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Luckily for Taym, whose sleeping habits were erratic at best and who was by nature and early-riser, he'd been up and dressed for an hour before he received the text. Better still, he was already on his way to the self-same fields, to indulge in his usual early-morning "run," which is to say a half-hearted jog that ended with him wheezing long before it should have been acceptable. At least he was trying.

Which is how he managed to show up at exactly 6:08, in uniform albeit also in a state of majestic scruff. He tried to look obedient and nonchalant and not at all like the fact that his reaction to the text message had been an immediate tightening of his chest and a sensation like he'd suddenly been plunged into a full-body vat Icy-Hot. Ohgodohgodhewasgoingtodie.

Assuming Caelius was actually there, he'd get a nod and a "sir."

He'd ditched the coat (and, after a breath's hesitation, the scarf) obediently, and when he realized what the portal signified--when they emerged in the "real world"--he was instantly, knee-knockingly grateful that the shirt he was wearing was one he'd actually washed in a sink recently. He rolled down his sleeves while they walked.

He was, on the whole, managing better than he felt. He felt overwhelmed, oddly shaken by the unheralded suddenness of the outside world after four months in absolute isolation on Deus. When Caelius dropped him at the table he almost asked whether he could sit outside smoke, and decided against it.

Instead, he watched. This was what he did. In the absence of any directions other than being told to wait, he engaged himself in his usual hobby of observing the other occupants of the room and attempting--with some success--to disappear.

To his deep and abiding embarrassment, his heart was racing. He did not know why he was here, and that, paired with Caelius, would have been enough. But a sudden exposure to humanity and coffee shops and car horns and buildings finished the job. He felt like a dog let out of the kennel for the first time in months only to find itself cowering under a picnic table in terror at the dog park.

None of it showed. He just maintained his silence and tried to will his hands to stop trembling, by shoving them into his pockets.

He didn't have any money. Goddammit. Well, Taym was no stranger to the dine and dash, and maybe he could buy some time. He offered her up a conciliatory, faintly-apologetic smile. "I'm waiting for someone, but I don't guess she'd be too offended if I got a glass of water until she showed."

The make-out couple had, for a variety of reasons mostly rooted in raw envy and pent-up frustration, attracted most of his attention. The sudden realization that the make-out couple was now one person had his attention again. He tried to see, from across the room, what she was reading (books and women!), and inwardly wondered what the hell Caelius was up to.

He looked uncomprehendingly at his new tablemate.

"I think traditionally you're supposed to discuss what you're flipping for first," he said finally.

Baggage? What ******** baggage? And in fact he almost asked it. But then, very suddenly, Taym remembered that Caelius had explicitly told him not to talk to anyone.

His face shut down. He'd already talked to two people and suspected that whatever he was here to prove, he'd already ******** it up. In any case, he met the guy's challenge with belated but total silence, and a flat, defiant stare delivered over the lip of his glass of water.

If Taym's face hadn't already shut down, it would have then. As it was, all that happened was that he put the glass down and tried not to visibly panic. His eyes roamed briefly over the others, but they went back to the bald man under the assumption that was he was in some way the one responsible for this. He didn't stand up. But he put his feet where he could stand up speedily if and when he needed to. He was already looking for the easiest route to get his back to a wall or an exit.

And he golf clapped, politely, in the hopes that his sarcastic approval of the performance would make him look less terrified than he was.

Here's a sign of desperate times: fervently hoping for Caelius to show up with a weapon drawn.

Nearly eight years of habits died hard: when he woke up hurting in some dim room, Taym's instinctive reaction was to reach for his gear. This was how he discovered that his arms were bound, and in turn what jolted him into being aware of the situation fully. He remained still, his head to his chest, and sorted through his extremely limited options.

Well. After taking a minute to assess the situation--a minute was about all it took--he mechanically, like a person sleepwalking, ran through a series of minor tests, moving as little as possible.

He stared at the far wall and the floor around him, looking for his shadow and, if he found it, looking to see if there was anyone else's hovering around it--some suggestion of a person behind him that he couldn't see and didn't particularly want to crane his neck for.
Carefully without moving his hands (in case someone was in fact watching him), he examined what he could see of the cables, to determine if they were made of something that could be cut through. He did this without much hope, pretty sure that whoever these people were, they were thorough enough not to let that happen.
He examined... Jesus Christ. Was that Mark? This day got worse and worse.

After a second's thought, he decided to fake an exaggerated waking-up-hungover noise, rather than try and actually say Mark's name and potentially betray how awake he actually was to anyone waiting for just that eventuality. He wasn't sure whether getting an answer or finding out he really was unconscious was the preferable option.