[Eugene Roe has always been an even-tempered man, not easily given over to anything resembling rage, anger, or even disappointment. And so the fact that he's just been ported across what seems like at least a handful of dimensions and a couple hundred years does not seem to produce more than mild befuddlement in him as he makes his way across the long platform, adjusting the strap of his aid bag across his shoulder as he takes in the sights and sounds of the Ingress. It's certainly more hospitable than the woods around Bastogne - the occasional bit of snow falls from his boots to the ground as he checks in on whoever was brought in with him, making sure everyone's okay. Anyone who looks like they're losing it will find his hand on their shoulder and words carried on a soothing Cajun accent:]
Stay calm. No need for that right now. Keep your head. It's okay.
[Is it okay? He has his doubts, but there's nothing to be gained by making a scene. If resistance proves to be necessary, it's best to plan and conduct it with a cool and level head.
Fortunately, no such need arises. He has only a few questions about the Ingress, all of which are answered promptly and completely, and then the contract is drawn up. Unsurprisingly, it puts him in medbay. How he'll work with technology that's doubtlessly centuries ahead of his world's is anybody's guess, but he nods and accepts the assignment without complaint. After he takes his MID into his hand, he allows himself to be taken to his living quarters.
They're - nice. Very nice - perhaps too nice for him. Everywhere he's slept before this - Camp Toccoa, Mackall, England, Normany, Holland - has been much rougher, and not always quite so hospitable. There is the powerful sense that he does not belong here, and so to try and tamp it down, he turns back and reports to the medbay just as he came aboard. He looks around, his contract in his hand.]
Hello? Excuse me?
[He chances a few steps further inside.]
I was told to report to medbay. This is it, right? -I have my orders here, if you'd like to see them.
SPACE WHALES:
[In a big war, it's easy to lose track of the little things, the little beauties that make life worth living. It's hard to see the stars at night when flares blot them out, and it's hard to appreciate an early morning snowfall when it's accompanied by a mortar barrage.
And so he's perfectly content to sit and watch the whales move amongst the stars in silence, their movements entrancing him, enchanting him with their simplicity and sublimity. He may not come from much, but he knows beauty when he sees it.
He's so absorbed by it, in fact, that he doesn't see someone trying to get his attention - they would like the seat next to him, it seems. He looks up at them-]
-oh. 'scuse me.
[And promptly moves over, offering them the requested space.]
Eugene "Doc" Roe | Band of Brothers
[Eugene Roe has always been an even-tempered man, not easily given over to anything resembling rage, anger, or even disappointment. And so the fact that he's just been ported across what seems like at least a handful of dimensions and a couple hundred years does not seem to produce more than mild befuddlement in him as he makes his way across the long platform, adjusting the strap of his aid bag across his shoulder as he takes in the sights and sounds of the Ingress. It's certainly more hospitable than the woods around Bastogne - the occasional bit of snow falls from his boots to the ground as he checks in on whoever was brought in with him, making sure everyone's okay. Anyone who looks like they're losing it will find his hand on their shoulder and words carried on a soothing Cajun accent:]
Stay calm. No need for that right now. Keep your head. It's okay.
[Is it okay? He has his doubts, but there's nothing to be gained by making a scene. If resistance proves to be necessary, it's best to plan and conduct it with a cool and level head.
Fortunately, no such need arises. He has only a few questions about the Ingress, all of which are answered promptly and completely, and then the contract is drawn up. Unsurprisingly, it puts him in medbay. How he'll work with technology that's doubtlessly centuries ahead of his world's is anybody's guess, but he nods and accepts the assignment without complaint. After he takes his MID into his hand, he allows himself to be taken to his living quarters.
They're - nice. Very nice - perhaps too nice for him. Everywhere he's slept before this - Camp Toccoa, Mackall, England, Normany, Holland - has been much rougher, and not always quite so hospitable. There is the powerful sense that he does not belong here, and so to try and tamp it down, he turns back and reports to the medbay just as he came aboard. He looks around, his contract in his hand.]
Hello? Excuse me?
[He chances a few steps further inside.]
I was told to report to medbay. This is it, right? -I have my orders here, if you'd like to see them.
SPACE WHALES:
[In a big war, it's easy to lose track of the little things, the little beauties that make life worth living. It's hard to see the stars at night when flares blot them out, and it's hard to appreciate an early morning snowfall when it's accompanied by a mortar barrage.
And so he's perfectly content to sit and watch the whales move amongst the stars in silence, their movements entrancing him, enchanting him with their simplicity and sublimity. He may not come from much, but he knows beauty when he sees it.
He's so absorbed by it, in fact, that he doesn't see someone trying to get his attention - they would like the seat next to him, it seems. He looks up at them-]
-oh. 'scuse me.
[And promptly moves over, offering them the requested space.]