[open]

[deicider]

WHO: Ojiro + anyone
WHERE: Safehouse, New Amsterdam's artificial river.
WHEN: Beginning-Mid July
WHAT: open log
NOTES OR WARNINGS: None really.

Morning Run
Sniper rolls out of bed every morning at 4:30 on the dot to go running, sometimes for an hour, sometimes for three. Still nursing a broken wrist, it's the one exercise they can still go all-out on, and if striving against the weakened state of their body didn't fix this whole stupid situation, it at least felt like getting something done.

They've managed to get extracting themself quietly down to an art, sleeping in their work out clothes (stolen during recent chaos, thanks kaiju) so their fumbling in the dark doesn't wake up any of the others still bunking in the safe house.

They're not opposed to company, if someone else picks up the habit. For anyone they catch awake at this hour, they give a teasing smile in the dark, whispering. "If you want to come, you have to keep up."


Sport Commentary
Sniper's inserted themself into the cooking rotation—it seemed only fair, given the amount of calories they burned through in a day—and has mastered making most of the cheap nutritious staples one-handed. Gone most of the day scouting New Amsterdam and lining up job prospects, they're always back in time to help make dinner.

Once the initial frustration of being here had faded enough to allow for idle curiosity about this version of Earth, Sniper had been drawn to investigate the cultural cornerstone they knew best: sports. The results had been disappointing. Nothing very innovative. The Olympics were still going at least, but digging further, professional sports in general seemed open only to the already-rich. There had been plenty of accusations that Sniper had used money to compensate their own small size with expert training for the pentathlon (true on paper though not in spirit), but back home it wasn't weird to see the non-wealthy go professional.

They've been steadily watching their way through the past Olympiads: opening ceremony, the pentathlons, record-breaking achievements. They use the implant with the ease of long familiarity; it was pretty similar to what they had back home (back home it didn't require brain surgery) so chopping things for dinner at the same time was easy. Judging my their scoffing, they're not that impressed. "That's the record?"


Free Lunch!
Afternoon generally finds Sniper by New Amsterdam's artificial river to find lunch. The river is a sad sight for someone who grew up seeing the ocean—this whole world was a sad sight compared to their own flourishing world—but it was lively and less claustrophobic than the rest of the city. And the food wasn't bad.

They're buying some dumplings when they spot a fellow safehouse occupant. Even if there hasn't been a formal introduction, the face is familiar, and they wave over, gesturing to the cartoon of dumplings in their hand with a smile.

"Want some? My treat."

When's the last time you had something that wasn't bug casserole?


Cast-off

Around mid-july the cast on their wrist finally comes off! You can find them celebrating doing one-armed pushups in the safe house.

Comments

morning run

[secondnature]

There was a time in Keith's life when he didn't have inches on most people. He was smaller, more slight, more built like Sniper, but he managed to make all of that work to his advantage. His two years with his mom involved some awkward, gawky growth as he transitioned to his adult height and build, but he could understand why Sniper would feel the need to say something like that. Like they had some challenge to fulfill. Or they needed to be better than everyone.

Keith did need to be better than everyone. That was the case here and back home. Voltron might mean nothing, but he was still a representative—

Either way, keeping up isn't as hard as it could be if he weren't athletically inclined, even obsessively so. He knows he'll be moving out soon, but this seems like a routine he could keep up until then.

"See? I'm not having a problem." He won't, as far as he's concerned, but he obviously doesn't know where Sniper is coming from. Like, at all.

[deicider]

Sniper answers with a grin. Keith is young enough that they feel bad for teasing him, but not that bad. Feeling competitive puts them in a good mood, a welcome break from frustration. "Good so far. Turn left here; there's a real path by the river."

They could see how well Keith could do on some open ground. It wasn't surprising he was doing well so far; Keith was obviously a fighter. If Sniper's wrist wasn't still broken they would have already gotten a spar out of him.

[secondnature]

The good news is that Keith doesn't have to read any weird body language to see where Sniper is going. They're nice enough to just tell Keith where to turn, so he follows. Yes, he knows limited stuff thanks to being a part of the Garrison. Like how to take point. But most of the time people wave their hands around weirdly and he doesn't process it.

He's getting better ... but he's running. So, there's that.

"Do you plan on taking an apartment near this route?" he asks, not long after the turn. Keith would be happy not talking on this run, but he should ... ask. Yes.

[deicider]

Yeah it hadn't escaped Sniper's notice that Keith was sort of awkward. It was cute, especially when he was obviously trying to work past it. Sniper, who had trained themself to deal with every sort of ill-socialized personality under the sun with a gentle and sunny disposition, appreciated the self-awareness and effort that took.

"Waaay too expensive," they reply. Sniper was very confident in their ability to make money, but the more time passed with no break in the mystery of their appearance in this world, the more sure they were going to be here for a long haul. They'd need money. For bribes, for travel, money to make more money. The prospect of living lean didn't bother them, not when there was a war back home that needed them.

They flick a glance over at Keith, wondering if there was more weight to the question. The prospect of a roommate ad occurred to them, too. And Keith wouldn't mind them moving their stashed rifles in with them, they were pretty sure "How about you? Moving out soon?"

[secondnature]

If only there had been more meat to it. Keith is about as good at small talk as he is at anything else that involves socialization: very poor. He gets impatient when it goes on for too long, hoping that the other person would get to the point.

And here he is, just asking a question without any real point.

Well, it would be nice to know where everyone's living.

"I'm moving out with Ciri. Neither of us have looked for an apartment before—so I guess we're gonna figure it out. Together." His brows furrow, even if he keeps up his pace. He doesn't sound out of breath in the least.

"I don't think I'd like it anywhere here. In the city, that is. If we're here long term, do you ever plan on branching out?"

[deicider]

Oh, well. They could ask later if they were looking for a third later if nothing else came up. They didn't know Ciri but they were capable of getting along with basically anyone, and they were used to living with a house full of cantankerous siblings. It would take a lot for a roommate annoy them.

"I've been looking at a few places; I can send you the info. I'm going to stay wherever the leads are." The leads as to whoever brought them here. There was no need to be more specific, especially not in public. "Where else would you go? Space?"

[secondnature]

"I guess I'd like to. I don't want to live on a colony, though. It wouldn't be any different from being down here, just—it'd just be a different location." Keith's wanderlust meant that he'd always like to go through the stars. When it came to landing a job, he tried to figure out whether he could nail down the credentials to be a shuttle driver. But if he's doing that, he can't be here. It's not like he has a lion that can go through space at top speed and get everyone where they need to go.

"And if not that, then somewhere quiet. Maybe there's a city that's more trees than people." He ... doubts it, though.

[deicider]

The look Sniper gives him is sympathetic. Neither of them belonged in this world. They didn't know much about Keith beyond he was a pilot of a giant robot lion, but that was enough to know Keith had been pulled away from some vital work, a purpose, just like Sniper. And now they were forced to work up from the absolute bottom.

"There's got to be something. Environmental outposts, farms, transport between the cities." How much they could get on Morningstar's backgrounds was the barrier. Sniper had done well finding a job, but well. It was still far below their skill level.

The conversation was starting to lead into the frustrating circles that Sniper appreciated not having to think about while they were training, but luckily they were at the jogging path now. Sniper grins over at Keith. "Ready to go a little faster?"

They don't actually wait but start pushing to a gentle sprint. It's not very fast, but not as amenable to conversation.

And they keep up that exact pace for the next half hour.

[secondnature]

Unlike Sniper, Keith isn't an Olympic athlete. He's trained all his life for his own sake. Keeping up should be difficult, but the desire to stop talking is strong. He doesn't like to talk too much. Running, sprinting along a path like this, is almost a needed form of release. It's not just that he's been pulled away from important business. Now that he's here, he doesn't have anything to fight for—at least not right away. Lacking that grasp on this world is hard for him.

He's likely more fatigued in appearance when the half hour run ends, bringing them to a waterfront part of the city that's near the financial district. There are benches nearby, and Keith drops onto one, sweat dripping down his face. He uses his sleeve to wipe it off, pushing the short strands of black hair back.

Even though Keith's heard countless times that his hair is bad when it's longer, he misses it. A lot. He intends to let it grow into the length he prefers.

He drapes an arm over the back of the bench, closing his eyes as he catches his breath. "What were you doing back home again?" he asks, even if it might be rude to ask while his eyes are closed. He'll get his energy back soon.

Free lunch

[selfimage]

It's where Loki has been spending much of his time, aside from gallivanting across the city and making himself familiar with the nooks and crannies of its underside. This is the most hipster-y place that he's found, and thus it earns most of his free moments. There are a few things that are obvious about Loki, and one is that he most certainly doesn't like to be boxed in, literally or figuratively.

"Aren't you a charmer?" It's a playful little jab, but Loki's here for food all the same. "What's the occasion?"

Re: Free lunch

[deicider]

Sniper had been spending their time more industriously. A job, an advance on their paycheck; Sniper had always been adept at making things happen. They pay the vendor and turn to Loki, smiling up at him. "I'm celebrating having money." and then, teasing back, "This better not spoil your appetite for a good, home-cooked meal."

But this probably wasn't Loki's first taste of the local fare; Loki seemed to be adapting himself, with the new clothes and the scarce hours at the safe house. Sniper didn't know if that meant he had found a job or if he was, like Sniper, simply good at getting what he needed. They peer up at him as they start heading toward the river. "How about you? Get a job yet?"

Yeah they were definitely curious about what a god of chaos would seek out for gainful employment.

[selfimage]

Loki wasn't terribly shabby at cooking when he was around; he was far better at it than anyone expected him to be, but he always like twisting around those expectations into something workable.

"As if my appetite is ever spoiled." It's said mostly to himself as he unwraps the (most likely biodegradable) plastic-like cover over the corner of his dumplings.

"Hm?" he got distracted by food. "Ah—well, something like that. I have options to consider." Currently planning out how to make coin off Thor's biceps is a pretty high up on those options. "What the middle realms calls the interview process is intense."

But there's an edge that says he likes it. He likes games.

[deicider]

"Really? Mine felt pretty normal." Not that Sniper had much basis for comparison. Having been famous since they were two, this recent job interview had been their first. Still, they wouldn't expect Loki to have a problem talking their way into anything. "Your 'options' must be something."

[selfimage]

No, certain challenges and firsts were always one of Loki's high points. He hadn't moved into the mortal realms post his own [second? first?] rebirth simply to skate by.

"Options or opportunity, I suppose—some nameless, large Midgardian corporation, just like back home. Ah, if we're to stay in this universe for the time being, I would know of it." He's squeezing one of the dumplings between dark nails. "I take it you found a place of employment?"

[deicider]

"Sounds fun," They say, tone implying it does not. They have confidence Loki can eke his own kind of enjoyment out of it, but they can't really fathom how. A pause as they chew one of their own dumplings, nodding. "I just need a place to live now, but the market sucks. Like everything else in this dump."

It was really difficult to find anything to like when compared to their own world, this one had screwed up so badly humans were forced to live and work and die in conditions their own world had left behind hundreds of years ago.

[selfimage]

For Loki, anything that has the potential of being a game could be fun. He'll do good in corporate, and he knows he will.

"They never really did grow out of it, did they? It seems like it just got worse." It's not hard to get his implication. "The shelters from the attack are flooded, while others were relocated to more comfortable accommodations."

A dumpling gets tossed in his mouth and he chews, tactlessly talking with his mouth full.

"Housing is ... advanced, but the locations poor. I know, I've looked."

[deicider]

Sniper watches Loki out of the corner of their eye. Loki's godhood wasn't something they ever forgot about, but he was so much less weird than anyone god-adjacent Sniper had encountered before the implications of that godhood
sometimes escaped them. Some time they'd have to sit down and pick Loki's brain about his perspective on humanity.

But not right now. Sniper shrugs "They could have done better. Could still." And then moves back to practical matters: "Are you planning on living with Thor? I'm looking for a roommate."

morning run

[saviorexe]

The human body doesn’t just stay in shape.

Markus knows that it requires a diligent amount of effort to remain that way, requiring far more time and commitment to the body than he ever had to consider back home. But now housed in a cage of inconvenient flesh, he's wise enough to not shirk his duty to it — begrudgingly, maybe, in a way he keeps to himself. But necessary all the same, and that includes a careful diet, a conscious awareness, and even the self-flagellating habit of an ungodly early morning run.

He actually finds Sniper at the start of one such outing, the air crisp and the sun not quite yet burgeoning over the horizon like a lazy giant. Their words make Markus’ lips quirk into a skewed grin, barely seen in the hazy dark.

“Tell that to these lungs.”

These, not his. Claiming ownership is still difficult. The disconnect remains.

“But I won’t say no."

[deicider]

Sniper, in the middle of a stretch, turns their face up to smile, perfectly cheerful despite the early hour. "I'll take it easy on you." Most people would take that as a joke coming from someone barely over five feet and a hundred pounds, but it sounded like Markus was aware of his own limitations. They appreciate that.

Finishing their stretch, they offer a hand out. "We haven't officially met. I'm Ojiro." Ojiro Juniper. The surname was borrowed from one of their siblings; It had a nice, cute ring to it unlike 'Ojiro Sniper'.

[saviorexe]

Markus knows that whatever limitations this body is riddled with, they’re probably more restrictive than what he once knew. A few days’ worth of morning runs has cemented this truth, though he can get better — he can improve. That much, he’s sure.

And he won’t decline an introduction. Markus extends his own hand to complete the shake, offering his name plainly in response. “Markus. Good to meet you. I’m one of the newer faces.”

Newly kidnapped from his world, but that doesn’t need to be said.

“I'm willing to follow your lead, if you have a route you'd prefer to take."

[deicider]

A frown flits across Sniper's face. In the brief touch of their hands, Markus can probably feel it: frustration across Sniper's otherwise calm, curious mind. Gone as quickly as their frown, swept away by focus. No, kidnapped didn't need to be said at all. On the one hand the appearance of more of... whatever their group could call itself... was great; the more active their kidnappers, the easier they'd be to catch. Eventually some pattern would come to light, about their targets, their goals...

But meanwhile every morning that Sniper woke up and remembered they weren't in their own world felt awful. They didn't want to wish that on anyone.

Running helped clear their mind of that helpless frustration. They're quick to drop into a light jog and gesture Markus to follow once the handshake is done, heading toward the river at the center of the city. After they've had time to settle into the pace, they glance over at Markus. "So what's our home like?"

Talking and running will be good practice for his lungs.

[saviorexe]

The frustration bites into him, gnawing with blunt teeth; shared emotion that still threatens a jolt of surprise to sluice through his body. But it’s buffered by something of his own. Partly an understanding, his personal frustrations at being misplaced and changed. And partly the fact that his own emotions will meet Sniper’s halfway, an ingrained, determined sort of calm that will create an impasse when they collide — the blessed result of neither party being too overwhelmed by the other.

No time for it, anyway. The other is starting with a light jog, and Markus uses the opportunity to shake aside the sensation by kicking his own body into gear. He does well enough at first, of course; there’s a fluidity to him that belies the way he pointedly feels the jostle of leg bones when the heel of a running shoe strikes the pavement. Heart rate slowly ratcheting up to meet the increased activity.

Breath meant to be conversed for running, apparently to be used for conversation, now — but he doesn’t mind it. Markus keeps his view pressed ahead as he speaks.

“That depends on who you ask.”

Not much of an answer, but a few paces later and he provides more.

“City life. Big. Busy. Demanding — like this one, but a few centuries behind."

[deicider]

"What did you do?"

Sniper's eyeing him curiously as they run. Reading the way someone moved their body was a natural form of communication as any other to Sniper; in the course of their various careers, they'd had to learn to read people very well. Markus doesn't seem unsuited to running, but there's something a bit—weird? It piques their curiosity.

But their curiosity had a practical edge. So far no obvious commonalities between the kidnapped group had surfaced. But surely something would come up, if they could just find the right detail. Markus might have it, or not.

[saviorexe]

Markus decides not to answer immediately. It’s a subject that’s delicate in this world, one where he should keep the circumstances about himself tightly wrapped up unless something too “incriminating” falls out — but at the same time, there was no shame regarding who he is; there never will be. The silence that settles between them for a few long seconds, Markus focusing on the tempo of his stride, isn’t due to awkwardness, but rather careful consideration.

“I was a caregiver for a time,” he spares enough breath to reply. “For a prominent, elderly artist.”

[deicider]

Yeah, that was a suspiciously long pause. Sniper doesn't hold it against him. They wouldn't be able to give easy, honest answers about their life either. Nobody trusts an assassin, regardless of the circumstances.

The answer is... unexpectedly benign. Sniper believes him, but there's a lot of blank space around that concise answer. They want to press harder now, shake something more useful out of him, but it was better to respect Markus's caution. "That sounds nice. What sort of art did he do?"