TDM #28

[duplicitymods]

« « « TEST DRIVE MEME » » »

« « « ALL ON DISPLAY

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It's discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit. Yet, solace is found in the lies we tell each other, comforted by the peace of knowing that we're not alone in our depravity, and once on this path, sin itself becomes the lesser of two evils masked in a cloud of normalcy. This is how Duplicity has functioned since the beginning. The divide of power and social standing is overt in that Dominants influence the decisions made both publicly and privately while Submissives cater to the rules presented to them. It is the way of Duplicity to assign random designations at birth with no leeway in altering what has been given. Climate in the Up is far stricter than that of the Down; violating outlined personas for a Dominant or Submissive while in full view of others is punished by degree of infraction. In the Down, many tend to turn a blind eye to these sorts of offenses. To counteract the discovery of the deceit gene – a natural "negative" response to all stimuli – the LIEs program was founded. The program had been designed to introduce new subjects to the current environment and test for the deceit gene through immersion in Duplicity's standing society. Sexual impulses and encounters increase the chances of detecting the gene within these individuals. Participants are typically released from LIEs after a year; however, results have remained unsatisfactory and testing still continues. ... and you're here! Finally! Welcome to Duplicity. After choosing a door and stepping through to the other side, the first thing that greets you are the enthusiastic faces of people in medical scrubs and pristine lab coats. Their enthusiasm translates to eagerness as they strip you of your clothes to perform a thorough examination—you will be healed, bathed, and given a paper gown to wear until your items can be processed and delivered to your residence later in the evening. You are also given a device that accesses the network as well as the time and location of Orientation. If you enter Duplicity into the Up, congratulations! You're a Dominant, which means you are immediately picked up by a limo after processing and taken to your high-rise. Here, it is two Dominants per floor with separate apartments. If you enter Duplicity into the Down, congratulations! You're a Submissive, which means you are directed towards public transportation with the address of the motel you'll be living in. Here, it is two Submissives per room with a shared common space for all rooms. Enjoy your free time until Orientation! Participation is mandatory for all new and past arrivals. Skies are clear and the weather is warm.

» » » ALL ABOARD

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After stepping through the door and participating in Orientation, LIERs are assembled together in the Up for a tour of Duplicity in its entirety. Seats are in pairs and randomly assigned to Dominants and Submissives alike. Traveling from Fiddler's Square, the train journeys through various parts of the Up, showcasing society and examples of lifestyle. Along the way, frequent stops are made; a variety of passengers can be seen exiting and entering the doors. A Dominant with a kneeling Submissive takes a seat near the front of the train at one stop. A small group of Submissives board and sit closer to the LIERs at another, all seemingly content in their roles. As the tour continues through the Up, the train passes close to the Market and White Wall Bridge and zips by North Park before heading into the Down and bypassing Red Wall Bridge and South Park. The train makes a "final" stop at Riddler's Square, where inhabitants of the Down are instructed to return to their temporary housing. Those who live in the Up are permitted to stay on the train and revisit the same locations while returning.

« « « TREAT YOURSELF

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(cw: aphrodisiacs, dubcon, taboos, potential cheating, jealousy, foodplay) A powdery dusting of snow covers the Up and the native merchants of Duplicity have returned with a new round of offerings at the annual winter market, everything from normal drinks and treats to items with a spicier flair. Strings of light criss-cross the square, providing a cheerful glow against winter overcast and the cold nights. Booths selling everything from knitted scarves, caps, and mittens to colorful bondage gear and winter themed sex toys are arranged in neat, easy to navigate rows. The most popular foods and beverages this year include: Cinnamon and Chili Hot Chocolate - A few sips will get you craving something you'd normally find forbidden but enticing. Coffee Grog with Brandy - This drink will make you want an evening by the fire with someone you think you could learn to love, inspiring cozy feelings and warmth. Candy Cane Cocktail - You'll need something long and hard all night long. Take that how you will. Custard, Hazelnut, or Jelly filled Doughnuts - I cream, you cream, we all cream for custard filling! Hazelnut filling inspires foodplay. Watch out for the jelly. You jelly? You will be. Snowflake Mini Waffles - You'll crave multiple partners either serially or all together, and you want to catch as many as you can before it wears off. The more the merrier! Gingerbread Bread Pudding - Sweet as molasses, you'll want to take your time and worship your partner's body, every delicious inch. Effects can last anywhere from an hour or two up to a full day. If you feel the need to work off some of the treats, there's a small ice skating rink set up with music and colored light snowflake patterns dancing across the ice. Grab a partner and show off your skills or take a header into the ice. No one saw that, right?

« « « LUCKY YOU (IN BED)

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(cw: bring your own kink) A large, brightly colored tent stands proudly in the middle of the winter market advertising tea and fortunes. The interior of the tent is heated by several tall gas heaters interspersed among tea tables. Each table contains a samovar and several cups for self serving piping hot tea after you draw your fortune from the large box at the center of the tent. There's a catch. Any fortune can be good or bad, depending upon if you fulfill it in bed by sunrise the following morning, with a proper designation partner of course. Dominants can pair with Submissives, Submissives with Dominants or Submissives. The wording of the fortunes may leave things open to interpretation. Creativity is never discouraged. Share a pot of tea with other LIERs while discussing your fortunes and see if you can find a partner willing to help you out or arrange some mutual aid. Small donations are encouraged on offering plates around the box.

« « « NORTHERN LIGHTS

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(cw: uncensored thought sharing/telepathy) The natives of Duplicity have started hurrying home as early as possible in the afternoons unless they know they're guaranteed not to catch a glimpse of the night sky. When the cloud cover isn't hanging low, a rare phenomenon flashes across the dark skies of Duplicity, waving curtains of light in shades of green, purple, and sometimes even red. Regardless of the color of the beautiful display, anyone standing too close together will suddenly hear the uncensored thoughts of the person nearest to them. The lights have a dazzling effect that can take up to two hours to shake off. It's impossible to move for at least a few minutes. Even if you're normally impervious to mind reading, something about the lights allows anyone nearby inside your head. Now might be the time to brush up on your mantras or cultivate a catchy ear worm. These uncensored thoughts can be transmitted as not only words (singular or full sentences) but images as well. The phenomenon in the sky itself lasts well into the night, disappearing entirely when dawn begins to approach.

« « « MOD & OOC NOTES

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Please read carefully. On each Test Drive Meme, there will be a section noting character roles; these will vary each TDM. On an IC level, characters will still have gone through the doors but the assignments are OOCly randomized. When applying, there is a section of the application that denotes whether the character chooses "left" or "right." When participating on the TDM, there will be a third option. Players may link either a top level or a thread (five or more comments from their character) from the TDM and title the link as "Door Pass." This means that the player is choosing to take the designation that they were randomly assigned on the TDM, rather than taking the designation of a door. If the player decides to select a door rather than use the pass, then they are trying their luck; they may get the same designation they had on the TDM or the opposite. Once the application is submitted, players can't change their choice. To assign roles to characters for this TDM, use the following guide: If your character is more of a thinker, they are a Dominant. If your character is more of a doer, they are a Submissive. To Note: Characters can only swap their designation for one of the following reasons: an event occurs that allows it or there are OOC reasons that make it a necessity. Any swap always requires mod approval and each character can only ever switch once. Characters that are being reapped will keep their previous designation but players can choose to use new TDMs with different designations for fun! Test Drive threads can be used as activity proofs for characters currently in-game. Please remember to mark any necessary content, and have fun!!

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» » » MAIN NAVIGATION « « «

Comments

Cpt. Francis Crozier | The Terror | Dominant

[deliriumtremens]

» » » ALL ABOARD (for new submissives)
[ The drudgery of orientation had been nothing less than a foggy trip through a fever dream. One which Crozier continues picking through its remains on the train, bone by bone, until thoroughly clean.

In spite of the hard metal and bare interior of the train—more fit for cargo than people in his opinion—Crozier has found firmer ground to stand on with every succeeding stop on the line. He watches those who embark and disembark from this compartment. And what he has discovered is that people are people, whether in a dream or hallucination, Heaven or Hell. Jackasses remain a constant. They are more insidious in England, hiding behind standards of civility that befit a gentleman. Here, well, the class distinct is brutally forthright. Strange to be in the first class.

Case in point, a new one, bare in only a paper dressing gown, moves away from what they have been told is first-class seating with a few foul words. ]

You all right?

[ This man, a Dominant by the lack of a line down his throat and proper clothing, is an older man, mid-to-late-fifties and an Irish accent. If it's a woman, he will be offering his navy blue officer's coat. ]


» » » TREAT YOURSELF
[ If you had asked him yesterday, Crozier might have been oversure enough to convince anyone that, after forty years sailing in Her Majesty's Royal Navy, there's nothing any man could do that would surprise him on deck or in port.

After the third young submissive passes through a throng of marketers naked in an animal's harness and bridle with a phallic gag in their mouths clearly for sexual satisfaction, he must retract that. Shocked, but not offended. He's more concerned for their chilly hands and feet, and bare bosom. Hell, Crozier would prefer never to be chilled to the bone again. Thankfully, this is nothing. He's left most of his layers at the tenement, save for his Arctic outerwear. Not his uniform; he's not a Captain here. Not even an officer.

Perhaps that should sour his stomach, but not today. The anonymity is comforting in some ways. The warm drink between his hands just as much. These vendors will be sorry for the free handouts when they learn just how much he can drink. ]


» » » LUCKY YOU (IN BED)
Your shoes will make you happy today.

[ A warm chuff comes out of Crozier when he reads the paper slip. Perhaps it speaks true for the fortune-teller who made it than a common Irishman might understand. Or, more likely, it is utter horse shite. But if it's the price he must pay to spend his time warm with piping hot tea and a calmer crowd, then he will duly act the martyr.

Should anyone come sit at his table, he may offer an attempt at conversation. ]

And you? [ He leans forward, bracing his forearm of the table just beside his fortune. ] What... great future have you pulled?

Lucky You

[fortitudosalutis]

[ These things happen on a predictable schedule. It's come time for the newbies to start showing up, wide-eyed and a little dazed by whatever shit they survived before - or didn't - and so Carver heads out to do his rounds. Searching for familiar faces, enemy and family alike, listening for voices he's heard over radios or shouted out to him in the past. One day he might get lucky. One day he might find someone who knows him down to the marrow - or an enemy who needs to be put down.

So, he makes the rounds. He does it dutifully every time, just in case. And today he even gets himself some tea, sitting across from a strange just to see what happens. Older white guy, quiet way of speaking.

Carver cants his head. Watching him intently - always watching. Like always, he's dressed in his uniform blacks - layered, close to armor, close to a uniform, though not one most people here would understand. He doesn't bother hiding the knife sheathed at his hip, or the line printed stark on his throat. One was a choice. The other just happened. ]

Let the deeds speak. That could mean pretty much anything, don't you think?

[deliriumtremens]

[ Crozier hums in agreement, light blue eyes flitting over the younger man in wordless consideration. If he considers him a threat, he shows no indication. Instead, he carries on with the conversation. ]

Certainly more pragmatic. [ His hand picks up his fortune again to get the words just right. ] Apparently, my "shoes will make me happy today." I continue to reserve my judgment on that.

[ He takes another careful sip of his steaming tea. ]

[fortitudosalutis]

[ Cool customer, isn’t he? Carver watches him silently, taking in what he sees. What it says, what it doesn’t. Man holds himself well—not tense, but alert without getting twitchy about it. He thinks unbidden of Pope, and Carver misses him and doesn’t all at once.

He puts those thoughts away in a box, and locks that away. It doesn’t matter now.

Carver shrugs. He holds the cup loosely in hand and doesn’t drink. His gloves are armored, but that’s just a detail. ]

Guess it depends what you did to get them.

[ His own were a gift. But before that, he wore a pair he took from a dead man. So it goes. ]

You new?

Treat Yourself (don’t mind me CASUALLY SCREAMING ABOUT THIS)

[shavedaway]

[ Time and distance are a funny thing. It has been over a year from the day that Thomas Jopson slipped out of consciousness and into his death, into Duplicity, from the endless expanse of ice and shale. It has even over a year since he had to come to terms with his own abandonment, and the deep gulf of shattered trust. It has been a long, tangled, complicated year. He thinks, by now, that he has mostly recovered. He is hale, he is healthy, he is loved. He has, he thinks, conquered that gulf between himself and his ability to trust again.

Of course, the reality of ones traumas is always worlds away from how one imagines them to be. Hickey’s arrival had felt like a noose around his neck, Irving’s like being struck by a steam engine. The gap of time between Irving and Tozer had made Tozer’s arrival a more muted, reflective thing. But there is no God in Heaven who could prepare Thomas Jopson for the ghost of Francis Crozier.

He spots him immediately when he turns the corner with a bag of shopping slung over his shoulder. His gaze finds itself locked, magnetically attached to the one person who could take the air out of an open sky. The blood drains from his face, and the people jostling past him become shadows of no import. Suddenly, with an intensity he hasn’t felt in many months, Thomas is back on the ice, and Crozier is just out of reach. He isn’t out of reach, he is right there, but the reality blurs with the memory, and Thomas is glued to the spot, staring, frozen to the bone and dying all over again. He can’t move, he can barely breath for the sight of him, the man who built him up and broke him into pieces. He just stares. ]

[deliriumtremens]

[ The world might well be magicked the way time slows down between them. It's out the corner of his eye that he spots a man staring at him. A long face, light eyes wide and haunted like they are seeing a ghost. It's an acceptable assessment; they both are.

It sobers the amused smirk on his face, paling his ruddy face, and Crozier launches himself forward without hesitancy. No one else got the message between the two, though. Every step forward is hindered by fixated marketers on everything but Crozier and Jopson. Each one is carefully moved out of the way, or outright shoved as he grows closer and closer to his goal—to stand in front of a friend and a missed companion that he irrefutably failed.

And now, less than a metre apart, he drops his hands onto the young man's shoulders. His shock finally warms up to a chuckle, then a laugh, loud and pleasantly surprised. ]

I never encouraged thoughts that this was Heaven, but I can't imagine you in Hell, either.

[shavedaway]

[ Thomas has imagined what he might do or say if Crozier ever arrived in this place. He's gone over it again, and again, and again, and then he stopped going over it, because too much time had passed for it to ever feel like a reality. Not but a month ago, he had written Francis Crozier's name onto a strip of paper and tossed him into a bloody bonfire, a symbolic letting go of the anchor that was dragging him down into the sea. It feels almost like he summoned a specter in doing so, or brought down upon himself some heavenly punishment for humoring the thought of letting this man go.

So the weight of Crozier's hand lands on his shoulder, and when he chuckles, laughs, smiles so warmly Thomas doesn't know what to say. The hurt dries up on his tongue. What can he say, exactly? You abandoned me? You left me to die? You said you wouldn't, you made me believe that I mattered to you? I trusted you above all others? I've realized now that I was hopelessly in love with you, and for what exactly? He can't say any of that, because somehow he still carries that affection, and it blossoms under Crozier's attention.

Instead, he says, after a moment's pause while he searches for words: ]

We've seen Hell, Sir. This is not it. Not by any measure. You're safe here.

[ Relatively speaking, but far safer than where they were previously. ]

treat yoself / sry this is deeply unhinged

[calicoat]

[ He’s got more sense than his subordinates did, choosing not to wear his uniform out and about. A long time ago, nearly a year now, the pirate captain, Jack Rackham, made a promise to a dubiously skilled caulker’s mate, which at that time he had every intention of keeping, that he would kill the Navy captain, Francis Crozier, if he ever showed his face here. And then, because Duplicity’s sorcery would only bring him back, he’d promised to kill him again, and again, once for every lash, or until “Cornelius Hickey” tired of the theater of it.

It’s not a promise that Jack’s thought about for many months, not since he and Hickey’s falling out. It’s not one that he’s likely to be held to, or that would even be wise to carry out, given how drastically his own circumstances have changed, but it was a promise. Even if it weren’t, frankly, it would be a knee-jerk reaction, the natural way of things. You find an opportunity to get one over on Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, you take it.

Last time he told himself that, he ended up with a Navy man in his bed, and he hasn’t left it, to this day. So perhaps all this time in Duplicity has adjusted his thinking, soothed him, in some way. ]

I wouldn’t drink that. [ Says the flamboyantly dressed man holding a thermos full of untainted coffee and perusing a booth selling knitted hats, eyes flicking briefly between Crozier’s and the cup in his hand. Jack hasn’t seen him, and he makes it a point to keep himself informed about other LIERs, especially those from “pre-modern” eras such as himself. So, probably new. ] It’ll have you on your knees in no time, begging passerby to fuck your throat.

[deliriumtremens]

[ He is hard pressed keeping his face neutral. One curious eyebrow raises at the crass warning, unsure whether this information is nothing but a prank or a misguided warning from a paranoid man. The truth is the third explanation.

But an Irish coffee is not worth the public display of hedonism that this younger man describes. ]

Is that why you have an entire urn of it in your possession?

[ It wasn't meant to be as crude as it sounds, but Crozier won't apologize for it. ]

[calicoat]

[ He doesn’t look crazy, if it’s any consolation to Crozier. Unless those contoured sideburns or his are worth pathologizing. ]

I’ve brought this from home, thank you.

[ Jack says, with a chuckle. Crude and lewd don’t bother him, he was desensitized to all of that long before he set his first foot in Duplicity. Most sailors are, but his sort, especially. ]

Dump that. I’ll pour you a spot of mine, fuck-drug free.

[ He speaks with an odd affectation, heightened and somewhat dramatic, with an accent that can only be described as ‘lapsed-Englishman’, a man who has tried very hard to abandon the mother country, but can’t quite shake her off entirely. It’s prone to sounding snarky, but not right now. Jack tries to start off kinder to those who seem out of time, as he put it when he opened up the Neptune. ]

Lucky You

[cryfrustration]

Adversity is the parent of virtue.

[With an amicable smile and a warm cup in his hands, Vrenille slides his fortune across the table, turned towards the fellow already seated there so he can read it.

His neck is likewise clean of any mark and he's dressed in comfortable, modern clothes--a peacoat, which he unbuttons, knit turtleneck jumper beneath, nicely tailored jeans. No hat, so his cheeks are a bit pink from the cool air outside and the flush of warmth within, but a pair of dove grey gloves that look incongruent--home knit and imperfect. He pulls them off as he sits, tucking them safely into a pocket like they're an item of great value.]

Optimistic of 'em, isn't it. [His accent is hard to place--not from anywhere in Great Britain, not American, but not precisely European either, and certainly not from the Middle or Far East.] Not sure it's always the case, but I'm gonna take it as a compliment.

[deliriumtremens]

It is certainly a positive spin on what hardship can do to a man.

[ Virtue is but one child of adversity. The majority are more sinister, insidious, and damaging. ]

[cryfrustration]

[Something about the tone of that, a certain reflectiveness perhaps, makes him cock his head, looking at the man across from him thoughtfully.] Spoken like a guy who's seen its less positive results.

[Not that he's trying to pry, but he's interested in people, the ones who arrive here and where they've come from, so if he wants to elaborate, it's a tacit invitation.]

lucky you (but not in bed)

[rationalism]

[ grace's smile at the conversation starter is easy and soft, as gentle as the weak winter sunlight. ]

I hope it's a good one.

[ unwinding the paper slip, she clears her throat as if she is about to intone a dramatic reading of hamlet's act 3 soliloquy. ahem, ahem. ]

"You learn from your mistakes. You will learn a lot today." [ her expression goes wry, mouth pinched into a petulant moue even if she huffs a soft laugh. ] Well, that tracks, doesn't it? First mistake, unbridled optimism that I will like tea all of a sudden.

[deliriumtremens]

No tea at all? Not even with milk? Sugar?

[ He may not know this lady, but Crozier is already amused. Her flair for the dramatic is eye-catching. ]

[rationalism]

I keep trying it but maybe I'm too much of an uncultured American to really appreciate it? We are famously not really respectful to tea. Had a whole party about it.

[ splash, into the harbor the tea went all those years ago. that isn't going to stop grace from trying, after all she has an untouched cup, but she does think maybe it might have something to do with it. ]

I'm more of a coffee girl myself but I'm trying to broaden my horizons.

lucky you ( ... )

[extramuralise]

[ Crozier is dressed so plainly, so convincingly and near-to anonymously, that Irving almost doesn't even notice or recognize him among the bustling market crowds-- it's only by chance he happens to overhear that familiar Irish brogue lifting above the general din as he passes by the fortune teller's tent. Irving more or less derides things like fortune telling, and has therefore given the booth a very wide berth up until now, but now he draws his own fortune and pours some tea, half-frantic and half-hopeful at the prospect of seeing his captain again. Could it really be true? Or even possible?

"Optimists believe we live in the best of worlds and pessimists fear this is true," reads his own fortune. Funny, that, because Irving isn't sure anymore which one of the two that would make him.

He approaches carefully, speaking only once whichever stranger Crozier had been making conversation with first has finally moved on. ]

Sir. Are you-- [ He struggles to find the words, then simply sits down and knuckles his forehead respectfully. ] I-it's good to see you, sir. Despite our circumstances.

[deliriumtremens]

[ No one has wide, bright eyes like Lieutenant Irving. Seeing them now, unclouded and brimming with life again, it is overwhelming. ]

And you, John.

[ His face lifts with a warm grin when the younger man sits down at his table. ]

Although, what a place to find one another.

[ A hedonist's paradise. Crozier can only imagine how affected a pious man like Irving must be taking this. ]

[extramuralise]

[ Irving can't help but scoff in agreement (though anyone else would surely chuckle, instead), nodding quickly. Death, in itself, is nothing mysterious; eventually, any and every living thing must die, and in the year he's been here, Irving's often wondered if his quick, violent death might have actually been some sort of mercy. Not an intentional one, but still, better that, perhaps, than a slow, agonizing death from cold, from hunger, from scurvy rotting them from the inside out.

So then, maybe not. It hadn't been so quick that he'd felt no pain, no fear, no existential despair and panic in those final, frantic moments, and it had been cold. Lonely. Undignified. If he's grateful to Duplicity for anything, then being able to somehow (impossibly, unthinkably) see his crewmates again -- all the people with whom he was denied any proper goodbyes -- is certainly at the top of the list, even if he'd not actually ever wish this place upon any of them.

But it hasn't been... all bad, admittedly. He feels more hopeful in this moment, more pleased, seeing Crozier, than he feels subsumed with any religious angst. ]

What a place indeed. [ He manages a tight, rueful smile, cupping his tea in both hands. ] You've not suffered much for it, I should hope.

treat yourself

[mutinying]

[ God does not grant us ghosts, Hickey had heard once, but like everything else he's heard from men of God, it amounts to a lie. What else would Francis Crozier be here, but a ghost; dogging his heels just as that bear did with all of his — their — men, once.

He hasn't set eyes on him yet. Hickey thinks about ducking back into the crowd—but not for the first time, his curiosity gets the best of him. He has his knife in his pocket, if this goes south, but he doesn't know if he'll need it yet, or when this Crozier is from, which part of their story he's already seen come to pass.

Even so, he keeps his hand closed around its handle in his pocket as he draws close to Crozier's side, quiet enough so that he won't notice him until he speaks. ]

Suppose I'm not surprised to find you reaching for a drink here as easily as anywhere else, Captain.

[deliriumtremens]

[ And here he thought this city could not stoop any lower. The very sound of the young man's smarmy voice makes his heart beat faster and his blood boil. But he won't give the little bastard the satisfaction of watching him sweat. They're both beyond suffering here, beyond a ticking clock counting down to zero. He hopes that doesn't escape Hickey when he decided to instigate this meeting.

So, the hand around his cup remains relaxed, his round face set like stone against an opponent who would love nothing more than to force Crozier's hand and make a scene. ]

A hot cup of tea soothes the body, they say.

[ The light smile he's holding is a bored one, much like the one he held when Hickey was imitating him atop the gallows with a noose around his neck. If Crozier has his way, it'll return to its rightful place between his head and shoulders. ]

[mutinying]

Is soothing what you find that you need here? In a place like this.

[ He wonders, about his tastes. He always has; he had when Crozier had offered him a drink...god, a lifetime ago. An age. He studies his face, wondering what he remembers. He doesn't seem like he's drunk, nor does it seem like his anger at him is hot, like when he'd ordered him lashed. There's something cold in his face instead. ]

I used to always think we would meet here eventually. And then my thoughts changed. But here you are now.

[ In his mind, it would only ever have been as equals, not with Hickey here, with this line plain on his throat. But he supposes that the past has a habit of swallowing up the present. ]

all aboard!

[licksitup]

[ The orientation isn't any less disorienting when you're modern(-ish). One moment, he was asleep in a truck that he stole, and the next, he was awake in a city he'd never heard of, everything sleek and shiny and sexy.

Doesn't matter. Lee's spent the last four years drifting from one place to the next, he might as well drift around here. It might even be better, to be somewhere so completely different that he's not thinking about his sister, he's not thinking about Maren, he's not thinking about anything, except what to do next, how he's gonna get his next meal. Survival. ]

I'm...fine.

[ He's skinny, underneath the paper dressing gown. Doing what he's told, getting his bearing before he causes any trouble. Lee bites at a fingernail, and sits on the floor next to Crozier. It's what's expected of him, he's gathered. He feels out of time himself, but he'll probably feel modern and entirely foreign to a Victorian. The ends of his curly hair are dyed red, he's got stupid tattoos on his hand, an elephant, some crosses and squiggles on his knuckles. Looking around nervously, like any new Submissive probably would. ]

It okay if I sit here?

[deliriumtremens]

[ He's seen enough boys wet behind the ears in his line of work to read the signs of trepidation set behind a brave veneer—the chewing, the furtive glancing. Hard to blame him given his state of dress, his newfound status as a second-class citizen.

It's why he came over to him in the first place. To keep the jackals off of the young man the way no one had for him. He has to be better. ]

'course, son.

[ No one spares them a second glance now that Crozier stands beside him, one hand wrapped loosely around a steel pole to hold onto. ]

Did they leave you with any of your belongings?

[licksitup]

[ Depsite...well, the situation at hand, he doesn't usually turn to random older men for shields, but this one seems alright. He's not leering or sneering, and given everything, that's about as much as he can reasonably expect. Here he is, shivering on the train (more than a hundred years in Crozier's future, but it's still strange to him. they don't have a lot of this in Kentucky.) in a paper gown, like he's escaped from some hospital. Even the clothes he came in, that are supposed to be waiting for him at whatever shithole apartment they've assigned him, won't be a significant improvement. ]

Thanks.

[ Son. Lee makes an acknowledging sound, a sort of hum, not quite sure if he considers it condescending or soothing. ]

Got a pocket knife, and a few bucks I had on me when I showed up. You?

[ This man doesn't have a line on his neck. Maybe he'll have something more useful than a currency this place probably doesn't even take. ]