[ Same shit, different day. New world, new people, some looming disaster on the horizon. Cy lets people fuss and doesn't really try to interject himself too much. He works on the hydroponic garden, makes mention of having been an agricultural engineer. It's not like it's a lie. He's done just about every form of farming known to fucking man.
He doesn't really keep track of time all that much. Just sort of, you know. Does his thing. It's a whole vibe.
But he does get bored. And he doesn't like the confined space of the basecamp all that much. The fact that you can't see the sky, the stars. So he just sort of. Starts teleporting around when he's got time to himself. See what's out there. Sometimes he does it deliberately high enough up that he can just kind of freefall until he spots something interesting. Sometimes he does it based on old maps of the city. He gets lucky a lot, until he doesn't.
So here he is. Doing that whole 'step-brother, I'm stuck in the dryer' routine, except the dryer is actually a hunk of concrete that's definitely not supposed to be in this room, and now his goddamn foot is stuck in it. Cy gives it a look like it's terminally offended him, puts his hands on his hips and then Mr. Discount Bondage over there with his whip just asks him that dumbass question and Cy presses a hand to his chest theatrically. ]
What, l'il ol' me?
[ As if he could possibly mean anyone other than the dude who just teleported into his BDSM symposium, party of one. And as if he doesn't awkwardly have one foot encased in concrete — which hurts, by the way. You have any idea how fucking annoying it is to just suddenly have a part of your body trying to displace actual rock? Goddamn. ]
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He doesn't really keep track of time all that much. Just sort of, you know. Does his thing. It's a whole vibe.
But he does get bored. And he doesn't like the confined space of the basecamp all that much. The fact that you can't see the sky, the stars. So he just sort of. Starts teleporting around when he's got time to himself. See what's out there. Sometimes he does it deliberately high enough up that he can just kind of freefall until he spots something interesting. Sometimes he does it based on old maps of the city. He gets lucky a lot, until he doesn't.
So here he is. Doing that whole 'step-brother, I'm stuck in the dryer' routine, except the dryer is actually a hunk of concrete that's definitely not supposed to be in this room, and now his goddamn foot is stuck in it. Cy gives it a look like it's terminally offended him, puts his hands on his hips and then Mr. Discount Bondage over there with his whip just asks him that dumbass question and Cy presses a hand to his chest theatrically. ]
What, l'il ol' me?
[ As if he could possibly mean anyone other than the dude who just teleported into his BDSM symposium, party of one. And as if he doesn't awkwardly have one foot encased in concrete — which hurts, by the way. You have any idea how fucking annoying it is to just suddenly have a part of your body trying to displace actual rock? Goddamn. ]