Welcome to Gaia! ::

Watching yourself tap your own foot wasn't exactly an exciting way to spend your time. But it did pass the time, and take your mind off the huge spinning blades above your head, and the vast gallons of ocean beneath you too.

Taking deep, laboured breaths, Osbourne continued to tap his foot frantically and chewed on his gum like a cow chewing cud. He hated to fly. It was always the thought that something would go wrong and that you'd have thousands of feet to fall. Just because a helicopter was smaller, that didn't make it any less scary.

For the duration of the flight, Osbourne did nothing but fidget in his seat, tap his feet, twiddle his fingers, and groan whenever the helicopter jerked or swayed. His seatbelt was fastened so tight it practically cut through his podgy stomach. He could only imagine what kind of impression he was making on the pilot - a 6ft rugby player feeling sick on a helicotper ride. Yeah, that was impressive.

Osbourne's masculinity was questioned even further when they finally landed at the helipad. Rather than step out of the helicopter calmly, he tumbled out of it and immediately hunched over, steadying himself with his hands on bent knees. A long thread of spit eased from his mouth, followed by a small retching sound. Convinced the ground beneath him was the real thing, he stood up and wiped the remaining saliva from his mouth. By this time, the pilot had taken the liberty of moving Osbourne's luggage to the hatch so it was simply a matter of picking them up.

A neatly dressed guard was waiting just on the fringe of the helipad, and had watched Osbourne's display with a cruel smirk, which disappeared as the bulky man began to approach him.

"I've been instructed to meet you here and take you to Dr. Duvert for a health check and some mandatory vaccinations," the guard said fluently, a line much practised no doubt. He then motioned to the Jeep a few paces away. "Can I help you with your luggage?"

"No thanks, I think I can manage," Osbourne replied cheerfully. All he had with him was a medium-sized travel suitcase and a sports duffel bag.

He threw his suitcase and bag into the back of the jeep, already feeling much more at ease. The climate would take some adjusting to. He was used to British summers - rain, rain and more rain. With some wind if you were lucky. The journey was simply marvellous, and filled with Osbourne with a sort of childish glee. He could easily see how addicts would get distracted in a place like this! Already his mind was awash with fanciful notions of exploring these jungles.

The jeep eased to a stop. The guard had been a pretty easy-going driver, but he couldn't do anything about the natural bumps and lumps they had encountered. Osbourne was still darting his head around, looking at everything, when the huge gates came into his sight.

"Woah," he muttered in awe as he was taken inside.

Having left his luggage in the jeep, albeit reluctantly, Osbourne was shown into a waiting room.

"The doctor will be with you momentarily," the guard said.

"Okay. Thank...you," he began, but the guard had disappeared back out the door.

Osbourne idly hooked his thumbs into his pockets, leaving his fingers to drum along his thighs as he waitied.

Oz's eyes had barely glimpsed out the window when he was greeted by what could only be described as a blast from the past. He immediately recognised the heavy Victorian influences of this man's attire but the main reaction it got from him - total amazement. Oz had to think for a few moments, wondering if this guy could really be one of the staff.

Happy Halloween!

Aha! That was it! The date had slipped Oz's mind, as many things did really, but it would certainly explain thie gentleman's 'costume.'

"Oh...OH! Halloween! Yeah, the days just fly by when you're trying to fix your liver," he replied cheerfully, that puzzled expression physically melting away in an instant.

He shook the doctor's hand and displayed a firm grip, evidence of his past in sports.

"And not a problem, the guy who brought me here was nice enough." That was a lie, but it wasn't his fault if the guy was untalkative. And he himself was distracted by pretty flowers and green leaves.

"And you can call me Oz."

Oz wrinkled his poor abused nose, his mouth curling down at the corners slightly in a grimace.

"Yeah...I don't fly well. At least I didn't make a mess in the helicopter," he said bashfully, a little embarrassed of his fear.

He followed Dr. Duvert quite willingly, obviously not phased by the thought of injections.

"Oh yeah, the guard said something about a health check and some injections. If I'd known, I'd have got them done before leaving England, save you the trouble," he said pleasantly.

He wouldn't admit the fact it was actually easier, and cheaper, having them done here.

"What kind of diseases could you catch here?" he asked, the tone of worry slipping intp his voice.

A voice-activated lift? The possibilities for mischief were endless! But it was probably programmed to listen to only certain members of staff. He was just about to ask Sabin about it when he began talking again.

Oz could heartily agree about the helicopter, and the scenery as well. Most people assumed that, because of his size, his demanour and his background in sport, he couldn't just look at something, or see something beautiful. Sea-scapes weren't much to his taste, but the jungle and beach just flooded his brain with images that would not go away. But his outer visade wouldn't show any of this thinking - his 'softer' side was reserved for no-one but himself.

"Dengue fever...sounds nasty. Never read about it but I tried to prepare myself. Are there any animals on the Island? Y'know, like bats or rats or anything that might pass on diseases?" he asked as they exited the lift. He was being mildly cautious, for a change. Normally, it was hit things, ask questions later.

Oz's pace slowed slightly, a little intimidated by the large exam room. Even a bulky man like himself could feel small in a place like this.

Oz froze. His entire physical being seemed to stiffen and lock. All sorts of slapstick escape plans filtered through his now anxious mind.

"S-s-snakes?" he stuttered, his voice barely audible. He could barely focus on his speech, let alone the cruel enjoyment Sabin seemed to be exhibiting at simply finding the right vaccines.

"T-they...can't get...in, can they? Into the houses, flats, or whatever it is you've got...?"

Oz was not totally convinced yet. He just hoped he wouldn't be penalised for whacking any snakes that did creep into his quarters, because that would be the most rational response his brain could produce. Whack it until it stopped moving.

He didn't utter a word after that, and instead leaned against an exam table, drumming his fingers nervously on the edge. He was too preoccupied with thoughts of 'snake-proofing' his soon-to-be home to notice Sabin's labourious decisions.

"Hmmm? Party?" he said, as if waking from a dream. "There's a party?" The grin on his face said it all.

Once more, Oz was practically oblivious to Sabin's actions. At least until the needle was jabbed in.

"Ow! You don't mess around, do you?" he said, furrowing his brow a little then scratching at the tiny prink on his arm. "And nah, not really. And I'm not any kind of seamstress either."

He chuckled and then straightened himself up, his mind quite unable to forget the itching little mark.

"That sounds great."