midpointsaloon | Big City Living (Midpoint Mingle)

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Big City Living (Midpoint Mingle)

The town of Midpoint: called thus because it is at the exact center of the game arena, a busy little Western town full of strange people, many of whom don’t look remotely human, because this is where all the players gather and live. Midpoint Saloon: called thus because it is the only bar in Midpoint. It’s also the biggest building in town, four stories high, dotted with windows, painted a jaunty yellow and decorated with red and green flowers in all the window boxes.

This is where your veteran teammate points you. Or just stomps off to and hopes you follow.

Downstairs is a bar and tavern, Old West style, right down to the upright piano in one corner and a raucous crowd of locals - largely locals, but with a healthy smattering of unusual or downright alien faces that clearly indicate the presence of other Players - eating, drinking, gambling, and getting into trouble. There’s a broad, bearded man behind the bar, waving cheerfully at you as you enter.

The rest of the night and the next day is yours to do with what you see fit. Explore the town, take a long nap in your new room, try to get to know people... everyone is here for the next twenty-four hours before travel to the mission site, so it’s a good chance to scope out the competition, at the very least.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Some of that does sound like the kind of frontier towns she's gone to - people with money from the Core tend to enjoy a higher-tech lifestyle right next to the colonists who are struggling - but it's probably not helpful to say so.

"I suppose that if we're the entertainment they can't have us starving to death."

"Pretty much. It's a way to. Keep us quiet, too. Don't feed us what we want and need, we get. Testy. They're the source of all the food, so they make it good. Keep us happy." There's that bitterness, again, but it's a tired bitterness. It's not like they haven't spent their points on food more than anybody else here. It's about the only comfort they had for a long time.

"Hm, " Inara says, mulling that over. Maybe it is like a frontier town. Especially since they apparently get paid in company scrip. "Food and entertainment?"

Aside from all the dying and the forced missions, yeah, kinda. "Library, movie theater, riding, socializing. Yes. We do get two or three weeks off between rounds, or so. Don't give us things to do, and we start finding things to do ourselves."

They're well into town, now, approaching the saloon and general store, down the busy central street.

"I see. Keeping us from burning out, very considerate." It isn't at all sincere but in truth, Inara might actually lose her mind if she had to blow up a train every week (or less). "Is that enough? To keep us from finding things to do ourselves? Along with the threat of bad jail, I suppose."

"Not everyone is unhappy here," Soldat says with a shrug. "Some people take to it very well. Those who aren't happy either use that time to just cope-- or to get into trouble still, yes. But it's enough for a lot of us. And no one has ever escaped that I know of."

Which isn't to say.... "People leave. Die and don't come back, usually. Don't know if they buy their way out, got a favor on the outside, or the game makers just decided they weren't interesting anymore. But not escape, I'm pretty sure."

It makes sense that there are some people like that here, but Inara isn't particularly looking forward to meeting or working with people who take to things like kidnapping women or blowing up trains for no reason.

"Don't worry, I won't make you look bad." She's not really the type to cause trouble for the sake of it if it won't actually change anything.

"I already make myself look bad enough, I'm not too worried about that," Soldat says with an actual, if tiny, smile. "I got a bad reputation around here."

They're at the stables, now, and Soldat pulls up and swings down, landing heavily. "Can you get down all right, ma'am?"

Inara can't help but return the smile herself. She really does always wind up with rebels.

"I can probably manage, but I’d appreciate the help." She's got the advantage of already having both legs on the same side, so she could likely slip off without too much trouble, but hurting her ankle right before everything happens would be a hassle.

"I didn't know how when I first got here, at all," Soldat says, by way of reassurance. Their mare stands steady while Soldat comes over to Inara's side and crouches, offering his metal shoulder for her to climb down onto before taking the final step to the ground. "You're already doing better. Though that really doesn't look comfortable. I can get you some jeans at the general store, so you can ride properly."

Inara tests her weight first, concerned about hurting him accidentally, but hops down nimbly enough once she's satisfied that it will hold her. As soon as she moves away so he can stand, the horse has her braid in his mouth again, chewing calmly like a cow. So this is how it's going to be.

She hesitates at his offer, though, which is kind of ridiculous when she takes into account the much worse things she's done since deciding to break her vows. "That's very kind, but I don't... I've never worn anything like that."

They can handle much, much heavier people than one accountant-slash-Companion. They hold very steady for her until she's on the ground, then straighten up and collect her horse's reins for her. "Never kidnapped a person or carried a gun before, either. Think pants are probably a much smaller thing than either of those. And it's got to be easier to wear pants than to sit for hours with your hips twisted like that."

And finding an actual sidesaddle for her is going to take more time than they have on this particular team, probably.

Inara would argue that she actually had held a gun before, pointed it at someone even, but it had been a non-functioning antique and part of the worst plan ever constructed so she thinks better of bringing it up.

"Yes, you're probably right." It's still hard to remember sometimes that it's not a death sentence to make her own choices now.

"You can get settled and then check the store. It's right across from the saloon. Hey, Soap."

A dark-skinned young man, maybe eighteen years old, comes trotting out of the stables to take the horses. His expressionlessness is different than Soldat's, somehow.

"Soap takes care of the horses here," Soldat explains. "But not anywhere else, and we're not here all the time. So if you don't know how to groom and clean a horse's hooves, better follow him and watch."

"Yours got a name yet, ma'am?" Soap asks politely. "This guy has had his for years and never named her."

Soldat shrugs helplessly. They're not good with names.

Soap is a bit of an odd name, but odd names aren't that unusual on the frontier. Despite his blank expression, Inara smiles at him as he approaches.

"I should go with him, then. I've been on a horse before, but the care is new to me." Attendants had always done that sort of thing, and it would have been impossible in the layers and veiling that she’d needed to wear for work back then anyway.

The unnamed horse isn't much of a surprise considering that he had declined to provide even his own name. Maybe he’d named her after someone important to him and didn't want to share it, or maybe names just don't have value to him for whatever reason. He seems to care enough about the horse that it isn't about disdain so she's not about to make a fuss about it.

"I'm thinking about calling him Aethon, " she directs at Soap. "This horse will eat anything."

While Soldat looks blank at the reference, Soap breaks into an unexpected grin that's only a little bit wry. "After Erysichthon. You got some high society taste, don't you, ma'am."

Inara raises her eyebrows, unable to hide a genuine smile despite her continued wariness. "It seems that both of us have read a book or two. He really will eat anything, watch your hands near his face." So far the gelding has never bitten hard enough to hurt, but it can still be disconcerting.

"I'm sure I've dealt with worse, ma'am," Soap says, stroking Aethon's nose.

"If you want to go with Soap," Soldat puts in, confusion set aside as not particularly important-- even before everything, mythology had not been a thing they knew a ton about, they're pretty sure-- "you can come inside when you're done. Talk to the man at the bar, North, and he'll get you a room. I'll come get you when it's time to go, morning after tomorrow."

And, of course, they'll be around. Attempting to be social. They'll see how long it lasts...

"All right. Do we need to meet tomorrow, or do they give us time to plan things once we're out there?" There are still a lot of questions on her mind about what's going to happen over the next few days.

"There's a whole day's worth of travel until we reach Tycoon Depot," Soldat says with a shrug, giving their mare a pat on the shoulder as Soap leads both animals off. "We can talk then. But you can find me at dinner downstairs tomorrow if you need me or have any questions. Or ask North. He can point you in the right direction to find me, usually." They're half-sure North has some kind of tracker on them all. Or else he really is omniscient when it comes to his charges, like the old songs say.

Inara nods. "I’ll keep that in mind. I want to know as much about the game as I can before I'm in this on my own, and I assume this is the only round where you'll be my handler."

She had made the decision months ago to try and be self-sufficient instead of waiting for someone stronger to come and rescue her, and that's a promise to herself that she intends to keep. If the teams get shuffled every time she needs to know how to survive on her own.

Oh, that was not the right word to use, Inara. Soldat has a very specific association with that word and it is not the same as hers. They actually give a full-body twitch, jerking away from her with an expression of alarm and dismay, both hands up as if showing they're empty, for once not remotely subtle. "Jesus. No. No no no. I am not. Would not. Never. I am not your handler. I'm your teammate. Not. No handlers."

The sudden movement startles Inara into taking a step back as well. This is the most emotion she's seen from him so far, and it had seemingly come out of nowhere.

"Of course, you're right, " she says, her voice as carefully neutral as if she's talking to a spooked horse. She glances around for help but Soap is already inside. "My teammate. Forgive me."

It looks for a moment like Soldat might just bolt back inside-- they're sorely tempted to-- but they've already fucked up this new-person-guide thing enough. So instead, they just disengage for a minute, shutting their eyes, breathing carefully, imagining their way through a few steps of folding piece of paper a crane.

When they're calm enough, they say, "Sorry. That. There were some not-great people who used to call themselves my handlers. Makes me think of shitty things, now. Things that I'm never gonna do to anybody."

"You didn't do anything wrong, " Inara says, still careful but a little more secure. He doesn't seem like he's about to lose control in a way that might harm himself or anyone else. The comparison to River seems more apt than she'd realized. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. I wasn't trying to hurt you."

Big City Living (Midpoint Mingle)

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