action/audio later on.

[contaeoro]

[action; the village]
[He managed to get those pesky wings to stay flat against his back at least. It still feels weird, but he is happier now that he's got his clothes on and he made it out of the forest. He's still far, far away from New York though. That much he can tell. The white cotton clothes held in his hand, Maiza looks around in a wonder as he walks into what looks like a small village.

It doesn't look like anywhere he has been before. Narrowing his eyes, he will approach the nearest, friendly looking person.]

Pardon me, ah... could you explain to me where this is?

[audio; later on]
... I think I've got this figured out now. What an interesting contraption.

Hm.

I was told speakin' to this journal will allow me to speak with the other folks in this area. Thought I'd introduce myself, as from what I've heard we're all stuck in the same boat, here. [A pause.] My name is Maiza.

[Longer pause.... what do you even say to introduce yourself when you're talking at a journal?]

Comments

[immamartillo]

[Firo gives a hesitant nod.]

Yeah. I'm not sure how to begin, really...

[He goes over to the fountain and plops down, elbows resting on his knees.]

So... Well, last time I saw you, it was 1933 and we were all in Alveare. Isaac and Miria were all pissed about the dominoes, right? And then I got that note...

[He winces at the memory and pauses to see if that's the same event Maiza remembers.]

[contaeoro]

[Maiza, on the other hand, is not following Firo's tale already.]

Actually, it was 1932 still when I got here. Czes moved in with you earlier this month.

[immamartillo]

1932? That's what Czes said, too.

[This is going to be a lot harder than he thought; he's used to Maiza being the one who knows what's going on.]

It really was 1933 for me, I swear. People say time gets messed up here... I guess they're right.

[contaeoro]

I'm not callin' you a liar. Is this thing about comin' from different worlds true, too?

[immamartillo]

Yeah, you heard about that? I've met people from all over here.

[contaeoro]

Yeah, someone I just met explained that to me. So you an' I are from different times...? What about Czes?

[immamartillo]

I guess we are. And Czes said he'd just met me and Ennis back home when he got here. That'd put you two at about the same time, right?

[contaeoro]

Just about. I remember his train arrived in Manhattan on New Years, and that was only a few days ago.

[immamartillo]

Wow...

[He leans back and scratches his head.]

I wonder why it worked out like that..?

[He shakes his head and smiles slightly. It's pointless to worry about that, he needs to focus on the things he can do for Maiza.]

Anyway, you got any questions? I can't answer everything, but I can try.

[contaeoro]

[He laughs.] I dunno where I'll even start, Firo. I'm just starting to try wrappin' my head around all this.

But if you're here, I've gotta ask -- is anyone else from the Family here?

[immamartillo]

Yeah, it took me a while to understand stuff here. Still don't understand some of it.

No. Just us. ...I guess that's a good thing, right?

[Not that it matters because of the time thing, but the fewer people Firo knows who have to suffer through shifts, the better.]

[contaeoro]

From what I've heard, I'm glad to hear the others aren't here. [Although the "others" are fully grown men and he's very sad that young Firo and Czes are instead the ones who were brought here...]

[immamartillo]

[But Firo totally is a fully grown man-!

He offers a half-smile and nods.]

Me too.

I take it you heard about the shifts, then?

[contaeoro]

[He puts a hand to his chin.] 'S that what they call them around here? A fellow I met earlier explained the "experiments" to me a bit.

[immamartillo]

Yeah, that's it.

[If there's a distinction, he doesn't care to learn it.]

How much did he tell you?

[Firo doesn't like explaining the shifts--they just seem too crazy--but he's taking it upon himself to fill any gaps in Maiza's Luceti knowledge.]

[contaeoro]

Not too much. I asked him if they were pleasant, and he told me they weren't... but ah, I put two an' two together.

[immamartillo]

Yeah... There's no tellin' what'll happen, so you gotta keep an eye out. Did he mention the, uh... the droids?

[contaeoro]

No, he didn't. What are those?

[immamartillo]

They're like...

[He rubs the back of his neck. The closest example he can come up with isn't very good.]

Think of the Oz books. You know the Tin woodman? They look sorta like that, only cleaner, tougher, and a lot more dangerous. They don't rust up as often, that's for sure.

[contaeoro]

So we're stuck here with dangerous robots, eh? What, exactly, do they do?

[immamartillo]

Sometimes just one person'll get taken away for an experiment... and when that happens, it's those guys who take 'em. They'll also come for you if you're supposed to go on a draft and try to resist.

[contaeoro]

Don't sound all that friendly, do they? Can you fight them?

[immamartillo]

[That's the question he was dreading. He flinches and looks down at the ground.]

...No. I've tried.

[There's little mental ability he has to offer his Family, so his eyes, reflexes, and fighting ability are what he relies on to be useful. Even when he was a kid he was preoccupied with getting strong. It hurts admitting that he's failed in the one area in which he's hoped to excel.]

[contaeoro]

[That surprises Maiza for a moment. Firo, unable to fight? Firo, who was one of the first to win a point against him in an initiation (he didn't mean to brag, but he remembers when Lotto Valentino called him the best fighter)?]

You okay?

[That's a weird question to ask an immortal, but he couldn't help but worry.]

[immamartillo]

[There's a part of him that's afraid that Maiza would be angry with him--he did just essentially admit to failure. Perhaps then he should be relieved that Maiza's just asking if he's alright, but he's still angry with himself.]

Y-yeah, I'm fine.

[He makes no move to look up, but he forces a rueful laugh.]

I just... I guess I wouldn't recommend goin' up against 'em if you get the chance.