Roleplay: Rory x Spizzzo

Dated: in or around September 13, 2026

Grimwych Station

Spizzzo lurches toward the train station absolutely dripping in mud and lake muck, like some sort of thing from a swamp. A swamp thing, if you will. He tries to wipe off his eyes, but his hands are covered in mud so he just smears it. He wipes his hands on his pants, which are already saturated in muck, and somehow leave both hands and pants filthier.

Rory is seated on one of the benches outside the station, slouched forward with his elbows resting upon his knees. He appears to just be staring off at into space, or at the empty tracks without any real expression. Long and messy dark brown hair half-hides his features from view, but there's no mistaking his obviously masculine presentation or out of place attire. T-shirt, jeans, sneakers, a heavy brown coat that has seen better days and looks good for most weather. The sound of movement nearby has his head turning, and his posture shifts in a restive way. "Bloody hell," the young man mutters. "Why not." He stands up, almost falls back down, grabs the arm of the bench, and then puts it between himself and Spizzo as the swamp thing approaches.

Spizzzo hacks and bellows, loudly spitting up lake water and mud, expelling more gunk from both nostrils. Capitalizing on this triumph, he scrapes his hands clean on an iron railing and wipes off his face. His moustache remains silty and drooped as he spits up more lake water and mud.

Rory tenses. He grips the arm of the bench hard enough that the rotten wood begins to splinter in his grasp. "You get tossed in for a swim too?" he calls, studying the stranger with wary eyes.

Spizzzo tosses his arms in the air, violently splattering lake muck onto the platform, then eventually nods on Rory's direction excitedly. His voice manages to croak out, "I have strong evidence that suggests I do not know how to swim."

Rory straightens as Spizzo throws up his arms, but doesn't back up any further. "What a nightmare. Sorry to hear." He drops his hand slowly into his pocket, so that the mud man can observe where it's going. "You want some help cleaning that up?"

Spizzzo just looks at his dripping body and shrugs, "Eh. Easier to clean once it dries. Where's the nearest inn? Preferably with a laundry?"

Rory shrugs his shoulders a bit. "There's an old pub back there, but it's as bollocks as the rest of this place." He turns his head to look down Wayfarer Lane, not fully putting Spizzo out of his line of sight.

Spizzzo scoops some more mud out of his ears and looks sideways at Rory, "What's wrong with the pub? Bad menu?"

Rory keeps his eyes on Spizzo. "It's long abandoned. No one's there. I haven't scavenged the place for booze yet, but it might be in my near future if I don't find a way out of here. I'd rather not steal from people if I don't have to."

Spizzzo pauses and cleans his ear again. "Sorry. I thought you said it was abandoned. Must have been more oxygen deprived than I thought. Doesn't anyone in town know why the pub is closed?"

Rory rubs the bridge of his nose a little. "The only people I've seen about were some lady who says she can't go out in the sunlight and a girl with cat ears who tried to tell me that London was bullshit and didn't exist." He cannot keep the incredulity out of his voice and shakes his head. "There's no one in town. Me, cat girl, night lady. And you. I've not seen anyone else."

Spizzzo turns and starts knocking on the door to the train station, leaving muddy splotches. "Huh."

Rory watches dispassionately as Spizzo knocks on the door. He has already tried, with no answer. He looks one direction and then the other down the tracks, but no trains have passed him. He moves his hand from his nose to scratch at some old scars along the side of his neck. "That watchtower looked like some Middle Age construction, but the rest of the stuff looks newer. I mean---" he waves his hand at the tracks. "That definitely came later. Maybe we're in some weird time-lost rubbish heap or something."

Spizzzo stops knocking as he turns back to look at Rory. "Everything you've said nade sense so far until that. What's Middle Age Construction? Like a bunch of forty year olds put it together?"

Rory smiles faintly. "Well probably a bunch of forty-year-olds did put it together, but it's a reference to a period of time where I come from. Roughly between the fall of the Romans to the start of the Renaissance." He closes his eyes, neutralizes his expression and sighs. "That probably doesn't make sense either, does it?"

Spizzzo shakes his head sadly. "I'm not following, friend. But I wouldn't worry too much about it. I don't know how I got here, either."

Rory laughs hoarsely. "That makes two of us. One minute I'm at a party, the next I'm sopping wet in a damn lake. It's bloody strange."

Spizzzo pats his arms and face, then checks his lower body. "I appear to be uninjured. I would say it is regular strange."

Rory sighs again and shakes his head. "No no...it's an expression. Slang, you get me?" That he is following slang with more slang only occurs to Rory after the words have left his mouth. "Name's Rory. What's yours?"

Spizzzo nods quietly, "I understand what idioms are. I do not recognize those ones, but that is the point I think. In-group recognition. I'm Spizzzo." The man pauses and reflects on his words. "Apparently I remember my name."

Rory nods. "Lovely to meet you. I remember my name too, but I think the cat-girl was lying about hers. Nobody that young's name is Mildred." Why lie? Who knows. Why not lie? Rory looks around uneasily. "I think I'm going to have a look around, if that's alright."

Spizzzo nods, "Best I find a fire to dry out by."

Rory says [to Spizzzo] : Good luck.

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