[Redline Trading Post. That's a new name to him, not that anything so far has offered much familiarity — those persistent, curious robots flitting about even better than any Alliance tech he's seen. 'Teron? Without confirmation, he already knows it isn't, because he remembers moving through that black-velvet wall of stars and he knows he caught sight of something, a nothing yawn from impossible space, an emptiness outside experience. Yet as soon as he recalls it like a nightmare, it seems to slip away from him, sand through loose fingers.

He needs a cigarette.]

Hey. You. [Accosting whoever stands nearest to him in the hall with little preamble,] You heard that robot talk about a song in another universe or whatever? Total bullshit.

[They're getting played. Cain knows it. His eyes are sharp, dark, weight slanting so his body leans on the transparent glass of one wall, colorful nebula of pink and lavender shades on his skin.]

So, where you from?

[Naturally he's wandered toward the party, but Cain never reaches those otherworldly vendors set up with food. He's stopped where metal and concrete surrender to bright green grass — eyes wide, confused as he takes in the surroundings, suspicion filling in the blank spaces where wonder might have settled instead. He feels stupid for it, maybe, but the Alliance has never bothered for this kind of realism. What would be the point? More than half their forces were never going to see Earth, let alone their own home again.

Blades of grass crinkle under his feet as he makes a circuit through the picnic tables, headed for the trees. Once there, he reaches out to touch the bark, feeling it drag rough under the palm of his hand.]

... This real?

[It feels like it, but he has no point of reference to compare.]

[This is more like it.

A man in well-tread territory, Cain navigates the high tension of the docking bay with clear expertise, feeling adrenaline begin to shiver into the muscles of his body. He may still have questions without answers, but at least he knows what to do right now — that's almost more important than giving a fuck what happens to him later.

Swiping one of the bags off the table labeled SECURITY, Cain goes for the pulse rifle next. It sits comfortably up against his shoulder as he turns down the huge aisle where the ships are all parked, shiny and clean, hulls far more spotless than any he's ever had the privilege to see. When they had first announced that Wayfarers would be able to claim their own, he didn't really believe it. Another carrot on a stick, another empty promise. But then he found himself here, the prize right in front of his eyes, freedom to choose as he's never had in his life.

Maybe this won't be so bad.

There's exhilaration on his face as he swings up into the cockpit of the Void Runner, tossing his belongings behind the seat. His grin is broad and sharkish as he looks down beneath the glossy red-black wings of his new ship, gaze on those walking past.

To anyone seeming a bit lost or overwhelmed or is just moving too slow —]

What? Don't tell me you've never flown before.

[down for other scenarios! you can hmu on snezhnaya or PM to plot. very open to the food prompts as well as the initiate ghost-phasing, just didn't manage to fit them in.]