[Octavia's reminder doesn't come in the form of a sane, helping hand, but in an echoing voice that wends through the rubbish of the ruins that have accumulated over generations of people daring to visit the surface for more than a few minutes at a time.
It's a song, words half-lost by mumbling, but it's all earnest:]
...La branche était sèche, l'oiseau est tombé La branche était sèche, l'oiseau est tombé L'oiseau est, à la volette L'oiseau est, à la volette L'oiseau est tombé!
[and, if Octavia's at all interested to see who's come up here for long enough to get through a third chorus of a children's song, she'll find one rather less ramshackle hut set together against the elements. It's easy to spot when she looks for the light: the Captain has managed to steal a battery pack and an LED lantern, which pours a sickly blueish hue out into the dark of the wastes.
By this point the singing has devolved into jaunty whistling. Captain's been up here for a while, as is evidenced by the rosiness of their shockingly androgynous face and fingertips poking out of their layers and layers of grey woollen wattling. They're huge, big enough to look silly hunched over a very tiny stool, but the odd angle doesn't seem to bother them as they push various bits and pieces around a rusted piece of sheet metal and hoom and haaah over their findings.
It's impossible to stay quiet near the shack: either intentionally or inadvertently, Captain's left all kinds of crunchy rubble for interlopers to stumble over. The whistling stops if she manages to get this far and Captain offers an all too pleasant,]
Reality (6)
It's a song, words half-lost by mumbling, but it's all earnest:]
...La branche était sèche, l'oiseau est tombé
La branche était sèche, l'oiseau est tombé
L'oiseau est, à la volette
L'oiseau est, à la volette
L'oiseau est tombé!
[and, if Octavia's at all interested to see who's come up here for long enough to get through a third chorus of a children's song, she'll find one rather less ramshackle hut set together against the elements. It's easy to spot when she looks for the light: the Captain has managed to steal a battery pack and an LED lantern, which pours a sickly blueish hue out into the dark of the wastes.
By this point the singing has devolved into jaunty whistling. Captain's been up here for a while, as is evidenced by the rosiness of their shockingly androgynous face and fingertips poking out of their layers and layers of grey woollen wattling. They're huge, big enough to look silly hunched over a very tiny stool, but the odd angle doesn't seem to bother them as they push various bits and pieces around a rusted piece of sheet metal and hoom and haaah over their findings.
It's impossible to stay quiet near the shack: either intentionally or inadvertently, Captain's left all kinds of crunchy rubble for interlopers to stumble over. The whistling stops if she manages to get this far and Captain offers an all too pleasant,]
"Hello? Who eez eet?"