voidtreckerexpress | A New Platform [Intro Post March]

A New Platform [Intro Post March]

PLATFORM STOP: MONTH 17
(QUICKSAND)

BEFORE ARRIVAL

"Good morning Voidtreckers, it is day 1 of the month of Quicksand. Points have been updated on the system."
The voice of the Voidtrecker Express welcomes passengers at the same time as always, sometime after breakfast. With points updated, everyone can spend the morning shopping. Most people will be expecting the second announcement that comes a few hours later, as the colours of the void outside the windows blur more and more.

"Shortly arriving into a designated void platform. The weather is cold and damp. Exit from void in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one."
A lurch and a jolt, and the windows fill with the fog that means they are at a platform.

ON THE PLATFORM

1. THE ARRIVAL

At first, all your character can see is steam billowing around them as they come to their senses. But as their eyes adjust, they find themselves on a platform.
It is cold, a slush of ice and rain on the ground underneath their feet. It's not currently raining though. The platform is made of black cobbles, slippy under their feet, dark stone gates serving as barriers giving the impression of a severe and grim place.

They stand in clothes not their own, in a style they might not even recognise. They're carrying a rucksack on their person, and for a moment it seems to just be them, alone on this platform. Before the fog starts to subside, and they'll see they're one of eleven figures: all facing the tracks, and all dressed in cargo trousers and hoodies, the latter in one of four colours. Purple, red, blue or orange.

But then there's a roaring sound to get their attention, and out from the fog arrives a train. A sleek black, it it reads The Voidtrecker Express in gold lettering on the side. Every one of the doors hiss as they open automatically, and out pours a strange assortment of people, over a hundred at least. Some are human, some less so, with a majority wearing the same hoodie of four colours as they do, though some sport outfits in a variety of styles.

The train doors close behind them, and the vehicle is cloaked in the same fog that hides the world beyond the platform. A group of people head towards the gates of the platform, their expressions blank and unaffected by their surroundings. Ansem, Connor, Curufin, Elle Days, Freddy Fazbear, Margulis, Murderbot, Potato, Vexen, Will Stanton and Yota They disappear through the barriers, but no one else can - all people can do is wait until the train re-emerges, finishing whatever changes it's making.

2. BOARDING THE TRAIN

After a short time, perhaps ten minutes or so, the fog clears and the doors hiss open again. Everyone will feel a pull when they do, a need to board, and those from the train may encourage new arrivals to board. This feeling grows into one of apprehension and turns worse the longer they stay off-board.

For those that do board, they may find themselves in a few different carriages, but most likely the standard coach. A row of seats sit available, with a few tables between each. More likely than not, some cookies have been set out with jugs of drink, and cups available for pouring.

For those that don't, however, they're likely to attract attention if they're spotted. And if that fails... an unfortunate end will await them.

3. DEPARTURE

Do a little exploring, if you will. But people will have half an hour total from the train's arrival before a second horn sounds, encouraging any stragglers taking advantage of the fresh air to board. After five minutes from this, the doors slide shut. Veteran passengers know what will happen next, but they may wish to brief their new companions.

The train begins to rumble with activity, and the platform starts to disappear into a fog as the voidcraft moves. A female-coded artificial voice echoes throughout the train.

"Welcome aboard, passengers of the Voidtrecker Express. Please take the time to read the passenger information displayed on the Information and Communication points, and familiarise yourself with the layout and emergency exits."

The train begins to tilt, leaving the ground and rising up into the fog-filled sky.

"Entrance into Voidspace imminent. New passengers are advised to remain seated. Entry into Voidspace in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one."

A shudder, a jolt, a lurch to the left. A flash of light, colourful and blinding. As quick as it happens it is done. The train seems to steady itself. The fog from the windows is gone now, replaced with a kaleidoscope of ever-changing colours.

Welcome to the Void.

ON THE TRAIN

1. EXPLORING

With nowhere to go but through the train's carriages, this is a good time for newcomers to explore. For veterans, it's back to your everyday life aboard the Voidtrecker Express.

¤ New arrivals will notice a screen and console in every carriage sharing the same message, and a stack of leaflets in holders by them offering further information to the curious (see 'Publications'). There are lavatories available on each carriage on one end, with another console with a deposit box under it at the other. This is the train shop.

¤ It'll take some time for newbies to figure out the layout, even if there's only two directions to go in. Go one end, and you'll find the food stores and washing utilities. This month's key ingredient is pineapple, and you're sure to bump into others curious about what's in the stock.

¤ Go to the other end, and you'll find the sleeper cabins. Plaques sit on the wall by each door with the names of their occupants, and one of these will be yours - hopefully, they'll figure out that swiping their ticket against the doorpad will open it up to them. In most rooms, the occupied beds are obvious, leaving the spotless, empty spaces for the newcomers. Room is tight, but there are storage cubbies at the head of each bed, beds fold up and, the bottom bunks double as benches for the small table. There is storage under those benches full of spare blankets and pillows.

¤ At the farthest end in this direction is the luggage carriage, where passengers who have bought items from the train shop will find their purchases. There are also medical kits for every one, each labelled with their full roster name. These are scattered around the luggage carriage in various suitcases and bags, but there's also a small fridge and kettle here with bottled water, for those who want a quiet drink.

For those of Purple team who go looking for their reward they will find simple boxes of cupcakes to share out. There's a cupcake for all of purple team, even the new arrivals, share in your new team's success!

2. ACTIVITIES

But of course, there's also everything in-between those two directions, and the people in them.

¤ Areas of note will be the training gym, where there's always regulars training to pass the time. There's a training board offering services, but maybe you'll find someone who catches your eye in here. Or even its gear?

¤ Is your character used to the appliances to be found in the kitchen? Depending on when your character wanders in, they may find someone testing out a recipe, preparing for lunch, or even dinner time.

¤ The library offers a quiet place, with a fair selection of books from fiction to non-fiction. Is your character interested in learning more about the void? Picking up an action or adventure book? Wow, there sure are a few magazines.

¤ There's also media to consume, from the games car, the cinema, to the arts carriage. Ever played a virtual reality game? Wanted to learn how to fly? Have you seen a screen of moving pictures? There's now documentaries to be found in the cinema's catalogues, from How To programming, Void-related topics, and sports.

3. REST AND SLEEP

¤ Time is difficult to track in the void, even with the few clocks around showing a 21 hour time. But the windows allowing a view of the kalediscope void will shift to a pitch black once the time reaches 12, and keep for the rest of the day.

¤ Breakfast, lunch, and dinner time is usually announced by whoever's cooking that day, and when. Sometimes it's decided by the team chores; other times, it's decided by who wants to be cooking.

¤ But sleep eventually comes to all, even if they don't want it to. When 21 hours have finally passed on the train, all passengers, whether they need sleep or not, will see black - only to start a new day in their cabin beds, with the sound of the train's automated voice greeting them with a 'Good morning' message.

NAVIGATION ~ GAMEPLAY ~ SETTING ~ CHARACTER INITIATIVES ~ QUESTIONS

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

With the exception of his abilities in the kitchen- meals and baked goods that could certainly qualify as edible art- Aden didn't particularly have an artistic bone in his body. Still, that didn't mean he never had a reason to go to the arts carriage. The odd mess left for someone else to clean up occurred there too much like everywhere else that saw a lot of traffic, and while it was something perhaps best left for the people who actually frequented the place, he nonetheless saw it as worth it to at least give the place a once-over if only to find something with which to occupy his time.

Cleaning, much like cooking, was an excellent way to sort one's thoughts out.

What he'd expected was to stick his head in and head right back out if there was nothing for him to do, or stick around long enough to tidy things up should someone have left chaos behind for someone else.

What he hadn't expected was to enter, find another of the giants the train seemed so fond of, hear a string of expletives followed by a tiny needle sailing harmlessly through the air and bouncing off the bookcase and onto the floor with a tiny little plink in the silence that followed.

"Wow. Tell us how you really feel, why don't you?" He said, making his presence known as he went to pick the bent needle up from the floor so it could be properly disposed of, and not remain a possibly nasty surprise for anyone doing something silly like walking around barefoot- and Aden had no doubts that there were people aboard the train that would.

"You have a certain way with words, so I won't ask if you need help further expressing yourself, but is there something you need a hand with?"

The Bull's eye widens. It's been a long time since he had to shut down what he was feeling before that feeling made it to his face and, sure, he used to be good at it, but today any moment he isn't actively losing his shit is probably some kind of success, so today the Iron Bull stares. Some dim, already overwhelmed part of him notes the way the guy's talking, like he understood the Qunlat which isn't something that's happened to the Bull in years and years, and another part of him's trying to figure out if the new guy's a demon.

The reassuring observation: He doesn't look freaky enough for that. The unsettling one: He looks just weird enough to be weird, which puts him in the already huge pile of things that don't make any shitting sense. At least if he was a demon, Bull would know what to do with that.

He takes a little breath, starts to open his mouth, then just sits there half-on the broken chair on the ground with his mouth open while the need to know fights it out with the sudden, messed up urge to be polite. Maybe it's the leaflet he picked up while he was wandering around. 'Don't assume' and all that. You can't just ask someone if they're a demon. Right?

"Look," he says bluntly, taking the middle road between the two options and just laying his cards out on the table. "Back, uh-- where I come from, you wake up in some freaky dream crap and some weird blue guy walks up and asks if you want him to help you, you're about to have a bad time. Besides, it's--"

It's too much. He tries to list all the things he needs a hand with right now and he might lose it again. The Bull huffs out a harsh breath, lifts his hand, hesitates, then just goes ahead and scratches at the scars around the remains of his other eye, because it still itches and it's a relief, just for a second, to press the heel of his hand against the socket and focus on that one simple thing.

He can ask questions though, right? That's okay, as long as he doesn't agree to any help before he's sure he's not making some kind of demon deal. Set everything else aside. One thing at a time. "That uh, 'way with words' thing, that wasn't sarcastic. You knew what I was saying. And I sure as shit didn't end up cooped up with a bunch of people who just happen to know how to speak Qunlat. So that means you were. You were reading my mind. Like demons do."

There. Finally. Not an accusation, just a comparison. Technically. Stating an observation, an assumption, then a fact. Feels good, at least, to sort of say it.

"Where I come from, if you wake up in some freaky dream crap and some weird blue guy walks up and asks if you want help, you're also about to have a bad time. The red guys are worse, and the guy with the black eyes is the worst, but the blue ones," A simple gesture with his hands, along with a slight shrug of the shoulders- dismissive, in a way. His face didn't show it much- Chiss emotions tended to trend subtle compared to those of other species- but his tone at least had a smidge of humor to it, "Mm. Well. You know?"

The needle was pocketed for now, and as he didn't particularly felt like dodging any blows that looked like they'd hurt judging by the size of the other man, he remained at a distance. Aden had certainly fought bigger, but he had no intentions of making any enemies if he could help it. He'd already gone weeks without really antagonizing anyone.

Not since he'd been a teenager had he been so successful at not making enemies. It was a personal record. Had the circumstances been different he would have celebrated.

"In all seriousness, unless you also speak Basic which is what I'm speaking, then you can thank our host-" Another vague gesture, this time at their surroundings to indicate that he meant the train itself, "For the ease of communication."

Aden wondered what they'd all do, if the train didn't assist in having everyone understand each other. So many worlds, so many dimensions out there. More languages than even Aden could imagine, and he could imagine a lot.

"Either that or your vibes were just so on point that they came across as universal, in which case I'll have to ask you to help me so I can do that too."

"Just got to be really pissed off, I guess," he mutters, trying to take all that in and sort it out into some kind of category he recognizes. 'Our host.' That probably means the Fade, he guesses, the place where dreams come from, where demons and magic come from, where people go when they die and the messed up, freaky party never stops. Only one language in the Fade. No Qunlat, no 'Basic' or whatever, either. It makes as much sense as everything else.

"So you're just... just a guy who happens to be blue." Little bit more than that, based on the way he reacted when Bull said it, but it's worth making the effort to shut down that instinct to try and sort it out. He needs to deal with what he can deal with. That's all. Ignore what he can't. He takes a slow breath. "Okay." He lets his breath out, slowly. "Okay. That's fine. Okay, blue guy--"

He rolls to one hip, pushes himself to his feet, makes a face down at the broken chair, at the gauze laying out on the table and the fabric wrapped around it. Guy's probably not a demon, from the way he's talking, so-- So it's fine. It has to be fine. Move on to the next problem. It's a small problem but it's real, and it's in front of him, and he can understand it. Maybe this guy, whoever or whatever he is, can help. "You know how to sew? Because if I can't get that damn thread into a needle one more time or, I don't know, break another one, I think I'm going to--"

Bull breaks the sentence off with a grunt, the noise thick and angry in the back of his throat. He's going to do what? Do a whole lot of useless nothing crap, that's what, and probably make some enemies in the process. That's the last shitting thing he needs.

"Aden," He said, offering at least his name, as he was not particularly enthused about the idea of being reduced down to his physical characteristics. He was quite capable of telling that nothing sinister laid behind it- not like the times he'd been reduced down to just some blue alien in the past by humans who should know better- but still. It brought up certain memories that he'd prefer to not think too much about.

Offering up his name to be called by was preferable.

Whether or not the gesture is returned doesn't matter so much to him, but it was important for his own sake.

He tilted his head as the other man pushed himself up to his feet. The remains of the chair would have to be tidied up, but that could come later.

And as much as Aden had been feeling like the train had been dunking on him personally by apparently favoring the tall, he supposed that right now- looking at the sight before him- he preferred being small. It did seem to him like it was unfair of the train to not adjust to passengers of all sizes though, all things considered. But then, considering how things had been recently.

Perhaps it was to be expected.

"I should be able to give you a hand with that, yes. And should you need to work your frustration out, I can even take you to the training gym after. Copious amounts of violence toward inanimate objects always brightens my day."

Aden understood anger. Understood frustration. And most of all understood needing outlets for it rather than letting it build.

"I'm sure someone will be upset if you maim a training dummy or two beyond what can be fixed, but..."

He shrugged.

"Something, something, better out than in, and all that. For now though, just show me what you'd like me to do."

He held his hands up to indicate that he meant no harm, moving to approach- cautious in case of any lingering suspicions. He already had a low-grade migraine. Last thing he needed was for some skittish giant to decide to use his head as a drum should he make any sudden moves.

The 'copious amounts of violence' thing gets Bull breathing out a noise that might sort of pass for a laugh. "You've got that right. Except for the inanimate part."

That last bit just comes out, because it's true. This trapped, this pressure, this too-much feeling is exactly the kind of thing he stores up for when it's going to be useful, for the next time he gets pointed at some bad guys and letting loose is going to do someone some good, but letting loose isn't something he gets to do right now, might not get to do ever, depending on whether this train-thing is it, if this place is all there's going to be. Not a reassuring thought.

Maybe he shouldn't have said it, though. Definitely shouldn't have said it, judging by the hands-up, careful way the guy's coming closer to him. Feels pretty shitty, getting looked at that way, like he's some kind of animal that's going to go off on the next poor asshole who gets too close because all it's got are white-hot instincts without a mind to contain them, because that's all that it knows how to do. But it feels shitty in a way that's probably good for Bull right now, something he needs to see and so he takes the feeling into himself, takes a slow breath that's a little deeper than the last one and lets the feeling settle in to the places he needs it to go and when he lets it out his breath is steady. He takes a couple big steps back as the guy, Aden, gets closer, gives him enough space to let him maybe feel a little bit less like he's about to get gored, or whatever.

"The, uh--" he starts, voice a little subdued, and gestures to the strip of gauze, the patch on top if it, and the wide, wobbly shape of the fabric cut to sit around it still on the table. "Guess I didn't get to take my stuff with me when I, uh--" When he died, but when he died maybe, and it doesn't feel right to say it when he's not sure. Or maybe he just doesn't want to. "When I got here, so I figured, you know."

He raises a hand to cover up the place where his eyepatch used to be, descriptively, and shrugs, then drops his hand. "Krem-- uh, guy back... home. Always said I'd be crap at sewing.

"I'm the Iron Bull," he adds and then, awkwardly, "Nice to meet you." It could have been nice, anyway, if Bull wasn't so off his game right now that he can't even see the board. Not something he's used to.

"Mm," It was a noncommittal enough noise, though there was a certain hint of agreement in the tone that suggested that he too would prefer for a less inanimate target to let loose on. Had he been any younger, he likely would have voiced that he personally preferred a certain satisfying squish and snap when his fists connected with something, but he's been trying really hard to not be that person here all things considered, "Tell you what, if I meet someone scummy enough, I'll point them your way."

Out of all the people on the train though, the only person who seemed to fit the scummy bill was him, and he didn't particularly like the idea of being flattened.

"Until then, the training dummy's there though."

Aden did seem entirely more relaxed at that little bit of distance, but most of all from that slow breath. He'd seen and felt rage enough to see the telltale signs of a cooling temper, meaning that there was less risk of being hurt and having his own temper flare, "The train does seem a bit finicky about what you get to keep. Stars know that I would have preferred to arrive here with more of my things."

Though he was glad to have his wedding ring still securely on his finger. Weapons, fond as he was of them, could be replaced. A physical reminder of his husband was a comfort he wouldn't trade for the world, much as he missed his beloved set of knives and his disintegration rifle.

Taking a look at the work Bull had done already, he went to work- fixing that wobbly shape into something a bit more even first of all.

"I'm sure you'd do fine had everything here been adjusted to your size. You don't rag on a man for not doing something well if he's not been given the right tools to succeed."

Well, one did, sometimes. Just figure it out had been rather a staple of his life, but he didn't hold everyone else to the same standard when he hadn't particularly enjoyed the experience himself.

"And hey, most people here are willing to lend a hand or two. Me, I've got six sisters, so if I didn't know a thing or two about handling a needle, I think I'd be drawn and quartered."

Whether or not he was joking or serious was difficult to tell, but at the very least he was putting his gift of the gab to good use, he felt.

"Nice to meet you too. Have you got any questions about--" He gestured vaguely, indicating that he meant the situation itself, "Anything at all? I'm rather new myself, so I'm no walking encyclopedia or anything, but..."

Bull huffs out a breath, shakes his head, pauses, then shakes his head again. Sure he's got questions but the idea of asking about any of it, of even deciding which one to ask-- He stops himself from thinking about it, keeps trying to relax. It's not something that he's prepared to get into, that's all.

"Asking that's kind of like throwing a guy in the ocean and then asking if he wants to get told how to swim," he says, exasperated. "I don't know. It's... I don't know."

Any other day he'd try to turn the conversation to the other guy instead, but he's so out at sea here he doesn't even know how to do that. Six sisters who sew and if he knew what Aden even is, where he came from, he'd know what that meant to him, understand if that 'stars know' turn of phrase means anything because you can tell something about someone depending on whether they say 'Maker's breath' or 'Andraste's tits' or whatever else, but none of it means anything here, all this information is here and coming in but it's all bullshit and none of it actually means anything.

He takes a slow breath, again, and watches Adan fix what the Bull cut out. The most he can do right now is try not to think about it, spend as long as he can focusing on something else. That 'tools' comment, that one at least means something. Little easier to relax around the guy after hearing that; reminds him of home, the parts of home that'd worked, the kind of perspective he's usually the one talking about, as long as he doesn't mention where he got that perspective from. Other people don't want to hear about the 'good parts' of the Qun any more than he wants to talk about them. Not sure if he can trust it, that urge to relax just because Aden said something that Bull kind of liked, but at least it might make a tiny piece of all this tension a little bit easier to let go.

"I uh... I'm going to need something to do after this, though," he admits, because it's not like he's going to come off like he's got his shit together now. Might as well go all in. "Don't think I'm going to do so well unless I can figure out how to keep busy. Think I went through the uh, the carriage with those dummies though, and the whole thing didn't look like much. Or it was, uh-- I don't know. What do you guys even do all cooped up in here? You just sew and read and try not to lose your minds, or what?"

"I felt sort of like that when I arrived too."

Though he was honestly so used to that feeling of being thrown into the deep end that the strangeness had bounced right off of his skull and he'd immediately gone into intel gathering mode. Living in crisis mode constantly for years was good for that, he supposed. And out of all the strange things that had happened to him in his life, accidentally falling into some strange other dimension wasn't so far out there.

"I'd say you get used to it, but... It's less asking if he wants to get told how to swim and more just doing it because you have to. Though I suppose questions can come once you've gotten your bearings, at any rate. Plenty of people less off-putting than me ready and happy to help."

He looked to him with a slight smile and a wink, a little bit of humor to indicate some amount of friendliness.

"Depends on what you feel like doing, really. Sometimes things go rather sideways- missions to save worlds and whatnot- but in between... Well, it's a game of try not to go insane, really. Me, I'm a professional galactic maid, so I clean and cook and gripe at every mess I come across because I'm old enough that my back hurts from bending down to pick things up."

A beat, and then, "And you know. I do have to bend so very far, and all."

He shrugged, continuing to work, "Life on the train isn't all too different from life anywhere else, in that regard. Shit happens, then you sit around twiddling your thumbs and wondering when life got so boring for a while, and then some more shit happens and you miss the boring stuff. It's just... A bit more Force forsakenly random, is all."

"Yeah," Bull says, voice grim for a moment. "I know how that works." Slow breath in, quieter than the last one but there's still not a lot of point trying to make sure the other guy can't tell he's doing it. Because, yeah, Bull had sort of smiled back when Aden made those jokes but only sort of, the sort of perfunctory smile where it's either that or look like you're making a point of not smiling, and the Bull doesn't want to look like he's trying to be some kind of asshole, but he doesn't have to look like he's got it together yet, either.

Slow breath out. Sort through it.

Aden first. Used to people finding him off-putting. Don't know if the guy's a fighter, but that 'isn't all too different from life anywhere else' thing doesn't exactly make it sound like he's lived a sheltered life. Seems like he's putting conscious effort into getting the Bull relaxed too, the kind of effort that usually goes the other way, right down to the self-effacing jokes and the wink. Weird, having it going in this direction. Makes it hard not to wonder what the guy's game is. Calming down some big, musclebound asshole who for all Aden knows might start breaking crap at any moment -- on purpose, this time -- is enough of a reason on its own though, right?

Maybe. Not enough to say for sure right now.

Next important part. Missions. Sitting there bored out of your mind right up until you're not. The not seeping into everything else, even when you're sitting still. Not a lot of reason to think about it, especially not right now. But now it's come up, so now he's still got to ask.

"So," he asks, almost casual, after a long quiet moment, leans back and crosses his arms. "That mean we're going to get attacked? Or are we the ones doing the attacking? We've got all the teams, right, and missions, so-" He shrugs. "You spend all your time sewing and cleaning and getting ready to have to fight at any minute?"

"Far as I know, there's been fighting before. Being attacked more than attacking others, I think."

That was the impression he got, anyway. That they had been yanked from their worlds to save and to help. Aden still thought the train should put more thought into just who it kidnapped. There were a million people from his world who would have been more useful than a single cog in the machine like him, and yet here he was.

He also thought there were more heroic souls than him, even if the train had wanted to avoid the ones that could splatter a man to the point where there wouldn't be enough of them left to spread on a sandwich. Saving people was very rarely part of his job description and being helpful wasn't particularly in his nature.

It was rather hit or miss he supposed.

"Since I arrived two weeks ago, all that's happened was a botched attempt at sending people home. It was chaotic, dangerous, and the nightmares were... Fun... Unsuccessful, too."

Which was part of why Aden hadn't even attempted returning to his own world even though the offer had been there, much as he'd like to go home to see to the war and make sure his husband didn't get into any trouble he couldn't get himself out of. But it had just seemed much too good to be true, to arrive only to immediately be allowed to leave. He hadn't trusted it. And whether the offer had been made in good faith or not, the failure had proven that he was right to be mistrustful.

"Sewing, cleaning, cooking... Other stuff. All the things that make up a life in between any action that might come our way. I think expecting things to go to Corellian Hell in a handbasket at any time might be the best way to live here though."

Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

He shrugged then, finishing up what he was doing and leaning back to make sure it looked up to his standard- which it did, because he was excellent, "This look like it's ok to you?"

It was even and well sewn, but if it needed changes, he was happy- or rather, willing- to make them.

It's not the answer he wants. At least that makes it easier to believe, right? Hard to be grateful for that, somehow; the idea of being in this place, seeing too much everywhere he looks and not understanding a single damn part of it, maybe or maybe not being dead and surrounded by demons and finding out he's got to spend the whole time bracing for attacks on top of all that, grateful isn't the reaction that comes to him. What comes to Bull, mostly, is that he's tired. And that he isn't going to sleep tonight.

He looks down at the strip of fabric, newly sewn, that's going to have to pass for his eyepatch, and takes the realisation in. It makes sense. The only reason he didn't realise it earlier was that-- Well. Kind of hard to put your mind even a little ways out into the future when you're a little bit busy losing your entire shit in the now. If people are even supposed to sleep when they're inside the Fade at all. Wouldn't have thought so, but 'nightmares' means they probably do. Doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but what does? He doesn't really want to ask.

"Yeah," he says, voice faint and heavy, sounding tired, "looks like a dream." Funny turn of phrase. Doesn't have it in him to laugh. Going to want to make sure he nips that in the bud before it blooms into something familiar and nasty, start looking for something to joke around about later. But not right now. Focus, now, on what he can do: There's a person here, someone willing to talk to him. That's not nothing. He can handle that.

"Learned how to do all that from your sisters, right?" he asks, still in that quiet, tired voice, craning his neck a little to see the fabric on the table. His arms are still crossed, keeping his hands to himself. Aden's probably not going to think he's about to get attacked any more if the Bull moves closer, but he stays where he is anyway. Now doesn't feel like the time to risk it. "Six of em? That a lot of kids for uh, wherever it is you're from?"

"The Chiss Ascendancy," Aden answered, easily enough. That Chiss tumbled out of the primordial ice on Csilla and elsewhere in the Ascendancy too wasn't exactly a secret even in his own world. Though had their situation been different, he wouldn't have mentioned the sisters. Agents weren't supposed to have pasts. Certainly they weren't supposed to volunteer information like some moron cadet fresh off the training center shuttle.

Here though, here it hardly seemed to matter if he shared a bit of surface information.

"And it is."

Poor people having more children than they could afford didn't strike him as a particularly unusual thing- more like something that was almost expected everywhere- but. They'd made it work, somehow. Even if Aden remembered his sisters raising him more than his parents. Though he said nothing of the sort, his posture and expression indicated that he was certainly thinking about something.

Saying that he had sisters was one thing. Voicing an opinion about growing up in that household seemed entirely too personal, even if he wasn't particularly bitter about any of it.

"I'm not a pro like some of them are. Better in the kitchen than I am with a needle and thread, honestly," He stood, holding the finished excuse for an eyepatch- only so much he could do, but at least it's even and the stitches aren't crooked- out toward the other man to take, "But if this doesn't stand up to the test of time, then I won't mind lending a hand again should there be any better materials to work with. Murdering a train seat or something for something a little more durable comes to mind."

Vandalism wasn't something he often participated in, but hey. Far as Aden was concerned, the train had swung first by not letting them have all their stuff in the first place.

The Chiss Ascendancy isn't a real place. But guys with blue skin and red eyes aren't real either, and Bull's mind is going to make a note of the name anyway, so he just lets it happen. Makes a note of how Aden talks about the personal stuff, too: he'll answer with facts but doesn't elaborate or shift the focus to Bull or anything like that, doesn't seem like he wants to make a whole conversation about it. Doesn't mean that Bull won't ever turn things that way, but it's a good thing to note about someone anyway.

"Shit yeah," he says, stepping forward to take the fabric and watching Aden's body language when he does, keeping an eye out for anything tense that might tell him he's still got to give the guy space. "Some leather or something would be great. I should probably wait before I start breaking stuff, though. At least, on purpose. Don't want people to get the wrong idea."

Any tension that had been there seems mostly gone. There's a little bit- little tiny bit- but less the tension of a man worried he might get body slammed and more the tension of the naturally wary type. No matter how far removed he got from his life as a Cipher Agent for the Empire, some habits died hard.

And the ability to fully relax was one he never thought he'd ever get back.

Especially here.

Threat assessment just became part of everyday life when one had lived the way he had. As professional or unprofessional as he could adjust any mask to be, Aden thought he'd always be more aware of his surroundings and more aware of the moods of the people around him than most.

He couldn't help but laugh a little though, "Yeah, I get you. We'll totally mangle a seat for you later though."

Simply requesting one through the shop would work too. Or keeping an eye out for some better fabric to work with. But a man could dream, couldn't he.

"Or you can break it and I'll take the fall. Don't I look the type to be able to do some damage?"

He very specifically didn't, despite his idle mentions of copious amounts of violence and all, but that was by design. Still. Falling into sort of a casual jokester persona was easy, even though his words were spoken with a causal sort of air. That was more or less what he naturally defaulted to.

Bull huffs, manages a little grin. "Hey, it's the little ones you've really got to keep your eye on. At least with guys like me you're going to see it coming."

It's not totally like the way he'd talk to his guys back home, but it's close. It helps. He's quiet for a beat, takes another one of those slow breaths. "Thanks for all this. You didn't have to deal with my bullshit. I appreciate it."

"Isn't that the truth, though," Aden said, with another little noise that passed for laughter, quick to die down but a genuine expression of amusement at least. While he often resented his lack of height when trying to get something off a high shelf, that advantage was one that had never been lost on him.

"And hey, you're welcome. We're all stuck on this kriffed up ride together, at any rate. I figure I might as well give a helping hand where I can."

Being helpful wasn't exactly in his nature- definitely not, in fact- but he would make an effort where he could. For his own sake as much as anyone else's, really.

"I should probably continue on my rounds. I just feel it in my bones that there's a mess somewhere or other that needs tidying up."

His gaze flickered briefly to the very mangled chair, but. He could come back for that one later. Giving the new guy some actual time to decompress as much as he could seemed apt.

"Sure thing." He tilts his chin up in a nod, then follows Aden's gaze to the chair and sighs. "I'll just... put that in a corner or something. Finish this up." He waves a hand at the fabric thing, now neatly sewn, laying on the table, then looks back at Aden again. Bull feels calmer now, a little. Might be able to get enough of a hold on himself to try and hold onto that feeling. As long as he doesn't think about anything too much. Not what he wants, but it's what he has. It's a start. "See you around."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A New Platform [Intro Post March]

arts n crafts; a

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