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Who: Altaïr (

theflyingone) & OPEN to anyone who wants to greet a new arrival
What: Assassins iiin spaaaaace! (and in the snow too)
When: Nov 8-12ish
Where: Thesa and Nadril
Warning(s): I mean, he's a murderer who had his finger removed years ago so he could hide a surprise knife.

A. Thesa Station
All in all, he was taking this well, if repressing all his fears and worries could be considered that. Altaïr did not feel safe, so he could not relax or give in to melancholy. He ruminated just a short while on how he only agreed to this "deal" because there was no other recourse. He almost didn't believe it, not because it was so impossible--anything was possible--but because he never simply accepted what he was told. He only completely trusted in the evidence he saw with his own eyes.

Right now, his eyes were telling him that he was far from home, in millions of ways. He stepped cautiously through the station, feeling naked without his blades--save the one hidden in his left bracer. His hooded white robes were lightly dusted with travel, and his step was uncannily quiet out of habit and caution. To his eyes, the place looked unnaturally immaculate and alien.

Though he viewed everything with suspicion, he had to stop in wonder at a window. In his time, glassmaking had not yet progressed to the point of windows as large as this. The expanse of starry black space beyond it hardly seemed real, the way the distant side of a chasm in the earth looks more like a painting. He reached up with a calloused right hand and gently touched the glass.

B. Thesa or Nadril: Tech Support
Predating the first computers by hundreds of years, it was a miracle he managed to open his communication device. Some words and symbols meant nothing to him, but an accidental brush of his thumb and... mistakes were made. He decided to give in and ask for help. But first, he must pretend to be a harmless, confused, and totally honest wayward medieval scholar. Totally. It wasn't that far from the truth; he did grow up well-educated and with easy access to a library.

"Excuse me," he asked politely, the very picture of a studious, ambitious young man heading for his doctorate. "I do not know how to use this reading tile. Can you help me?"

C. Nadril: Underground Market
He couldn't say no to a universal translator and supplies for trekking in the snow. Just... getting supplies in general was wise, as he had very little, and he was made to understand that his accommodations were temporary. Even through the unnerving haze of not being able to go home, or even having a home to go to, he instinctively watched and observed the people here, trying to memorize how he might blend in as a local himself. When he'd done it as part of his job back home, his life had depended on it.

His brow furrowed as he scanned the market for more conversations to eavesdrop on. He wasn't sure how to use the smooth metal tablet (the datapad), but maybe somewhere down here he could procure some real paper and pen to take notes properly.

D. Nadril: Magda's Communication Tower
With some warmer clothing on top of his robes, he could explore in earnest. Maps did not show a living, breathing colony, nor hiding places or little-known paths. For these, he decided he should climb the tower and use both his training and his other eyes to see Nadril properly. He stood at its base, testing its outer surface with his hand and foot...

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River isn't trying to be particularly stealthy when she approaches him though her steps are fairly quiet, finding curiosity in his interactions with the people around him. It's easy to notice how out of place he is -- out of time if you were specific, though whilst most people might not recognise it River has a special relationship with time. She's seen other people act similarly, not take being on another planet (or a different time zone) that well.

She blends in easily, browsing the market, making easy conversation as if she does this every day. It wouldn't be too far off the mark with how River spends her life. She doesn't quite know why she's following him, what specifically about him it is that causes her to quietly approach, leaning in with a hushed voice--

"I'd recommend this." She's holding up something innocuous, something entirely random that she'd just found on a nearby stall but it isn't the item that's important but a way in to a conversation -- a gauge of his reaction.

Altaïr was well-traveled, used to adapting quickly, but this was another time and world entirely. Either way, he was more vigilant in a new place. After wandering about for a bit and not shaking her, he could tell he was being followed. Since he’d only just arrived, it could not be for any of the usual reasons—being wanted for a crime, Templars afoot, etc. He could only conclude she was looking to make trouble, or maybe sell him something. Not a great sales tactic, in his opinion, but he was the kind of person who didn’t like to be bothered.

"...Why?" he asked, suspicious. Master of pleasant conversation, here.

Well, she has his attention though it's easy to pick up on his suspicions. River gives him a smile, tipping her head to look back at the little box in her hands.

"You could find many uses for it."

Not that she was particularly trying to sell him on it, she was just trying to get his attention, draw him into a conversation.

"Unless you were looking for something else."

He decided that if she was going to bother him when he was already on edge, she was going to help him. In his straightforward way, he said,

"Food containers, paper, and a torch. And better maps." Some areas had apparently been isolated from each other for a long time. It followed that the maps would be incomplete.

"And someone who knows how I am supposed to use this tile to write." He held up the datapad he was looking at dubiously and calling a tile. His backup plan was writing everything on paper, like a normal scholar of course, but his curiosity was piqued.

"Well, one of those things I can help you with."

Unfortunately, River hadn't been here long enough to know where the best places were to find items. She wouldn't have minded a map herself but at the same time she enjoyed the thrill of the adventure and getting to explore herself.

She gestured to his device.

"I take it you haven't seen one before."

He thought about lying and dissembling, trying to pretend he had at least laid eyes on one and knew what it was, like any other local. But he realized he could never pull that off. Winging it wasn't going to work here.

"What gave me away?" Usually people asked this in a joking manner accompanied with an embarrassed smile, but he was entirely serious. And unsmiling.

Takasugi doesn't remember much about the first time he'd stood on a space vessel, a large glass pane the only thing between him and the vastness of space. An emptiness that would tear him apart in a moment, a place that cannot be occupied but by monsters of metal and rock.

All he can recall is how the sky from the window and the sky from the ground looked so similar.

Scattered stars, constellations he recognized, a consolation no one here receives.

Not every man who stands, touching a window in wonder, is new to space. Takasugi doesn't make such an assumption as he approaches, standing near the edge of the view to look out over the stars. Stagnant-

Ugly.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" He doesn't think so.

He gestured futilely at it, in his understated way, then finally sighed, "I have no way of telling if that is an illusion." With time and examination, perhaps, but he was too adrift to concentrate on anything except his immediate bearings, much less appreciate any beauty there. Since the black sky didn’t seem to be jumping and attacking him at the moment, he turned his attention to the stranger speaking to him.

"Some of my things have been taken from me." Nice conversation opener, an oblique question that neglected to mention that his things were blades.

There were those who argued everything outside of their atmosphere was a hoax. Even as space travel became mundane, no longer a mad fantasy of the most daring dreamers but a common chore, there were people proselytizing its falsehood.

Fanatics in the street, on late night TV.

Takasugi paid them no mind.

"Ah. Of course. The aliens that brought you here want you to prove yourself." Of that he's sure, though the rubric is a mystery to him. After all, he'd spent a year sewing distrust and they'd returned his ship to him.

His face hardened. Prove himself? He had spent the last year or so of his life doing nothing but prove himself to his Mentor for the reward (well, return) of his possessions and rank, but at detriment to himself. And that ended so well. Now Mentor himself, he didn't need to prove himself to anyone. Who were they to tell him what to do? He already didn't trust them for a variety of reasons.

"Do their bidding... for a few objects?" he asked dubiously. Blades could be bought. He didn't need mysterious Orbiters or Dharma or whoever to obtain sharp objects.

"That's what they'll tell you." Takasugi offers a shrug - he doesn't begrudge this man his suspicion. Space exposure aside, very few warriors worth their renown would fall into such a system without hesitation.

"They want you to protect life down there." An afterthought, as all life is to Takasugi. "What do you want?" That's a far more important question, the motivation of a man shrouded in white staring into the expanse of space is bound to be interesting.

Altaïr was known to stick his neck out for strangers in danger, people he thought might be innocent but preyed on by corrupt city guards, tyrants, etc. Such a simple request surrounded by mystery, kidnapping, magic...?

"If they wished for something so simple, they could have asked without all this suspiciousness. And taking my things. Many would say they wish to protect life. I suppose what I want is to know the truth hidden from me." A simple enough desire, and not specific enough to betray any future plans he might make. He didn't know this stranger, after all.

"The truth?" Takasugi's lips wrap around that word as if it tastes acrid. If there's anything of that sort here, he hasn't found it. He'll spare the mystified man his philosophy (for now), because while there may be no such thing as truth, there are some habits aliens tend to fall into.

"They wanted to show off. Like a charlatan and his tricks. They've tricked everyone living on that planet into thinking they're gods. I imagine they were hoping for the same reverence from us." And some of the refugees have bought into it, though Takasugi isn't among them.

Altaïr was cynical, but he still believed that there was nothing more noble than fighting to find the truth.

Which was why he, too, looked like he tasted something bad.

"I don't believe in fairytales. Even if I did, that sort of behavior does not earn my respect." Humans had the right to worship whatever phantoms they wanted, but someone actively tricking everyone into being their followers sounded like the sort of thing his enemies, the Knights Templar, would pull.

Thinking of the Natha as enemies is the reaction Takasugi hopes for. Every time he discusses these aliens and their relationship with the planet, he breathes his words through fangs. Not many take the venom he spews to heart-

They've already surrendered themselves to their 'saviors'.

"You're in the minority.

But, not alone." Takasugi gives a nod, a fleeting smile before he turns to survey the stars once more. "Are you looking for someone to respect?"

Roxas probably wasn't the last person someone should turn to for technical help, but he wasn't the first, either. But he was maybe the first person around who could help, so maybe that was why the man had interrupted him and asked for it.

"Um, sure," he said after a moment of surprise. "I can try, anyway. What are you trying to do?"

"I am... not sure." He held up the communicator for Roxas to see. A blank message box was open, and there were several nonsensical letters and symbols typed in the To bar. "I tried writing in it like I have observed others doing, even though I do not see the point when I can just write on paper. Is there no paper here? How does this machine work? Is it... is it safe?"

After his contact with the Apple, he was pretty sure this wasn't of the same caliber, but he had to make sure.

"Oh...oh!"

Oh wow. Roxas doesn't think of himself as being especially great with technology, not that he wants to be, but he's definitely got a leg up on this guy. What kind of world is he from?

"Yeah, it's safe," he says. "Unless you throw it at somebody, I guess. You can use it to write without paper. It's like sending a letter to another person except a lot faster. Can I show you?"

How raises a hand, not wanting to jus grab the device, but it's easier to show than to describe.

"How is it faster to write with?" he asked dubiously. "It is slower. Look."

He attempted to type the word write, but it came out as wdjte. Then he handed it to Roxas. He was fairly sure it was not a weapon, and that he could steal it back if it came to it.

"And how is this glass tile letter meant to travel to its destination without breaking?"

Not the best typist, but Roxas figures that makes sense, if he's never used something like this before.

"Sure it is. Look." He types out a quick 'hi my name is Roxas' in a message, then picks himself as the intended recipient of the note. A second later, there's a beep from his pocket. Roxas pulls out his own device and holds it up to display the received message. "See? Way faster than someone coming to find me and give me a message. Almost like magic."

He sidled over to see what Roxas was typing on his message tile thing, and had to keep himself from jumping at the sound of a beep coming from him. What the hell was that? He pulled out the only thing that could be making that noise and looked at it.

"It... It is your message." He squinted at Roxas dubiously. Then he performed an experiment of his own, following the way Roxas had done it.

nh nane is

...Yeah no, he wasn't going to put his name in writing in unfamiliar territory unless he was contacting an Assassin.

not importsnt

The bad typing made him smile, but he reined it in to keep from looking like he was laughing at the guy. It wasn't even that funny, but usually growns-ups knew way more than him, and didn't hesitate to let him know that. Roxas couldn't think of a time when he'd been in the opposite position before.

"Well, you don't have to send the same thing to people," he said. "Or talk to anyone using this. But you can, if you want to, and it's pretty helpful. Better than tracking someone down in person if you want to talk, right?"

Or maybe he wouldn't think so, if he'd never encountered anything like it before. Who knew.

"So...is there something I can call you?" he asked.

He saw that smile. He knew this kid was laughing at him. Jerk.

His head was spinning with the new possibilities open to him. Send someone messages instantly? And the concept seemed so commonplace to Roxas. How many other people in this world thought nothing of using these devices?

"Just do not put any name I give you in writing. It is not a common thing to do back home, unless one knew me well. Altaïr." Here, it hardly mattered what he went by, so he used his own name. But the results of being identified by the wrong people through these innocuous records would be the same. If a Templar was able to get hold of them, it could be dangerous for everyone involved.

Huh. What kind of world did he come from, where that mattered? Roxas had seen a lot of weird places, but he couldn't imagine what that was like, or why. But it didn't really matter; it was a simple request, easily fulfilled.

"Okay. I won't." He nodded. "Hi, Altair, I'm Roxas—oh, wait, I already texted you that." He chuckled again, this time at himself.

What did he say now, though? What would have helped him, arriving in a strange new place? Nothing that he'd experienced really applied. "I know this place is really, really weird," he said. "But you'll get used to it. And some of the people are pretty cool."

"Pretty... 'cool,'" he muttered, trying to figure out what Roxas meant. Was he talking about the air in the station being relatively cool?

"Yes, it is weird. We are said to be among the stars. And the Earth..." He didn't finish. They said the Earth was destroyed. How could anything destroy an entire world? He had his doubts. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was a long way from home.

"It's....gone, yeah. At least, that's what they said."

He looks away for a moment. This line of conversation is more than he bargained for, but at least he's been awake for a while, with time to get used to everything. What kind of guy would he be if he bailed when it got heavy?

"I don't know if that means forever, though," he added a moment later. "You probably won't believe me, but I've been to worlds that had fallen to darkness before. Everyone who lived there was lost. But eventually, they were able to be saved. Maybe your world could be restored, too."

Altaïr didn't simply believe everything he was told. It was why he had a hard time accepting the Earth was gone. Like with what Roxas said about worlds in darkness, he was willing to entertain the possibility, but not wholly believe it yet.

"What do you mean 'lost?'"

Lost metaphorically, lost physically...? Of course, the religious authorities he knew back home would not waste time telling people they were spiritually los and needed guidance--their guidance.

Reyes would be a pretty terrible black ops agent if he didn't know how to slink around the underbelly of a town. In many ways, he's more suited for this than anything else, and perhaps he's just a bit smug that his lake dive produced the necessary components for the universal translator. It's got him perusing the market with just a little bit more swagger.

He's here to people watch and keep his ear to the ground, and it's not hard to pinpoint someone who's not as familiar with the general goings-on. He can recognize a fellow people-watcher when he sees one, and it's enough to pique his interest.

Gabriel makes his way to a nearby stall, and nods in acknowledgement.

"Looking for something?"

This man seemed confident, like he knew his way around both this place and its people. Altaïr decided he wanted to know if he had an ulterior motive in approaching him. Most of the time, Altaïr didn't stand out or even make broad gestures when talking. Out of habit, his presence was one designed not to make waves.

"Do you help people find things?"

"I mean, not as a career."

He offers a shrug, a sort of half-smirk on his face, leaning against one of the stall posts. He looks Altaïr up and down for a moment, as if sizing him up or trying to determine what he might be dealing with.

It's true that Gabriel doesn't find things as a career (he barely has a job here as it is), but information gathering and the like had of course been an integral part of his skillset.

"It depends on what you need."

A smuggler maybe? Altaïr had no need of a smuggler. (Yet.) Rather than bending under his gaze, he remained exactly as he was, half-turned to him with a guarded expression on his face. His robes were designed to mimic a scholar's from far away, but the tall man with square shoulders could conceivably be built for something other than books. His hands were calloused, and he was missing a finger.

"Better maps would be a start," he said, frowning at the snow. "I have many questions as well, but I fear they do not have easy answers, and each person may only tell me their incomplete version of the truth." He thought of that story about the blind men and the elephant, each touching reporting a different description of the creature.

Despite the length of time he's been here, Reyes is still trying to wrap his mind around the existence of other worlds and the people that come from them. Altaïr's choice of dress means very little to him, to the point where he's guessing what it says about him and coming up empty. The missing finger, however, doens't go unnoticed, though Reyes knows there could be a multitude of reasons for that.

Best not to underestimate him either way.

"Would you believe they actually have us mapping the place?"

Granted, they're being paid for it, but Gabriel likes to think that says something about the state of things.

"I don't have all the answers, but I can try to help you out."

They had the power to bring many people from many places, and put them in space. Was it lack of ability, or lack of trying? Altaïr dearly wanted to ask that outright, but the existence of a space station was likely to cause waves among the planet's populace.

"Who are 'they?'"

"I guess it used to be the Orbiters, but now it's just the locals."

He offers a vague gesture around them, to note that he means the people who are actually from here, even if Nadril is its own special case, given the increased level of technology.

"I'm sure you've met a few by now.

"Why do we not tell them the truth about us?" He asked in a low voice. "Their magic is so far-fetched anyway, why would they not believe a craft hovering in the sky?"

It was all strange to him. He was all for maintaining order and not starting a panic--until he wasn't. Dissembling about himself was one thing, but he wasn't sure how he felt about lying to all these people for so long about an integral part of their world.

"Because we had no leverage, I guess."

There was no telling what the Natha would have been able to do to them--even now, he can't be certain that the Natha are really gone. Better to err on the side of caution. Revealing this level of technology to the people of Olympia and Wyver might destroy their society.

"Might be different now that they're gone, but nobody's wanted to take the chance."

He didn't either, until he learned more. Most people Altaïr met nowadays had to put up with him peppering them with questions about this new world he was expected to live in.

"Nadril seems fond of scavenging old machina. They are probably the closest to finding a way to see into the sky, unless some magical solution comes up." He shrugged. He really didn't understand magic, a thing he only learned recently existed, so he wasn't going to pretend he did. "If left to their own devices, they may find the secret anyway. We're not yet sure the Natha are gone, then?"

"I'm not sure."

He didn't trust the Natha while they were here, and he sees no reason to trust that they're really gone.

"But I think if it's gonna happen, it should happen on the terms of the people who actually live here."

That is to say, he's perfectly content to stay out of it.

"I do not like that we know so little of these Natha." He was used to being thrust into situations where he knew very little, but that was what investigation was for. Eavesdropping on people, stealing documents, whatever. He hunted his targets relentlessly. Here, he was out of his element with little promise of leads and no Brothers to command. His usual ways of getting information were slow-going now.

"I am a scholar. I find information. Forgive me if I seem impatient." And frustrated and terse.

"Yeah, you and me both."

But the way Gabriel sees it, there's not much to be done about it now. He's not sure there ever was anything to do about it in the first place. Suffice to say, he understands Altaïr's frustration.

"You don't have to apologize to me."

"I wasn't..." It hadn't even been a real apology, just polite words that were his default with informative strangers. Wrestling a real apology from him took effort.

"Anyway, why did you approach me? Surely I do not look like I can pay you for your information. I'm not even sure I will have my room next month." He doubted Nadril had a booming tourism industry, and he suspected smuggling would fare better here, but markets were where a hustler could ply his trade anyway.

Gabriel shrugs, his mouth pulling into a wry grin.

"Pegged you as a refugee. Wanted to see who the space station spat out this time around."

So, no payment needed--Gabriel is just trying to get the lay of the land, as it were.

Interesting hobby. Still, he could see how he would have come to that conclusion.

"I'm fine," he said in direct contradiction to his earlier statement about unsure lodgings. He had a funny definition of fine. "I'm sure there are those who have it worse than me. I'm used to traveling."

He was right about that part at least. If he was kicked out, he still had the ability to travel to a warmer climate where he could sleep on random rooftops until he found a place.

"Space travel?"

Gabriel supposes it's possible, but he has his doubts. His own version of Earth only made it to the Moon, and that hadn't gone very well in the end. He's interested in hearing what was the case for others.

He blinked at him incredulously.

"No, that is impossible. It takes months just to get to the Far East. I meant that I am used to being in new places and moving around. On the earth. Not... um, in the sky." He gestured vaguely in the direction of where Thesa station might be.

"Just checking."

Gabriel isn't one to outright wink, but that kind of sentiment is certainly there in the wry grin that's on his face.

"You never know."

"Is it common then, where you are from?" Why else would the man ask, he thought. The concept itself was mind boggling to him, but he was trying to understand. He tried not to look too put out that this man was amused by his lack of knowledge. Altaïr was used to having all the answers, or at least obtaining them quickly. After he became Mentor, people expected him to.

"No, we didn't make it very far."

Certainly not to the degree that they're experiencing now. The Moon was about it for them, and it hadn't ended well. With so much to deal with on the planet itself, space exploration had remained out of reach. He imagines it's true for many places, not just his version of Earth.

"So this is new for me, too."

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