(no subject)
A distracted looking man with white hair and a rather Romantic aspect to his clothing choice bustles into the Nexus. He doesn't seem to be entirely aware of where he's going, his brow furrowed as he mutters vaguely to himself.
'Chantho will just have to take the measurements again; without a set vector radius for estimated endtime gravity, there's no way to refine the impellor thrust of the footprint accordingly. I'll have to ask Lieutenant-'
It's at some point during the middle of this sentence that he seems to realise where precisely he is. Or more accurately, where he is not. It's certainly not the Silo, neither the frigid cold of the wastes of Malcassairo nor the overheated, duct-lined corridors of the base there. But he's seen places grander than refugee camps before, so it's not that which comes as a surprise to him. What does is the people. So many of them, and not hushed and hurried either, but apparently quite at their ease- clothes from so many different eras, the people wearing them of any number of species. He is suddenly, utterly delighted, and his face is taken over by an almost child-like grin as he laughs disbelievingly.
'Goodness gracious me, what is-? Where in the name of all dead stars am I? A dream, surely.'
'Chantho will just have to take the measurements again; without a set vector radius for estimated endtime gravity, there's no way to refine the impellor thrust of the footprint accordingly. I'll have to ask Lieutenant-'
It's at some point during the middle of this sentence that he seems to realise where precisely he is. Or more accurately, where he is not. It's certainly not the Silo, neither the frigid cold of the wastes of Malcassairo nor the overheated, duct-lined corridors of the base there. But he's seen places grander than refugee camps before, so it's not that which comes as a surprise to him. What does is the people. So many of them, and not hushed and hurried either, but apparently quite at their ease- clothes from so many different eras, the people wearing them of any number of species. He is suddenly, utterly delighted, and his face is taken over by an almost child-like grin as he laughs disbelievingly.
'Goodness gracious me, what is-? Where in the name of all dead stars am I? A dream, surely.'