Weeks in the past, but not many [closed to Maxwell]

[takethatnature]

Who: Wilson and Maxwell
When: July 24th, post-revival
Where: The Promenade, and Stellar later
What: Attempts at science and a dinner hate-date
Warnings: A sprinkling of post-excursion-death trauma, blackrom nonsense, anything else in threads as they come up

Wilson's had a busy afternoon. Max Maximum gave him enough potatoes for a full party of survivors or one gluttonous strongman to face down the Dragonfly, and Wilson's combined it with a bug net (in case there's something bug-sized and airborne in the Tommy Bahama), two different kinds of small animal trap, plenty of weapons and armor, the fencing sword that rotates shelves, and a collection of luggage straps and souvenir lanyards from Sundries and Bric A Brac to supplement his dwindling supply of grass rope.

He's on the Promenade at the scheduled time, waiting for Maxwell. The agreement was to meet in the Tommy Bahama, but instead he's in the middle of the hall outside it, sitting in a chair he dragged over from the Drunken Sailor. He's looking out at the passers-by for his companion's silhouette, rather than into the shop.

Comments

[freedomsuitsme]

Maxwell arrives right on time, looking somewhat sullen.

"Not a single pith hat on this whole blasted boat, how are we supposed to do this properly? Who knows what the humidity is like in certain regions of the... ah, Higgsbury. Trying to avoid running afoul of the Tomahamanian fauna right out the gate?" he asks, alluding to Wilson keeping a sane and healthy distance from the shopfront.

[takethatnature]

"I don't think it'll prove necessary unless there's a spa as well as a restaurant tucked away in the depths," Wilson says, like he wasn't seriously contemplating pulling corks out of wine bottles in Topy until he had enough to craft one. Where he was going to find vines is left as an exercise for the reader, although there's plenty of cloth around. "I didn't like the thought of the Bahamanal deciding it wanted another taste of my skeleton, no."

He splits the stack of potatoes and hands Maxwell half. "This should help with the fauna."

[freedomsuitsme]

"The fauna? This is enough to handle the Dragonfly, pal. Though of course, you know I prefer my Dragonpies. Ah, but beggars can't be choosers." And it's not like he doesn't like potatoes. In fact, he always makes a point of keeping up the ongoing production of massive crops of massive potatoes, back in the Constant.

Maxwell peers through the doorway of the Tommy Bahama, thinking.

"It looks like the entrance is clear for now. I presume we're going to be trying to keep a low profile?"

[takethatnature]

"If someone shows up with a sack of infinite dragonfruit I'll be sure to let you know," Wilson says, irritation creeping into his voice but genuinely meaning what he says. "Considering the other infinite things on this ship, it wouldn't even be that improbable. Take that, conservation of mass."

He stands up. "That's the only sensible way to approach it. If we deliberately look for trouble, we could end up with much more of it than we're prepared for."

[freedomsuitsme]

"Hmm. But if we play too cautiously, we're not going to uncover anything more than anyone else already has."

[takethatnature]

"I don't think we need to worry about being too cautious when we're going in there and looking for wildlife to drag back out with us," Wilson says. "I know others have surveyed the topography of the place, but the fauna hasn't been studied much. Although if we find Siffleur he'd probably have some useful information."

He turns, takes a step toward the entrance, and freezes. The halls of Tommy Bahama stretch away before him. He can almost feel the floorboards tilting under his feet to throw him into its infinite maw. The sounds of shelves and clothing racks falling into the depths echo in his ears.

[freedomsuitsme]

"Higgsbury?"

He's seen that look before, on Walter's face, when the boy was stung by a bee. That's the face of a confident attitude shattered by the presence of a real and remembered threat.

Could it be that the scientist, stubborn and unrelenting, was stung one time too many by his death in the Tommy Bahama?

[takethatnature]

"Wha-?" He startles at the sound of his name, feeling dizzy and lightheaded and becoming aware of his pulse thudding under his skin. Not an unfamiliar state, but where did the precipitous drop in his sanity come from? He doesn't want to believe that he already knows. For Wilson, that long fall that taught him a new way to die was less than twelve hours ago, not three days.

He forces himself to step to the side of the doorway, where there's at least a shop window in between himself and infinite distance.

[freedomsuitsme]

"If you're not well, we don't have to do this right now. Vertigo won't help you against the werecougar."

[takethatnature]

Confusion and annoyance as to why Maxwell's focusing on Siffleur as the most relevant threat proves to be just what Wilson needed to break out of the panic spiral, or at least prevent himself from descending further into it. "We're not going to fight him. He said he'd get me fried potato bits."

That said, Wilson's in no hurry to go in there. He flops against the wall and takes a deep, shaky breath.

[freedomsuitsme]

"Fine then, vertigo won't help you against the ravenous textiles. Shall we just call it a wash and go get ready for dinner early, pal?"

[takethatnature]

Wilson rummages around in his inventory and puts on his freshly mended Tam O'Shanter. The reassuring presence of the hat helps a little bit. He'd considered leaving it in the cabin in case he died again but now he's glad he didn't.

"Yeah, alright," he concedes. Now that he's less terrified, he's starting to feel foolish about being so terrified. He was the one who said they should do their exploration today, and now he can't even go through with it?

"I'll try not to fill up on ice cream beforehand." Scoops must be pretty picked-over by now anyway.

[freedomsuitsme]

"And do remember to make yourself presentable. We'll be eating in the Stellar."

[takethatnature]

"You'll see how presentable I can be," Wilson grumbles, not even sure what he means by that himself. He retreats to the stairwell, not bothering to put the chair back where it belongs.

Once he gets into his cabin he shuts the curtains and dozes for an hour or two, not caring whether his elusive food-stealing roommate walks in on him, and wakes feeling considerably less like he's been clutched in the grip of mortal terror. After that, a shower, a shave, and an extended round of meticulous hair-care to give his coiffure even more volume and definition than usual.

Now he has to decide what to wear. He has a decent collection of white shirts and black pants, a spare pair of clean gloves, and the same waistcoat he always wears, but his previous plan to complete the outfit by grabbing the most formal things he can find in his size in the Tommy Bahama feels about as feasible as stealing the Ancient Herald's cape in the middle of the Aporkalypse. He has lots of raw spider silk but the only relevant thing he could make with that on short notice is a top hat, which would look silly worn indoors with an informal ensemble (Maxwell would notice, even if most other passengers wouldn't). And more importantly it would hide all the effort Wilson put into his hair. He does have one thing he can use for a necktie: the colorful scarf that was previously acting as a hammock for the round little stuffed replica of himself. That becomes a sort of ascot.

He shows up to Stellar three minutes late on purpose, which he estimates should be the perfect amount to grate on Maxwell's nerves without being so late that it looks like he genuinely forgot what he was supposed to be doing. It takes more effort than simply arriving within an acceptable margin of the appointed time, but it's the principle of the matter.

[freedomsuitsme]

Maxwell's put together a new suit from what he's managed to scrounge together from the pickings of the Tommy Bahama. None of it fits him properly, his long and lanky frame ill-suited to match up with the most common off-the-shelf proportions, but somehow he still makes it work, more or less. He's found the closest approximation to a tailcoat, and beneath that he's wearing a fresh dress shirt. He's wearing his old trousers- the pinstripes clash, but they're leagues better than settling for the universally-beige offerings he was able to find while exploring the rows. It's the best he can do without some proper sewing tools (those will come later).

He's brought his top hat too, though it and his coat are hanging on a nearby coatrack, moved close enough to the table to make it clear that he's brought them- no doubt to shame Wilson in the event that he neglected to include such outerwear amongst his attire.

"You're late," he grumbles as the scientist approaches. In fact, Higgsbury is just late enough that Maxwell feels justified in complaining about it. Perhaps that was a courteous discourtesy on Wilson's part; Maxwell does so love to complain about him.

[takethatnature]

His eyes flick to the coatrack, facial expression a not-particularly-well-hidden flash of incredulity that gives way to exasperation tinged with jealousy. Ugh, Maxwell's always out-dappering him. Not only did he bring his own top hat, he's got a coat he has absolutely no reason to wear in this tropical climate, just to show Wilson up.

"So I am," Wilson says, pulling a chair out unnecessarily far and unnecessarily loudly and gesturing exaggeratedly toward the seat.

[freedomsuitsme]

Maxwell scowls at the sound.

"Tsk. At least you look halfway-decent."

[takethatnature]

Wilson sits down and scoots the chair back in, producing a series of smaller furniture-against-floor noises.

"Why, yes, I do. It's nice to have my efforts recognised. How did you come up with dinner attire using only an infinite supply of beachwear?" He sounds incredulous rather than admiring. He's certain that Maxwell found that dinner jacket instead of creating it, since it's the right length but a few sizes too wide. But how? The store does have those, Wilson's seen them while searching the nearer reaches for shirts and pants that won't clash with everything he wears, but they're not very common. How long has Maxwell been holding onto that? Or has he found a quick way to locate a particular clothing rack?

[freedomsuitsme]

"It wasn't easy, pal. It took two of me to even stand a chance."

[takethatnature]

"Well, zero of me are going back in there today, so I had to improvise." He drums his fingers on the table, then equips the bug net he crafted just a few hours earlier and swipes a piece of crusty buttered bread out of the air as it floats over to the unoccupied table next to them.

[freedomsuitsme]

"Well, like I said, it's not terrible. I suppose I should be flattered you made some effort with your hair." He reaches up and catches serving of shellfish that's been thrown out of nowhere- lob-ster.

[takethatnature]

"So what have you been up to besides watching me die?" He takes a fork from the middle of the place setting, spears the bread on it, and bites a chunk off. "Made any friends or enemies? I assume you're not just spending all your time smoking successively worse-smelling cigars and practicing your evil laugh."

[freedomsuitsme]

"I've managed to make a few acquaintances. Did you know there are demons on board?"

[takethatnature]

Wilson looks like he's trying to calculate the volume of a cone in his head.

"I know there's aliens and changelings. One of whom can shapeshift into seemingly anything."

[freedomsuitsme]

"I met a demon in Stellar. She keeps tracks of the contracts between all the passengers."