kore_logs | [open] apples and quinces, lemons and oranges

Entry tags:

[open] apples and quinces, lemons and oranges

Who: Ned, open to all
What: Here be species-swap logs involving Ned the unlikely fertility god.
Where: Anywhere (preferably outdoors).
When: Duration of the event (58 - 61); put date in header, please.
Warnings: Blood, kidnapping, creepiness and general Ned-terrorizing? [will add more as necessary]

Ned wanders the town barefoot, leaving a path of fruit and flowers and vegetation behind him. There are daffodils and bluebells, hyacinths and crocuses, irises of all colors, primroses and poppies and periwinkle in profusion. When he stops to sit quietly under a tree, by the edge of the woods, the vines spread out from his body like paint creeping through water. They slowly wind their way up the trees, or else sprawl across the ground, swelling with strawberries and blackberries, grapes and kiwis, passionfuit and cherries.

He doesn't understand why it is happening, but from the sound of the messages over the communicator, everyone has been going through some strange changes. As far as Ned's concerned, being some kind of plant conjurer is better than some options.

Since he can't think of much else to do with his time, Ned lounges in the dappled shade and makes bouquets. All he needs to do is rake his hands through the soil and a few minutes later, up come the snapdragons, up come the cala lilies. He finds that, if he focuses on a particular kind of flower as he does it, sometimes it is mixed amongst the others. As he sits the hydrangeas are bubbling up around him, shielding him from view.

Ned isn't worried about resting in the woods, despite all the dire warnings he's heard in his short time here. He is at the very edge, just in the shade of the first few trees; the lions and tigers and bears can't possibly have any objections. So he lounges in his cozy bower, hazy, half-awake (he hadn't exactly slept well, the previous night), weaving crowns of camellias and garlands of gladiolus.

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"The shallows should be safe." He's not positive about that, but if anything serious had gone wrong because surely he would have heard about it. "If we are careful. I cannot swim."

Oh, he knows the mechanics, but robots -- even humaniform ones -- don't tend to float too well, but as they can't drown either, it's not usually a major issue. Daneel sits up, still wobbling uncertainly, but improving, and inhaling the scent of lilacs everywhere. "I would like to see the ocean. I... would not want anything to happen to you, so we will be careful." And that's true even without the First Law, so that's... promising.

"Careful is my middle name," Ned assures him, getting to his feet and once again offering Daneel a hand up. "And I wouldn't want anything to happen to you, either." It's not a Law, either, for Ned. Just good old-fashioned friendship. "I won't let you drown, and I won't let me drown, either. We don't have to go in the water at all if you'd rather not."

See, all these little choices, little questions of preference, making up the average part of a human's day. Ned isn't going to make them for Daneel, though he's more than happy to provide a few ideas along the way, and keep him company and be a sounding board for him.

He takes Ned's hand gladly; one thing he's discovered (or re-discovered, because he knew it intellectually before) is that physical contact is reassuring, even small touches -- at least this has been the case with Lydia, and Ned.

"I... I want to put my feet in the water," he says. Daneel's reasons for this are complicated and confusing, a mixture of curiosity and a desire to experience everything.

The matter of mutual protection is interesting; if there are Laws of Humanics that govern human behaviour, as he and Giskard had discussed on occasion, perhaps that factors in.

"Then let's get going."

When they reach the edge of the sand - a stretch between the dock and the lighthouse - Ned stops. He experiences a moment of dissonance when he spots a camera and remembers that, even here, they are being watched. Even this second. The two of them, two of the subjects of whatever this experiment is, their behaviors no doubt being recorded and processed and assessed. Along with the usual wave of fear as he remembers just where he is and how helpless he is, Ned feels a stab of resentment, a desire to reap as much joy out of this as possible to spite the people behind it.

"Shoes off," he suggests to Daneel, pushing the thought away. "And you can- um-" Ned trails off in embarrassment, turning slightly away from Daneel as he pulls off his pants and folds up, setting them on the sand. He knows he oughtn't be so self-conscious: he's wearing boxers and a tee-shirt, hardly that immodest, by most people's standards. But Ned's standards aren't most peoples' standards, and so he crosses his arms tightly and buries his toes in the sand. Ice plants start poking up around them, neon purple flowers with thousands of thin petals.

"I don't normally do stuff like this really." He doesn't know why he feels the urge to explain to Daneel. "I'm not... impulsive. Or adventurous. Or good at... having fun."

It isn't such a long drive, from the city to the shore, but Ned hasn't gone in years. Perhaps it's because he knew that seeing all the people there in clusters - groups of friends, lovers both young and old, families with small children - would remind him of his own loneliness.

Body modesty is a cultural thing, Daneel knows, and even if he's human now he hasn't ever had to develop any sense of personal shame about his body. He follows Ned's lead, though, removing his shoes and pants, completely unselfconscious about it.

The seaside is... interesting. The smell of it: salt, and seaweed. The wind brings a spray of cold water in tiny, salty prickles against his face, which he can taste on his lips. The sand between his toes is strange and coarse.

"That's all right, Ned. I am not experienced with these things either." Daneel glances at Ned before putting a foot into the surf. It's cold, and... wet. That shouldn't be surprising, but feeling it like this is... different.

Ned, for whom none of this is a new, steps into the water just as tentatively as Daneel. He lets his feet adjust to the temperature before walking out a little further, and so on and so forth, until he's in up to his knees. The waves are larger than he'd expected, crashing into him on the way in and dragging at the backs of his knees on their way out. He bends down, scoops up a handful of foam from one of them, notices that a few buds of kelp are tenaciously making their way up around his feet under the water.

He turns to look back at Daneel, asks, "Are enjoying i-" but he is cut off when a wave that was rather larger than the ones before it slaps against his back, soaking him up to the shoulder-blades. Ned is easily able to keep his balance but the shock of the cold water makes him involuntarily - and very loudly - gasp. "That was really cold," he complains, breathlessly, "I didn't realize it was gonna be this cold, it's never this cold where I'm from." Then he breaks into a laugh, because despite the discomfort, it is rather funny, isn't it?

Daneel looks up at Ned in alarm, his fingers in his mouth from an unfortunate attempt at tasting the seawater.

Slapstick humour isn't something he's good at, but Ned's laughter is reassuring; Daneel doesn't understand why this is funny, but the humour is strangely infectious and a smile quirks up around the corners of his mouth. He's not sure why.

The water is cold, and he's pretty sure a strand of kelp just whipped past his ankle and that's unsettling on so many levels. He wades closer to Ned, fighting the rocking of the waves -- which is surprisingly strong.

"You're all right, Ned?"

"Fine," he says, with a little shiver, "It just surprised me." It's worth it, though, because Daneel is smiling - and not a derisive, mocking smile. Ned doubts he is even capable of one of those.

Since he's already gotten his clothes wet, Ned supposes there can't be any harm in going a little further out. The water may be bracing, but there's something thrilling in it, too. Perhaps the change has made him bolder, less careful - at least about natural things. What threat is there, in water and surf? He walks in deeper, until the water is up around his chest.

He looks down through the waves, can see (though they are distorted by the waves) the sea plants springing up around his feet - thin wisps of sea grass rocking back and forth with every wave, a carpet of dark brown, slick kelp leaves, clouds and clouds of algae. It's all mesmerizing, and for a moment Ned forgets about Daneel entirely, slipping into a kind of waking trance. He did this once, earlier in the day, sitting in his makeshift garden. Something about the plants, about the way they're growing, hypnotizes him. He can feel them drawing in the energy from the sun that filters down through the water, rooting themselves into the shifting sand, drinking in the salt water that is all around them. It's as if he's a part of them, in a way, and for a little while he loses himself.

Ned and his plants -- Daneel can't pretend to understand it, except so far as to know that strange things are happening beyond his own situation. He looks at Ned a moment, curious about what this must be like for him, how it might be possible.

Watching Ned, watching his own bare toes through the frigid water, swaying with each rush of water. The shore is an alien thing; Aurora, like most Spacer planets, is a world of gardens. Gardens are tame, orderly, safe. This is... chaos, wildness. Spacers snubbed it in favour of safety, and Earthers feared it and went underground. Daneel finds it fascinating, dark, dangerous and primaeval. Aurora must have been like this once, and Earth too, long before.

This train of thought is abruptly cut short as one particularly big wave. He's used to robotic strength and robotic weight, and he has neither of these now. The water -- surprisingly strong -- sweeps him off his feet entirely, and with a startled, frightened yelp, Daneel goes under.

That cry is enough to snap Ned out of his reverie, and when he whips around, he doesn't see Daneel. It's as if the bottom has dropped out of his stomach. Without a second thought, he plunges under the water and opens his eyes, sting be damned. It takes him a moment to spot Daneel, and then he is rushing over, half-swimming and half-running, against the pull of the wave as it comes back out. He moves quickly, and yet it feels like an eternity before he is there, grabbing Daneel and hauling him above the water, getting him upright. Ned doesn't stop there - keeps his arm around Daneel's back and walks him towards the shore, not stopping until they are on dry sand.

"I'm sorry," he says in a rush, "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, are you hurt? Did you hit your head?"

Daneel clings to Ned out of reflex while he chokes and sputters on a mouthful of seawater. He breathes, hard, feeling sick; salt sits uneasily on the stomach, he's discovering.

"There is water in my nose," he tells Ned -- which is probably besides the point, but it's uncomfortable and it stings and it feels like his head is full of salty water. "I don't believe I'm injured."

He just got saved. He might have been able to right himself, but he knows he can't swim. Daneel looks at Ned in astonishment and gratitude. "Ned. Thank you."

"Don't thank me!" Ned says, distraught, pulling away now that he's sure Daneel is steady on his feet. He's relieved that Daneel isn't injured, but that look on his face - so scared and yet grateful - makes Ned feel sick with guilt. This is all his fault. Why isn't Daneel angry with him? He should be furious.

"I don't know what the hell I was thinking. I nearly got you killed," Ned rakes a hand through his wet hair, "Your first day as a human and I nearly killed you. That's great." He lets out a shaky breath, tamps down on his ramble before it gets out of hand.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"You are not at fault," Daneel protests. It was nothing more than bad luck, an unfortunate step in rough water. "I still don't know the limits of my human body. I swallowed some water. I hope that will cause no permanent harm. It was distasteful."

Still, it would probably be for the best if Lydia didn't hear of this. She had been so worried for him.

"I am very wet." And cold, too; he's beginning to shiver a little in the wind.

Ned doesn't keep arguing the point, though he knows Daneel is wrong. This is why he is usually so cautious, why he doesn't try being impulsive, being fun, being reckless with his safety and the safety of others.

"It shouldn't do you any harm. Probably," Ned says, hopeful that it is true, that there isn't some additive in the water that will make him terribly sick from just swallowing a little bit.

Seeing Daneel start to shiver, Ned nods, pushing the wet hair away from his face and collecting himself. "We should get you back so you can dry off properly." Because being wet and cold and miserable is not exactly the slice of human experience that Ned had meant to share with Daneel.

Ned walks with him back up the beach, pauses to pull on his clothes and allow Daneel to do the same, before he's shepherding him back towards his house. He doesn't say anything at this time, chewing on the inside of his lip, wondering what came over him back there, how he could just zone out like that, wondering how Daneel can continue not to blame him.

When they reach House 7, Ned rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "You should probably take a hot shower to warm up. If you start to feel sick from the seawater, let Bruce know, I guess? He's a doctor." Ned smiles a little, and it's rueful around the edges, "I guess I'll see you later."

Walking has warmed him up a little, but a hot shower does sound beneficial, as well as being one more interesting experiment. Perhaps he had a close call, and perhaps not, but no harm came of it, and that's what matters.

"Yes," Daneel says, and he's smiling back. "Thank you for the flowers, and the pie. It has been... instructive."

How to properly say goodbye? Rather hesitantly, Daneel offers his hand to shake.

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[open] apples and quinces, lemons and oranges

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