Rude Awakenings
Rude Awakenings
Summary: Adele stumbles across renowned literary mind/space hobo Timon Amichai. They don't hit it off.
Date: 57 ACH
Related Logs: None

Carina Park Carina - Central Square

57 ACH 23817 Souls

The main level of the Carina depicts a garden-like atmosphere with cobble-stoned walkways leading off to other areas. This ship is the pride of the Colony fleet. Set up as a training area and stadium for play-offs of the Colony Pyramid teams. - In the center square the colony flags fly with their Pyramid team labels.

Caprican Buccaneers, Picon Panthers, Aerelon Argonauts, Tauron Bulls, Aquarian Aces, Virgon Vultures, Sagittaron Hornets, Scorpia Stingers, Libris Daredevils, Gemenon Giants, Canceron Capitals and the Leonis Liberators. The flags surround a statue of the latest team who won. The C-Bucs Pyramid trophy stands proudly in the center.

Signs point down the cobblestone pathways to other places: Training, Housing, Hotel, Courts and Stadium.

Contents: Timon Wireless 582

Exits: [D] Docking Bay [GH] General Housing
[PH] Pyr Hotel [SA] Spires Avenue
[SC] Sport Courts [TA] Training Areas

It's a quiet day in Carina park. Albeit far less quiet than it was before the Fleet discovered an extra 17,000 souls. People stroll, talk, try to spend their post-apocalyptic days productively. Timon is not immediately visible. He's not being terribly productive. In fact, he's quite literally bumming about. He's found a hedge in the garden-like park and is laying on the ground behind it. Some might say sleeping. Some might say passed out. It's an either-or sort of proposition. He's far removed from the crowd. The only thing that calls attention to him is his nasal snoring.

Timon Amichai is a man entering the winter of his life, his white hair and lined face clearly proclaiming the sixty-plus years he's seen. Not that he seems elderly. On the contrary, there's an intelligent, mischievous sparkle in his gray eyes and a spry quality to his movements that suggests he's got a decade or so left in him, yet. His build is slim, it doesn't look like he was ever terribly muscle-bound, and he has a lanky look about him with his long arms and legs, despite his decidedly average height. When he speaks his voice carries a plummy Tauron accent.

His clothing is well-tailored and expensive, but it's fallen into a state of slovenly, rumpled lack-of-care that makes the designer threads harder to appreciate. His khaki Caprican slacks and fine-spun white dress shirt are splotched and dirty, his leather loafers unshined and scuffed. He's also wearing a bathrobe over it all. A genuine bathrobe. A full-length silk thing, patterned in red and purple checkers. He could use a shave, and smells of wine and a general inattention to the finer points of bathing.

Adele is productive. Ridiculously productive - she is carrying a notebook as she walks, her stride brisk but possessing a fluidity that allows her to jot notes down while she moves. And while this is likely a very good method in theory, there is an unforseen consequence of such productivity once put into practice. She's not looking where she is going, and as such, she veers off the beaten path, straight towards the hedge that Timon is sprawled out behind. She doesn't notice the shrubbery until it's too late, and with a rustling CRUNCH, she collides. "Shizztsh!" A swear-word, altered at the last moment, but quite loud.

Timon makes an affronted, snorting sound as his hedge is collided with. Jarred into consciousness. Of a sort. It's more rheumy, decidedly hung-over blinking and confused squinting than anything one would call 'awake.' He blinks up at Adele, eyes hazy. His brain is clearly still trying to get its bearings, and it's not processing everything sharply. "Dehanna…?" he murmurs. Talking to her, presumably. It's said with a tenderness that might be quite touching, were his breath and general odor not absolutely foul.

"Oh gods, I'm sorry," Adele exclaims, disentangling herself from the hedge. Is she apologizing to the plant, or the man? All is answered once she steps back and regards the prone individual with a quickly advancing concern. "Sir, do you need a doctor?" she asks, kneeling down at once, her nose crinkling involuntarily when it meets the odor so readily apparent at such a distance. "Or… an escort back to your place of, ah, residence?" Does this man have a place of residence? Adele's guard shoots up.

Timon doesn't immediately answer Adele. He has other business to attend to. Hacking, to be precise. He coughs, turning his head to spit something yellow and clumpy out onto the park turf. It's morning smoker's cough rather than anything medically dangerous. Not that that makes it any prettier. That attended to, he seems to gain some clarity. And shakes off from kneeling Adele, staggering to his feet. "My frakking gods. I keep expecting it all to have been a nightmare. But. No. Still on this frakking tub." It's muttered more to himself than her. And he makes no effort to alter his profanity. He snorts at Adele. "I'm perfectly fine, madam, I assure you. Can't a man get some sleep on this floating end-of-the-world tub without being interrogated?" He arches his neck in a dignified manner that might appear quite comical, given his current state.

Adele stands up quickly, looking mildly affronted. "Well, I'm sure you'd stand less of a chance of getting interrogated, sir, if you were to sleep somewhere appropriate," she answers crisply, all sympathy and concern fading from her stern visage. "The hotel, perhaps." This suggestion is accompanied by a sweep of her hand in the direction of said hotel. "Or, gods, even a /bench/ in the park would be more becoming, instead of being sprawled out on the grass behind a hedge, where people are liable to assume there is something wrong with you beyond an alcohol induced coma." Her lips draw taut, one brow arching challengingly upwards.

Timon snorts. "Hotel? Phah! What's the difference. Not as if there's a chance or rain or inclimate cold on this tourist trap gone awry. As to the coma…" His lips twitch. And, suddenly, he bursts out laughing. It's not a particular merry laugh. "…I've woken up in far worse places than this, my dear, I assure you. I've never been terribly concerned with what the world thinks is 'becoming'. Not going to start fretting about proprieties now." Though that does seem to remind him of something. He kneels down again, and starts grubbing around under the hedge. "Bloody hell…where is it…"

"I was simply replying to your voiced concern about being interrogated," Adele answers sharply as she tucks the pen behind her ear and folds her arms across her chest, notebook dangling from one hand. "I have already ascertained that you don't give a damn about what people think, you've made that abundantly clear by your style of dress and your profanities leveled at an individual who was just trying to help." She steps back as he begins rummaging around beneath the hedge. "What are you looking for."

"Ahah!" Timon yells in triumph, scooting out back from under the hedge. What he was looking for was, apparently, a wine bottle. Which really shouldn't shock Adele. Wine is one of the stronger smells wafting from him. But, alas, he finds it empty. He sighs, holding it upside-down. Watching a meager droplet trickle out. "And so, in morning light crisp and cold, she was gone. Taking all dark beauty and wonder of night in her wake…" He waxes poetic for the loss of his wine.

Adele is non-plussed by the poetics. She unfolds her arms and sets her jaw, settling her gaze on the empty wine bottle. "How appropriate," she mumbles, closing her notebook, for she is out of her groove now, apparently. "I assume you're fine then, being able to recall some stuffy, pretentious line straight out of one of those Good Poems for Hard Times complilations?"

"Pretentious?" Timon straightens, affronted. But he laughs a moment later. "Always hate how they dredge that one up for the compilations. Far more interesting stuff in 'The Woman in the Window.' But most teachers are too stuffy to teach the good stuff." He eyes Adele up and down. "You're Caprican, aren't you, my dear?" Flirting. Confidently. Despite the near-30 years he has on her. Not to mention the stench.

Adele still doesn't put two and two together. To her, this man is just someone with a penchant for poetry. When he begins flirting, she takes another step back and regards him coolly. "Yes, I am. You are too, I assume."

Timon laughs, derisively, shaking his head firmly. "Gods preserve me, no. My first wife was, though. First ex-wife, I think she'd prefer me to say." He gets another laugh when she takes a step back. Though he looks rather wistful, and sad, as he reflects upon it. "Ah, well. Doesn't matter much now, I suppose. So, you the parks inspector on this ship? Going to write me a ticket? I've got the cubits to pay it, I assure you. Frak, my dear, you can have all my cubits. Not as if they're worth more than toilet tissue now."

You paged Adele with 'If he ever gets around to introducing himself, btw, Adele would certainly have heard of his first ex-wife. Dehanna St. Clair was a political rabble-rouser in the post-first war days. Was mayor of Caprica City for awhile and eventually got elected to a couple terms on the quorum. I picture her as sort of a Hillary Clinton-type. :P'
Adele's eyes narrow further at his apparent distaste for her home colony, her lips drawing once more into a prim little line. It looks as though she's cooking up quite the retort, when his face goes all wistful. Her own countenance softens some; perhaps she is aided by the fact that the added distance makes his stench less apparent. Her expression remains thus as he attempts to pinpoint her position on this ship. "No. I am not going to ticket you," she informs him. "I was simply concerned for your wellbeing. But I see you are," she looks him up and down doubtfully, "fine."

Lex comes in from Docking Bay.
Lex has arrived.

"Fine." Timon repeats it with a derisive snort. But it's less aimed at her than at the world in general. "I'm as fine as you or anyone else these days, my dear girl. I just wear it on the outside." He flourishes his bathrobe in a self-deprecating sort of way. Fortunately, he is wearing pants under it. "Your concern is noted but unnecessary. I've crawled home in far worse shape, I assure you." Timon is standing by a hedge, talking to Adele. He's in a state of hungover filth, wearing a bathrobe, and holding an empty wine bottle upside-down with a mournful look on his face. Adele not any of these things, and seems quite sober and clean.

Fulton comes in from Docking Bay.
Fulton has arrived.

Lex wanders into the area in Civvies, a duffle slung over her shoulder, headed for the Pyr Hotel. She's going to pass by the talking pair soon enough. The bathrobe does get a bit of a glance.

Adele is downright spic and span! But her contempt for Timon is fading rapidly, what with this recent revelation and self-deprecating flourish of his purple and blue checked bathrobe of fine silk. Adele is a sucker for self-deprecation, it would seem. "Do you have a place to crawl back to?" she asks, resisting the urge to step forward. She's still down wind of him.

Fulton comes up from the docking bay, rubbing his knuckles with his opposite hand and looking around as he moves into the park proper as he takes in the area.

Timon is standing by a hedge, talking to Adele. She is spic and span. He's in a state of hungover filth, wearing a bathrobe, and holding an empty wine bottle upside-down with a mournful look on his face. Looking the proper park bum. He waves a hand dismissively. "My room at that gods-damned hotel is paid up into the next decade, with the credit I've got paid into this damned tourist scow. Not that it matters much where one puts one's head on this thing, does it. As I said, no rain. No dayjob to dress for." He clearly relishes wearing the bathrobe about town. "This is my retirement, my dear. Gods, forgive my manners. What is your name? I'm usually far better at introducing myself to the women I wake up under on a given morning." He doesn't immediately note Lex or Fulton, though he's making no particular effort to be inconspicuous.

Lex just… keeps walking. The only thing worse than being confronted with a crying, mourning woman is walking past a sot post conquest. That's what it looks like, and the marine isn't about to stop to ask the time! SHe comes up even with the two, and continues past.

Fulton moves along, till he notices Timon and Adele, arching an eyebrow and turns, angling toward the two. Lex isn't really noticed, though he does approach Timon and Adele with a slight narrowing of the eyes as if trying to put a piece into place.

"Keep your voice down!" Adele gasps, horrified at that last bit from Timon. Because she has noticed that there are people in their vicinity. "That's the last thing I need, some ridiculous rumor flying around about a tryst with some bathrobed bum in the park." She doesn't keep her own voice down. She needs people to know that whatever he just insinuated is NOT TRUE. "And I'm," she looks reluctant for a moment, then rolls her eyes, "Dr. Adele Pike." There. Are you happy now, OLD MAN?

Timon gives Adele a 'What?' sort of look at her horror. "Oh come now. Just a bit of a joke. You're hardly a blushing sixteen. And I am a first-class bum, I assure you." He seems highly amused by her characterization of him. Her introduction prompts a half-mocking bow, complete with flourish of his bathrobe. "Adele Pike. Ah. One of those beautifully constipated Caprican names. Charmed." He straightens. "Timon Amichai, at your service." Whether she knows the name or not, /he/ sounds impressed with it. And more than a little sardonic. It's unclear whether he sees Fulton or not. He's sort of performing in a way that suggests he's working an audience, but he doesn't acknowledge the man.

Adele's jaw sets. It's likely going to be sore tomorrow, with how much clenching it's been doing in the last twenty minutes or so. "Oh, and Timon Amichai is in no way constipated?" she inquires tersely, refolding her arms across her chest with a well-honed indignance. "You're the one quoting poe—" She pauses. Something clicks. And instead of looking any way impressed, it only serves to fuel her returning contempt all the more. "Oh, fantastic. You were quoting yourself. How droll."

Fulton nods as he closes in and stands there. He looks to Adele, with raised eyebrows for a moment, then looks to Timon, nodding, "Timon Amichai, indeed, I thought that was you." He smirks, "Though I doubt you'd remember me from our meeting." He looks to Adele, "He was like this four years ago, too, just poured into an expensive suit. And he smelled better." Yep, just walk into the conversation. That's Fulton.

Marine exit stage left! Lex hustles on by with her duffle, and moves through the doors of the hotel.

Timon grins as he observes Adele's jaw-clenching. Almost wistfully. "Caprican women…" he mutters to himself. Still sardonic. He arches his neck. "Ah, you know my work, then." All he cares about, really. "What do you expect? None of the other buggers seem worth quoting." When Fulton bursts in, he's finally forced to acknowledge the man. He looks him over. Squinting. Hang-overs do not help with memory dredging. "Four years ago…? Ah, yes. Scorpia…just before the fourth marriage…" He says 'marriage' as if it were a unit he uses to measure time. "Well. They don't give you access to the good champagne unless you wear a tie. That's a life lesson, my dear Adele. Take it to heart, now."

Adele swallows as Fulton inserts himself into the conversation, and she looks him over once before settling her gaze back on Timon. "What is that supposed to mean, 'Caprican women'?" she asks, though it's clear she knows exactly what he's implying, and what's worse, she knows that she's meeting the stereotype perfectly. She might as well go with it. "That's Dr. Pike, Mr. Amichai. And I would appreciate it if you stopped referring to me as 'dear.' It is neither humorous nor charming." On a roll, she just shoots Fulton an accusatory glance. It's clearly his fault this is all happening.

Fulton nods, "Mmhmm." He replies to Timon, "Scorpia Academy of Arts Awards Dinner. You were kind enough to spill champagne on my wife in a sudden fit of hubris over the choice for the recipient of the Best New Poet of the Year." He lets out a breath, tilting his head, "You were in a much less amicable mood." He looks to Adele, "Dr. Pike. It's good to meet you, I was given your name by Major Altair." He offers her a hand, "John Fulton."

Lex leaves for Hotel Entrance [PH].
Lex has left.

Timon makes a "Hmph" sort of sound when Adele asks what he means by the 'Caprican women' crack. He seems to feel she's proving his point about that. "Technically, Dr. Pike, it's /Dr./ Amichair. Troy University gave me an honorary doctorate, to commemorate my once gracing their campus with my presence as a callow student. The fact that I'd dropped out, and never properly graduated, didn't deter them in the slightest. Academics aren't properly comfortable with you unless you have a letter or two in front of your name." His credentials established, he turns back to Fulton. "Oh, gods, that awful dinner. Well, I apologize in retrospect to your wife. Particularly for the waste of champagne." The name 'Fulton' rings a bell with him. He looks speculative.

Kurin comes in from Housing Area.
Kurin has arrived.

"My sincerest apologies, Dr. Amichai," Adele offers with one of those unsettling Caprican woman smiles, before she turns her attention back to Fulton and his extended hand. The name Altair gives her some pause, and she is much less contemptuous as she takes the proffered hand, giving it a firm shake that would likely compliment a nice pantsuit ensemble quite well. Alas, her pantsuits were destroyed with the PAS. "Mr. Fulton, a pleasure," she says, all trace of irritation gone from her voice, if not her expression. It's business time, apparently. But not in a Flight of the Conchords sense.

Pepper comes in from Docking Bay.
Pepper has arrived.

Kurin limps into the park, part of the riff-raff that is becoming more and more difficuylt to distinguish from the people who may have once actually belonged on this ship— tourists and sportsfans. She seems to favour her left foot a bit, though she moves slowly to minimize any ostentatious sign of injury, not to elicit any unwonted efforts at assistance. Just in case that's not enough, she wears an expression of general discontent and ill-temper.

Fulton shakes Adeles hand, offering an inclination of the head as he releases her hand and says, "Hopefully we'll be able to speak when you have a free moment." He then looks to Timon, "Yes, of course. I'm certain you're lamenting the loss of the vintage." He looks Timon over, "Though I see you've been handling the recent events.. In style."

Timon continues hanging around Fulton and Adele, business time or not. He's certainly not conducting any. He's just hanging about. By a hedge. In a bathrobe. Filthy and holding an empty wine bottle. The Carina's official bum. "No apology necessary, my dear Dr. Pike," he adds to Adele. "It's never meant much to me. I don't demand people call my 'doctor' like some puffed-up collegiate arsehole." Magnanimous. He shrugs to Fulton. "As I told the good Dr. Pike. This is my retirement. Humanity's retirement. I intend to spend it in the fashion I please."

After lingering for a little while, Kurin proceeds on her way.

Kurin leaves for Housing Area [GH].
Kurin has left.

Pepper comes off the escalator, out of uniform and dressed for off duty, looking more than a little tired.

Adele smiles at Fulton a beat longer, and remains facing him while she listens to Timon's comments. The smile retreats, retreats, and keeps retreating until it has turned upside down, and her reddish-blonde brows lower appropriately. With a sharp inhale through her nose, she whirls around to unleash some pent up ire upon the Carina's own affluent hobo. "First of all, I didn't demand you call me doctor because I am puffed up about my status as a physician. I requested you refer to me as Dr. Pike because we /do not know each other/. Secondly," she takes a breath, and then a step closer to the man that reeks of wine and a lack of general hygeine, "this might be /your/ retirement, but it's hardly /humanity's/. I know I'm far from giving up and resigning myself to a state of self-destructive, slovenly lecherousness and a drunken disregard for the people who have to walk through this park to DO THEIR FRAKKING JOBS." She is seething now, and her chest heaves appropriately. She is in what some would call a tizzy.

Fulton watches Timon for a moment, then smiles widely, "Excellent." He says, seeming genuinely pleased at Timon. He nods, "Yes, you're doing a better job than I would have hoped." He folds his arms across his chest, one hand coming up to tap his lips. He looks to Adele, and blinks. "Doctor Pike, Doctor Pike." He says in a calming voice, moving to her side, lifting his hands, in a soothing motion, "Please. Don't upset this, please, don't you see what this is? Please, Doctor, listen to reason."

Timon is not exactly surprise when he is seethed at by Adele. It is, admittedly, probably not the first time someone has found reason to seethe at him in his life. Unruffled he asides to Fulton, "As I said. Caprican women. Text-book case. Stay away from them, my good man. They'll only break your heart." Though that last bit does seem to hit a note in him. He makes a "Hmph" sound. Idly straightening his bathrobe. Pausing a beat. When he regains his lightness he asks Adele, "How does one get to the clinic, my dear?" He adds. "Been meaning to see if I can barter for chamalla."

Pepper glances around the Park for a little bit, just standing still and studying everything as if she hasn't quite seen it before, or as if she's seeing it through tired eyes. Finally, after a bit, her eyes fall on the trio and she just tilts her head.

Adele turns to regard Fulton, her eyes still quite fiery, though with their color, it's more of a cold flame than anything. Chalk another one up to that Caprican woman stereotype. "Yes, I see what this is. I know people deal with tragedy differently, and I am just as sorry for his losses as I am about everyone else's. But this resigned attitude," she pivots to stare at Timon again, "is something I refuse to abide. I'm working my tight Caprican /ass/ off trying to make some sort of change for the better in these uncertain times, in this precarious state of things, and I'm not about to let this dirty, drunken poet make me feel like it's simply not worth it." She sucks in a sharp breath, then pushes past the two men, heading purposefully for the housing area.

Adele leaves for Housing Area [GH].
Adele has left.

Fulton turns, taking a step after Adele, gesturing to Timon, "That's the point, though.." He sighs as she leaves, shaking his head a little to her retreating form. His hands go up, then back down to clap his thighs. "Damn."

Timon watches Adele, and her tight Caprican ass, go. Thoughtful. But aloud, all he does is "Harumph" and quip, "That, right there, is a woman in need of a stiff drink. Pardon me, Mister Fulton, but I must be retiring." He says it as if he were lord of the manor going back to his stately den. Rather than a space hobo in a bathrobe. He drops his wine bottle behind the hedge. Littering. "There has to be some decent alcohol left on this ship." With that, he goes off to scrounge. Bowing rakishly to Pepper as he passes her, with a flourish of his robe. Randomly.

Pep's got a soft, tired little smile on her lips. As Timon passes, she drops a half-playful curtsy, then starts across the park toward Fulton.

Fulton turns, watching Timon leave, then looks to the hedge, and blinks as he notices Pepper, smiling and moving to her, "Pep." He greets with a warm smile, "You haven't gotten any sleep have you?"

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