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So you might have noticed there's a big ol' robot parked out back of the bunker at the Cooper farm. It's large and green and looks very battered.

Approach it, and one of two things happens.

Either you came during the day, and Val Bell is sitting on its head with a good book and a bowl of apples, or you came during the evening or night and it is apparently deserted. 'Apparently' being the key word.

What'll it be?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Army of four; we weren't big enough for ranks."

Oliver opens his mouth to say, 'Oh?' before remembering the giant mecha with the rifle behind him.

It leaves him fishing for something else to say, however.

Neil grins.

"One of those-- a Gundam--" he says, nodding past Oliver at the mech, "can take on any one moderately sized army in a fair fight. They're the top of the line where mobile suits are concerned, by a pretty big margin."

It's a statement of fact, not a boast.

"Dynames here is a support unit more than anything, but that doesn't mean she can't hold her own."

Oliver is, as always, happy to listen.

He does, however, hope that by army Neil meant 'army of other Gundams', not 'army of humans with guns' which is the first thing his mind leapt to. His expression flickers to a frown for just a moment.

"And who do you fight?"

Well, not exactly.

"Everyone," he says wryly. "Before I arrived in this world, I was part of an organization dedicated to ending war. We didn't make many friends doing it. Now... I want to find a use for Dynames that doesn't involve shooting at anyone, if I can."

He also plans to get in on hunting down the people who are building churches out of human flesh, but that's a slightly disturbing topic to raise so early in his acquaintance with Oliver. Val didn't think of it in those terms, but Valerie Bell is about as tactful as a hydrogen bomb.

"Ending war," Oliver repeats, slightly disbelieving. Yes, that is a big gun, but ending all war does seem a teensy bit difficult.

Oliver nods at the news of Neil's current change in career - much more approving of that than of killing people. "Perhaps reconstruction," he suggests.

"Maybe. Depends on the kind of reconstruction."

Or if there are enough people left to make reconstructing cities outside of Kansas worthwhile. Not that Oliver will mention this.

"You might speak to Dinah Lance - a blonde-haired woman who teaches combat outside in the mornings. She's part of a group that has an airplane - they see a great many areas that may be in need of help."

'Blonde-haired' is as descriptive as Oliver will get about Miss Lance. Other people will mention the fishnets. Not him. He ~~forces himself to ignore them~~ doesn't notice such things.

"I'll do that. Thank you."

Neil smiles.

"You certainly are full of useful knowledge."

"This farm has been my home for a full year," Oliver replies, with a downplaying shrug.

"And you're both observant and helpful."

Oliver's both surprised and guilty at the compliments, because he knows he's not enough of either. He shows neither emotion.

He opens his mouth to say the customary 'Godsworn live to serve', only to stop. He's no longer Godsworn, after all, no more than any Christian is.

There's a complicated pause - a second too long only - before he says, "One does what one can."

"Yeah."

He says it like someone who has much the same attitude towards the concept. A sense of duty, imperfectly followed.

Oliver's reply is a nod and a brief smile.

"I believe I mentioned a tour of the farm when last we met," Oliver offers.

"You did, yes. And you don't seem to have much of a problem with the dark."

A small smile. "It's magic. The last mechanically-inclined person I spoke to wanted many more specifics, but in my land there simply aren't many. Some men can bend certain natural laws to their will due to training; most men haven't any innate supernatural abilities."

He's not sure whether that's a speech pattern or a very strange case of sexual dimorphism; the best way to find out is to ask.

"And women...?"

He's aware this could be an issue with the modern mindsets so prevalent at this farm.

"For some reason, they have none. Everyone has a theory as to why."

Watch Oliver carefully not espouse his own by changing the subject. "If you're amenable to a short walk, I can show you the sights." It's not too cold a winter night, fortunately.

"Sure."

Watch Neil let the dropped subject stay dropped.

"Over here are the fields. We planted bread wheat in that one - not the hard red that primarily comes from Kansas, it's much too specialized. Used for pie crusts, I believe.

"Over there was sweet corn. That one was sunflowers. None did particularly well, unfortunately." Oliver's frown seems to put this in the realm of personal failure. "My magic can only influence soil; in our caring for growing plants myself and the other farmers showed our inexperience." He shrugs and the frown disappears - there will, after all, be other years.

"The orchard seemed to be doing well. We had a fine crop of apples," he lists an appropriately impressive number of baskets, "oranges, and, ah, some sort of strange fruit I didn't touch. I couldn't find it in any book of this world. Presumably someone enjoys it."

"I've noticed the apples. Unless the ones in the kitchen are from somewhere else. I heard somewhere the landowner likes fruit."

"Yes - she's a shapeshifter who can become a dragon. It seems she flies fruit in from everywhere."

At some point, saying, 'I never thought I'd have to say that' or 'You get used to the weirdness' becomes redundant, so Oliver really doesn't have much to add.

It takes a special kind of person to ask:

"What kind of dragon?"

There's a glance sent Neil's way. "Human-sized and black."

"Good to know."

Seems Neil says that a lot around Oliver.