#jupiter 01

Villanelle doesn't remember how she got here. Well, she remembers how she got to the lounge, after a quick examination of the room where she woke up – it was just a quick trip past what appeared to be a large tree trunk in the center of the building. But as for how she wound up in this building, and not in her apartment, she has no idea. 

This station is called Lampadias. It strikes Emily as an oddly fantastical name, not of any origin she can determine - not Gristolian or Morlish or Tyvian or Serkonan, though her studies of the Pandyssian continent have lapsed as of late.

The woods there are a comfort after the blandness of Nectar’s sea-and-surf. Emily was raised in a gas-belching oil-slicked city and is more used to urban forests than the natural kind, but she can work with anywhere that has dark shadows. She amuses herself by stepping from shadow to shadow, trying not to let the light touch her, and it is a real challenge now that her powers have been mostly stripped from her. She found that out the hard way when she Reached her way onto the roof of the train station and then had to clamber back down by herself.

The first order of business (Really? “The first order of business?” You’re suck a dork, Venus) is to raid the kitchen - she’s not going to solve the mystery of her own kidnapping on an empty stomach. Most of the food in the fridge is unrecognizable (that cannot be a fried rat on a stick, there is no way --), but sitting on a plate in the center of the top shelf is a perfectly roasted turkey leg, covered by a double-layer of saran wrap. It kinda looks like it belongs to someone, but there’s no label or anything, and the floor is deserted, and also Venus is too hungry to care. She doesn’t even bother heating it up or looking for utensils; she just grabs it by the bone, rips off a chunk with her teeth, and basks in the warm glow of the endorphin rush. Then, still eating, she uses her free hand to pull the mysterious cellphone out of her pocket.

It’s not her phone (she still has one of those old flip phones, and anyways she didn’t bring it to summer scouts), but unless she wants to go outside alone (which sounds super stupid, thank you very much), it’s her only lead. Maybe if she can figure out who it belongs to, it’ll give her a clue as to where she is, and why.

Venus swipes away the message that was on-screen when she woke up (clue or not, it’s rude to read other people’s texts) and navigates over to the contacts list. But instead of something obviously useful, like “Dad” or “Gramma” or “Sweetums (that’s a pet name adult men use for their girlfriends, right?), the list is full of really weird names. Agent 8? Ditch? GLaDOS? Jovial Contr -

Wait. Hold on.

[msg] hey, uh [msg] is this jupiter?

[msg] i mean obviously its jupiter, that was the name on this contact [msg] but like [msg] are you summer scouts jupiter? group west jupiter?

[msg] wait why am i even asking [msg] even if it is you i know for a fact that you left your phone at home, so you wouldnt even get this until you got back from the scouts next week

[msg] but i mean if you do get this in a week and you still havent heard from me [msg] please send help? [msg] i woke up in a weird room in a weird building in a weird city with a weird phone that isnt even mine and i dont remember how i got here and im maybe freaking out a little??? [msg] i mean like im fine right now but no ones here and i dont know whats going on and i feel like this is actually a freak out worthy situation maybe

It seems every animal the Ark has is both smaller and less... pointy than the ones in the Isles.

The Whaler has never seen a live blood ox, but they’re fairly sure even the females are at least twice the size of one of these dopey-looking cows. The goats, too; their horns are blunt and built more for butting, but the goats they’ve seen in books and such are definitely not strangers to goring predators or unfortunate humans. 

It’s the rabbits that really startle them, though. They’re tiny. And... fluffy. The hares in Gristol are much, much larger, and no one sane would ever consider keeping one as a pet. They weren’t as nasty as some of the other farm animals, but they were still mean. A bite from a hare hurts like hell, and a kick from their back legs can easily bruise. They’re not worth the trouble, unless you’re planning on cooking and eating one.

The Whaler pushes forwards through a small crowd to try and get a closer look. There’s a rabbit over in the corner with so much fluff they can’t even see its eyes, and one next to it with such long, droopy ears they’re surprised the poor thing can walk without tripping over them. There’s a sign to the left that says visitors are allowed to pet the animals, so the Whaler reaches an arm over the short fence and holds their gloved hand out to the one with the long ears. It sniffs at them for a moment, flat little nose twitching, and a warm, gooey sensation bubbles up in the Whaler’s chest. 

Then it sinks its teeth into their glove.

The Whaler jerks their arm back, cursing, and their elbow smacks right into someone behind them. They whip around to see a young girl—by the Outsider, they didn’t think there were kids in this place—clutching at her chest and grimacing.

He finds himself on the pier after a while. The host(s?) try to be welcoming, but it doesn't help the disorientation much. He spends some time wandering his room and the common areas. He tries to navigate the writings on the tablet of solid light given to him. Eventually, he gets frustrated, but by then, he at least knows enough that he is able to get to the surface, where the strange building and the sea meet.

The air smells different than in Velas, and the way the pier stretches into the distance like a thread in the vastness unsettles him some, but being outside grounds him more than anything else. As he sits on one of the benches and watches the waves and the people passing by on their way to and fro, he feels like he understands where he is a little better.