sixthiterationlogs | July Arrivals

Nerys wasn't a large person, for a hominoid, but she was in good shape and had quick reflexes; even so, she was completely caught off guard by the wind, thrown back onto her ass thanks to the lack of balance from her arms. She swore in Bajoran, not that the guy or anyone else could hear her over the shrieking din of the siren.

It took a second for her to get back on her feet, and in the process she found enough presence of mind to grab a large dead branch that had also fallen, using that to pull herself up. She could feel herself blushing, standing unsteady in the continuing winds, but she couldn't find herself more than cursorily embarrassed, all things considered.

Bracing her stance a little more in case there was another hard gust, she followed the man's gesture with her gaze, then made an exaggerated nod and struck out, as best she could, for the path into the treeline. The idea of getting whacked on the head by a branch wasn't appealing, but Prophets only knew how long the winds would keep up. They were, even to Nerys' untrained observation, pretty unnatural.

She softens a little at the very name. For all that Peggy has been able to keep a stoic exterior on any number of subjects, Steve isn't one of them. "1947," she says first, because it's better than having to talk about the latter question, which she knows is going to be a point of discussion. "How did you know Steve?" she asks, allowing that to be her answer without an actual confirmation that she did know him, once.

"I'm afraid he's been gone for some time, now," she explains, the more time that passes, the longer she's able to regain control of her emotions. She keeps her voice steady, her face impassive. If they're going to talk about the death of her second love, then she will not let it reduce her to tears.

"Your..." She does a double-take at the very words, unsure what on earth he could possibly mean. Honestly, the whole thing is practically a field day for Howard, but for Peggy, it's leaving her a bit wanting as far as explanations go. "I have no idea what on earth a star destroyer is. I was in our offices in Los Angeles, we'd just closed the rift so the dark matter couldn't split us open and shove the world into another universe, but now I'm beginning to think that we didn't do such a bang-up job," she says critically.

Absently, she touches her lips with two fingers, wondering if that kiss had been some hallucination before her near-drowning experience. It had felt so real, though. She couldn't have imagined all that, could she?

"Let's save that for a last possible resort," Peggy insists, because the thought of forcing someone to divulge information isn't what sets her at unrest. It's the thought that he can force his way into someone's mind, unless he means that in a metaphorical way, and she's not keen on anything that science can't explain.

It is the reason she's here, after all, or so she suspects. "What I don't understand is that there doesn't seem to be any sort of connecting thread. I have my fair share of people who disagree with me," she says, a polite spin on 'enemies', "but I'm from Los Angeles in 1947 and you're talking about invading people's minds, which isn't possible where I'm from."

She opens her mouth and closes it primly when the details come in. She doesn't mean to be shocked, but, well, she thinks that she can't quite be blamed when she's being told something that seems in place in one of Howard's madcap movies. "I'm Peggy," she replies in turn, not sure that she can even come close to such an explanation.

"Currently or formerly with the phone company," she says, wondering whether she ought to keep her cover up. Then again, given all the strangeness that's happened, it doesn't seem like a good idea. "Or rather, with the Strategic Scientific Reserve," she admits. "I've never heard of most of the things you've just said."

Sam falls silent for a moment. Right, the scrubs prevent them from even putting a time period on each other. She probably thinks he served with Steve's unit in the war or maybe knew him from Brooklyn. Oh boy, how to explain this. The woman's already been through a lot and she thinks Steve is dead at this point. He's not going to be found, from her perspective, for another 70 years or so. How much should he tell her?

Too much has happened for him to be able to put this together in a nice way, so she's just going to have to be able to handle the blunt version. This day is already crazy enough.

"Okay. So I'm just going to keep being frank with you because I've got no other idea on how to put this. I met Steve about a year ago in 2015. You say he's been gone, and that's true but not in the way you think. It takes some time, but they find him in the ice a few decades from your perspective."

He's a former soldier and worked at the VA for awhile. He knows that news is going to be like a punch to the gut and he knows he should have found a better way to put it. But he'd nearly drowned, woke up in an unknown place, and was talking to a woman who's funeral he'd attended a few days ago. Actually, after saying it, he realizes he probably sounds crazy on top of everything. But he'll cross that bridge based on her reaction.

Wilson. Maybe he wouldn't have recognized the face out of a crowd, but with a name to go with it, Frank's eyes stop on the guy a beat, studying. It's been a while since he paid attention to what the Avengers are up to, but he's pretty sure that is who he thinks it is. Someone who's liable to notice who he is sooner or later. It doesn't make him nervous; he doesn't get nervous about shit like that anymore, he just gets focused.

"Unless you were the only one they could catch." No offense, but he imagines Sam Wilson is easier to subdue than, say, Captain America. Clarifying that statement would mean showing more of his hand than he'd like just now, though, as would bringing up the fact that that makes at least two so-called vigilantes — if it's a pattern, he'll say something, but not everybody here looks like they fight crime on the side.

"Or they don't want anybody having easy allies," Frank offers with a considering incline of the head. "If they don't care who they get, why go through the trouble of snatching people from all over the globe?" And with a pinch of his brow, he adds, "And why the hell drag us here for a fake windstorm?"

Because yeah, Watney, that's unsettling, thanks for that.

Frank offers her a dryly apologetic look. "Pretty sure we ain't dreaming." Unfortunately.

Impossible physics aren't the only possibility, though. He bobs his chin toward the fountain again, "Could be there's a hatch along the side somewhere – some kind of underground holding area they had us in before letting us up. O2 masks. Hard to tell from here." But he leans over the edge a little like he's considering diving back in to find out. You know, hypothetically.

Frank's eyebrows bob with a considering nod. Could be. "That sure would make us easier to control. Leave you searching for each other instead of a way out." You, that means her, not him. He doesn't have people anymore. He doesn't drag anybody else down with him. "Or it's somebody else altogether. Hard to be sure until we know more."

"Can I ask what you do, to be making so many enemies?" And it's not just that — she's sharp, calm, collected in a crisis in a way most people aren't. He has a few guesses why, but he'd like to be sure.

Frank's gaze slides over to the young woman. Irritation bristles in his nerves, his heart still pounding in his chest. For a moment he just stands there, chest heaving, exhaling heavy as an ox, and takes her presence in. Considers her point. It's not the worst point.

"Somebody knows."

But he drops his target and backs away from the fountain too, fighting to reel in that temper. Somebody knows; somebody did this, but alright, maybe he's not going to find them right here.

There's a buzz in her head. It starts small, but the more that Sam speaks, the worse it gets. It turns everything around her tinny and impossible to focus on because she's so stunned with what he's saying. Howard couldn't find him, she hadn't looked because he had gone down in the plane and he was lost. Wasn't he? And yet, Sam doesn't appear to have any ulterior motive in lying to her.

"He's still alive?" she asks, gritting her jaw when her eyes fill with moisture, trying to push that away. "Oh god, Steve," she exhales, when she thinks of him alone in the future. "How is he? Is he okay?" she demands. She may have said goodbye to him, but she will never, not ever stop loving that man.

'The phone company' lingers on her lips, but that's an old lie that won't work after she's talked about how many enemies she has. After all, it's not like she can cite an envy of a phone company monopoly has somehow kidnapped her and put her here. "I work with the Strategic Scientific Reserve," she says, hoping that she doesn't come to regret this honesty, later.

"Recently, it's become evident that I've had enemies without even realizing it, but they've been slowly pushed to the light."

"Universes." That would be the small blonde, in the white tank top, sitting on one of the tables, legs hanging off. Even for the position she looks nothing like carefree and nothing like this is for fun. There's a press of her lips, and a tension to her shoulders, that doesn't want to do this, play this game, whatever the fuck this game is. Does want to go explaining these things to all these people who seem to not even be from where she is. But when were they ever?

It'd only been her and Merlin, and few others ever in all these years. There's almost a glance toward Kol, but she doesn't.

Copper eyes, cool and sharp and hard, stay focused on the men talking. "We aren't all from the same world. It never works like that."

Jo looked back, a wrinkle to her brow. Momentarily dangerous and wary.
At the words as much as any of her ideas about why it might have been said.

She didn't have time to explain that no matter what he saw when he looked at her, small, slender and soaking wet, she'd been on her own, hunting and killing monsters, of every shape and size and deadliness, alone, for most of the better part of half a decade now. On planets where the Apocalypse had won, that had gone as bad and broken as bad and broken could be, and even demons in a hell dimension. Not that it was of secret her kind gave up, even if they had the time for it.

But he doesn't really look like he's judging her.

At least in so much as she can tell anything about a dude she met ten minutes ago.

"Fine." There's a frown, but she still says it. "Together." Then, almost a little patronizing. "Want to choose which path, too?"

"Maybe." Is the most Jo gives him.
It's pissed, but far too sharply true.

No one knew who truly put together Milliways.
No one knew who flash-Banged them into the Apocalypse.
No one knew why they were brought to Medietas's floating islands.

Sure. Someone. Somewhere. Yeah, they probably knew. Probably did it. But it didn't absolutely mean they'd find them. Not that she wasn't still quite ready to peel someone's skin off for some answers. But this was a lot more what she expected than the last place. Confused, angry people, and not bystanders handing them phones, house numbers, and knowing their names. "It doesn't always work like that."

Beat. "Not that I'm fully game to beat the fuck out of anyone who does have their hands in making this happen."

These days, Nerys was pretty good at determining when someone had no idea what she was talking about. That was certainly obvious from the look on Peggy's face, though at least the other woman wasn't rude about it or anything.

That turned out to be fine, because Nerys had no damn clue what a phone company was, or the Strategic Scientific Reserve, though the latter sounded like some sort of Federation initiative she'd never heard of before. At least that was slightly more comforting. Sort of.

"Same here," she admitted in reply, slightly ruefully. "Call me crazy, but I'm thinking we came from two incredibly different places. Possibly even times." Unless Peggy came from some kind of lost colony that hadn't heard any of the last decade or two of news, of course.

He shakes his head to say that he doesn't need to pick the path, only that he wants to make sure whatever path they go down isn't going to be one that leads to them being injured or even worse. Going it alone is the kind of thing that gets you in trouble and Cougar ought to know, given his history.

He just waits, patiently, for whatever road they're going to take. He's already trying to think of weapons he can find, but for now, hand to hand will have to do in a bad situation. Gesturing forward, he waits for her to take the lead.

"How can that happen?" she wonders. Even with all the strange things she's come across in her time in the SSR, there's been nothing that could manipulate time. Worlds, yes, dimensions, of course, but time? Time is supposed to be a constant that exists to help guide them. If this woman is from outer space, she's clearly form a time far past what Peggy can even conceive, and yet here they are wearing the same clothes in a terribly antiquated looking town.

"Have you ever experienced something like this before?"

Sam knew there was a possibility she wouldn't believe him. Either thinking him crazy or a liar. He had no evidence to back it up -- he could say some things about Steve, but given how famous he would have been she could easily chalk that up to other means.

Sam doesn't say anything more until she asks her question. He doesn't want to get too much into this, they're both under enough emotional duress without adding the resurrection of dead friends on top of it. He considers his answer carefully.

"Yes. He's well enough. He has people he can call friend and he's save the world enough times." He knows she probably wants to know more, but he really doesn't think it's the best time to be opening up those wounds. He can only imagine it, honestly, and he regrets bringing it up -- but at the same time he really didn't see another way.

Kol decides for now, it's not worth being fussed over the snappy words or her attitude, mostly because she's right. They need out of this and to that building, quick. So for now he snaps his mouth shut and follows her lead, trying to shove his way through the ridiculous winds.

The trek takes time, more than it should have thanks to the winds they had to fight their way through, but finally, eventually they arrive at the place and manage to slip inside. Safe and sound and away from the gusts of air trying to steal breaths and knock them down. As he comes to consider it, really, it was harder than it should have been, even for him, and he’s actually a bit more tired than he’d have expected. He shakes the thought from his mind and turns to his arrival partner--or whatever she may want to be called.

“Well, that was bloody ridiculous.” he comments, not at all quiet in his opinions.

“I knew someone that would argue magic is a science in it’s own right.” He shrugs a bit. He couldn’t really say it wasn’t, there was a lot more to magic than people tended to assume.

He casts another glance toward the fountain and shakes his head, “Nah, no use, you won’t get back through there. You’ll be here til who-or-whatever decides you don’t want to be.” That’s the simplest explanation. He’ll worry about explaining Lawrence once they’re proper back in it. “Not sure, probably just pick a path and see where it goes. One of ‘em must lead somewhere useful, yeah?”

He waits for her to finish her coughing fit before he answers, “You know, Henry, that Graham bloke you’re always gushing at?" He only knows Henry because of his younger brother's friendship with him, and for the most part he stays out of then business. Emma has never liked him much anyway.

In evaluating his options, Ren had decided that appearing to not be a threat was more important than a show of strength. Sam had valid points, and Ren was capable of realizing that, even if he didn't like it. There is an obvious undercurrent of discontent in the way he glances toward the door out of the kitchen.

Once again Sam is right. And while that gets under Ren's skin, there doesn't appear to be much of use to them in the kitchen. It's unlikely they will find much to help them learn about their location or fight back.

"No. We should move on. We're only wasting our time here. We can't leave until this wind stops. Assuming it ever does. Some planets have windstorms that last for years before they break." He turns on one of the faucets to a sputtering of rust and sediment laden brown water and grimaces, turning the faucet back off.

"Even if we found food in here, I wouldn't trust it. "

"How is it possible that neither of us is aware of that?" Ren scowls at Hux for a moment and then distracts himself by peering briefly out a window to check on the angrily howling wind whipping loose debris about outside. In other circumstances he might have admired the rage of it, but not when it left him trapped in this underdeveloped hell hole.

"What is your excuse?" At least Ren had the crutch of having been heavily injured. As far as he knew, Hux had been just fine. But Ren had been incapacitated on the crumbling surface of Starkiller Base. He should have died there.

"Which system is Los Angeles in?" That seemed the more relevant question. The numbers clearly weren't a system. Maybe they designated a vessel. In either case it isn't surprising she doesn't think the Force is real. Few people believed in the power of the Force, or the skills Force users had at their disposal. He actually turns to face her when he speaks this time.

"It is always possible. People only prefer to believe that it isn't because it sets their minds at ease." Those people were usually the sort with weak enough minds to invade. But Peggy seemed to just be ill informed rather than weak-minded. She had enough of a clear head on her shoulders to know what to do with herself in their current situation without descending into a panic and that earned her a few points of respect with Ren.

July Arrivals

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Re: Arrival: Kira Nerys [OTA]

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Re: Arrival: Jo Harvelle

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Re: Arrival: Kira Nerys [OTA]

Re: Arrival: Jo Harvelle

Re: Arrival: Kira Nerys [OTA]

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