(no subject)

[evrythngisnmbrs.livejournal.com]

This is the list of preliminary, visual variables that he can confirm at first glance:

Open, barren road (paved but unmarked).

Open, nearly barren fields on either side -- weedy-looking grass is the only thing that classifies them away from truly barren.

Open, clouded sky.

It's not much to go on, but, as Charlie would point out under better circumstances, he's gone on much less before. Of course, "better circumstances" is almost never defined as getting knocked off of your feet by some kind of blinding flash, watching L.A. vanish all around you, and being greeted with the above three variables once the spots stop swimming in front of your eyes.

The only thing that's stopping him from outright panic right now is focusing on them, and, as he pivots wildly and wide-eyed, trying to seek out more that could point him in the direction of getting his bearings. Even that's not doing the best job.

Charlie cups both hands around his mouth and calls out, a little shakily, "Hello?"

Comments

[precocioustilda.livejournal.com]

Fifty-three feet. Right. Matilda grabs the ruler out of her backpack.

An apologetic glance is cast Charlie's way. This will be much easier to do with telekinesis.

Roughly thirty seconds later, the ruler has leapfrogged exactly fifty-three feet down the road, each jump marked by a small pebble or loose chunk of asphalt, and Tilda is carefully lined up at the beginning of this waiting for Charlie to start with the timing.

[evrythngisnmbrs.livejournal.com]

In the same far too calm and matter-of-fact voice as before, Charlie informs her, with a very forced grin, "I'm going to pretend for now that I didn't see you do that."

One thing at a time. His mind really, really can't afford to latch onto that right now when he's finally gotten it good and fixed on the matter at hand.

Charlie sticks the pencil in his mouth long enough to reposition his hold on his watch, then continues, the words a little garbled by said pencil: "Okay, and...start."

Beep.

[precocioustilda.livejournal.com]

"Sorry," she says absently as she starts walking.

Matilda has a pretty quick stroll to her. All that walking to the library and back has done her some good in that regard. She covers the fifty-three feet admirably with no sign that she'd slow down if she kept the pace up for hours. At the end, she picks up her ruler (with her hands!) and trots back.

[evrythngisnmbrs.livejournal.com]

Even so, as Charlie gets to work on the math, he runs the equations several ways: one that's a pure, straightforward expression of distance traveled at a constant speed, and another that factors in a very generalized downward slope from exhaustion setting in.

Hey, even if she's not going to slow down, Charlie might. He's in pretty good shape -- especially for a mathematician -- but there's no telling how long they'll be at this.

(Possibly pretty long, if the landscape's any indication.)

He's finished by the time she returns. Puffing out another breath, Charlie says, "Okay, that'll at least give us an estimate for..." He makes a slight face, flipping a page of the notebook. "I wish it could be a more precise estimate, but that's pretty far outside our current capacity with the tools we've got on hand, and a rough start's better than none, I guess."

Imprecise math. Blech. All the more reason to work faster on a way to get home.

[precocioustilda.livejournal.com]

"It'll have to do for now," she says, shrugging. "Hopefully we can find something resembling civilization soon. Until then, we'll do the best with what we've got."

The eternal optimism of a five-year-old who has known very few disappointments in her time, and overcome most of them afterwards by a combination of tenacity and cleverness, is not to be sneered at. Beaming, she takes a look around, picks a direction, and sets off down the road.