( new york in the thirties it ain't. nor london in the forties, shell-shocked an' pocked with the truth of the war. his war, not the one they're decryin' with their song an' dance.

five hundred years done and gone and dust like it's a day. yet, there ain't much that changes of human nature. the buildings are taller. ain't a soul alive who knows what a telegram is. yet he sees the echoes of ages past. folks're still folk. an' new amsterdam makes about as much sense as any place he's ever been. the city's alive an' breathin', it sucks in air and shudders like a beast an' he walks the slick concrete spine of its streets.

yet. there ain't no ghosts. an' he knows on some level fundamental it's the nature of this place. give an' take. he even knows what he can do instead — lay hands to a body an' make it well. it's useful an' welcome besides. how much sufferin' could he have eased from gela well past the maginot line? yet losin' the ghost sight is a blow he hadn't expected. losin' reg. all over again, the man ain't even put to rest in a grave an' gene's mournin' him twice over. yet, reg' wouldn't begrudge him havin' another war to fight. puttin' the grief aside until the job's done.

the human spirit ain't nothin' if not adaptable. so he adapts. new amsterdam sure as hell ain't new york, but he learns it just the same. an' the food.

christ o'lordy, he ain't never seen so much in one place. couldn't have ever imagined any spread approachin' what's laid on out. an' folks just throwin' out what don't immediately please their palate — he can't even fathom the waste.

he knows better than to eat too much all at once. lean years'd put the fear of god into him an' he'd end up makin' himself sick more'n'anythin'. so he paces himself. samples a few things. it isn't until he finds himself saddled with an entire cake that he starts lookin' a little out of his depth.

he'll flag your character down with an apologetic little smile. there's a cigarette at one corner of his mouth, he talks around it with a practiced sort'a ease. )

Ah... sorry, hope it ain't no trouble, but I ain't gonna eat the whole thing an' I'd just as soon it not go to waste. Y'mind helpin' a fella out?

( violence don't speak to the soul of him, but he ain't one to shy away from the world none, either. this place may've displaced him from a life he knows an' loves, he may run the risk of never seein' his pa an' brothers again so long's he lives, yet.

he heals.

an' that's a gift no matter how you look at it an' no matter what else's been taken. so he stands ringside, an' soon as the deciding's been done an' the folks ushered outta the ring, gene's on the nearest of 'em. if they look like they need support standin' he'll do that unasked, slippin' into somebody's personal space with the polite deference and deftness of someone long accustomed to servin' in this capacity. )

Hey. If'n you don't mind me bein' a stranger, I can patch you right on up.

( that alabama drawl kicks like a goddamned mule, but his tone's warm an' easy. )

( lotta folks think that medics are insane. how many folks run towards gunfire and smoke without any intention of returnin' fire? yet, ain't a medic worth their salt that won't sell their lives dear if it's down to it. most folks on the german line respect the cross, but he ain't wearin' the uniform or his band tonight.

an' anyway, monsters don't care one whit so much as noncombatants go.

gene's just rounded a corner an' come face to face with somethin' that looks like it came out of a penny novel, big an' surly an' snarlin', gold eyes glinting in the light. gene takes a step back an' away from it. wary, but he ain't stupid. animals give chase. he works his jaw off to one side. reckons he can probably just ease back until he's gone an' then maybe alert the others that there's somethin' here. he sure as hell can't fight it on his own.

an' that'd be all well an' good an' fine, but another soul is headin' on towards him unaware of the danger, an' the monster swivels its head to track the approaching footsteps. they're in a t-junction, an' another few yards an' the other person'll be well in its line of sight. )

Fella ( or ma'am, gender according — gene's voice is soft an' calm, not a hint of unease but for the furrow to his brow an' the way he holds up one hand to keep 'em at bay. ) take my word you don't wanna walk another step.

 ( ooc; wildcard me or toss me a pm or a pp at vitarays. happy to write custom starters. no problem with cross-medium or any canon imaginable so lay it on me, pallerinos. )