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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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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The Nexus has a way of making everyone equals. It's how someone as timid as Adia has managed to thrive.
Oh... he doesn't know what texting is. Shoot. "Um, some devices let you send text messages. This is what I use..." She pulls out of her messenger bag a small electronic device that looks like a glorified stopwatch. "It's called a PINpoint. There is a vending machine that dispenses them in the Plaza. It's what I use to get here and back from my ship, but it can also send and receive texts."
She shows it to him without letting go of it. He can look as long as he likes, but this is her only lifeline to the Chiron, the portal she originally stumbled through long gone. She's not about to hand it to someone else, not even a nice guy like Freddy.
"It gets voice messages, too, so you can call it if you want instead. I'll find a way to get back to you."
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Blink, blink.
It's apparently the future, what did he expect? He nods and takes a step back. “That’s really cool.”
Maybe not the most intelligent response, but he can’t think of anything else to say, and ‘cool’ is about the best compliment you can give something. He almost asks her how it works, but it can’t be that hard. He’s clever enough, he’ll figure it out.
He checks his pockets to make sure he’s got everything. Adia’s contact information, cigarettes, lighter, money, the Nexus pamphlet... gun... Yeah, he’s good.
“I guess I'll see you soon then?” That scared puppy look that’s been periodically flickering across his face is threatening to come back – but it won’t.
He’s cool. This is all fine.
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She may not be the best judge of character, but she's excellent at telling when someone could use a friend, and the look she gives him is warm and reassuring. "Yes, of course. Let me know how you're doing." She'll worry if he doesn't -- although a lot less, now that he isn't covered in his own blood. She gives him another once-over and smiles to herself, glad to have accomplished that much.
"It was nice to meet you, Freddy. Stay safe, okay? And thanks for the pie."
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I recently updated Adia's canon -- I don't know how familiar you are with BSG, but I hit a major plot point in the final season that's rather depressing. So you have your choice of Adia before the sad thing or after the sad thing. She'll be chill either way.))
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If you'd like to RP Adia after her sad canon update, I am fine with that. One day they should still hang out when neither of them is in despair though, aww.]]