Freddy Newendyke || Mr. Orange (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
super_cool) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nexus_crossings2017-07-20 01:43 pm
super_cool) wrote in nexus_crossings2017-07-20 01:43 pm
NEW ARRIVAL :: AN UNDERCOVER COP, NERD, AND ALL AROUND DISASTER
Freddy’s pretty sure he’s dead. He’d like to believe everything – the heist, the getaway, the bloodbath back at the rendezvous – was just a fucked up dream. He’d like to. There’s no hole in his cheek, no bullets in his gut, but he’s still wearing the same clothes – black suit, white shirt, and black tie – and they’re still soaked with blood. There’s blood in his hair, splattered across his face, and coating his hands.
He’s sitting on the curb outside of something that resembles the type of cheap convenience store familiar to someone from Los Angeles during the late 20th century. Next to him is an open bag of Doritos, four empty bottles of shitty beer, plus two more unopened bottles of that same shitty brand... and also a welcoming pamphlet.
While he’s not exactly feeling any better than he was when he first woke up, the alcohol is at least helping him settle into a sort of numbness. He opens the pamphlet and reads. Most of it fails to register.
‘Do you have a question for the Nexus?’ the pamphlet says.
‘What the fuck?’ is all that comes to mind. He sighs and rubs his temple, before burying his face in his arms. It's been a long goddamn day. Thinking it over though, he does actually have a question:
“Does everyone who dies get sent here? Or is it just like”–his voice still sounds hoarse, so he coughs into his fist and clears his throat–“only certain ones?”
He tries to brush his hair back, but his bangs just flop back into his face. He opens another bottle. Don't worry, he’s not going to cry or whine about shit. He may be a hot fucking mess, but he’s still a tough guy, okay?
He’s sitting on the curb outside of something that resembles the type of cheap convenience store familiar to someone from Los Angeles during the late 20th century. Next to him is an open bag of Doritos, four empty bottles of shitty beer, plus two more unopened bottles of that same shitty brand... and also a welcoming pamphlet.
While he’s not exactly feeling any better than he was when he first woke up, the alcohol is at least helping him settle into a sort of numbness. He opens the pamphlet and reads. Most of it fails to register.
‘Do you have a question for the Nexus?’ the pamphlet says.
‘What the fuck?’ is all that comes to mind. He sighs and rubs his temple, before burying his face in his arms. It's been a long goddamn day. Thinking it over though, he does actually have a question:
“Does everyone who dies get sent here? Or is it just like”–his voice still sounds hoarse, so he coughs into his fist and clears his throat–“only certain ones?”
He tries to brush his hair back, but his bangs just flop back into his face. He opens another bottle. Don't worry, he’s not going to cry or whine about shit. He may be a hot fucking mess, but he’s still a tough guy, okay?
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This is so crazy. Adia’s nice, and from outerspace. He doesn’t deserve this. Doesn’t deserve to hangout with nice spacegirls. He killed a pregnant lady, shouldn’t he be in Hell? Not that he really believes in God, but still. The universe is fucked up.
“What do most people do when they first get here?” he asks. Fucking freak out, probably. Under different circumstances, he’d be like that too. He’s asking more about what they do after the initial freak out, though. While he does feel strongly about being a piece of shit unworthy of human compassion, he still wants information. Pamphlets can't tell him everything.
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"Well..." Her first thought is also 'freak out,' because that's what she did, but she knows that's not what he's really asking. "Find a place to stay, typically. There are inns and hotels, and places you can rent or buy. After that, look for a job." She fidgets with the clip of her messenger bag. "Some people find a portal back home right away, but, um... I'm guessing that's not an option for you?"
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“I don’t know,” he admits. “Maybe I’m in a coma or something? And if I find the portal back, I’ll wake up.” It sounds plausible, at least in terms of dream-logic. It’s also unsettling to think about. Is there a way one can learn for sure whether or not they are dead? That’s probably a question more suited for someone who’s been in the same boat before, rather than for Adia.
“You must have seen a lot of planets. Why do you want to live on Earth?” She must be from very far in the future, and wasn’t the earth supposed to get all fucked up by global warming or something? When he’s from, they’ve just discovered a hole in the ozone layer!
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What did happen to him? Her stomach twists uncomfortably and she tries not to dwell on the possibilities.
When he asks about her search for Earth, she smiles self-consciously, unsure of how to explain without overwhelming him with details. "Well, um... where I'm from, humans lived on twelve different planets. We called them colonies. But there was a myth of a lost colony called Earth, one more advanced than all the colonies combined... we're in the middle of a war now with sentient robots. They destroyed the colonies and we've been on the run ever since. Finding Earth is our last hope."
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For some reason, he was expecting something about pretty sunsets or oceans, figuring that water and atmosphere would be his planet’s big appeal (assuming of course that humans haven’t fucked all that up beyond repair) – like maybe Adia had seen a brochure or something. He’s not too sure what to say about what she’s described, so finally, he just says: “Shit, that sounds really fucking intense.”
The fact that she's summarized the exact same premise as Battlestar Galactica isn’t something that’s lost on him, but it also doesn’t occurs to him that that could be literally what she’s describing.
“Fucking sentient robots, really?” Naturally, the robots stand out as particularly fantastical and cool, although he wouldn’t want to live in a universe where that shit was anything other than fiction. “What do you do to fight against them?”
Is Adia actually a killer-robot slaying badass? She doesn’t look like one, but you never know.
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"Yeah," she agrees, her smile turning wry. "It's why I keep coming back to the Nexus. It's a safe haven for me, a chance to catch my breath." When it isn't being invaded or doling out curses, anyway. "It has a lot of things that remind me of home. Things you can't get on a spaceship."
Quite the coincidence, that. It's a big multiverse, but how many humans are on the run from killer robots in space where Earth is a myth? "Shoot them before they shoot us?" she says with a small, uncomfortable laugh. "I'm just a civilian. My ship's a research vessel, we were studying infectious diseases when the war broke out... I've been doing some medical volunteering, too, but I don't know what our plan is, other than to stay ahead of them until we reach Earth."
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“I mean we’ve got shit like global warming, poverty, and dumb wars waged by asshole leaders... I had it pretty good, though. I was a cop,” which seems pretty incongruous given his appearance and overall personality, but it does shed some light on the mystery of how he ended up covered in blood. He bites his lip, before continuing: “... It was alright. And in my free-time, I watched movies and read comic books, which was cool.”
He shrugs, unsure of what else to say. His life sounds rather inane, compared to Adia’s. “Umm, would you like anything from the store?” In his wallet, he still has 28 dollars and some cents in US currency, plus a debit card that got declined. They accepted his money, though!
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When he says that he was a cop, however, that does earn a second look. He's not wearing a uniform, but that would explain all the blood... maybe he was a detective?
"I'm sorry," she says softly. "It sounds like you had a nice life, Freddy." She smiles a little at the mention of his extracurricular activities. "What kind of movies? Do you like sci-fi at all? I was told that some of the people who visit here are in comic books in other worlds. Maybe you'll get to meet one of your heroes."
The question surprises her. She sits up and looks over her shoulder at the store behind them, clearly tempted by the offer. Her credit is no good here, and she spent the last of her paper money some time ago. It'd be a real treat to get a bottle of juice or some cookies... maybe even one of those little handheld pies that are kind of gross but taste good anyway...
She shuts her eyes and shakes her head. No no no. This poor guy died and ended up in the Nexus, she doesn't deserve his charity. "I'm okay. Thank you, though, that's really nice of you." She peers at him again. "Can I get you a change of clothes? I have some men's clothes... they'd be a little big on you, but they'd fit."
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“Yeah,” he says, actually seeming to perk up when she asks about his interests. “A lot of sci-fi, a lot of horror.” He laughs a little when she mentions meeting a hero, unable to comprehend the logistics of how such a thing would be possible. He thinks she’s joking, and then does a double-take when it becomes evident that she is not. “Wait, you fuckin’ serious?”
He’d love to meet Sue and Reed Richards, and it goes without saying: Captain America. He’s highly likely to make a fucking fool of himself in front of Tony Stark, who's got a more volatile personality, but that's okay because how cool would it be to get insulted by Iron Man? Yes, he's thought about this before...
It never crosses his mind that he’s the one offering her charity. It’s politeness, and a little bit of a bribery to try and get her to hang out with him more. And oh look, it's paid off. See, he is a manipulative piece of shit.
“Thank you so much.” Her offer sounds almost too good to be true. “Are you sure you don’t want anything? It’s no problem. I need to go in to buy cigarettes anyway--”
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She almost asks him who he'd like to meet if he got the chance, but that's probably too personal to ask of someone she just met. "It hasn't really happened to me because most of the pop icons around here are from Earth media..."
Manipulative or not, she relaxes her shoulders when he accepts her help. All that blood is still making her anxious, even if otherwise he seems okay. "Great, I'll only be a minute."
She stands up and dusts off her pants, then pauses when he once again offers to get her something. Refusing a second time feels rude to her, so she smiles shyly and says, "You know those little individual pies? The ones that are full of preservatives so they can sit on a shelf forever? I'll take cherry if they have it." Those things never cost more than a dollar, anyway, and now that the idea is in her head, she finds herself craving one. "I'll meet you back here."
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“What counts as sci-fi to someone who lives on a spaceship? I mean because a lot of what I watch is probably just realism for you.” He’s genuinely curious, and also eager to talk about anything other than those implications, which have mostly been compartmentalized, even though they’re probably something that he should be considering very seriously in the near future.
“Yeah man, those are fucking good,” he beams when she accepts his second offer. Dude, he loves those pies. It’s also like the least he can do, if she’s seriously bringing him clean clothes. And when she returns, he will be right where he was before, only with a pack of Red Apple cigarettes, and two of those delicious tiny cherry pies.
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It's nice to see him smile like that. It takes the edge off all that blood. All the same, she doesn't waste time in heading off to get the change of clothes she promised. When she comes back, she's thrilled to see that the store did indeed have those tiny pies. She's less excited about the cigarettes, but she's not about to deny him his vice. Especially not when he's still recovering from... being dead?
The thought reminds her of Cylon resurrection and it's a moment or two before her smile returns, but when it does, it's genuine. "Here you go," she says, handing him a shopping bag full of clothes. There's a couple button-up shirts, a pair of jeans, socks and briefs, all freshly laundered. "Like I said, it might be a little big on you, but it'll do until you're able to go shopping."
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In exchange for the bag of clothes, he hands her the pie, in its humble little cardboard box that’s smudged with his blood, before excusing himself to go change in the bathroom inside.
It’s quite a few minutes before he returns, but he’s looking much better now. The clothes are a little big on him, but that is not exactly unusual for him; he is a rather petite man. Most of the blood is also gone from his hands, and though there is still some stuck in his hair, it’s not as bad as before. He’s also feeling better, too. A little bit, at least.
“Thank you again,” he says, very sincerely -- almost overly grateful, even -- before lighting up one of those cigarettes.
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It's just as well that her story doesn't mesh with the fiction that he's seen. The '78 version was cancelled before they found Earth, and the '80 version was a hot mess. But suspicions may arise once more if she starts dropping proper nouns. "Is that your favorite kind of sci-fi story, ones about aliens?" Her amused smile returns. "Someone here once assumed that I was an alien, since I wasn't from Earth. That was kind of funny."
Careful to avoid the bloodstains, she opens the box and takes out the pie. She doesn't even wait for him to finish excusing himself before she's taken a bite, making a small, happy sound when she breaks into the syrupy cherry filling. It's exactly as she remembers in all its processed, artificially flavored glory.
By the time Freddy returns, Adia is carefully wiping flakes of pastry off her hands, the pie long gone. She takes in his new appearance and smiles brightly. "Much better. You look nice." And young, too. The slightly too-large clothes make him look even younger, and she resists the urge to fuss with his collar or roll up his cuffs. "It's no problem, really. I'm glad I was able to help."
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Character centric, optimistic, and with a strong moral core. You bet this little nerd watched Star Trek religiously as a kid... and as an adult, since Next Generation was still running in ‘92.
“I mean, you don’t look like an alien.” He laughs along with her, but he can see why someone would make that assumption. Doctor Who doesn't look like alien either, right?
“Thank you,” he repeats, although skeptical of the compliment. He may look better, but he still feels like the walking dead. He's not actually so young, either. Closer to thirty than twenty, in fact. It's an understandable and common mistake that people make with him, though.
While on his feet, he picks up the empty bottles, dropping them into a nearby wastebasket like a responsible citizen, along with the mostly finished bag of chips. That done, he sits back on the curb to smoke the rest of his cigarette.
“I should find a motel soon.” It’s a little mumbled. He still can’t fully comprehend that this is his actual situation. But she probably wouldn’t like it if he just stayed here drinking all night.
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The fact that he's about as nerdy as she is when it comes to his choice of entertainment only contributes to his boyish persona. But she'll keep from making assumptions about his age. She's had plenty of people do it to her, and it can often be irritating instead of flattering.
It does tug at her heartstrings to see him still out of sorts, but a new wardrobe won't fix the mindfrak of being tossed into the Nexus. She rejoins him on the curb, mindful not to sit in the direction of the smoke. "There are plenty around here," she says kindly. "I wish I could recommend you one, but I've only spent the night in the Nexus twice, and both times were at my friend's apartment."
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They are. So he has to ask, “Have you ever met Captain Kirk? Or Spock?” He’s almost afraid to know. What if she says that the real Captain Kirk is an asshole? No matter what she said earlier, he knows you can’t trust TV to tell you the truth about what’s what. It might be a lesson he learned frighteningly late in life, but he did learn it. More or less, anyway.
She’s so nice that it’s making him feel guilty again. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, giving her a tiny reassuring smile. “I promise I’ll be fine.”
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Once he utters the name of the illustrious captain and his first officer -- well, then it becomes obvious whose adventures he's describing. "Oh! That's what Star Trek is about? The Enterprise? Yes, I've met Jim." Two different versions of Jim, in fact, but she's not keen on overwhelming Freddy with the concept of alternates when she's just informed him that one of his beloved characters is a real and breathing person. "Not Spock, although he knows about the Nexus, too."
Whether she can sense his fear of disillusionment or not, her next words should put his mind at ease. "Jim's been very kind to me. He cares deeply about his crew and the friends that he's made here. I hope you get the chance to meet him." She fidgets with the clasp on her messenger bag before admitting shyly, "Some day I'll work up the nerve to ask him for a tour of the Enterprise. It sounds amazing."
If she has the money or the resources, she'd try to help more, but he's probably right. It doesn't stop her completely from worrying. "Okay... but you'll, um. You'll be careful, right? You might have died before, but I'm pretty sure you're alive now."
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“Yeah,” he says, nodding fervently. “That's him. He’s a really great guy.” Not a womanizer, nor a trigger-happy asshole, Captain Kirk was always principled and took his responsibilities seriously. “The crew of the Enterprise stick by him through thick and thin because they know they can trust him, and he trusts them too. If you’re his friend, and you ever need anything, he’ll do everything he can to help you." Even when you're turning into an all powerful sociopathic mutant! He smiles happily as he says, "He's super badass."
What she just said sounds so cool, it's a moment before he's able to respond. “You should definitely check out the Enterprise," he says, looking at her with awe. Star Trek may be an old show with lame special effects, but the design of the Enterprise always seemed like something that people in the future might really have one day. He’s getting flashbacks to being a little kid, wishing so badly to somehow get beamed up to that fucking spaceship. How is she not fucking with him?
Even if she did have more resources, he wouldn't accept them. “You don’t have to worry, I’m tougher than I look," he says. A statement most would take with a grain of salt, but it is true in some ways. “Plus, this place is supposed to be safe, yeah? Pamphlet isn’t bullshitting about that?”
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For a moment, she wonders if her world is a fictional show somewhere, but she quickly dismisses the thought. Her life story is fraught with tragedy. Who'd want to watch that?
She's not so sure about his reassurance -- as tough as he may be, he still failed spectacularly to keep himself safe at least once. He said he was a cop, though, she should have a little more faith in him. "It is, but you can't always rely on the anti-violence field. It's less reliable the farther you are from the Plaza, and once in a while it'll fail completely."
Giving an uncharacteristically paranoid look around her, she leans in a touch and lowers her voice. "People can do other things to you, if they want to hurt you. I used to treat the Nexus like a safe haven, but it isn't. It's wonderful and still safer than my spaceship, but... just be careful, okay? Don't make the same mistake I did."
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“Right,” he says, blushing. “I know.” Real people are not heroes or villains. It’s something he understands intellectually, but not quite emotionally. “Jesus, of course. I’m not going to spring that shit on him.”
Now, he gets it. It doesn’t seem fair to have been privvy to so many emotional and personal moments in a real person’s life. Suppose he were to meet somebody who knew about, say, the moments at the warehouse when he was whining and crying in Larry’s arms–because they watched it on fucking television. Not that anyone would want to make a show or a movie about his last hours, unless they were kind of a sick fuck, but still.
The look on Adia’s face when she mentions the dangers of the Nexus does make him concerned. Not for his own safety, since he doesn’t actually give a shit about that, but because it sounds like something bad happened to her here. “I’ll be careful,” he tells her. “I’ve still got my gun on me too." Though it's probably not of much use, even if it weren't out of bullets. "And I'll stick to the Plaza."
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It was only a couple of years ago that someone she cared about very much ended up shot to death in front of her. (Like Freddy, he didn't stay dead, which made things complicated later.) Here, at least, she can do something, even if it's just a change of clothes and some well-earned life lessons.
That finally seems to settle her nerves -- not finding out he has a gun so much, but the fact that he'll stick close to the Plaza. "The shopping district is fine, too, and that's where you'll find most of the places to stay." She digs into her messenger bag for a pen and a piece of paper. "Would you like my contact information? I'm pet-sitting for a friend, so I'm in the Nexus almost every day."
Whatever happened to her, it must not have been bad enough to keep her from the Nexus. Or maybe when you're on the run from genocidal robots, nothing else can measure up.
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He nods, stubbing out his cigarette while she's digging through her bag. “I was actually going to ask--” He doesn’t want her thinking he plans to call her up and bug her about stupid shit all the time though, so he clarifies, “You know, to return the clothes.”
And then, just in case he hasn’t said it enough, “Thank you, Adia.”
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Finding a scrap of paper and a pen, she jots down a ten digit phone number and an email address. "I'm assuming at some point you'll get some kind of communications device?" she asks, handing it to him. "Or, um... your motel room will probably have a phone, and the computers in the Plaza are free."
Although she had been willing to part with the clothes she gave him, she's pleased to hear that he intends to return them. You never know when another Nexus curse will make the rounds, and she likes to be prepared. "Keep them as long as you need them. And feel free to text me if you think of any other questions."
Her smile brightens a touch. "You're welcome." People have been so generous to her in the Nexus, she's glad to finally pay it forward. And he's no longer covered in his own blood, which is a win for both of them.
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And the thing about blood is that it gets sticky. Those clothes were not fun, and so he’s extremely grateful. No way's he going to let her down by not returning them.
He blinks. "Text?"
To him, cell-phones are just phones the size of large bricks, with really big antennas. Text is not a verb. Hello, 1992.
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