can_has_vodka | for lastvoyages: First Vision [video+spam]

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for lastvoyages: First Vision [video+spam]

[Have a spritely young bald woman in filmy clothes, perching on a scratched wooden desk and beaming at you. Her eyes are bright, bright purple and almost seem to glow slightly, and she is very pale.]

Hullo everybody! I'm Arkady, and I'm from the Island of Whitechapel. Of course, for most of you Whitechapel isn't an island, but we had a little problem with the Thames getting loose from its banks, and ever since then things have been a bit wet in London. Whitechapel has about twice as many people as this place, and we just took on a hundred more. We'll make do, though. We just need to pull together. [It's not clear whether she's speaking of Whitechapel or the Barge. Both maybe?]

I'm to be a Warden here, and if there's a need for help anywhere, do let me know! [She pauses, blinks at the screen, and then leeeeans forward and peers into it as if she can see some of you on the other side. A giggle; the purple eyes blink and she pulls back again.]

I'll be up on Deck in the gardens if anyone wants to say hello! Yay flowers!

[A few seconds later she literally appears a few feet from the Colour Garden, which she immediately crouches down to inspect.] Hello flowers!

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When I was born my mum was asked what to name me, and said, "Ah! A child of Arcadia!" They put down Arkady at the doctor's. So that will do.

Hello Armand! I suppose we will be working together--oo, strawberries! [Focus on a fat-berried plant]

I suppose I will have to accept informality at this point.

[He bites his lip, and there's a note of longing in his voice.] Have the, uh, strawberries fruited again? The poor things get the seasons all confused here.

The seasons are all messed up in New Whitechapel too. We get berries six times a year.

I'm always informal. But that's because I work inside the mind instead of out in society.

Many young ladies I've met here are like that. I should just give up and go with the fashion on board, but it troubles me sometimes. More so with young ladies than with men. My apologies. I hate to feel as if I'm intruding or assuming a relationship that is not there. [All that is said without him once looking at the camera, when he does it's to ask:]

You're from England?

... inside the mind. Is that a turn of phrase?

I miss working in the garden. [And his shoulders slump, liking a pouting child.]

You are trying to be polite. We understand! People like when someone makes the effort even if the situation isn't perfect. You're doing just fine!

Yes, from a flat little village to the South. And then from Whitechapel, where Kirk runs the garden.

No, it is not a turn of phrase. I am a psychonaut. The mind, thoughts, dreams, perceptions, healing and expanding it all, that is my business.

[She pouts sympathetically.]

So volunteer for the harvest! I shall! One cannot work without also having time to be happy.

Custom on board is very strict about what sort of work wardens can do outside of wardening. I used to supervise the garden, but I dislike having conflicts with people. A public role is not for me.

I loved working with the plants, though. They remind me of friends who are gone from here, and the little garden outside my home in England. It wasn't much of anything, but such a wonder to a man who grew up in the city as I did.

There are many more hands needed in a garden than the pair owned by the one running the place. You can't supervise without running into conflicts, but you could still work. Isn't there anyone to ask? I shall ask too. Whoever I look after will take much of my time, but I like visiting the flowers.

I don't like conflicts either. Many of them turn on the wrong word or something else silly like that, and then where are people? All upset, and often with so little need.

Well, there were three or four people, sort of. And Persephone could have done all one part of the work herself. She visited and the plants loved her, even the ones were were going to eat later.

You may ask. I don't wish to ask for trouble.

But if you're up there, I could show you around a little. Most of it is usually unlocked. And restful. One doesn't always know what to get in the CES, after all.

All right, I shall ask. [Her eyes dance as she gazes back at him.] I suppose I am too used to a place where one simply comes up and asks to join whatever work is being done.

I would like that! I have ideas. No basket yet, but I shall have one soon!

I'll be there shortly.

[And a bit later, delayed because he stopped to change into his "working" clothes, Armand arrives at the gardens. His stride is hesitant, and he keeps an anxious eye out for whomever else might be there.]

Mademoiselle Arkady is it?

Hello! Hello hello! [She leaves off conversing with the butterfly in her palm and wanders over.]

And you're Mr. Armand! [She peers at the roses] Someone has been pruning off the dead bits with claws.

[He gives her a lop-sided smile, then examines where she's looking.] Oh. I wonder if that's Dracula. I've no idea if anyone is getting the tools out for him these days.

Hee hee hee hee! The claws that killed are pruning roses! [She does a pirouette and then blinks at him.] Turning a sword into a ploughshare takes a lot of hammering.

In Whitechapel the garden was on platforms atop the Ten Bells, so that it would be undisturbed unless you wished to climb all the way up. He had a great lot of old bathtubs being used as planters, and great raincatchers made from fuel drums and tarapulins. We learned to make do with whatever we had there. But the rain water was clean and the berries sweet.

[Armand stands very still, considering her flamboyant actions and words.] He likes the garden, so I understand. If it helps gentle his senses, then I'm approving.

[He looks around, almost sad.] This isn't necessary for survival. Mostly. We have enough food provided most of the time, but we're far from home here. People need plants, I think.

People need living things. Plants...animals...each other. And the fruits of their own labors. Like this apple. [She points at one hanging from a tree above her head]. Will it taste better than one from the kitchens? No, save for someone who sweated and earned blisters in the growing of it.

I think you would like Whitechapel. No one takes anything for granted there.

I might. I am not prepared to live somewhere where life is hard again. I have too many bad memories of my last year in Paris.

[Then he frowns, more at himself than anything else.] I shouldn't say such things. I don't even think much of it anymore. I miss my home, but my family is in England.

Life isn't so hard there. Not like France has had it...how many times has Paris been a trial to live in? We have no plagues, there is food for all, and a doctor.

And we just got chikkens! We should have them here. There is something magical about an egg fresh from the hen.

I never quite researched all the times after the one I lived in, I'm afraid. It had a horrid enough name as it was. True as well.

[He frowns at her mention of chickens. You can see almost see him repeat it in his head a few times.] Chickens? Is that what you said?

Yes.

You see, one of us does nothing but salvage. Going out in his boat and finding things we can use. And one day he came home with a great big boatload of brown hens. They were so beautiful! Fresh eggs!

We have eggs. [He suspected he was missing the point.]

Perhaps not fresh. Chickens are messy. Maybe if you told the Admiral they were pets...

Oh yes, I know. They poop. [She pulls a face.] I would have to clean up after them. But that is all right.

[Staaaaare as he head slowly tilts]

Why don't you have a nice little cat for your hearth?

[Another frown.] You can read minds. Either that, or you're very insightful.

I don't know why I don't. Last year, it was mostly because I was sick so often.

I can, but I haven't been rummaging about in yours. But insight is my business. I've been in a cat's mind. A nice mellow one would be very compatible with a soft-spoken and gentlemanly Frenchman, I think.

I had Freya for a little bit. I could ask the Admiral for a cat of my own I suppose. Freya is still partially mine, or so Loki says. [She's embarrassing him a bit now.]

I do like animals, but I'm not the most attentive...

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