July Arrivals

[sixthiteration]

WHO: Arrivals
WHERE: The fountain park
WHEN: July 1, 12:00 PM
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: N/A
STATUS: CLOSED

---

In the snug circle of an old park, a fountain sits burbling beneath a broad, midday sky.

Once-neat paving stones have buckled and cracked from the slow nudge of wayward roots. Benches stand covered in lichen and rust. Three paths push into the underbrush like the spokes on a wheel, the encroaching forest creating lush tunnels through the dark.

But the fountain stands singular and pristine, brightly splashing in open rebellion of the deep, muffled sounds of a place long ago gone to seed. A vibration hums through the ground, there and quickly gone, and the water in the fountain trembles, lapping against the high walls of its cool, pale reservoir.

It is the first of July.

It is precisely twelve o'clock in the afternoon.

Comments

[notabirdcostume]

While the man has a point, Sam can't help but feel a bit personally offended at the accusation. The guy doesn't even know who he is and he's making statements like Sam gave in willingly to some kind of abduction. Sam frowns, looking unamused at the comment, but doesn't respond. He knows his limits, knows he's a liability to the group due to his lack of experience, but it wasn't like he was a complete rookie to combat or anything of the sort.

There was no sense in getting worked up about it either. The man making the comment didn't know him--though now that Sam was looking at him straight on he did have that air of familiarity. The same sort of familiarity he'd had with Peggy, though perhaps less so. Maybe he'd seen his face in another military base or something. Whatever the case, Sam decided to ignore the comment and focus on the conversation.

Which was much more interesting given the talk of multiple-universes. Sam raises an eyebrow at that. He's not as quick to dismiss the notion given that he's on a team with a man from another planet who sometimes gets called a god. Not to mention the alien invasion from a few years back. He's seen enough weirdness to accept the idea so he turns his attention to her. "Ignoring the possible magic portals for the moment...which, by the way, you aren't the first person I've heard suggest. If this has happened to you five times or so, it doesn't sound like it's something any of us could have prevented. So what else can you tell us about a situation like this?"

[tobeclosetohim]

It doesn't sit comfortably. Doing this. This thing she doesn't ever do.

She told the Winchester's and Rachel in The Apocalypse early on, but she didn't tell The Farm, or even Oracle's Teams, until the better part of half a year, or a year, later. There were a handful of people who'd known in Medietas, but it hadn't been like this. Not all on the table. Not details. Not like there was suddenly a rabid audience in want of fountain burped, desperation dripping, answers she didn't have. Never had. If she did, she wouldn't be in this mess still.

"It's always different." Her voice is nearly uncertain of itself, like it can't decide whether it's an excuse or absolute the truest thing they need to hear. Because it is, too. "None of them were exactly alike, except in the setup. People all brought from different worlds, times, universes, who'd never known each other, and put somewhere. Sometimes it was a dangerous place--" A woeful understatement about the Hell Dimension or the constant flash-Bang monsters of the Apocalypse from just as everywhere else.

"--and sometimes it was just--"She paused, with an odd press of her lips, trying to codify Milliways or Medietas.

"A community in the middle of nowhere, that no one could explain why was happening, even when people weren't at risk."