"Come, come," I hear it calling me

[thygospelevity]

WHO: Kurloz Makara and OPEN
WHAT: Kurloz sees the light.
WHEN: Midday.
WHERE: around the City of Tomorrow
NOTES/WARNINGS: Cursing, drug reference

He was a terrible friend. This had likely belonged to Mituna. He'd realized this with some guilt as he'd looked over it all the same, curious, uncertain, but knowing he'd never owned technology like this. He had his husktop. That was the most he'd really needed.

It came to life, showing a network, a place beckoning his voice to sound over the masses. Yet he did not begin there, he couldn't not while there will still pieces he didn't understand. Like a transport button. Could such a thing be possible? He supposed. The world was full of miracles. And so, that was how he found himself seeking out something he didn't think he would miss. Scripture? Absolutely not. A shoe? No. Sopor? Who was he kidding it was hard enough for him to sleep as it was without losing that. An empty elixir bottle then, that would do well.

And so it was with that he'd pointed the device at the bottle, hit the transport bottle, and then--

"HONK!" The world is bright, burningly so where before it was the dark confines of his hive. He scrambles, panic rising in his chest, in his throat. Blindly, he runs until he feels a door. He barrels through it and at last allows his eyes to open. The light is still fairly bright but it's all an artificial sort, not the sun.

There's bustle about. He feels the presence of others just faintly, and turns. The creatures before him aren't trolls.

Later

The sun doesn't burn. It hurts to look up at, but he doesn't go blind, he doesn't bleed. It doesn't hurt enough to stop him from looking at the way the light gleams off everything, deadly, horrifying, but beautiful without question. Ships of some sort fly over head. He's never seen anything like this in his life. He has no idea where he is even if he might have a name to it. Right now, he doesn't much mind.

Eyes of yellow and grey take all the world in and transform it to wonder. He's not dreaming, he knows that. He doesn't dream, he only has daymares and anyway, there's a realness to this all even in his disbelief. He wanders the city dressed in dark leggings without shoes, an oversized skull sweater, and undone hair-- shameful, but he hadn't expected to leave his hive that day. He reaches out to touch the art displayed and finds it solid. Messiahs were magical true enough but surely this would not have slipped from the prophecies. There can only be one explanation and he voices it to himself then.

"Never in all Messiah's vast viewing ogle orbs has such dank nip been ever mother fuckin reveled in by a homie cognizant."

Comments

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Ships aren't the only thing flying up above. Sam's staying out of traffic - more or less - but he can't resist the urge to get out and stretch his wings. It's a unique experience, flying in a city like this when no one's shooting at him. His "for training" flying had mostly been back at the Avengers facility or in the desert, and now it tended to be out in the jungle.

He keeps an eye on the ground as he flies, and for the most part, people either go about their business like it's absolutely a normal thing to do, or stop to watch him a little. And he's not above admitting that those are the times that he pulls some fancy flying, showing off a little.

But the alien guy that Sam spots on the ground, looking at everything with wide eyes, he's a little different. It doesn't take a huge stretch of the imagination to figure he's probably someone who just got their CALL device, and Sam swoops down towards him.

He lands just in time to catch what the guy says, and he can't help but chuckle a little as he grins at him, wings still outstretched. "Yeah, that's one way of putting it."