faintly.
Inga Freyjasdottir	"A pleasure Taro Daisho and...Number Nine," she replies. It might be ther first time she'd met someone who's name was technically a number before. Curious. She wonders why, and assumes there must be another eight that are perhaps similar. Inga looks between them, moving to the side of the path to examine a plant. She pulls the small knife from her belt and carefully harvests a bit of it and adds it to her basket. "Are you two lost?" she inquires, remaining casual despite how unsavory they seem. She raises a brow at Nine, a small smile appearing. "Not necessary, but a appreciate the sentiment," she says to him. King..Unit? Golem. That word sounds familiar...she can remember Staren saying something about golems... "I'm just gathering herbs. New things I haven't seen before to test out. New cures, new poisons...something delicious for tea, who knows what I will find? What are you doing in this place? Giving a lesson?" she asks that last part to Nine. It was an interesting, colorful lesson.
Taro	Taro keeps a wary eye on Inga as she goes about herb collecting. Nothing menacing, or at least nothing intentionally menacing, merely being on guard around a stranger. "We are not lost," he answers, his tone polite. "Where I live, plants mostly grow in carefully tended gardens. He," a nod to Nine, "feels that my experiences needed to be expanded to include nature in its less managed form." One fo those feathers droops to within his eye level, and he moves to pluck it free from his hair. You saw nothing.
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga nods, casting a smile over her shoulder. "He is correct. You should see nature in it's wildest form. It is very...humbling to know how it would all look if we didn't exist, isn't it?" she asks. Inga moves to cut another plant, never taking too much, always making sure the plant will be able to recover. "This is different from the forests I know, but beautiful in its strangeness. Where are you from? Are you and Number Nine from the same world?" she asks. Nothing threatening about Inga--not on the surface. She's sharp though. Her eyes a little too intense. Most people get used to it.
Taro	Taro continues to let Inga work without interruption, though she'll find he's continuing to watch her. Concerned that this is a ruse? Noting which plants she's selecting? Perhaps a bit of both. "We are not from the same world, though we both now live in Neo Arcadia." That's public information enough, and so he does not mind sharing. "Places like this," he makes a small gesture with his left hand at the surrounding jungle, "no longer exist there. It's still mostly barren wastelands outside the city walls."
Inga Freyjasdottir	She's picking plants more or less by sight and smell. She'll test them later. The crystals she examines but doesn't touch. It is unfamiliar, and she's not sure what to do with such things. "I have never been to Neo Arcadia. I have been to places that could certainly be described as wastelands however. That's...unfortunate. My own world is...not pleasant at the moment either. At least the small part of it I have seen lately," she says, wrinkling her nose slightly. Sighing, she sits on a nearby crystal formation that looks like it would make a good seat. Hopefully it doesn't explode or anything. She looks over to a floating platform where plants are growing, shaking her head a little. "I can't fathom how it does that," she comments.
No. 9	A glance at Taro, and he inclines his head. "He aint exactly much fer nature, n' I'm tryin t' show him nature inna natural environment type thingy." Nod. A headshake, as he glances over. "Nah, I'm from 'Murica, he's frum... not, America. An American's idea of the world, right there. Yay. He scratches his head with his phone, head tilting. "My old world wusn't tha bad, but thar wus this thing in it tha wus gonna end th' world if it got out? N' thass whut I got in my body." Reassuring!
Taro	"If you should visit, better to come by one of the city warpgates," Taro advises. "Travelling through the wastelands without special protective gear can kill you." He gives a headtilt at Nine when he says that America wasn't that bad. Hasn't he said at some length just how terrible that place is? But then his gaze shifts back to Inga. "Where are you from?" he asks, a fair question since she asked it first. If it helps to change the subject, all the better...
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga looks back to Nine, blinking. Murica? OH, America! "Oh, I have been there. I have spent a good deal of time in Chicago. But I think perhaps it is a different earth--there are many apparently," she says. As he continues, she sobers. "Something that was going to end the world...and it is in you now?" she asks. This is something that most certainly needs explaination. Inga looks to Taro. "Uppsala, which is in what is now called Sweden. But I am from...long ago," she adds, picking up one of the plants in her basket, a red flower with a thin stem which she rubs gently back and forth between her fingers, making the blossom twirl.
No. 9	Nine is realistic. It's an emotional, moral and accountability wasteland, but having lived in Neo Arcadia, it's not an actual actual wasteland, and he has to be honest about it. Much as he hates it, and he does, he /hates/ it, it's not as bad as he's said. He can't, can't, pretend it is, and be honest with himself. A blink, and a shrug, and he explains, "Yea. I'm, uh. I have a, um... d' you know whut... ..." A pause, eyeing her, and he shakes his head. "Okay. Inside yer body, it's made a these things called cells? Small components a yer body. Inside these are these things called Mitochondria. They're like... bees. They make th' honey that runs you. Mine are... more like, killer bees. They're a lot more powerful, and a lot more aggressive. But if, more, like, if bees were... intelligent? And hates you. And everyone that aint them. Like that." oh he don't know the irony. He really don't. And he's fucking with his damn phone again. Tap tap, swipe. Then back down, a glance, a blink. "Would you join us for a picnic m'lady? Thar's supposed t' be a good place round 'ere t' catch 'Karp, n' I brought grape soda."
Taro	Admittedly, Taro remains somewhat fuzzy on planet Earth, but at least days he can find both America and Sweden on a map. Assuming it's the map of Earth he's learned. The multiverse can be so difficult... "Very likely a different Earth," he agrees, once Nine has finished giving Inga the abbreviated explanation of overclocked mitochondria.
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga tilts her head lightly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. Does he know just how apt his metaphor is to her? "Mitochondria," she says, pronouncing it slowly and carefully. She's clearly never heard the word before. She's from the dark ages. "I see...so they do not destroy you? How would these mitochondria escape you ?" she asks. This seems like an important question. She has enough bees that sass her and cause trouble. She blinks. "A picnic? Ah, certainly. I have a bottle of mead I could contribute. And I think I have some tacos left..." Inga nodds to Taro. "There are so many. It is hard to keep track. I hear they are numbered but I don't know it all."
No. 9	The ugly half metal man taps his head. "The way they talk is a way of controlling them, so they put sumthin in my head tha could overrule em, keep em frum killing me n' setting off an outbreak. If it makes contact, th' killer bees wake up th' other, normal bees? N' they get rowdy. They take over n' start drivin, if they dun melt ya inta a subcellular sludge r' set ya on fire. I got sum sammiches n' sum tea, n' sum grape soda n' sum deviled eggs n' shit." and he's fumbling with his bag.
Taro	"And the number of worlds grows by the day. I feel sorry for those tasked with keeping track of them all." It seems the hike is now a picnic, but if Taro has any objections he isn't voicing them. "I'm afraid I have nothing to contribute except my company."
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga smiles, reaching into her pouch. She pulls out a bottle of mead. The pouch is definitly bigger on the inside. She also produces three small cups, and a box of tacos. They are oddly fresh. It is a magic she can't begin to understand. "I...see," she says to Nine, more or less understanding. Something keeps these mitochonria in check. "That is...reassuring." To Taro she smiles. "Your company is pleasant and welcome," she replies. This has been a strange week.
No. 9	A laugh and that long gangly half metal half meat arm goes over Taro's shoulder, hugging the slighter, far more elegant figure tight to his mutated body. "Yea he's mah buddy, my brother, one of my best friends. This guy, yeah, this guy." Strange indeed.