[ Turns out it can be kinda rough, spending your days isolated, alone, cut off from just about everything and everyone. It's still better than prison. Whatever it is Amos is dealing with now, it's not that. He has freedom of mobility and, comparatively, that's enough. And when you always feel empty, having nobody else around doesn't really make a difference.
Or at least that's what he'd thought, but there are things that still aren't. Going away. There's a part of him that's still pissed about prison, but he tries to keep his anger tamped down, and has mostly succeeded. And then there's a part of him that, just, fuck.
He's got nobody here. And maybe he'd liked having people around, after all. Got used to having something nice, and it wasn't even his fault when it was taken away.
The Horizon is the only real option Amos has for any attempt at quenching that emptiness, that bottomless feeling that he'd thought was normal for him but now just. It sucks. But even the Horizon isn't good enough, because the Roci is empty, so he wanders.
The spray of colours, the newly blossoming wildflowers — that's new. And looking beyond that, Amos realizes he's been here before. It's different now; before it had been white, opposite to the endless black of space, and he'd been curious, so he'd come. Now it looks... fake, really. Like one of those postcards they use to trick tourists into coming to different parts of Earth, look at how idyllic it is, the perfect place to kill time, spend money, and remember, there's no trash here, human or otherwise.
Amos blinks, remembers Nadine's Earth is not his own, and maybe it's not fake for her.
So, alright. He can take the wildflowers for what they're probably supposed to be, commit, head over to inspect them, hand raised in awkward greeting at the woman among them for just a second. The last time he saw Nadine, she... had still wanted to talk to him, despite, well, him. It's been a while since then. But maybe it's still okay. ]
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Or at least that's what he'd thought, but there are things that still aren't. Going away. There's a part of him that's still pissed about prison, but he tries to keep his anger tamped down, and has mostly succeeded. And then there's a part of him that, just, fuck.
He's got nobody here. And maybe he'd liked having people around, after all. Got used to having something nice, and it wasn't even his fault when it was taken away.
The Horizon is the only real option Amos has for any attempt at quenching that emptiness, that bottomless feeling that he'd thought was normal for him but now just. It sucks. But even the Horizon isn't good enough, because the Roci is empty, so he wanders.
The spray of colours, the newly blossoming wildflowers — that's new. And looking beyond that, Amos realizes he's been here before. It's different now; before it had been white, opposite to the endless black of space, and he'd been curious, so he'd come. Now it looks... fake, really. Like one of those postcards they use to trick tourists into coming to different parts of Earth, look at how idyllic it is, the perfect place to kill time, spend money, and remember, there's no trash here, human or otherwise.
Amos blinks, remembers Nadine's Earth is not his own, and maybe it's not fake for her.
So, alright. He can take the wildflowers for what they're probably supposed to be, commit, head over to inspect them, hand raised in awkward greeting at the woman among them for just a second. The last time he saw Nadine, she... had still wanted to talk to him, despite, well, him. It's been a while since then. But maybe it's still okay. ]