"Inventing the Future"
"Chapter 2: Picking Up The Pieces"
Dr. Jaming crouched among a large clump of ferns, hidden from view as he watched the Shigura disappear back into the sea. One Shigura calf, the one Dr. Jaming himself had used as a guinea pig to test his 'Marionette' prototype out on, seemed to be saying goodbye to one of the three figures on the beach.
Jaming adjusted his monocle to get a better look, and a chill swept over him as he saw that the figure had long, rabbit-like ears. For one awful moment he thought that Emperor Griffon himself had come to deal with Jaming personally, but another look set his mind at ease once more. This one seemed younger, and he wasn't wearing the same kind of clothing.
The man looked away, scowling, and tried to block out the sad good-bye that was happening mere yards away from him. He didn't want to see it, hear it, or know about it. How many similar goodbyes had happened between those who tried to oppose Griffon's army and the family members they left behind? Had Jaming himself ever made it so that some of those goodbyes were permanent? This was a thought that he would not...no, could not entertain at the moment.
'Go...just go!'
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Dr. Jaming had the beach all to himself. He waited for a few minutes to make sure they wouldn't come back, then got to his feet and parted the ferns to step cautiously out into the open. It had to be out there somewhere...ah!
Dr. Jaming broke into a light jog as he spotted his once-functional floating platform lying half-buried in the sand. "Oh no..."
The platform was indeed a total loss. It had struck the beach like a frisbee, and now half of it jutted up at a sharp angle like the arm of a drowning victim reaching for the surface. A seagull perched proudly on the lip of the platform as if claiming it, and Dr. Jaming swatted at the air in front of it to frighten it away. "Shoo! Go on, get out of here!"
The seagull flared out its wings and bit his finger. This just wasn't his day! He gave the bird an actual swat then, not hurting it, but letting it know that he meant business. The gull gave an angry cry and flew off.
As much as the loss of his platform grieved him, Jaming was more interested in what was inside of it. He ran his fingers over it until he came to a metal panel that was a slightly different color than the rest of the platform's 'floor'. He slid it open with some difficulty as sand ground along the simple mechanism that allowed it to open and close, and he let out a sigh of relief when he saw that the contents of the little compartment were unspoiled.
Working quickly, Dr. Jaming withdrew a leather portfolio containing some of his notes on 'Aeroharmonics Flying Technology', a sketchbook, a box filled with pens and pencils, and his wallet. This last item was the most important one at the moment, because what little money he possessed was inside it, and he would need it to make a fresh start. His whole life was inside that platform.
And it was at that moment that the platform began to give off arcs of electricity, and Dr. Jaming jerked back as if thrown, clutching his numb, tingling hand. Swiftly gathering up his belongings, he abandoned the platform and went to sit in the shade. While he was unsure how to proceed just yet, he knew that he had nothing but inventing to fall back on, and he was determined to complete his research. There was nothing to be gained from wallowing in guilt and self-pity, nor would it help to dwell on his hunger.
When was his last meal? What with all the time-jumping he had done lately, it was nearly impossible to keep track. He simply ate when he was hungry (or when he remembered), slept when exhaustion claimed him, and attended to his other needs as they arose. He supposed his last meal was at least twelve hours ago.
In order to take his mind off his hunger, he opened his sketchbook and took up one of his pencils. Working from memory alone, he began to sketch out the plan for a new platform. He did not actually need one of those, but if he was able to make an exact duplicate he would know that the prototype had not simply been a fluke. If he succeeded in this, he could go on from there.
As Dr. Jaming sketched he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and the crease between his eyebrows deepened in a frown. He wasn't too keen on the idea of having company right then, and he watched the interloper draw ever closer out of the corner of his eye. Whoever it was seemed to be carrying a fishing rod.
It was a woman, and if Dr. Jaming were to hazard a guess he would say that she was in her late twenties or early thirties, putting her in his age group. That was two strikes against her right there; women, especially women his age, made him very nervous and uncomfortable. His frown deepened into a scowl as he remembered the cruelty of the girls he dealt with in his adolescence.
'Eew, look at those teeth! Creepo, get away!'
'Why are you talking to me?'
'Did you eat too many blueberry muffins, or are you growing mold?'
'Did your mom have a fling with a swamp monster to get you?'
He shook off the memories and grimaced as if tasting something sour. He resolved to ignore her, thinking that she might simply pass by without seeing him, or that she might at least keep to herself.
The woman set down her fishing rod and what looked to be a lunch pail, and Dr. Jaming sat up straight when she approached the half-buried platform. He remembered the electric shock it had given him, and a mental image of the woman getting a similar shock spurred him into action before he could stop himself.
"Leave it!" he snapped, gruffly.
He hadn't meant to speak so harshly.
The woman nearly leapt out of her sandals, and she turned so sharply to face him that her auburn braid swung around in a wide arc and smacked her in the nose. Flipping her braid back over her shoulder, the woman planted her fists on her hips and glared back at him, clearly covering up her fear with a show of indignation. "What am I, a dog?"
Now that she faced him fully, Dr. Jaming observed that, far from being a dog, she was actually rather pretty. He tamped down on that thought immediately and cleared his throat. "I shall explain. The device suffered irreparable damage, and I received a rather nasty zap when I recovered my personal effects from within. I advise you not to touch it."
She raised an eyebrow and looked over at it, and it sparked menacingly as if to confirm his story. "Duly noted."
Dr. Jaming watched her as she picked up her fishing rod and turned her back, casting her lure out as far as it would go. Her tone of voice and her stiff posture were both unmistakably chilly, and it didn't take a genius to understand why. He had been unfriendly first, after all!
He tried to get back to work, but he was in an ill humor and he resented her presence. It was impossible to concentrate after such an exchange, and the fact that he was painfully hungry and her lunch was sitting a mere ten yards away was maddening. His stomach growled with embarrassing loudness every few minutes, and he hoped the noise of the ocean waves would cover up the sound.
No, it was no good. He simply could not work like this. He closed his sketchbook with a snap, then leaned back against the tree he had been sitting under, extending his legs before him and folding his arms as he gazed at the far horizon. Jaming's annoyance gradually receded like the tide, and without his work to distract him he could feel his guilt and depression closing in once more.
Time must have passed, because when Dr. Jaming realized that the woman had spoken to him again the sun had moved. "I beg your pardon?"
She now stood a few feet away, looking down at him with a mixture of caution and concern. "I asked if you were okay."
Dr. Jaming hastily picked up his sketch pad, brushing sand from the cover. "Of course. Why would I not be?"
She shrugged her shoulders and sat down cross-legged next to him. "Got me. You just look like you've had better days, is all."
"Well, I'm fine." He said tersely, grimacing as his stomach growled piteously. 'Make me into a liar...'
"If you say so," she rested her lunch pail on her lap and opened it.
'Now you're torturing me,' he thought. What happened next, however, caught him by surprise.
"Listen, I've got this enormous cheese sandwich here, and I'm not hungry enough to finish it. You want half?"
He slowly turned his head and stared at her as if she had gone insane. This sort of thing did not happen to him unless it was a trick! But there she was, holding out a half-sandwich for him to take, as if she had known him for years! He might have suspected her of having sabotaged his half of the sandwich, if not for the fact that they had only just met, and she'd had no opportunity to do so. And, really, no reason.
"It's between you and the seagulls, buddy. Make up your mind."
He might have bristled at being called 'buddy', but at the moment he was too hungry to care, and that sandwich smelled delicious. His resolve crumbled and he finally accepted the half-sandwich, taking care not to touch her hand as he did so. "...Thank you."
He set his large teeth into the sandwich, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head before drifting shut. The tang of sharp cheddar and the crunch of lettuce was heavenly!
"I don't like to eat with strangers," she continued after swallowing her own mouthful, "You got a name?"
He swallowed with some difficulty, having taken too big a bite, and he was too focused on his meal to be offended by her direct brand of questioning. "Doesn't everyone?"
"Never met anyone who didn't have a name. Well, all right, keep it a secret if you want to. I'm Meredith."
He didn't answer her for a long time, more concerned with filling his empty belly than minding his manners, otherwise he would have been extremely polite and responded by introducing himself in return. She didn't seem to mind, though, and the two of them ate in companionable silence.
At least, they did until he noticed that she hadn't taken her eyes off his face. His heart sank. 'I know I'm a freak. I can't help it. Why must everyone stare at me so?' Aloud, he said, "Yes, I know. I'm funny-looking."
She blinked, cocking her head to one side like a confused puppy, then chuckled. "Actually, I'm just fascinated by your monocle. I've only ever seen those in pictures."
Oh.
Giving a slightly abashed half-smile, Dr. Jaming reached up and removed the monocle, holding it out for her to take and examine if she wished. And, belatedly, he introduced himself. "Jaming. My name is Jaming."
Note: No romance yet, and probably not for a while. Friendship first. I hope I kept him in character! We saw so little of him that it's hard to be sure. I will try to update this at least once a week, or more frequently if the inspiration arises. I'm just making this up as I go along, without any real storyline, so this can really go anywhere.