Scene #8421: The Somewhat Unusual Time Traveler

Owner	Pose
Timespace Riders	Most Paladins stations are hubs of activity even on slow days--the support centers and logistics chains of the Commonwealth's peacekeeping corps do not lend themselves well to idleness. This particular station, at this particular time, is experiencing a 'slow day.' As the standards of stations go, it is still fairly busy, with a steady stream of ships in and out, and a fair-to-moderate workload for the cargo technicians. Selectively permeable, pale blue forcefields keep atmosphere in the docking bay, and specialized blast doors are held open, ready to close at a moment's notice in case of emergency. As hovering handcarts and high-tech refinements of forklifts and other such machinery form an almost arterial flow over metal grating and caution-striped floors, something mildly unusual happens. This particular station, at this particular time, is known to be the docking point of the No Practical Applications. This much is written in an unusual book, belonging to an unusual man, who appears, from nothing. A grey scarf swirls impossibly outwards from a single point, as if the empty air had sprung a leak. In the rafters, above the overhead lights, the tightly wound vortex of fabric unravels, like a knot undone with a gentle tug. It settles into being a 'normal' scarf, resting then around the shoulders of a smiling man with long, dark hair, half-braided at the side. His black leather ankle boots fall softly upon the rafters as he approaches the NPA's berth--and his far-future, apocalyptic drab greatcoat rustles slightly in the air, as he casually steps off the edge into a sheer drop. The ship's exterior cameras pick Woz up upon his graceful landing, as well as the book tucked under his arm. "Felicitations, Dragonfly."
Dragonfly	Dragonfly was, definitely, not sleeping on the reception counter in the loading bay when Woz arrived. They are, at least, awake enough to immediately, reflexively hammer the button to close the blast doors, and then bolt upright into standing on that counter, hand to their toolbelt (that they were sleeping wearing???) like it's a gun holster. A few seconds pass before they cautiously step on that same button, opening the blast doors back up, keeping their foot near the button and more than ready to press it again. Regardless of if anyone approaching is still within their clearance. "Are you... that guy who wanted their, uh. Watch fixed," they say, squinting slightly at Woz. "Because, uh. I don't think Bettie ordered any pizza..." they mumble to themselves, not really trying to be audible to anyone.
Timespace Riders	Woz's lips curl upwards into a sly smile. "Indeed I am," he says. "The somewhat unusual time traveler, Woz." The title of the book tucked under his arm should be legible--it parses as such, but for some reason isn't. He places his free hand over his heart and offers a little half-bow. "As I mentioned before, you need only make your best attempt to ensure the watch's functionality. I would not hold you to a higher standard, given your honesty about your ability." Glancing around the docking bay, he adds, "As well, I am prepared to pay with money or services rendered."
Dragonfly	Dragonfly's already attempting to settle into something more dignified of a posture than "hackles raised, standing on a table", sitting down on the more reasonable resting surface of the reception counter's chair. "Okay. Yeah. You. Don't... make a mess, while you're here." They gesture at Woz with a screwdriver. "If it's broken in a normal watch way, then this will take five seconds and you're completely wasting your time by being here instead of anywhere else. If it's broken in a 'horrible magical artifact watch' way, well." They frown, trying to think very hard not about clockwork or anything adjacent to it, even though this is very much a deal of clockwork. "Yeah, I have no idea what to tell you. Probably not, unless it is, because magic is bullshit, but... whatever. Let me at it?" This is probably where a better host of a meeting on a spaceship that has its own bar would offer drinks to visitors, but Dragonfly wants to keep this brief, wants to keep time spent around magic clockwork to a minimum. Also, the drink machine is broken again, but what can you really do?
Timespace Riders	Instructed not to make a mess after entering the ship, Woz purses his lips, and quirks an eyebrow. "What manner of guests must you usually entertain, for this to be a concern," he half-says, half-asks them. He nevertheless procures the watch in question from a compact, silver Concord carrying case. Space-folding of some sort is implied, given the dimensions of the watch versus those of the case. It might be called a pocketwatch, but the technology involved is plainly sourced from a time where such a possession would be quaint, if not utterly anachronistic. It's also twice the size one would need to be--about as big as two human fists, side by side. The face bears not only hands, but a depiction of a helmet, with pink katakana reading 'RIDER' serving as its visor. The helmet bears notches which also serve as indicators for hours and minutes, and the hands are mounted such that, at 10 and 2, they form 'antennae' for the helmet. This silver face is set into a black frame with gold trim. Curiously, the back seems detachable, allowing for the watch to be converted into two more reasonably-sized halves. Woz takes a seat in the nearest available chair, one leg crossed over the other, hands politely folded in his lap. Opening it up reveals that this thing is 'a watch' in a similar way to how a 21st century Earth smartphone is a 'telephone--' technically true, but containing so many other functions that the original inventors could never have dreamed of. Of particular note are circuit boards and an actual atmospheric carbon dating apparatus, as if designed to tell not only the time, but, interfaced with another piece of tech, the year. For the record, their hypothesis was right--nothing seems obviously damaged or broken.
Dragonfly	Dragonfly quickly sets to poking around with the watch, at least a little bit literally with their screwdriver. For whatever reason, their screen seems to show where their eyes are looking, though it's not clear if that's where they're actually looking, or how accurate this is. Either way, that focus is all on the device and its various components. They can recognize more than a few of the extraneous, non-watch components, actually- a lot of this is technology their own world has, or has something similar to. Unable to find anything actually the issue, their attention probes deeper into the nature of the device. Something supernatural is analzying the watch, seeing if there is more to be seen than is obvious, attempting to supplement Dragonfly's own knowledge of machinery. Nothing is immediately obvious that they're doing this- not even they seem to notice. Dragonfly frowns, squinting. "You said the stop on the, uh, actual watch part, wasn't working? Could be a software thing maybe."
Timespace Riders	The supernatural analysis proves to be a wise decision. "Indeed," says Woz, unaware of their more specialized scrutiny. "It performs neither its intended purpose with regards to the watch, nor with regards to its state as an artifact of great import." Their scrutiny shows that he is telling the truth. This thing--it's both a piece of technology and an expression of a deep, personal truth, pulled from beyond time and made tangible. Of course, 'time' is not a real thing. It is a word that people have made, to describe countless disparate concepts. The perception of events in a linear sense, memory, the unknowable nature of events beyond one's immediate perception of linear causality. The idea of time, that's real enough to matter, though--real enough to inspire stories, to develop a kind of mythology around itself, to become a sibling of Space even though one is much more easily defined than the other. This thing is a tool of someone who wears that mythology, exists within it, explores it without limit, and, one day, will rule over it. It is a Self, waiting to be mantled. There is nothing broken about it in a supernatural sense, either. It expresses an idea: 'Good and evil, darkness and light, I accept it all.' Woz carries something like it on his person, a Self of his own, to traverse that same mythology.
Dragonfly	There is nothing Dragonfly's power finds about the device. It doesn't understand people, and it has never been able to understand how to fit people into the endless humming machine of a rationally-defined universe that it tries to exist in. There is nothing it finds because there is nothing for it to see. This is a machine in perfect state. Dragonfly squints at the watch, frowning. "Nothing looks wrong with it." Unease manifests deep in Dragonfly's core at the idea of saying it to an Elite, and their fans hitch up in speed slightly, but there's always one thing you suggest when troubleshooting. "Are you sure you're, like. Using it right."
Timespace Riders	The corners of Woz's mouth twitch downwards. "I was afraid you would say that," he says. "The answer is 'no.' He is not." The retainer sighs, uncrossing his leg. "Without the correct emotional state," he says, standing from his chair and procuring a similar device, "They neither undergo their initial activiation, nor function as timepieces, even in pristine condition. Observe." His brown eyes sweep to the pocketwatch held in his right hand. Compared to the watch he'd given them, this one is smaller, and its face is square as opposed to circular. This one bears a helmet, too, though where the previous one was themed along lines of an analog watch, the helmet on this one looks more like a smartwatch. Pressing the stop with intent sets the clock hands--the 'antennae' of the masked figure--to rotating. One full rotation, and a hologram spanning the surface of the face flickers to life before it, depicting that figure more clearly. A voice, reedy, breathlessly excited, calls from the watch: WOZ?! Their supernatural sense tells them nothing about its personal meaning to him. He presses the stop again, and the hologram fades. Back to being a 'normal' watch. "A full demonstration is inadvisable indoors," he says simply, lips pursed. "Still, I thank you for your service."
Dragonfly	Dragonfly's fans spike once more at the minor demonstration before fading back to normal. They frown. "So. You already know, basically, why it's not working, and it's... magically related," they say, strongly refraining from saying something stronger or harsher, alone like this. "It needs a component that's... immeasurable, normally. So there's nothing I can really do. You probably knew that, coming here, didn't you?" Their hand, holding the screwdriver a little too tightly, twitches.
Timespace Riders	Woz's lips curl upwards in a catlike smile, his shoulders rolling gently as he leans against the bar. He stows the pocketwatch, in that same little Concord carrying case. "I suspected," he says, making a theatrical flick of his wrist. "But as you say, it is normally immeasurable. I needed to be certain that there were no material flaws with it." His brown eyes flick downwards, towards the screwdriver. "I believe the matter of compensation is at hand," he says, pointedly ignoring that too-tight grip to instead offer them an insufferably cordial, slight bow of his head. Woz lifts his empty hand 'til it's level with his face. A showmanly flick of the wrist, and a Concord payment card appears between his fingers. "Would you prefer monetary compensation," he asks, "Or," he then offers, gesturing towards them with the book tucked under his other arm, "One service for another?"
Dragonfly	Dragonfly only seems to notice the way they're holding the screwdriver as Woz does, and they intentionally relax that grip. Oh hells absolutely the money I do not want to end up involved in any more of this- "Just... if you're really going to pay me for nothing. I guess you can wire money to this ship's captain. Metaphor 0x..." what's she at right now, how much has it changed after she started working with the Paladins, will he even be able to figure out how to pay her if I can't remember her serial, "You'll figure it out. Say in the byline that it's related to something I did so she doesn't... worry."
Timespace Riders	"Indeed I will," says Woz with a coy little smile. He procures, of all things, a phone, from that little case. 'Phone' is being a little vague--for while that's what it is, it makes the infamous bricks of the early 2000s Earths look positively compact. This fucking thing could probably survive an apocalypse, and maybe it even has, judging by the wear on it. Woz enters some details into it, the buttons audibly bleeping as he does. "...to the care of Metaphor. Byline..." He taps the phone to his bottom lip, his brief frown of concentration given over once more to an impish smile. "Timepiece maintenance, provided by Dragonfly." The No Practical Applications, should it boast a local computer or equivalent, will find that device sporting a perfectly ordinary payment notification. Though the pay is on the generous side for what was done, the byline and description are entirely ordinary. Woz folds the bulky, battle-worn phone and stows it away. "For what it may esteem, Dragonfly, I hardly consider your services 'nothing.' In a way," he adds, canting his head slightly, "You have assisted in the coronation of a king-to-be." Woz turns towards the door, then pauses. "It is a curious burden, is it not? To have someone who worries after you. Curious," he says, looking over his shoulder at them. "But not entirely unpleasant."
Dragonfly	"Metaphor worries about everything," Dragonfly says airily, and it isn't even untrue. They go out of their way to adjust from their hunched-over seating posture, no longer staring over the watch, into a more casual one. They scowl at Woz. "... See you, then."
Timespace Riders	"Yes," says Woz, turning to face them. "You shall." A square-faced watch is in his hand, where it wasn't before--the face of the armored figure depicted upon it curiously resembles Dragonfly's monitor. Blue katakana stylized deliberately to resemble their face read 'D-Fly.' The retainer smirks, tossing out his scarf. It extends impossibly, enveloping the watch he'd brought for them to examine, bringing it back to him before swirling completely around him. When the last trace of his form is obscured by the whirling vortex of grey fabric, it disappears into a single point, like water down a drain. Dragonfly has peace and quiet again, for now.