JUNE EVENT LOG

[monstertruckers]

code

Eventually, gravity behaves normally as the Convoy reaches a new region. Rivers crisscross this area, carving paths through hills and valleys alike. The vegetation has come back in earnest, after being thinned out by the thorn scrub and ragged brush. Now green grass and flowers are thick on the hills, along with scattered trees. The weather begins to cloud over, with dour skies and rain being a constant. The moon and sun alike are often smothered by clouds, making for gloomy and moody scenery in turns.

01: GAS STATION GALLOWS

Surprisingly, there’s another gas station so soon, right where the river bends. With sheets of rain coming down and the sky growing dark, it looks like the safest spot… At least until the Convoy comes in close. Bodies hang from the roof of the gas station, like macabre puppets on strings and nooses. They have long since turned to Husks with hints of transformations poking through. A message has been spray painted on the ground: “PURGE.” Under the message is a symbol of a sword piercing the moon, and a name: “Steel Wardens.”

The Convoy tries start the speakers, like in the grasslands… But something is wrong. Last month’s attacks took a heavy toll on the Convoy. Instead, the phones of various Drifters start playing the melody. A crackling transmission comes in:
“Sorry… Gotta ask this of you. Only way to help these poor bastards on their way. In return… Try to answer your questions-”

The radio cuts out after that. But if Drifters choose, they can send out a message after sending a Husk on their way. The radio will try to answer, though reception is still patchy and responses are short.

02: BROKEN SHIELD

As the Convoy tries to settle down for an evening, something goes wrong. The shield flickers in and out, before popping like a soap bubble. While most of the local Husks have been exorcised thanks to fellow Drifters, it’s still a tense couple of nights.

And without the shield, the effects of the moon becomes more vivid. Some nights the storm clouds help mask the moon and dampen the call… But other nights it can break through the gloom and shine harshly on the Convoy. Drifters may find themselves spending sleepless nights wandering the Convoy perimeter… Or maybe wandering out into the wilds. Where there’s still no shortage of other monsters prowling around, and waiting to pounce on any fresh meat. A few of them may even try raiding the Convoy now that the shield is down. Some Drifters may opt to form watches during the night, or try to find some form of fitful sleep. After several nights of this, the Convoy itself seems to have had enough, with how the screens flare up one morning to show a map and repeat a message:

“Scan complete. Field Generator components found nearby. Request immediate retrieval and installation.”

03: POWER PLANT APPROACH

The structure in question lays in the middle of a lake, fed by several rivers. It looks like some form of old water-fed power plant, with broken wheels still turning. Approaching the power plant is possible through either precarious and half rusted bridges (travel on foot is advised!) or through fording the water. Though that carries its own risk. (See Prompt 4: Don’t Drown.)

Approach on the bridges is a risky matter. The metal looks ready to fall apart if too much weight is placed on it. Hopefully Drifters approaching this way are light footed, or have some means of rescue if the floor breaks underneath them.

The power plant also has its own defenses in the form of floating puffer fish flying above the lake, and strange elongated diving monsters swimming the depths. The Blugu attack with needles and sleep bubbles, trying to knock any Drifters of bridges into the waters below for the Divers.

03-A: POWER PLANT EXPLORATION

The Convoy reports say that the generator is in several components that different groups of Drifters need to find in the old building. Be warned that there’s flooding in parts of the hallways, the deeper one goes. And the water might still very well have some weird, transformative properties! If it doesn’t, there are still partially submerged hallways that reflect Drifters anxieties, regrets, and insecurities back on them. But with searching, Drifters can find generator components in the following rooms:
Boiler Room, where an old machine still shoots out super hot steam that can easily burn and scald.
Bone Room, which clearly isn’t part of the old workings, but something has co-opted this room and turned it into a collection of bones. Bones from monsters, metal bones from husks… All of them carrying sharp edges.
Cold Room, where repeated Moon Warps have turned this room into a freezer. At least the component isn’t damaged, and just needs to be chipped out of the ice?
Electric Room, which has gone a bit haywire, with stray bolts of electricity criss-crossing the room. The component lays in the center, but to reach it the electricity must be dodged or redirected.

03-B: POWER PLANT INSTALLATION

Jars:There is one more room taking up a chunk of the ruins. It is filled with jars that reach from floor to ceiling… And those jars have people in them. Or the remains of people. They’re overgrown by vines and plantlife, turned to Husks, and their heads are broken and cut open. Drifters likely have a good guess on where those brain monsters from last month came from.

Next to the jars is a monitor with a brief message: “Contact lost with----. Engaging emergency sleep procedures. We may never wake, but we need to try.” There’s a handful of people still intact in their jars… But getting too close to them trips an alarm system. Chromehounds, lasers, the works all turn on to try and drive Drifters away from the room!

Installation:Thankfully, returning to the Convoy and installing the generator pieces is easy enough. They fit together easily, almost magnetically. Anyone with a degree of tech savviness can aid in the effort, and a compartment in the Convoy opens up to help install the generator.

After this, the shield finally hums to life, and nights become a lot more peaceful.

04: DON'T DROWN

There’s a river that snakes through the landscape. It turns blood red during sunsets, glows with starlight at night, and is an almost hypnotic blue during the day. Once or twice, the Convoy crosses over it on long bridges. And it eventually empties into a massive lake with the abandoned powerplant in the center.

If someone chooses to ford the river or take a dip in it, something more unnerving happens. The waters go still and reflect the Drifter, no matter how much splashing is done. The deeper anyone goes, the more the reflection grows; most of the time, the reflection is some aspect a Drifter would sooner keep hidden. The river might even replay an image of something they regret.

If a Drifter gets up to their chest in the water, their reflection snaps into a monstrous form, and something pulls them underwater. When they emerge they are completely changed. This effect lasts the entire month before wearing off in dryer climates: the only way to cut it short is to take Salve from the thorn scrub, or gamble with the hospital medicines.

05: MONSTER SHIFT, MERFOLK

The waters of this area have one last twist; submerging imparts Merfolk traits. On top of all Merfolk traits the following is also available this month:
+Double Drowning: Merfolk with the compulsion to drown other creatures can find some very tempting targets along the river banks; horse-like creatures lingering near the waters. But upon contact with the creatures, it becomes clear that not only are they life-like machines, they rapidly disassemble into weighted nets. Or they just explode into shrapnel; either option can spell trouble for the Merfolk!
+Current Thrall: whenever the sun sets, the river currents change to something more chaotic and twisted, uncertain which way to flow. This lasts until moonrise, when they settle on flowing the opposite way. But it will be up to Merfolk to shape water or survive the twisting currents until then.
+Illuminating Light: Bioluminescence can light up the bottom of lakes and rivers, revealing the remains of Husks and almost prophetic writing carved into stone.
+Not So Dry Land: Merfolk pulled onto dry land can shape water into containers and spheres to keep them hydrated… And with some focus and practice, even give themselves a way to surf across land!
+Bigger Fish: The lakes and rivers hold their share of monsters besides the Merfolk. Some, like Mizutsune and packs of Forneus and Divers, see Merfolk as viable prey, and appetizing to boot.

06: DROWNED SONG

The power plant shifts the further it sinks into the depths. Waters flood the lower levels, and transform the structure; industrial concrete and tunnels are replaced by ornate columns and a spacious ball room, along with an opulent stage.

And almost all of it is submerged in transforming waters. Only merfolk (or those sharing a Merfolk’s kiss) have a chance of surviving this area. Flood waters can easily sweep Drifters down into the depths. There’s even stray rivers that feed into the underwater opera from the outside.

A silent leviathan traces through the ruins, serpentine and whale like. It has no interest in the Drifters unless they float too close to its mouth and appear as snacks… But its wake generates strange whirlpools that can bash and bruise, and keeps everyone trapped in the opera house. Bubbles rise up from the floor or swirl in the whirlpools, and provide flashes of vision: a finned priestess meditating on the moon and then sinking into the depths. Said bubbles also release soft melodies of song; beware of potentially singing along, which can draw attention from the drowned machines.

06-A: SONIC CRY

An array of ornate dish shaped machines catch all sound and magnify it… And track the leviathan as it moves through the opera house, always angled on the monster. As the machines collect more sound, they echo it back in damaging soundwaves that sound like a requiem or a dirge.

The sound in turn is distorted into words that match the bubble visions:
“Offer your songs and voice to the moon… She can transform them into power, greater than anything the Wardens could ever give. Even as the old audience fears you, the moon will always listen… Such monsters are a poison. To the water. The land. The very air. They are a blight upon our world that pollute everything. We will always find new and better ways to cull, as long as they come back.”

Anything caught up in those sound waves can feel pressure and pain in their bodies, but that’s just a side effect of the crossfire. The machines are focused on the leviathan, and bringing it down now that they have ammunition. It’s all enough to seriously damage or outright kill the leviathan depending on how much noise Drifters make, or how much song is pulled out of them by the currents and the bubbles.

MICRO ENCOUNTERS:

PLEASE NOTE! These are small bits of set dressing for players to include in threads if they wish, rather than full fledged prompts or events. You may handwave your exploration of these areas, or thread them out.

Boat Salvage: There’s a large amount of abandoned boats on the river, some beached and some drifting free in the rivers. It’s possible to salvage equipment or supplies from them… Just make sure you know how to swim, in case you fall overboard.

Gone Fishing Part 2: Much like the marshes in the forests, there’s spots for fishing here as well! Please remain careful with submerging in the water, as the transformed fish are still willing to bite back.

Flooding: One aspect of the river lands, especially with the waters and rains, is the roads flooding over. Some can be crossed with risk, others require routing around. Or a bit of creative bridge building.

Rain: Storms are a constant in the river lands, ranging between fog and mist, to complete downpours, and thunderstorms! It can make for somber moods, with occasional breaks of sunlight or moonlight.


NAVIGATION

Comments

[androidvictoriam]

He is, though. There's nothing else for him to do until he gets his legs back, and he's seen the water do this more than once before--this would ordinarily be enough for him to look away out of courtesy, maybe even for Deacon's sake under other circumstances, but he'd ironically wanted to be certain that the reflections weren't showing anything of him that he wouldn't want Deacon to see, and by the time it becomes clear that this isn't the case, he's drawn in.

His curiosity stems in part, at first, from the fact that he doesn't recognize anyone in the images. The apparent irrelevance to either of them is a departure from the pattern he's noticed elsewhere, in the rivers surrounding the camp. The Brotherhood recruiter part of his brain, the one that never quite switches off even when it couldn't possibly be less useful than it is here and now, scans that group of violent youths for any who seem to be hanging back or participating less, any who might be reachable, redirectable, given a more constructive purpose than senseless conflict--

--but that's before the violence escalates. It's one thing, at the beginning. A lot of the best knights and even some of the scribes he's known started out with street brawls and rumbles, even ones as shamefully imbalanced as the ones he's witnessing. Cutler might have been one of them, if Danse didn't recognize some of the landmarks of University Point. But it gets worse, the victims more defenseless, the cruelty more pronounced, long past the point where Danse would have wanted any of these men in his company, and by the end of it, he's reeling a little.

Only after it plays out does he belatedly recognize what he was looking for at the start, in the lean redheaded man who only at the climax of the brutality had begun to pull away from it, sea-blue eyes wide and sickened by it. Danse has never actually seen those eyes, or that hair, or even that particular face, or that frame before twenty-odd years of age and combat and wasteland hardship worked on it, and he doesn't make the immediate connection yet even if he should. He's just staring into the water in silence still, eyes narrowed.

It takes a moment to remember Deacon's even there, and Danse doesn't look any less disconcerted at the wavering shape of him, his head aching a little as his eyes try to focus on it. "Don't bother, then. I'll do it when I can walk. What the hell was that?" He jerks his head toward the water, assuming Deacon saw at least some of it. It would have been hard to avoid.

[facethefacts]

"Fuuuck," Deacon idly hears himself hiss, barely audible, but still out loud when he doesn't mean it to be. There is too much happening at once; the water, the breathing, the invisibility, and now this. The mask is slipping and Deacon feels exposed, extremely fucking exposed, because Danse, of all people, he's certain won't understand.

"Was hoping you knew," he attempts, confident enough in tone that it could be true, and continues down the path, not waiting for Danse to dry his fins this time. Not listening to his suggestion, either. He needs to get away from him before his entire life is played over the water like it's the screen of the drive-in movie theater.

There's one problem, of course. There's water goddamn everywhere, and so those reflections flicker in and out almost just like Deacon's silhouette does. More glimpses of the gang, this time turning on the redhead Danse had noticed before, leaving him half-dead and bleeding from his bodily wounds. A farm, someplace he's found to recover and rebuild. A girl, dark eyes that seem to capture his full attention at every glance.

The images light up the water in Deacon's wake. Even if Danse can't see him, he can tell where he's stepping.

[androidvictoriam]

The confidence does throw him--for a moment. Danse wonders if maybe the scene really had been about him, some failure of his own to vet an initiate properly, something he might have caused through some ripple effect in the course of his career, something he could have prevented if he'd been more convincing as a recruiter--truly, he has no idea. He doesn't think he's ever seen any of those people in his life.

And Deacon's clear disinclination to keep up the facade of cheer has so many potential other explanations at this point that Danse isn't surprised at all when he breezes off down the hallway without a look back, leaving his still-waterbound companion sitting uselessly in a puddle. Danse doesn't even blame him for it. It may be for the best, he thinks. But the images linger in the nearest puddle even as Deacon trails off into the distance, making it clear who the common denominator is, and now comprehension begins to dawn--partly just because the ginger man keeps reoccurring, partly because some of his mannerisms are beginning to look familiar.

Even the woman almost rings a bell, if only in the way she faintly echoes Danse's own reflection in her coloration and the shape of her eyes. He doesn't have time to dwell on that, and he wouldn't let himself anyway. He's able to regain his footing now, and he stands up, noting with great relief that there is a just-about-wearable boiler suit hanging on the wall now that they must be nearing the actual boiler room. He won't want to keep the nasty thing, but it'll do for now.

The pictures continue to play out as he puts it on, no matter how far Deacon has receded down the corridor now. The farm is the kind of quiet idyll Danse wouldn't have expected a man with so many wild stories to want any part of. The injuries might seem incongruous with the rest of the tender scene if he hadn't just watched this same man inflict ones like them on others. It's not so hard to put the pieces together into a fuller mental picture now, nor does it take Danse long to catch up with Deacon once he's dressed again.

He just doesn't actually know what to say. For all his newfound unease, he doesn't know if anything needs to be said. He can't forget what he's seen, but...what right does he really have to demand answers?

"Just respect my intelligence enough to stop saying that isn't you," he lands on, finally.

[facethefacts]

Deacon's pointedly not looking at the ground. It's a wonder he doesn't trip and eat shit in the water he's averting his gaze from. He doesn't need to see it, he's lived it. It haunts him even now, skin crawling with an unclean feeling, stomach lurching, dread and regret piling high.

There's another death playing out now, same gang as before, minus the redhead. Their victim, however, is the woman he'd been seen with. Targeted and taken down in cold blood.

As this plays out behind him, Deacon feels Danse's comment prick him like a needle, digging into his skin. He whips around, flickering into sight and ready to give Danse a mouthful when he sees her laid out, cold and dead.

It's then that he breaks, sucking in a breath that when exhaled, whispers her name: "Barbara..."

It's no mistake now, not just because of Deacon's reaction, but because of the way he stares horrified, his reflection mirrored as the younger, redheaded man, similarly struck with tremendous grief, his shaking hands handling the synth component ripped from her body.

Deacon feels weak, taking a few steps backwards, his silhouette misty at its edges. He feels like he could collapse, and having forgotten everything he'd been ready to snarl at Danse before there's only one thing he can say.

"It isn't," he croaks, "Not anymore."

[androidvictoriam]

Danse shouldn't have seen this. None of this was for him to see, and he knows it now, when before he might have believed himself qualified to offer some comment (condemnation or absolution, he doesn't even know, but it doesn't feel like it matters anymore.)

He hasn't knowingly killed many of his fellow Gen 3s. He's never done it in such a way as to expose the hardware in their brains. This is the first time he's ever gotten a good look at a synth component--ironic, when he's the only person in the convoy who has one--but he recognizes it without either of them having to say a word, and the implication of it lands square on his head like a hammer blow. Even if he doesn't know everything Deacon feels such a compulsion to atone for, doesn't yet have enough pieces to assemble all of that in the background, this, at least, explains the depths of his devotion to the Railroad's cause, when Danse had until now found it inexplicable to the point of offense.

He wonders if she'd known what she was. He wonders if either of them could have known. He doesn't have the context to give him the answer, but he doesn't need it now. He turns his back on the image of those people who no longer exist, the man he'll accept that Deacon isn't anymore and the woman who could have been (was, in a strange way) his own distant cousin, and walks away, further down the hall.

He hopes Deacon will understand that it's only because Danse wants to leave him in privacy with his grief. He'd done the same thing, the one and only time he'd ever set foot in Vault 111 and turned a corner to lay eyes on the frost-burned face of Nora's husband. Take as long as you need, soldier, he'd told her then, and he means the same thing now even if he doesn't say it aloud.

[facethefacts]

Deacon falls to his knees, or so he thinks. The whole thing feels like a blur, which may be because he's sort of becoming one; a sort of fog over the top of the water. He doesn't know how long he stays there. Minutes. Hours. It's all the same to him. He stares at her for as long as the water shows her to him, and when the image of her ripples away, he stays there even longer. It would have been better if he'd drowned.

Its his thought that reminds him of where he is. He can't stop here, because Danse both needs him and is his only ticket out. Deacon doesn't know how he's going to look the other man in the face, let alone be useful in any way, but just like home, life here doesn't stop for anyone. He has to move.

Feeling a bit solid again, Deacon trudges up the path where he'd last seen Danse move. He's not rushing, but he's also assumed that he's quite far behind. He'll find him eventually.

[androidvictoriam]

It doesn't take him all that long, because Danse has found what they're looking for just a little further up around a corner. He's standing in the doorway of the boiler room, half waiting for Deacon and half just strategizing, because he's not at all sure he trusts his own hulking frame to navigate around those irregular jets of steam unscathed. He's not sure how much smaller or nimbler a person would have to be to get to that piece of machinery without winding up in the infirmary, but 'definitely more than he is' feels like a given.

This is not actually at the top of the list of the reasons he's glad to see Deacon again. Though 'see' maybe isn't quite the right word. He's not sure a right word exists in the English language (and if it did, Danse would probably be more likely to know it than most.)

"You ready to get back to work?" His tone is subdued with what he'll deny is sympathy, because he doesn't think either of them wants to acknowledge that, and a bit of uncertainty as well, because the fact that he can't actually tell where Deacon ends and the surrounding air begins kind of suggests that the answer to that might be no.

[facethefacts]

Deacon doesn't voice it, but he is grateful for the way Danse is addressing him. It makes it easier for the mask to slide back into place and Deacon to assume the role of carefree companion. He'll compartmentalize everything else later. Right now, they have a job to do.

"Is that it?" he asks, gesturing to the part amidst the steam, something that looks like it might require a thick pair of gloves to remove (among other tools), just based on the temperature of the pipes connected to it.

Deacon sets his backpack down and stretches his neck, his form focusing for a moment as he approaches the entry. "I can try to slip through, but that thing's bound to scald my skin right off of my bones, so... plan??"

[androidvictoriam]

Danse thinks the tools can probably be foregone with a bit of careful unscrewing, provided that the steam doesn't decide to change directions or erupt from somewhere else while Deacon's working at it, but the hot metal is an issue and neither of them is any better equipped to deal with it than the other.

He's not sure he's even seen a pair of gloves anywhere since he got here, let alone has any idea where to find them--certainly not here in the plant--but the same idea has occurred more generally to him, and he considers. On some level, he appreciates the distraction of a problem to solve, even if they've had so many more than their fair share of problems in the past six hours that he thinks fate downright owes them both a blissfully uncomplicated next two weeks.

"If you had some kind of heavy cloth you could wrap around it for protection, like a potholder..."

[facethefacts]

Deacon stands at the entrance, arms folded for a moment, exhaling slowly. It's hard to think when everything is going so terribly wrong today. There's a moment of hesitation, but Deacon sighs and moves forward, flickering through the steam until it seems he's part of it. It's strange and natural, and he doesn't really realize it's happening since he is so focused on just getting the job done.

When he solidifies next to the machine, he begins to peel the wet shirt from his back. It's fine. Danse has worn less clothing for the entirety of the day, but it does reveal a number of scars left from the weapons Danse would have seen in those memories, as well as a ginger happy trail. It isn't that the other man should need these at confirmation that Deacon was indeed the man in those visions, but this makes it clear as day.

He carefully drapes the wet shirt over the places he'll need to grasp, which causes the metal to hiss as it's slightly cooled, although he has to work quickly, since the shirt won't provide much protection for long.

"Do you think it'll break if I muscle it?" he shouts over the hiss of steam.

[androidvictoriam]

If asked later, Danse can say truthfully that he was already openly staring. He doesn't know how much of the way Deacon seems to disappear into the fog is an illusion and how much is tangibly happening, but he realizes now that whatever is going on with the periodic invisibility and the impossible-to-define blurriness and everything in between is only going to get stranger from here on out. He's starting to feel grateful that the weirdest thing he usually has to deal with himself is a tail that sometimes wags of its own accord.

But with his gaze already lingering on Deacon and trying to focus, the details under that shirt are too hard to ignore. He didn't need the confirmation, no, and he's versed enough in different kinds of weaponry to have been able to visualize which of those blows must have scarred and how, but it still makes him wince to see the old knifework, the slashes from that deathclaw gauntlet. It would feel downright disrespectful to take note of anything else. This does not stop his brain from doing it anyway, but he'll feel guilty about it all the same.

The question snaps him out of that, and he looks back at the machine, thinking of similar fixtures on the Prydwen for lack of a better comparison and drawing on his tinkering experience. "No," he calls back, "I think you're gonna have to."

However suited Deacon might be to muscling things. More so than Danse would have thought, apparently.

[facethefacts]

He may be lean, but tilling soil is hard work; Deacon's body is functionally muscular from life spent on a farm before it was spent on the run, and he needs to stay in shape even if his goal is usually to stay long-range. He grips around the pipes and grits his teeth, a groan sounding from him as he starts to twist at it. It's not budging easily, but he's not giving up.

Adrenaline helps. The sooner this is done, the sooner they can all go home. He's adjusting his grip and twisting again, the vein in his forehead looking like it's about to explode, but the pipes finally give with a groan of their own and Deacon laughs, a tired and triumphant sound as he scrapes the bottom of the barrel for energy to work it the rest of the way off.

Of course he'll need to be careful when removing it, lest a blast of steam melt him to goo, so he waits for a moment, catching his breath and strategizing.

"Alright, pal, you're up--" he shouts to Danse, "You've got the physique of a man who can catch a ball in the end zone and score a touchdown or whatever. Time to see if you've got the skill to match. Ready?"

If and when Danse confirms or appears ready, that's when Deacon takes a big step back and kicks the part free from the pipes in the other man's direction, the leather boots he's worn for the job today protecting him from the steam it spits as it breaks free.

[androidvictoriam]

If Danse had hoped this wouldn't awaken anything in him, he would be disappointed now. (It had not occurred to him to hope that at all, but now it's too late in any case.) He's not even trying to correct Deacon's technique or anything, just watching this muscle-straining labor in slightly stunned silence, though as ever, Deacon provokes a response with ease once he starts talking again.

"I have no idea what any of that even means," he hollers back. This is a man who somehow managed to remain completely unfamiliar with the concept of baseball no matter how often it was brought up in the Enclave propaganda being blasted around his hometown, Deacon. Temper your expectations.

But the football metaphor isn't necessary for him to get the actual point, and he prepares himself, zipping up the thick waxed-cotton suit as far as it will go and readying himself to catch the thing, needing to step into the room to do it, but just protected enough from the steam and the heat to grab it securely in his arms and carry it outside to let it cool safely on the floor.

Danse isn't one for laughter under almost any circumstances, and not more than a brief dry little chuckle when he does, but the relief in Deacon's laugh after the ordeal they've been through is contagious now, as much a release valve as the one letting the steam shoot from that pipe and then fade away. When Deacon rejoins him in the hallway, Danse grabs his hand in a rough, triumphant clasp, the kind that would be the precursor to pulling him into a brotherly hug if either of them were that kind of guy, and claps him on the shoulder before letting him go.

"I could never have done this on my own," he admits, as readily as he always does when he thinks a situation merits it.

[facethefacts]

"Not a football guy? Hm, okay. I mean I guess no one is anymore. Good ole pre-war sportsball."

Deacon is not surprised that Danse catches it easily, and would celebrate more, except he's absolutely exhausted now both physically and mentally, and as he escapes through the steam and when Danse grabs him, he thinks he might fall right into his arms. He manages to stay upright, a lazy smile on his features as Danse speaks again.

"Sure you could've," he replies, finding a spot against the wall to slide down and give himself a little break. "But I'm happy to have done something right, today. Now if you don't mind, I think I'm going to sit here until I remember what limbs are supposed to feel like. They've either become jelly or I'm turning into some kind of fish, too."

[androidvictoriam]

"That would be nice. We'd make better time on the way out." Danse is just going to sit right down alongside him, taking advantage of the temporary pleasure of having normal legs again, because it is not actually that nice to be Some Kind Of Fish even when it's useful. But considering the drawbacks of not being one, he'll count himself the luckier of them anyway.

It feels good to see Deacon smile right now, and Danse has to examine that unexpected realization for a moment. He hadn't realized, until just now, that he would have cared about such a thing. But it's not difficult to remind himself of the mitigating circumstances; he thinks he'd probably be glad to see a smile on anyone who'd been thrown for that painful of an emotional loop earlier, unless he really hated them. And he doesn't.

For now, Deacon's a friendly enough acquaintance to make the silence feel pleasant as they rest. That's more than good enough.