lost in space /robin/

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

He has left his shoes some ways back on the beach, where the sidewalk hits the sea wall on this west side of the island, to protect the school from hurricanes, he suspects. He is where shorts for this excursion, khaki shorts and a blue polo shirt, a few shades darker than the ocean, a few shades darker than the sky. He has a visor on his head to block out the sun, bright overhead, since he can't stand his only pair of sunglasses and how hard they dig into the back of his ears. He walks on.

Pierre doesn't know why he is here, wandering along the beach, waiting for that little sophomore girl to run out at him from the surf. He doesn't know why, when he woke up that morning, his window was open and a note was on his desk. He pulled it out of his pocket and read it again-

Mr. Giroux

Meet me at the beach.

c. a. r.

He doesn't know why she left that note, and he doesn't know why he followed through. He just did, because something told him that if he didn't, he would regret it.

Of course, that might just be his empty stomach talking.

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“The secret of success lies not in doing your own work, but in recognizing the right man to do it."

:::::::::::::::::

Robin was walking along the surf. Well, walking wasn't really a correct term--more like, limping/walking. Her bare feet splashed in the gentle washing off white as the waves pulled back and forth in a relentless, continuous, pattern. She already knew Pierre was there, his cautious but calm blue figure had come into her range of empathy long ago. So now, Robin watched the turf-- calmly, cautiously.

She was dressed somewhat strangely for a walk on the beach. Her fingers were wrapped with white rock-climbing tape, and underneath her jeans, you could see more of the strange tape peeking out from around her left ankle. Hair done back in a somewhat typical braid, it whipped anxiously around her face in the salty but lively wind. A small black backpack was slung around her back, and she carried something small, round, and golden in her right hand. Honestly, it looked like a snitch from the Harry Potter movies.

Eventually, Robin made her way over to Pierre, tilting her head to one side and wondering if this was him. She had never actually seen him, just heard of his reputation. After finding the 'snitch' in the sand on the beach last week, Robin had sought him out noticing the strange levers, numbers, dials, switches, wedges, (you get the picture) all over the deceitfully round looking treasure. Finally locating his room, Robin was disappointed to find him not there-- and irritated of her timing. Now she could have just slid the note under the door, but that was waaaaaaay to simple. Being the kid she was, Robin had again scaled the school walls (how she managed to do it with a broken ankle, not even Robin herself knew) and slipped into the room after finding the room open. Not wanting to seem to creepily supernatural, the fourteen-year-old had left the note on the desk and the window open. There. Let him wonder.

But now she regretted not finding out at least what Pierre had looked like before this. She had already stopped four creeped out seniors, and one sophomore. "Are you... are you Pierre?"

(So much for a short post. My fingers hurt, and the phone died. Must find charger... sorry for the wait)

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

He had watched kids pass him by all along the surf- a freshman girl, a trio of sophomore boys, and five senior couples, boy and girl, hand in hand, strolling along in the opposite direction. He had watched them out of the corner of his eye, but mostly he was trying to memorize the beauty of the September sky above the clear Atlantic, so he could paint it when he got back.

Everyone except for him was walking toward the school, apparently deciding that September was already a bit chilly for the beach. Wimps, he thought to himself. So it was true that Americans couldn't take the chill.

He chuckled to himself, and then realized that someone was walking slowly towards him, the opposite direction of everyone else. He turns toward the person, hands in his pockets. It's a she, about the same size as that little sophomore he had talked to the other day. So, sophomore girl. There, that wasn't so hard.

He nods in response. "Yup, that's me. Call me Antoine." He gave her a once over, then frowned. "Er. Are you alright?"

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“Depth must be hidden. Where? On the surface.""

:::::::::::::::::

Is it really that obvious? Robin stared blankly back at the older teen, slightly disappointed in herself. Well, wait-- I've been asked this all day, so... "If you're talking about these," Robin began, holding up one hand and spreading the fingers wide apart-- causing the wrappings around each finger to loosen some, "these are bandages I use to wrap my hand. It helps with martial-arts, rock-climbing, and such."

She also had used it on her broken-ankle, refusing to stay in the infirmary long enough to get it set, (Who knows what would've happened if she had stayed there much longer?) but Robin didn't mention that. The girl had just completed her daily training that focused on her empathic abilities, and had been too lazy to take them off properly while changing. Oh, well.

"Nice to meet you, Antonie," Robin eventually said. Who was she to wonder about dead opposite nicknames. "I'm assuming you got my note. Sorry about that, I tried to find you before, but couldn't-- so I left it in your room. I was wondering if you could crack this for me," the blond held up the 'snitch without wings'. "But if you don't want to, as I'm sure you get this all the time, Just say so. I understand that some people don't like getting requests due to their abilities."

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

Well. He supposed that makes sense, but didn't explain why the kid was limping. Not like he was a doctor or anything, but that didn't look healthy. Maybe he could carry her back to school. Then again, if she did martial arts and stuff ,that was probably a really bad idea. Really, really really bad idea. He dropped the string of ideas before he could think about what the little girl might be capable of. She climbed into his room, for Pete's sake.

...O...kay. Harry Potter fanatic? But, no- the design wasn't quite right. He had had to recreate one of those stupid things for his Sculpture final two years ago, and that certainly wasn't right. "Er, no, it's not a problem at all- it's kinda reassuring to know that my ability is useful." He cracked a smile at the girl- what was her name? She had never said- and took the golden orb from her.

He studied it for a moment. Must be a complex lock if it didn't open right away at his touch, he noted. Sighing, he cupped it in his palms, and closed his eyes.

Click click swwsh clack pssssssssss fffrrrrrrr where the noises the little thing made as it opened, levers pulling themselves out into doors, wheel pushing out and expanding into chambers. Slowly, the whole thing was coming apart. He could hear it, but didn't dare open his eyes to see- he actually had to concentrate for this one.

Finally, the noises stopped.

"What is it, now?"

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

"Don't fear the man with the gun. Fear the man who hold the key to the lock."

:::::::::::::::::

Robin watched him, fascinated, as the teen simply took it in his hands and began to work, eyes closed. The movements seemed to blur into one, long, slow, dance. Okay, she had definitely asked the right person to decode this. Suddenly, the clicking and snaps stopped, their musical number finished.
"What is it now?"

The girl tilted her head to the side, and stared at the contraption. It seemed to be some-sort of bowl. It's features had rounded and flattened, resting like a cup in Antonie's hand. "It's a..." Suddenly, the sunlight that bounced off the cup's shinny exterior grew in power-- enveloping it into a sphere of golden light-- that had made her pause. What made her eyes widen was a high-whirring sound that screamed through the air. Robin had watched enough action movies to recognize that sound almost instantly.

Bomb.

The girl tried to form a warning, but the words felt lost in her mouth--her mouth dry, tongue immobile. So instead, Robin acted. WHAM! Her hand moved forward at a blinding speed and knocked the ball of light out of Antonie's hand. Then, half out of instinct, and half falling over, Robin rammed into him as hard as she could (knowing she couldn't pack much power), and half leapt half fell into the sand-dune-ditch that was oh-so-conveniently laying right beside them.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

He wasn't going to open his eyes- he wanted to hear what it looked like before he saw it for himself. "It's a..." It's a what? he asked in his head, waiting impatiently for her to finish. Then suddenly, a light flashed through his eyelids, searing his retinas despite the fleshy shield over them. They flashed open, then squinting the in bright light of the thing- what the hell...?

He held it dumbly in his hands when the dog-whistle like screeching began, unable to think, unable to react. Thankfully, he didn't have to. The girl powerfully hit the bowl away, and it went soaring through the still morning air. Then she ran into him. Normally, the force that she had rammed him with would only stagger him, but he was already in shock and, unable to comprehend what was going on, his legs had already begun to buckle beneath him. As such, he fell, landing on his side in the sandbar and rolling onto his stomach.

Not a moment to soon. The thing exploded, sending sand and salt water and bits of golden danger and who knows what else flying across the beach. He laided low against the ground, cover him neck and the base of his skull with his hands. He felt a sharp pain as something struck him in the left arm. Tabarnak.

Soon enough though, the volley ended. He raised himself up, dizzyly, gently. He turn to the girl, still lying in the sand, and stuck out his hand. "Are you alright?"

((Finished!))

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“Without mysteries, life would be very dull indeed. What would be left to strive for if everything were known?”

:::::::::::::::::

Owwwww... That hurt.

Robin sat up, somewhat groggily, consciously aware that yet again her hand wrappings had come partially undone, and how much her ankle throbbed--Why does stuff like this always happen to me?-- but she was more concerned with the loud BOOM that had rattled her soul to the bones. Glancing up, Robin accepted the hand and was pulled to her feet.

Curling her fingers into a fist, Robin pulled at the bands around each finger, finally taking the time to properly tighten them enough so that they shouldn't come undone. But that was irrelevant. "I'm fine," she sighed, turning on one heel to stare up at him. "...are you okay?"

Quite suddenly, Robin's senses pricked-- causing her head to lift in a way that a curious dog might do at a mysterious sound. However, this was no sound, this was Robin's acute ability, homed from her practicing just two hours before. Robin turned around, and lifted herself out of the somewhat shallow dune-- scrambling awkwardly with one good foot to her feet. What she saw made her stop dead.

Instead of a smoking pillar, blackened sand, and fragments of the 'snitch' laying everywhere-- was almost perfectly untouched sand. The only sign someone had been there at all were the faint footprints of Robin and Antonie imprinted into the surf. Well, that-- and the golden arrow.

That's right! The ruins of the golden sphere had neatly arranged themselves into the faintly damp sand. It almost looked like a seashell picture someone had scrapped together, the pieces looked like they couldn’t possibly fit together—yet side by side they did, like stones laid out in the form of a path. The sunlight glimmered off the fragments like they would do on ice, somewhat dully, but pretty none-the-less. The pieces formed a long line, until somehow flourishing at the top—Robin realized with a start that it was an arrow. Following its directions, the girl let her eyes follow the long until the tip. She paused for a moment, before letting her gaze continue.

The arrow pointed to the sea.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

He thought that she put a little more weight on his hand then she should for a kid her size, briefly, but didn't act on the fact, instead simply filing it away in his mind. "Oh, er..." he mumbled, glancing at his arm. It was bleeding, sure, but everything else looked alright- just a cut.. He tore a bit of the collar of his shirt off with his teeth and pressed it to the wound. "I'll be fine."

He said nothing while she turned, because he was taller and had already seen the supernatural sight. Then again, given what he had done, he wasn't one to talk about the supernatural. He stepped out of the rift, studying the golden arrow more closely. They was a streak of red-brown along the edge of one of the sides- that would be the one that cut him, most likely. He followed the direction the arrow was pointing. The sea. Er. "I suppose it's adventure time, then," he muttered to himself, glancing at the kid's eyes- they were growing larger and larger with excitement.

"What now, then?" he asked, setting himself up, he knew, for the inevitable.

[Christina Ann Robins]

"Now...?" Robin repeated softly, eyes still transfixed on the crashing waves. What did come now? Did she simply laugh and walk away, saying, 'Oh, fine adventure!' or did she pursue the golden markings? Suddenly, an idea popped into her head as she bent down into the sand to finger the metal.

Robin pulled on the rock, then released it as a strong pull surprised her. Hmmm... magnetic. "Well, Mr. Pierre. Now, now we go swimming." And with a smile growing on her face to match her liking to the idea, Robin stood and walked to her bag-- patting the taller teen on the shoulder with life-force smothered hands. "Now we go swimming."

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

Yup. He had set himself up for this, hadn't he. Damn.

"Antoine," he corrects, sighing, walking back toward the sea wall where his stuff is lying alone. He grabbed his shoes and sticks them in the gym bag he brought, rifling through said bag as he walked back across the sand. Did he bring a swimsuit, or anything of the sort? A snorkel? No, of course not- he hadn't bought a new pair of swim trunks yet, and he had never used a snorkel in his life. There was a belt, though. He pulled it through the shorts, tightening it a much as he could without being unreasonably uncomfortable.

"Er. If we are going swimming, can I keep my shirt on?" A stupid question, but the whole situation was unreal already, so, whatever.

[Christina Ann Robins]

"Now, Mr. Antonie? She laughed, "We can't go swimming, now." Robin gestured to the dimming sky. "That would be suicide. Not that I'm not up for the impossible, but I know when I'm beat. I'm not wearing just wet-suit anyways, it'll be really cold-- it's supposed to be sixty now, so the water probably feels like forty." Robin grabbed her backpack and swung it up onto her shoulder, smiling. "And that's just a little cold for my taste. Meet back here, tomorrow, perhaps? With the proper equipment?"

She wasn't joking, oh no. Robin was/had been a swimmer back at her old providence, and like all swimmers on the school team-- she had gone to school team trip to the beach. There almost everyone had learned the basics of scubaing, getting one of those chessy-- "I learned how to scuba!"-- certificate. Surprisingly, it had been cheaper to buy a poorly-made but acceptable suit than to rent a good one, so she happened to have one on hand. The rest of the equipment? Way too expensive, but at least she wouldn't freeze to death tomorrow.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

Pierre breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God. That would be much better, thank you very much." He coked his head to one side. "It is getting late. Shall we walk back to school, miss...?" He didn't finish, waiting for her to fill in the blank- how was it that that had happened and he still didn't know her name? He reached for her hand, and started walking back towards the school. He could tell from her tone of voice that she wasn't joking, oh no, they would be back here on the morrow, with flippers and snorkels and... er.


"And, er, what exactly is proper swimming equipment?"


((you get one more post, then we wrap this up, mkay? You start the next thread. :3))

[Christina Ann Robins]

(Right. Sorry for the delay. My computer time has now been limited... I'll start the next thread!)

:::::::::::::::::

“One who bathes willingly with cold water doesn't feel the cold.”

:::::::::::::::::

Robin laughed at his total relief that flooded every cell in her body, the pulses from the young-man gently washing over her like the waves on the sand. Being an empath had it's obvious advantages in moments of quiet and happiness. But Robin slyly ignored the subtle question on her name, content to let him guess.

As the walked slowly back in the dimming light of the evening, Robin began to list off some of the equipment that might be useful to have-- some luxuries, some necessities, and others simply amazing but impossible to have. "I would just find a wet-suit of some-sort--cold waters-- but scuba gear is way too expensive. If you can brings some, great!-- but I'm not going to bring much, other than some secure goggles, (salt-water), flippers, and some exploration equipment! My guess is that we've stumbled across some mystical treasure hunt of some sunken ship. I don't suppose you can breath underwater too?--No? Oh, well. Neither can I, (never tried of course)-- so maybe I can worm my way into getting some of those portable breath-of-air things..."

Eventually, they reached the school, and Robin departed toward the west-wing of the school with a slight wave. Walking slowly down the corridor toward the girl's dorms, she suddenly stopped dead-- nearly causing an irritated freshman behind her to fall over.

Oh, geez-- what have they gotten themselves into?