[ A party is a familiar enough scene, even if this one is missing both drunk colleagues and bass-heavy music blasting in the background. Enjin ambles from truck to truck, peeking at the more popular options without actually grabbing anything for himself — for a time, at least. Far be it from him to turn down free food, though he's well aware that "free" is something of a misnomer; there's always a price to be paid, be it serving on the front lines or, as he observes during his wandering, babbling on about things that are better kept private. Won't be him, thanks...

But when Enjin finally chooses his meal, he settles for something boring before making a beeline for the nearest picnic table. The fact that it's already occupied doesn't bother him in the slightest; he's still dropping down at the far end, cracking open his small box — hexagonal, strangely — with tentative excitement. Pizza is one of the simplest things to make, right? Slap down some dough, spread out some sauce, finish with some universally agreed-upon toppings — ]

Seriously? Damn.

[ The top is quickly and unceremoniously flipped all the way back, revealing what appears, at first glance, to be your standard (albeit six-sided) pie: crisp crust, bubbly cheese, and generous helpings of — tentacles? Small, purple tentacles, curling in on themselves in-between a variety of other goodies. Give him a moment, please; he needs to tilt his head back and let out the world's longest, most disappointed sigh. Dawg, his 'za... ]

This is what I get for ordering the works. [ A beat, as his eyes crack open — and then slide to the side to meet his neighbor's. ] Anything about this look normal to you?

[ Maybe there's also a smattering of something recognizable from your world — or maybe it's just pepperoni and purple tentacles all the way down. Let's trade. ]

a.

[ The mess hall is nice and all, what with its real grass (whoa!) and wide variety of culinary options, but there's something to be said for someplace a bit quieter — and, you know. With only a handful of Hosts watching your every move. Fellow explorers can find Enjin slumped over the center of the bar, his drinks — some sort of amber-colored liquid on the rocks, sitting beside an as-of-yet unopened bottle of Cherry Cola!™ — ignored in favor of the small, cylindrical object he holds up to the light: an e-cig, albeit one with many more buttons than is surely necessary.

A humanoid Host, polishing a glass somewhat off to the side, offers a helpful pointer about flavor combinations; Enjin slumps farther forward, his head coming dangerously close to hitting the bar. ]

No offense, man, but your taste in music's bad enough. [ Full offense, actually; this smooth jazz is trash, but as Enjin rolls his new e-cig between his fingers: ] I mean, custard? No way people go for that.

[ Does anyone know how to work alien technology and/or change the backing track? Come through, vape naysh. ]

b.

[ Or maybe his fellow explorers wander in a bit later, after the mysteries of the vape have been revealed? Enjin can still be found sitting at the bar, though every few seconds a small, multicolored cloud drifts upward to dissipate above his head. It's nothing like a real cigarette, even if the nicotine and/or mysterious chemicals contained within it do scratch that ever-present itch deep within his brain; he's simultaneously satisfied and unsatisfied, hence the quiet click of his tongue as he pulls it from his lips.

But before he can decide whether or not to take another drag, the nearest Host suddenly straightening behind the bar tells him that someone is approaching — and thus he tosses a quick glance back over his shoulder, expression easing as he spies a fellow Wayfarer. ]

Hey, some real company! Thought this place was gonna stay dead. [ If that aforementioned Host looks a bit bummed out by all of this, pay it no mind; focus, instead, on the vape that is soon dangled in front of the empty chair beside him: a clear invitation to sit. ] Need a hit?

[ It's probably fine. ]

[ Getting up close and personal with the fish flooding through(!) walls and windows alike isn't exactly Enjin's idea of fun; he'd much rather keep his distance and observe other people flailing about, both because it's funny (sorry, guys) and because there is the very real fear of, like, floating off into the great unknown — but when he spies someone genuinely panicking, well, what's a decent-ish guy to do? Leave them to sort themselves out?

...Tempting though it may be, on some level, Enjin chooses the opposite: he sets off toward them, doing his level best to duck and dodge every fish that he encounters along the way. ]

Whoa! Take it easy.

[ Which is probably easier said than done when you're caught between two separate floors, or when half of your body is stuck in another room entirely, but so it goes. At least he's here? Offering a hand, just in case it's grabbable — while also keeping an eye on the creatures still familiarizing themselves with every nook and cranny. ]

The more you struggle, the farther you'll go. Just breathe.

[ Hello! I'm open to anything! I don't have a Plurk, but feel free to PM me if you'd like to chat ideas and/or want me to write a more specialized (and less stupid) starter just for you. For reference, Enjin will be in the security division, and I'm thinking his Edict will be Tarnished Az-Mehet. ]