[network] @ADMIN; Arrival [open]

[snowblindmods]

Welcome to Norfinbury. The time is E̛̬̞͖͖̫R҉͖̯̬R̼̻͉̰͎̳̙O̩͓͔̫͇͈̯R and the date is E̛̬̞͖͖̫R҉͖̯̬R̼̻͉̰͎̳̙O̩͓͔̫͇͈̯R. This network has been provided for your use. Please interact politely with everyone else on this network.
E҉̘̩̙͢͝͡R̛̫̘̝̮̞̬͓̝̫̻̻̜̦̀ͅŖ̮̳͕̲͚͜O̷̙̖͓͙̗̰͘͟R̯̝͓̪̻̩̟̟͕̥͍̭̪͍͘:̵̛̛̝͖͓̺̥̙̝̀͜ ̧̛͙͚̱̫͇̹̙̥͎̜̖̺̻̕͠͝I͇͓̫̺͖̻͈̝͇̰͕̩̯͝͡N̶̛̪̯̤̭̻͎͚̻̟͙V̧̼͙̹͔͝A̷̸̵̧̰̱̺̗̤̤̹̙̺͕͎͇̦̫͕̣̰̪͟L͏̡͍̣̫̘̖̰̟̤̟̕I̛̜̻̖̦̥͓̟̫͡ͅD҉͏̶̴̷͔̬̗̘͖͓͚͔̗̱̝̹̻͔ ̷̢̗͉͚͓̱̫͙̱̪̥̤͢R̵̢̭͕͖̙̤̣̬̪̜͎͇̙̥̘͕̙͟͜ͅE̴̷̶͇̖̙̪̜̜̫̪̬̣̣̫̺͜F̢͏̸̳̬̟͖͉͎͉̤͉͉͎̣̲̙͉͢E͏̨̧̫̩̭̯͓̬̼̳̳̱͉̤͞R̶͉͈̪͔͈͘Ȩ̧̩͙̦̝͉͇͚̼̫̭̕͘͡N̷̡̖͇͕̻̰̯͈͕͉̯C̳̝͍̤̫̥̰͝Ȩ̴̨͡͏̥̥̯̰̭̻̳̫E҉̘̩̙͢͝͡R̛̫̘̝̮̞̬͓̝̫̻̻̜̦̀ͅŖ̮̳͕̲͚͜O̷̙̖͓͙̗̰͘͟R̯̝͓̪̻̩̟̟͕̥͍̭̪͍͘:̵̛̛̝͖͓̺̥̙̝̀͜ ̧̛͙͚̱̫͇̹̙̥͎̜̖̺̻̕͠͝I͇͓̫̺͖̻͈̝͇̰͕̩̯͝͡N̶̛̪̯̤̭̻͎͚̻̟͙V̧̼͙̹͔͝A̷̸̵̧̰̱̺̗̤̤̹̙̺͕͎͇̦̫͕̣̰̪͟L͏̡͍̣̫̘̖̰̟̤̟̕I̛̜̻̖̦̥͓̟̫͡ͅD҉͏̶̴̷͔̬̗̘͖͓͚͔̗̱̝̹̻͔ ̷̢̗͉͚͓̱̫͙̱̪̥̤͢R̵̢̭͕͖̙̤̣̬̪̜͎͇̙̥̘͕̙͟͜ͅE̴̷̶͇̖̙̪̜̜̫̪̬̣̣̫̺͜F̢͏̸̳̬̟͖͉͎͉̤͉͉͎̣̲̙͉͢E͏̨̧̫̩̭̯͓̬̼̳̳̱͉̤͞R̶͉͈̪͔͈͘Ȩ̧̩͙̦̝͉͇͚̼̫̭̕͘͡N̷̡̖͇͕̻̰̯͈͕͉̯C̳̝͍̤̫̥̰͝Ȩ̴̨͡͏̥̥̯̰̭̻̳̫E҉̘̩̙͢͝͡R̛̫̘̝̮̞̬͓̝̫̻̻̜̦̀ͅŖ̮̳͕̲͚͜O̷̙̖͓͙̗̰͘͟R̯̝͓̪̻̩̟̟͕̥͍̭̪͍͘:̵̛̛̝͖͓̺̥̙̝̀͜ ̧̛͙͚̱̫͇̹̙̥͎̜̖̺̻̕͠͝I͇͓̫̺͖̻͈̝͇̰͕̩̯͝͡N̶̛̪̯̤̭̻͎͚̻̟͙V̧̼͙̹͔͝A̷̸̵̧̰̱̺̗̤̤̹̙̺͕͎͇̦̫͕̣̰̪͟L͏̡͍̣̫̘̖̰̟̤̟̕I̛̜̻̖̦̥͓̟̫͡ͅD҉͏̶̴̷͔̬̗̘͖͓͚͔̗̱̝̹̻͔ ̷̢̗͉͚͓̱̫͙̱̪̥̤͢R̵̢̭͕͖̙̤̣̬̪̜͎͇̙̥̘͕̙͟͜ͅE̴̷̶͇̖̙̪̜̜̫̪̬̣̣̫̺͜F̢͏̸̳̬̟͖͉͎͉̤͉͉͎̣̲̙͉͢E͏̨̧̫̩̭̯͓̬̼̳̳̱͉̤͞R̶͉͈̪͔͈͘Ȩ̧̩͙̦̝͉͇͚̼̫̭̕͘͡N̷̡̖͇͕̻̰̯͈͕͉̯C̳̝͍̤̫̥̰͝Ȩ̴̨͡͏̥̥̯̰̭̻̳̫
E҉̘̩̙͢͝͡R̛̫̘̝̮̞̬͓̝̫̻̻̜̦̀ͅŖ̮̳͕̲͚͜O̷̙̖͓͙̗̰͘͟R̯̝͓̪̻̩̟̟͕̥͍̭̪͍͘:̵̛̛̝͖͓̺̥̙̝̀͜ ̧̛͙͚̱̫͇̹̙̥͎̜̖̺̻̕͠͝I͇͓̫̺͖̻͈̝͇̰͕̩̯͝͡N̶̛̪̯̤̭̻͎͚̻̟͙V̧̼͙̹͔͝A̷̸̵̧̰̱̺̗̤̤̹̙̺͕͎͇̦̫͕̣̰̪͟L͏̡͍̣̫̘̖̰̟̤̟̕I̛̜̻̖̦̥͓̟̫͡ͅD҉͏̶̴̷͔̬̗̘͖͓͚͔̗̱̝̹̻͔ ̷̢̗͉͚͓̱̫͙̱̪̥̤͢R̵̢̭͕͖̙̤̣̬̪̜͎͇̙̥̘͕̙͟͜ͅE̴̷̶͇̖̙̪̜̜̫̪̬̣̣̫̺͜F̢͏̸̳̬̟͖͉͎͉̤͉͉͎̣̲̙͉͢E͏̨̧̫̩̭̯͓̬̼̳̳̱͉̤͞R̶͉͈̪͔͈͘Ȩ̧̩͙̦̝͉͇͚̼̫̭̕͘͡N̷̡̖͇͕̻̰̯͈͕͉̯C̳̝͍̤̫̥̰͝Ȩ̴̨͡͏̥̥̯̰̭̻̳̫ E҉̘̩̙͢͝͡R̛̫̘̝̮̞̬͓̝̫̻̻̜̦̀ͅŖ̮̳͕̲͚͜O̷̙̖͓͙̗̰͘͟R̯̝͓̪̻̩̟̟͕̥͍̭̪͍͘:̵̛̛̝͖͓̺̥̙̝̀͜ ̧̛͙͚̱̫͇̹̙̥͎̜̖̺̻̕͠͝I͇͓̫̺͖̻͈̝͇̰͕̩̯͝͡N̶̛̪̯̤̭̻͎͚̻̟͙V̧̼͙̹͔͝A̷̸̵̧̰̱̺̗̤̤̹̙̺͕͎͇̦̫͕̣̰̪͟L͏̡͍̣̫̘̖̰̟̤̟̕I̛̜̻̖̦̥͓̟̫͡ͅD҉͏̶̴̷͔̬̗̘͖͓͚͔̗̱̝̹̻͔ ̷̢̗͉͚͓̱̫͙̱̪̥̤͢R̵̢̭͕͖̙̤̣̬̪̜͎͇̙̥̘͕̙͟͜ͅE̴̷̶͇̖̙̪̜̜̫̪̬̣̣̫̺͜F̢͏̸̳̬̟͖͉͎͉̤͉͉͎̣̲̙͉͢E͏̨̧̫̩̭̯͓̬̼̳̳̱͉̤͞R̶͉͈̪͔͈͘Ȩ̧̩͙̦̝͉͇͚̼̫̭̕͘͡N̷̡̖͇͕̻̰̯͈͕͉̯C̳̝͍̤̫̥̰͝Ȩ̴̨͡͏̥̥̯̰̭̻̳̫
E҉̨̢͎͎̗̦͈͎̘R̨̘̦̙̖̳͈͟R̢̞̺͖̩̟̻͙͕̩͜O̢̢̼͉͔̟̯̝͇̙͜͠R̴̛̗̝͕̣̘͙̪͖̀͟:̢̢͉̙̥̝͖͉̯̟͇̖̱̖͓̲̳ ͏̴͉͈͈̦̝̦͉͖̖͉̪̝̠̭I͡҉̣̼̜̩̻̜͓̻̳̼̥̭̯̭̫͉̭ͅL̶͖͖̯̝̥̬̖̤̥̹͎̟̬̻̦̜̝̻̗͟͞Ļ̸̸̸̥̺̝̜̭̘̞͈͎͚͉E̶͍͍͈̬̕͜͟G̳̬͉̙̥̩̼̭̦͔͘͜͡À̴͟҉̤͔͇̩̳͝ͅL̟͉̯̥̝̀͢͝ ͏҉͈͎͇̞̪̬͓͎̖̥̜̦̖̜O̺̹̺̜͉̠͉̠͇̭̣͔͡͞P̢͘͜҉̺̝̥͎̜Ḙ̢͔͇̰͇̯̺͇͓̜Ŗ̦̝̫̯̻̰͍͙̼̮͎̕ͅA̸̬̯͉͓̥̕͢͞ͅT̷̡͎̻̳̥Ḭ̵̡̥̭̥̀͞O̴͈̤͚͇̜͘͘͞N̢̬͕̙̫̦̳̫̭͖͙̤.̧͢͜҉̩̼̬̞̟̻͇̭͖ ̳̝̺̯̣̠̣̲͎̝̞̣̭̫͘͠S̡̧̼͈̱̳̰̰̳̻̺̫̝͈͖͎ͅH̦̖̣̦̱͓͙͓̣́͜͠͠Ù̸͎̹̼̱͈͇̼̼̕ͅͅṰ̤̝̦̞͍̮̦̞̼̪͕̹̬͈͝T͞͏̟͖͔̯̼̫̞̥̣̘͉̫̟ͅI̢͖̪̮̺̰̟͎͈͇̻͈͔͉̱̯͓̻͞N̢̨̮̱͕̣͟Ģ̸̝̟͚̩͙͖ͅ ҉̴̝̭̩̯̫̤̼̬͇͡ͅD̨͏̺͎̝̟͔͉͕̲̮͎̦͓̥͕̹͓̮̖̘̀͠Ǫ̵͍͇̝̱̖̳̦͖͡W̸̧̩͕̹̹̬̰̻̣̣͓̞̼̮̦̺͟͞͡N̡̛̫͙̠͚̠̲̙̟̤͔̦͙ͅ.҉̢̻̝̦͓̀̕͠

Comments

[dr_unconscious]

[The first thing that comes over the other side of the call is the sound of a small sigh. Sounds like everyone is just as confused as he is, about different things. It would be nice if there was someone around who could explain all of this.]

[Wishful thinking, though. Clayton and his boundless patience is willing to wait and help where he can. He puts on a warm, friendly voice.]

Simple! Just used the video app. It's the little icon that looks like a camera. You ever used a tablet before, bud?

voice --> video

[bindlestifflost]

[Nothing on the thing really looks like a camera to him. He touches the closest thing. There's suddenly a view of the sky over his shoulder, part of his hat brim, and about a fourth of a grim, sharp featured face.]

That do anything? Doc give me some tablets before for a toothache. What's that got ta do with anything?

voice -> video

[dr_unconscious]

[Clayton had the sneaking suspicion that this is the kind of video he was going to get.] Yeah, you got it! Hold on a sec.

[And a moment later, Clayton has also switched over. He's chuckling affectionately, and the wide grin splitting his face is partially hidden by his hand waving in one direction.]

You might want to move it a touch right. [Then, more earnestly: ] A tablet's what you're usin'! You mean you ain't never even heard of a tablet before?

[bindlestifflost]

[With one eyebrow arched, George does as asked. Now his full face is in the frame, sun browned and weathered, and of an indeterminate age. He could be anywhere from his late twenties to forty. He doesn't look amused.]

I jes' told you I got some from the doc. If you mean this kind, it goes without sayin', don't it?

[It never occurs to him someone else would have seen one of these things before. Although now he's starting to question that.]

You're tellin' me you know this thing? You a Fed or somethin'?

[dr_unconscious]

[Clayton is not a good judge of age, but he is a good judge of character. He sobers, enough to dampen his grin to a thinner smile, but he's determined to stay warm and welcoming. It won't do either of them any good to get worked up and frustrated in a place like this--not when they're both alone and confused and looking for information. Clayton can at least help there.]

My fault, don't mean nothin' by it. You just don't see a whole lot o' folk nowadays who ain't never...hmm.

[This situation is starting to sound awfully familiar. Clayton rests his chin in the palm of his hand and has a good think.]

...Naw, not a Fed. Least, don't think I am. [Clayton squints at the tablet.] Tell me...ah. Milton, ain't it? [Guy has a very straightforward username, for what appears to be a very straightforward man.] If you don't mind. What year is it?

[bindlestifflost]

[He doesn't see a lot of people who have never seen one of these things? George finds that hard to swallow. His brow furrows as though he's working up to say just that when the question follows and stops him cold.]

What kinda screwy game you tryin' ta play with me? Ya know damn well it's 1932. Somebody hit you on the head?

[dr_unconscious]

[Clayton utters a soft oath and quickly turns away from the camera, covering his mouth and staring off at the far wall of his cabin with a very concerned crinkle of his brow. He stays like this for a decent amount of time. At least once he looks like he might say something, stops himself with a shake of his head, then returns to his staring in utter disbelief.]

You know-- [He abruptly turns back.] --thinkin' I mighta done. It'd make more sense.

[After a much shorter pause, Clayton realizes that maybe he ought to elaborate a little bit.]

--You ain't the first to tell me a date that ain't mine. This just--somethin' ain't right.

[bindlestifflost]

Mighta.

[From the way he's talking, George is very tempted to agree. He's still frowning. It's a little less pugnacious now.]

What do ya mean I ain't the first to tell you a date that ain't yours? You think it's some other year? You got a lump somewhere on your head? Sore spot maybe?

[Now he's being serious and not just mean because he's annoyed.]

[dr_unconscious]

[Clayton shakes his head more emphatically.] Naw, naw--'less I'm dreamin' this, ain't nothin' wrong with me physically. I checked.

[Multiple times now--the first soon after he woke up, the second after he spoke with Hope. He's seen enough concussions to know what they look like, and so far as Clayton can tell, he checks out. Which is disappointing, because that would have explained a lot.]

Tablet's supposed to tell the date. Look up in the corner, here. [Clayton points at his screen, mirroring where the display bar is on his own tablet.] What's yours say? Nothin', right?

[bindlestifflost]

You know, I can't say the thought ain't crossed my mind, too, that this is some screwy dream. Problem with that is I ain't this creative.

[He peers where indicated and shakes his head.]

Naw, nothin'. You're right. What you think it means?

[This guy knows more about this thing than he does. Might as well see if he has a theory.]

[dr_unconscious]

[Clayton keeps his gaze carefully level. He's not going to talk about dreams. He's not going to talk about how he has a lot of experience traveling between and recognizing them, nor how he seems to have mysteriously lost that level of subconscious insight after waking up in Norfinbury. That's a whole level of crazy above what Clayton anticipates George Milton here is willing to accept.]

[Instead, he focuses on the tablet.]

I'm thinkin' it means the time ain't what nobody thinks it is. Was talkin' to a young lady--Hope--earlier, she says it's 2277. Saw somebody else say it's 2015. [Clayton points an incriminating finger at himself.] I'm comin' in here thinkin' it's 2018. It'd be one thing if just one of us had it weird, but ain't no one know what time it is, seems. Somethin' ain't right with that.

[bindlestifflost]

[He's really not happy hearing any of that. Twenty this and twenty that, all of them so far into what he'd think of as the future that his practical mind just balks at it. The guy is right about one thing. Something isn't right. He's just not sure if it's this "tablet" thing or some of the people using it.]

Or maybe somebody jes' wants everybody confused so they can do whatever it is they brung us here to do.

[dr_unconscious]

Ain't that the truth.

[Clayton leans heavily forward, dragging his hands over his face for a long, flustered moment. He doesn't seem to fully recover, as he continues to speak into his palms and looks, comparatively speaking, very tired.]

They's sure doin' a good job of it, I'll give 'em that.

[bindlestifflost]

Hey.

[His voice sharpens, his eyes focused intently on the screen.]

Don't. Ain't nobody gonna get the best a' you if you don't let 'em. Yeah, this is weird shit. It's screwy shit we're all in the middle of. That don't mean we can't get out of it long as we keep our heads.

[dr_unconscious]

[Clayton perks upright. It's not often that he's on the receiving end of these kinds of speeches. Then again, it's not often that he's taken to an isolated ghost town, separated from everyone he knows and cares about without any memory of how he got there and no shoes, to top it off. This is a pretty stressful day so far. Clayton could do with the pep talk.]

[He appears to be appreciative of it, too, as the initial surprise wears off and his arms slump to the table, leaving behind a quirked, sleepy smile.]

...Yeah, you've got the right idea. Ain't no good'll come outta sittin' here, pullin' my beard out. Thanks, man. [A beat.] ...Uh...George, right? George Milton? I'm Clayton.