ximilia | text ↪ un: torontonian

yepperoni.

can't all play for the leafs.

the what

you talk so weird

hurtful!!

the leafs. i guess if ur not from my era on earth that would mean jack and shit to u.

sports team. play hockey. part of my cultural identity u know?

notoriously terrible but what can i say, i root for the underdog.

youre all from earth, huh
most of you

yeah i dont know it
forget it
probably wouldnt make sense anyway

tell me about the magic instead

i live on earth.

not from there tho. ✌️

my magic's called transmatting. or at least that's what i call it.

i can teleport. me, stuff. u know. as u do.

ok, so where are you from

teleportation? thats not what i expected
the only thing ive seen like that was technology
but it kinda worked like magic i guess

place called chinoon.

and yea i mean that's a common trope

'magic is just sufficiently advanced technology' or whatever it is. idr who came up with that. some author or whatever, idk. i've read like 2 books in my entire life and one was the bible LORD AMEN 🙏🙏🙏

never heard of it

[unsurprisingly, at this point]

just dont preach shit at me, i dont care about that stuff
can you show me? the 'transmatting' or whatever

u don't want to hear the word of my lord and saviour taylor swift??? smh i think that means we can't be friends.

sure

take a pic of wherever u are. and don't freak out when i pop in after.

we were never gonna be friends

[JUST TEAMMATES WITH A COMMON GOAL!! leave him alone weirdo

It's an outlandish request, but he's curious enough to test it. Cain leans against the wall where he's come to stop outside the infirmary—after finishing a checkup on the health of his healing midsection—so he takes a quick, snapshot image of the surrounding hallway. It takes a few moments despite the ease of technology, just because he's still getting accustomed to the earpiece.]

got it?

（ well, he's just not gonna take that personally.

but between one moment and the next and he just. appears, out of curling tendrils of violet-tinged darkness and crackles of an energy that give the impression of the cold immensity of space. there's something eldritch about it, and the smell in the air is like gunsmoke and some unidentifiable accompaniment. cy is midstep, and when his foot touches down there is a brief flare of the energy, and then it snaps off as abruptly as if a switch were flicked.

he's eating an apple in the most obnoxious manner one can possibly eat an apple, and he gives cain a jaunty little wink. ）

Magic enough for you, honey?

[It spooks him. Even anticipating it, enough of a shred of doubt remains to make Cain jolt backward, knocking his shoulder against the wall.]

Fuck, you just— [he cuts himself off,] I... holy shit. Ugh. [Okay, no. He wasn't prepared at all.] I didn't think it'd work. What the hell...

[Are you. Not only does the sudden act of appearing out of thin air rub all of Cain's nerves the wrong direction, it feels more ominous and otherworldly than that, a sense of dread incongruent to the ordinary conversation they were just having. This is a man, tall and by all accounts outwardly human. Struggling for the dregs of his composure—]

And it's Cain. Don't call me that.

（ cy gives the guy a bit of a knowing look, but he's not going to press the issue. instead, there's a faint shift to his body language. can't do anything about the height, but at least he can cut a less imposing figure, so — he slouches, free hand tucked into his slacks. shoulders sloped down. his shirt is violently hawaiian, hideous in a way that looks like he scrounged it out of karl lagerfield's fucking dumpster.

as for that apple? he eats it core and all.

(you never really forget what it's like to starve.) ）

Cy. Notable for also being the thing people do when they see me coming.

（ sigh, geddit? ）

[The shirt is atrocious, and yet Cain's eyes are glued to it in a morbid kind of fascination, because he's never seen colors so brightly patterned in his life. And the apple... actually, it looked good. He'll have to remember to go through the kitchen later; maybe it'll be better than the Sleipnir's cafeteria. Real fruit is a privilege disallowed Alliance soldiers, particularly fighters, and forget having it back home.

But first, this guy.]

Can you just do that with any picture? How? [He parts from the wall, moving closer like a wary cat to circle around Cy, expecting the trick to tell itself.] Where do you get the 'magic' from?

More or less.

（ it's harder that way. but the station is small, and he's already wandered around the whole of the place in riotous boredom not entirely unlike a stray cat himself. so he had a pretty good idea of where cain was by the picture alone. ）

Oh, I've got an ancient god stuck in my brain that I use like a really gnarly battery. Just juice that fucker up, bam, magic.

（ he says that with such irreverent flippancy it has the taste of an obvious lie. after a moment he laughs, and then: ）

Nah, I have no idea. It's been like that long as I can remember. I guess my parents, but that was a long time ago. I'm a lot older than I look. Magic users are a centuries not decades breed.

[Haha. Funny joke. He doesn't buy it for a second. ]

Wait, so how old are you? [Cain stops, leaning back, arms crossed over his chest—then dropped to hands on hips, wince badly masked as he agitates the injury concealed beneath bandages and clothes.] 'Cause you look... pretty young. Normal.

[This is all a bizarre situation, but he's beginning to suspect it is one he'll need to get used to. There are a lot of strange, unnatural people on the station, seemingly far more powerful than himself for the simple fact of that magic. A thought that sits uneasy now.]

Fuck, I need a cigarette. [Already patting down his pockets to fish one out.] This is too weird.

Uh, depends. What's your metric for a year?

（ look, some places are longer than others. some don't even bother with the concept at all. ）

I'd have to do a conversion. And fuck yeah, smoke away. I won't judge. But a word to the wise — if you see that fucking nannybot, run.

The what?

[Halfway through the act of perching the fresh cigarette between his lips, Cain glances up, bewildered.]

I mean, I smoked earlier in that nature room and nobody cared... [Or, he didn't get caught.] Is there a rule or something?

I mean, what's your gauge for a year where you're from? I could say I'm like, I don't know, twelve years old on Pluto but that'd still be insane for a person from Earth, you know? If you use Earth standard I'm over five hundred, though.

（ ... not technically unt...rue? ）

I don't think there's a rule, but that little fucking robot hates me.

（ it's not because of the smoking. it's because he's a slob. seriously no one should ever let this man cook. or eat. ）

Yeah. I get it. Earth standard is good enough. [Five hundred. His mind staggers over that number, briefly, unable to comprehend that much time alive. And all because of magic? Too many questions bubble up; overwhelmed, Cain fiddles with his newly filched lighter instead. Gets the end lit, and takes a few hard drags.] ... Never heard of anything like the kind of magic in your world, so it's just hard to understand.

[Sir, do you take people to your messy room to fuck.]

Okay, well. Thanks. [...] You don't gotta stick around if you're busy, or whatever. Just wanted to see if it worked.

（ he laughs, and gestures for a drag. come on, share with your new pal. he is a bum, okay. he hasn't even settled in a room yet. he's been sleeping in... well. wherever he winds up tired.

... and no, he fucks in their rooms, obviously. ）

I'm not busy. Apparently the mission's a few days out yet, so we're just on... what, shore leave? until then.

[Acquiesces, offering the smoke with one gloved hand extended out, but only because Cy did what he asked. Fair's fair.]

You been around yet? I was gonna check out the training room. [A baleful glance over his shoulder, back to the infirmary.] Can't do much yet, according to them, 'cause I'm on bedrest. But I want to see it.

[He'd better be well enough to fight by the time they're on the first real mission. After what happened with Nikolai... He needs to be ready.]

Or I guess I could eat. [A shrug.] You made that fruit look good.

（ the fuck is this gnarly-ass smoke. he coughs on it as it sears the lungs. no filters, is this man an animal??? hands it back with a displeased wrinkle to his nose. ）

Bedrest, and yet here you are. Man after my own heart. Okay, C-man, let's do the ten cent tour. Training room's on the way to the mess anyway, this whole place is like a fucking circle.

（ as he says it, he loops one finger around in the air in a gesture that's more commonly used to describe some poor soul that's cuckoo for cocoa puffs. ）

[You take what you can get, Cain can't be picky!! Blame the old school medic Cy will mysteriously never meet.]

You ever been in space before? [Bites his tongue on C-man, undecided on whether that is better or worse than honey.] This is all pretty familiar, just... fancier. And we get access to most of it. Did you get your own room?

[A curious lift of his head as they start walking the circle, because he's only stayed in the infirmary so far. Privacy like that just seems unlikely.]

Been in space a lot.

（ like. u know. on his own. without a spaceship. for a while.

it's fun if you ignore that it's also shitty.

cy falls into step beside him, sort of schlepping along. there's an uncanny grace to how he moves that doesn't quite scan human but also doesn't strongly scan as anything else. maybe he did ballet in a former life, who knows. ）

And yeah, private room. Mostly because I'm not going to inflict my utter inability to clean up after myself on anyone else. I've had roommates. That way leads danger.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

↪ acshunnn baybee

😳

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

limbos under the concept of time

lmaoooo how low can u go!!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject