RP Log: Springfield Where?
| Roleplay Log | |
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| Participants: | |
Location(s):
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Stardate:
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| 2023-07-22 20:01 | |
- Flannery's <Carorkon III>
- Much like everything on this world, the saloon is dusty. Sand has traipsed in through the front door, spread to every inch of the wooden floor boards inside, but also onto the tables and the long bar itself. One can only hope the glasses behind the bar are stored upside down.
- Four stool line the bar front, with several square tables spread out through the place. Everything is made of wood, save for the hand-made iron nails that hold the place together.
The saloon is not full, but certainly busy. Everyone present is human however, not a Kuvassian insight. There are a couple open spots at the bar, but every table is occupied.
Anewan moves towards the bar and pulls out a stool and takes a seat. He waits for the bartender to come over then he whispers to Worthington, "You have money?"
Worthington hasn't quite figured out what passes for money, but he did replicate a few gold pieces on the ship, so he passes some to Anewan before sitting next to the superior officer.
It takes a moment, but the bartender finally comes to see what you would like. He bruskly asks, "What'll it be?"
Anewan responds first, "Whiskey. Neat."
Worthington smiles. "Beer if you've got it," he says.
The bartender nods to Anewan, but gives Worthington an odd look. "We have a local brew, but it tastes like shit. Certain you want it? We rarely get the good stuff from the north anymore. Caravan doesn't come this far."
Worthington shakes his head then, making a mental note to have LePage brew up something and pass it off as an import. "I'll take a whiskey then," he says.
Anewan taps Worth on the shoulder and smiles, "Slow night?" he says to the bartender. "How often do you get people from the north?" he looks at Worth knowingly.
The bartender grabs two glasses from beneath the bar, and a bottle from behind it. He pours three fingers each. "Rarely. Most won't trek through the desert, especially not during the warm season. Been a hot one too."
Worthington nods, taking his drink, though nursing it. "Yeah, weather is crap out there," he says.
Anewan agrees with James, "This weather is tough. I wonder what it is like off this planet," he turns to the bartender. "Where is your family from...like your long ago ancestors?"
"You mean before?" The bartender whistles, "Been a long time since I heard any of them stories. But same as everyone else, Springfield. The stories were clear, all our ancestors came from the same settlement."
Fudd arrives from Main Street.
Worthington smiles. He hears the door open, turning to watch the sheriff enter."
The bartender sees the sheriff enter and immediately pours a tall glass and sets it at the end of the bar. The sheriff looks around, eyeing all the patrons for anyone acting out of place, then approaches the bar, and wraps one hand around the newly placed glass. He doesn't say a word.
Anewan look towards the door then says back over his shoulder, "Springfield where? I mean, I'm not familiar."
Worthington has a guess or 2, but isn't going to reply to make a fool out of himself potentially. He monitors everything that's going on, letting Anewan do the talking.
The bartender looks over Anewan and shakes his head, "That's the problem with you northerners, you don't know your history." He points at the sheriff, "Fudd is the best resource in these parts, if you want a history lesson. I have other patrons to take care of." The bartender goes about pouring drinks for some of the other customers.
Anewan looks over at Fudd then shrugs. Noticing the sheriff attire he says, "Sheriff," he throws a thumb at the bartender. "He tells me to ask you. How was your day today?"
Worthington smiles and waves at the sheriff. "Howdy," he says.
Fudd spins his glass slowly in his hand, it never leaving the bar top. "About the same as most other days." Fudd recognizes Worthington from the other day, "You camped outside of town or something? I've seen your friend, but not you around these parts before."
Anewan simply nods, "From the North," he says. "Springfield? I think maybe our education didn't give us -everything- we needed to know. You know, we have a set up for classrooms like you do around these parts. Wooden benches.
Chalk. Blackboards. You know?"
Worthington never mentioned anything about the crash site. "I've met this man before. Came from some of the same groups I did, though we ain't related," he says.
"No school in During, not much point. Everyone knows the laws, beyond that, you learn what you need to for work." Fudd replies, then chuckles at Anewan, "Sounds like your classroom isn't teaching you much anyways, don't even
know your history."
Anewan nods, "So, you...know it? I might need a refresher."
Worthington nods and chuckles with the sheriff. "Don't I know it," he says.
Fudd nods, "I do. This here town is named after our savior from those times after all. I wouldn't be much of a sheriff if I didn't know what I was protecting." He wets his whistle with a sip of the beverage in his hand, then places the glass back on the bar, "William Duhring, rose up against the Kuvas as they tried to enslave our ancestors. Townsfolk from Springfield USA."
Anewan looks at Worth then back to Fudd, "Where is Springfield USA? Where's that? Around here?" he pauses. "Do you think we have any family still there? Think they might have noticed we were gone partner?" he leans on the bar but then remembering he has a drink he sips it and motions to James to sip his. "It's been a long day."
Worthington considers, shaking his head to Anewan. "Like he told me, when I finally started learning about our history. Our ancestors were captured from our homes you see, and taken a long way away. We overthrew the kuvassians that captured us, destroying the technology that they used to enslave our ancestors."
"The Kuvas might tell you its further than the eye can see." Fudd says, "But you can't believe a word they say. Stories tell you can see it at the right time of night, twilight, but which direction was lost long ago." He says, "You ask strange questions. Why so interested in the past, where we came from? There are none alive from those days here, so it makes sense there are none from Springfield who would remember us either."
Anewan nods, "What if I told you," he looks over his shoulder. "That in the north we have a little more information and Springfield might still be there?"
Worthington doesn't comment with this one, choosing this moment to nurture his drink. The people on the planet wouldn't know that he took a medication to suppress the effects of alcohol before beaming down.
Fudd chuckles softly, "You wouldn't be asking so many questions about it, if you had more information." He points at your glass, "I would also suspect you've been imbibing swill that has rotted your brain." He takes a log swig of his own glass, "I need to make some rounds before turning in for the night, but I'm sure the patrons here would be interested in a tall tale of Springfield. Everyone loves a fairy tale."
Anewan frets and sips his drink, "That's the guy right James? That's the guy we have to convince?"
Worthington nods. "Yes, it is," he says, looking around. "Perhaps we should return to camp and discuss the best way to go about it."
Anewan nods and finishes his drink and drops a few coins on the bar. "Let's go."
(back on the ship)
Anewan arrives in the transporter room and sighs, "This is going to be harder than I thought. But there is something else out there in the north. A caravan? Let's see if we can find it. Well, you are busy here so I will see if I can find it."
Worthington shakes his head. "No, to the south commander," he says.
Anewan shakes his head, "There is something else out there, we are missing something. Alex is also down there with the Kuvassians," he sighs. "I'll get the report out tomorrow."
Worthington considers. "Has commander Temple relocated then?" he asks. "I thought he was in the human settlement. Where did you hear about another wandering group?" he asks.
Anewan nods in the affirmative, "Yes. Alex is not in the human settlement. I had Ki'Vek run a planet scan to find him and he is somewhere where he is the only human life sign. We can assume that he is with Kuvassians. We need to find him."
Worthington nods. "I have a rough bearing on where a second, smaller settlement may be located. Would you like me to scout that area?" he asks. "As for making the townsfolk aware of the Federation, I think it would be a shock. Without proof, they wouldn't be likely to believe us. With proof, they may see us in the light of the kuvassians who originally took them from Earth. Whether we bring the marshal to the ship, or show him on the ground, either way, we'd need to prepare for that response. It may not be a rational one of acceptance, but one of denial, or worse, assumption of antagonism merely by associating advanced technology with the kuvassian kidnapping 7 centuries ago."
Anewan nods, "If you have time James. I know you are working on something on the ship," and he ponders. "We could bring him to the ship. But he seems distant from Springfield. I assume he means Illinois."
Worthington considers. "Springfield Illinois, Springfield Missouri, there are a few Springfield's in what was called the United States of America back then. Scouting the location of that camp from the crash site is a relatively trivial matter. I won't approach though. A kuvassian seeing a human, regardless of what garb I'm in, but especially in the garb of the locals, would likely induce a violent response from the locals."
Anewan nods, "Then look into it. I'll look into my hunch," he smiles. "Thanks James."
Worthington nods. "No worries. I'll report back to you. I assume you're beaming down then?" he says. "If not, I'll go ahead and depart."
Anewan shakes his head, "I am not going down now. I'll go tomorrow. I need to go to my office to make this report."