[ Amos would kill to have something from back home out in the real world. Literally. Preferably his ship, but that feels like too big an ask; even just a gun would be nice. And he's plenty adaptable, too. Never would've made it as far in life as he has if he wasn't. Except this wasn't the kind of adapting he ever thought he'd have to do, and it's doable, but damn, is it annoying.
The burgeoning camaraderie he's finding with Sam is helping, though. Knows Baltimore. Not just where it is, but what it is. Some technology, rudimentary but technology all the same. It makes for an easier shorthand, makes Amos feel a little less out of place than he always does. It's just. It's nice.
He reaches up, scratches the back of his neck. It's a small movement; that he's making any movement that casual at all is a sign of how at ease he's starting to feel in this conversation. ] Yeah, this whole place'd probably be considered a paradise where I'm from, but I dunno. Kinda the exact opposite from everything I know. [ That doesn't bother him so much as the part where it feels like he should be bothered by it and just. Isn't. Like something's wrong with him, but he already knew that. So, best he can offer is a shrug. ] Place like this, I figure what's common sense to us ain't so common. Might have to start with the basics. [ A beat. ] Which, now I say that, sounds exhausting.
[ Though Amos has never really been the teaching, mentoring type. Something like tech, he might actually be able to do, but that'd be assuming someone's already looking at his field to begin with, and his field doesn't exist here. So, point taken; it's probably a hopeless endeavour.
... Fuck. Ah, well.
It's easy enough to push Baltimore out of mind, follow Sam over to the ice chest, pick out a beer for himself, feel the not-real coolness of the bottle's exterior. Give Sam an easy, only somewhat off grin. ]
Sure does. Only, y'know, in space, you make do. Not a whole lot of room for growing shit out there, so certain crops take priority over others. So you get a lot of substitutes. Things that don't quite taste right. [ He pops the top off, takes a drink, tries to imagine the best beer he's ever had. Something from Earth. It almost works, but something in his brain just keeps reminding him that none of this is real, so there's only so much of the desired effect he's actually capable of achieving. ] The best stuff's always from Earth, anyway. 'course, that makes it the most expensive. Or hardest to get. [ Hence, you know. Wet dreams over farmland and shit like that. ] That's maybe the only good thing about being here; even the food they gave us in prison was some of the best I've had in ages.
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The burgeoning camaraderie he's finding with Sam is helping, though. Knows Baltimore. Not just where it is, but what it is. Some technology, rudimentary but technology all the same. It makes for an easier shorthand, makes Amos feel a little less out of place than he always does. It's just. It's nice.
He reaches up, scratches the back of his neck. It's a small movement; that he's making any movement that casual at all is a sign of how at ease he's starting to feel in this conversation. ] Yeah, this whole place'd probably be considered a paradise where I'm from, but I dunno. Kinda the exact opposite from everything I know. [ That doesn't bother him so much as the part where it feels like he should be bothered by it and just. Isn't. Like something's wrong with him, but he already knew that. So, best he can offer is a shrug. ] Place like this, I figure what's common sense to us ain't so common. Might have to start with the basics. [ A beat. ] Which, now I say that, sounds exhausting.
[ Though Amos has never really been the teaching, mentoring type. Something like tech, he might actually be able to do, but that'd be assuming someone's already looking at his field to begin with, and his field doesn't exist here. So, point taken; it's probably a hopeless endeavour.
... Fuck. Ah, well.
It's easy enough to push Baltimore out of mind, follow Sam over to the ice chest, pick out a beer for himself, feel the not-real coolness of the bottle's exterior. Give Sam an easy, only somewhat off grin. ]
Sure does. Only, y'know, in space, you make do. Not a whole lot of room for growing shit out there, so certain crops take priority over others. So you get a lot of substitutes. Things that don't quite taste right. [ He pops the top off, takes a drink, tries to imagine the best beer he's ever had. Something from Earth. It almost works, but something in his brain just keeps reminding him that none of this is real, so there's only so much of the desired effect he's actually capable of achieving. ] The best stuff's always from Earth, anyway. 'course, that makes it the most expensive. Or hardest to get. [ Hence, you know. Wet dreams over farmland and shit like that. ] That's maybe the only good thing about being here; even the food they gave us in prison was some of the best I've had in ages.