outer_divide | [video ] open

[He'd gone blank before, shut down in China, in Dean's office. He was too used to being shut down, waking up some place other than he last remembered.

[But this was...new. And unpleasant, even among a series of experiences that Alex would describe as less-than-pleasant. Because it wasn't his docking cradle he'd woken up in. At first he'd thought he'd been kidnapped, but there were no guards, and his weapons were just where he'd stowed them, fully charged. ]

This is Detective Ale--. Just Alex.

[The voice is slightly modulated, almost , but not quite, inhuman.]

I’m looking for a man. A Dr Dennett Norton. Five foot nine, Caucasian, mid-forties. No criminal history.

[You spend enough time on the force, and people seem to settle into categories like that.]

I can provide a list of known associates.

[A short list: did Norton have a family? Anything outside his work? He should probably know, after all this time.]

He’s….. I need him.

[He doesn’t want to say for what, at least just yet.]

((ooc: open to network or action for anyone on/near the ship))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sounds like something from a kids' book.

[Part of his processor ran a search on 'Enchanted Forest'. Nothing. It did ring a vague echo of one of David's old storybooks, the kind he'd insisted he had outgrown just last year. Hnh. Probably some suburban housing development. They went for that kind of fanciful name.]

Murphy. Alex Murphy.

[He can still claim that name, at least.]

[He gives a wry laugh.]

Yeah, up till about nine months ago, I hadn't either. It was, you know, kind of sudden. Got in a...well, caught up in something. This is how they 'fixed' me.

Or a legend. Or a fairy tale.

[Now it's her turn to sigh.]

Well met, Alex Murphy. So you...this is not the way you used it be? Is it some kind of curse?

Yeah, or those. Both sound a lot better than Detroit.

Curse? [He snorts. ] It feels like it most days.

I used to be, you know, normal. A guy. Not...well, this.

[He raises his left hand, the mechanical one, the movement echoed by a hiss of pistons.]

It's not anywhere near a place called Storybrooke, is it? Your Detroit?

[She keeps asking that question. In all honesty she's not even sure why anymore. Would it make any difference if it was?]

I'm sorry. I can't even begin to imagine. Literally.

No. Nothing like that.

[He knew all the streets, all the suburbs of Detroit. Part of his job, his life, for so many years. ]

I couldn't either. But you'd be surprised what you'd do to be able to see your family again.

No I wouldn't. [The response is automatic, knowing.] I went to war to save my father. Risked multiple kinds of death only to preserve his life.

And then when all was said and done, I gave up a title and fortune to try and come home again.

Yeah. Sorry. I, yeah, I didn't know.

[What else could he say, really? He offers a sheepish grin. ]

So, I guess you do understand, then.

Did you make it home?

For a little while. After that...it's not a very happy story. I wouldn't want to waste your time.

Apparently I'm going to be here for a while, so I'm guessing I've got the time. But yeah, I can understand if it's a touchy subject.

[He looks down at his arms. He can't even remember, really, being entirely human anymore.]

Believe me, I'd understand.

I'm gathering that. Maybe if we meet later, then, in person at sometime.

Much as it can hurt, it's not often I get to talk of home. I suppose I should probably do what I can to remember.

I'd say I could buy you a drink but, well, not sure I can.

[That's something he hadn't thought of: that he could be here so long he would forget. ]

I've been told I'm a good listener.

[Well, better than he is at talking. ]

Well. We do have a tavern. I don't know if you heard yet.

Just found my way off the ship, actually.

[Mostly by accident.]

Guess I'll be buying you a drink, then.

Sure. It's a date, then. [Oh wait, she remembers the full connotations of that particular figure of speech.] I mean, not a date, just...sorry. I'm not very good at this socializing thing, most times. You can probably tell.

[An equally nervous sound.] Got it. Not that way.

I'm married, anyway.

[Or was. Whatever that means here.]

Okay, right. Good to know.

[She almost says 'I'm sorry' because the odds of him and his wife being reunited? Not good.]

And now that this has been sufficiently awkward, I should let you go. Try to find your new way around.

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