meadowlarklogs

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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.

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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?"

"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.

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.

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.

Sniper drops into some light stretching. They're breathing harder than they should be by their own standards, but don't seem any worse off than if they'd just been on a ten minute jog. Speed wasn't a natural talent for them and even in top form they just weren't fast. Endurance, though—that was what netted them three medals. Endurance cultivated over a lifetime didn't disappear over just a few months.

But most people didn't need that much stamina, even a career soldier. So they don't tease Keith too badly, mouth lightly quirked when they answer. "I was a professional athlete. Olympic Pentathlon."

'Among other things' left unsaid. Keith knew Sniper could use a rifle.

"I get it." Keith's a soldier. He's always wanted to fight, always wanted to push himself. Endurance is something he has out of necessity—out of pure stubbornness—but it doesn't mean he's good at pacing himself. If anything, pace—and therefore patience—is something that he continues to struggle with. Even now. "I see it, even. Not even any of the guys back at the Garrison could run like that." Except Shiro, but Shiro had his own reasons for needing to keep up.

"That's where I went to school. Where I trained. A lot of guys wanted to prove themselves." A beat, as he leans forward, a smile coming over his lips. "But I was always better." That smile? Yes, it's more of a smirk. He's bragging a little, even if he failed at this particular "endurance" game. It happens.

Sniper accepts the compliment with a smile. They're used to being flattered, but the sincerity is obvious, and it means something that Keith is a soldier, too.

"Is that why you got the robot lion?" They're teasing, a bit. A giant robot lion sounds really ridiculous. But it's a serious question; given the last few months of surprises, Sniper wasn't in a position to doubt weird stuff being real.

"No. But I don't think you'd believe how that actually happened." Keith reading someone's tone is always a fifty-fifty kind of situation. Will he read it correctly or will he wildly misinterpret it?

In this case, he can tell exactly what Sniper is getting at.

"Or anything about me that has to do with it." After Akane went on about how aliens are weird and wild, anyway.

Sniper quirks an eyebrow at him. "I just got kidnapped into an alternate timeline Earth where humans blew it big time, and I had some glowing blue stuff shoved into my chest that makes me feel things when I touch other people with glowing blue stuff in their chest."

In other words: "I'm really open to considering possibilities right now."

Nevermind all the bizarre stuff that had gone down in their own world, gods and miracles.

"Solid point." Keith drags out the syllables a bit, as Sniper makes it abundantly clear that they'd believe how Keith ended up in the Blue lion heading through a wormhole to the other side of space. With Lance piloting. Terribly.

"I felt some energy calling out to me, so I followed it, and eventually led some other people to that energy. That's how we found the first part of Voltron." He leaves it at that, just to make sure it's not too much to swallow. It very easily could be.

They're following so far, looking curious. "Why was the energy calling to you?"

It's not said like they're dubious. They were simply curious if Keith would call it fate.

No, Keith is too grounded in reality to call it that. Besides, he knows that the lions are living creatures.

"I'm not sure," he says. "Maybe it's because my mom was looking after the lion when I was younger. It knew I was out there and called to me. The lions are capable of some pretty amazing things on their own."

"You make it sound like the lion has some kind of sentience." Again, not disbelieving, but very curious.

"That's because it does. The lions are alive, in their own way. They have their own quintessence." It's hard to explain. "Which is, uh. A life energy. We all have it, even you and me."

"Interesting." Said like they meant it, not that they were doubting it. Sniper had more questions, but didn't want to bog down Keith's momentum. They'd ask later. "Keep going."

"Anyway, so I'm not the only one who picked up signals, only some of them were just radio chatter. Me and three other cadets from the Garrison ended up at a landing site, and that's where we found my old friend. Shiro." He lets that hang in the air, though there's a sense to him that changes: he misses Shiro a lot. He's worried about him, especially since Shiro wasn't exactly in great shape before Keith left. It's hard not to worry.

He presses on, picking up again. "And then we went out and found the Blue Lion. The one that was calling to me. It wasn't meant for me to pilot, though. That was Lance, and we all got in ... and ended up on the other side of the universe. It wasn't long after that we got our own lions, and started to form a larger robot with them by the name of Voltron."

It's a lot to swallow, but that's where he came from. That's what he does.

"I'm the head of the team back home. Now, anyway." He doesn't say it like he's bragging. He's not. If anything, Keith still feels like he doesn't give off that leaderly disposition. He never will.

"And what does your team do?" No disbelief on Sniper's face, just thoughtfulness. Their sympathy really is with Keith; they're certain whatever he was doing was important work. You don't use a giant robot just for fun though it did sound totally amazing and was probably a lot of fun.

"We're fighting to take back the universe from a race of aliens called the Galra." Some people here have just assumed Keith is human, so would Sniper assume the same? Keith doesn't make a thing of it right now. His issues with being Galran are in the past, pushed aside so that he can look forward. He knows there are good Galra, so that's what matters.

"Obviously, we can't do it alone. We've formed a coalition, and we're heading back to home—Earth, just a different one from this one or most other people's—to try to stop them. It's a war. The problem is, it's kinda hard to just ... step away from a war without worrying about that. Especially since I—uh. I'm the only one who can pilot my lion. It's a special bond." Keith could never ask Shiro to step up into his shoes again, especially not in the condition he's in right now.

Half-alien isn't what jumps to Sniper's mind, but the information is impressive nonetheless. Keith says it so casually but there are a lot of people back home who would absolutely freak out to have confirmation of alien life. Sniper's not unaffected by the news either but it matters less to them. Not their area, and they wouldn't be around much longer in the future of their own world.

War, though was an immediate commonality. They frown in sympathy. "I know the feeling. You must be dying to get back home."

"We'll get home." We, as if he says it without a single ounce of doubt. Keith can't contemplate a reality where he doesn't get back. It's not selfishness. Pragmatism means that he has to believe that they can move on and fight without him. He just—he wants to believe he has to get back. Some part of him is no longer burdened by the pessimism and negativity that defined his early life.

It's like a weight's been lifted.

"We've just got to hold it together until then. That's all."

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