Entry tags:

[Locked & OTA] Splashdown

WHO: Liv Moore
WHERE: Fountain, Hot Spring
WHEN: May 28 & 29
OPEN TO: Ravi & Everybody
WARNINGS: Zombie talk in the first prompt, semi-nakedness in the second

6I Fountain - May 28, Evening

Locked to Ravi

You know what I'm not a fan of? Deja vu. In my line of work, or at least the very specific way I go about that line of work, I tend to get it a lot. That niggling feeling that I've been somewhere before, or seen something as someone else. It can be useful, sure — I'm not knocking the tool kit I've got to work with, here. But it can also be irritating. You feel off, like you're caught in a time loop, or in limbo. The worst is when you can't put your finger on why.

Today, though, I know exactly why. It's fortunately not everyday I relive drowning and then throwing up on myself.

It is also fortunately not everyday that experience involves me doing all of that in a fountain, with no memory of how I got there. I haven't had any brains in a few days... Did someone sneak me a piece of party animal without me knowing?

The scrubs I've got on are familiar at least, even if it's been awhile since I wore them for work. I've got somebody's backpack with a bunch of clothes inside, and a smart watch strapped to my left wrist, but nothing's ringing a bell. I heft off the bag, take a seat on the lip of the fountain and scroll through the screens on the watch, looking for clues. Maybe I can make a futuristic phone call on this thing.

There's a list of contacts, a few messages, and— Wait, what? Right there, bold as brass: Ravi Chakrabarti.

Furiously, I type out a message:

ravi what have you done and why was i in a fountain

It's only after I send it that I realize it says it's from Liv Moore. When did I buy a smart watch, and how many drugs was I on?

Hot Springs - May 29, Evening

OTA

I have no idea what I think about being here, and if I actually stop to think about that, I figure that's probably about as good a reaction as I can expect. So far, I haven't had any kind of discernible mental breakdown, although I did very emphatically give Ravi the third degree. Maybe being a zombie has fortified me against acts of supreme and all-encompassing weirdness. I mean, at least I'm myself, and not trying to get my Lara Croft on or sleep with everybody here. That's something.

What I am doing, though, is exploring. I've got no reason to doubt Ravi when he swears we're stuck here, even if I'm clearly not fully processing that I'm here at all. What am I going to do, sit around and hang with Ravi's rats? I've had more than enough of that for about three lifetimes, thanks.

I follow a path that leads out of town and end up at a spring. A hot one, to judge by the steam, with a little waterfall and a clear, rippling pool.

"Nice," I murmur, and after a quick glance around, pull off my shirt.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Holy gah—" I spit out with an abrupt and decidedly ungraceful backward leap. I've flung my shirt back up to cover my chest, although I don't know why — I've got on a sports bra, which might as well be a bathing suit.

It's honestly sad the amount of time it takes me to finally lay eyes on this guy, although I would like to say in my defense that his hair looks a lot like seaweed.

"Wow," I add, eyebrows lifting. "You're like full on Hunger Gamesing it with blending into the scenery there."

He may be up to speed on most technology and the civilization changes, but media pop culture still isn't really his thing just yet. There's a total lack of recognition on his face, accompanied by an upwardly raised eyebrow just to cement the point that he has not a damn clue what she's talking about.

"Yeah, sorry, I didn't-" He starts, because for a second he doesn't know how to finish that sentence. Didn't mean to exist so quietly? Didn't mean to be in a totally normal place for a person to be but accidentally having the same color hair as the rocks behind him? His lips twist a little, expression both apologetic and a little sardonic. "Didn't mean to scare you."

He'd been pretty content, but if it's about to get weird... he shifts forward a little. "I can go if you want."

"No, it's okay," I quickly shoot back, lifting a hand to stop him if he's thinking about getting out of the water with what I see now are his clearly ripped and glistening pectorals. Which really begs the question of how anybody could get that buff and yet not get a haircut, but I'll just save that one for a less awkward moment.

"You were here first and I obviously didn't come prepared," I add with a gesture to myself; no backpack, no towel, no rubber ducky. "I didn't even know this was back here."

She placates him and, after a long moment where he seems to try and decipher whether not she means it, settles back into the spot he'd been comfortable in. He shrugs a shoulder- just the one, as though dismissing her self flagellation.

"Is anybody really prepared here? They didn't exactly give us a functional wardrobe on the way in." It's a frustrated sounding commentary on the present state of things, a huffy, mumbled sort of complaint like he's more talking to himself than her.

Wearing a pair of scrub bottoms in nature's equivalent of a hot tub wasn't the most comfortable thing on the planet, but he's not exactly a tighty whitey kind of guy. At least a sports bra serves a passable functional purpose. He could always rip the fabric away below the knee, but it's a waste of an otherwise acceptable pair of pants.

Edited 2018-05-29 05:58 (UTC)

"Fair point," I allow with a nod, mostly because what he's said falls in line with the breathless rundown I'd gotten from Ravi. I've been here a day; it's not really long enough to test the theory.

"I did hear some people get creepy random gifts, though," I add with a motion his way. "Maybe you'll get lucky and somebody up there will send you a Speedo." Which would be a dream or a curse for those of us who would have to witness it being worn, depending on if this guy's bottom half matches the chest area or the hobo hair more.

No, scratch that. There's no excuse for Speedos, ever.

"I've only been here a day, so I'm still waiting on my bikini."

Edited 2018-05-29 06:10 (UTC)

He snorts, it's not quite a laugh so much as an incredulous denial at the presumption he'd ever wear one of those. Yeah, no, where he's from men keep their junk where it belongs- private. Most bathing suits for men still had tops. It's only because he's not completely out of touch with the times (and because it would be damn uncomfortable) that he goes shirtless now.

The world can go another day wondering whether or not the carpet matches the drapes, or if he just has two sets of drapes entirely.

"I'm on day three," He offers with a grim sort of smile, lacking any real joy. It's dark empathy in facial feature form. "Welcome to the club."

"Has your mental meltdown about the actual fact of being here happened yet?" I ask with a tilt of my head. "I'm waiting on mine and trying to figure out how much time I should block out for my breakdown."

Okay yeah, I'm definitely going the comedy as deflection route, surprising absolutely no one. We all have different ways of coping. But this guy probably knows as well as I do that the subject matter is no joke. Last night I was so exhausted I just collapsed into bed, but I'm already wondering how much sleep I'll get tonight, laying awake with existential angst.

"I'm Liv, by the way," I add, and take the few final steps to the edge of the water. Being half-naked and all, introductions seem like they are probably in order.

"I've been postponing it," He answers wryly, because witty sarcastic banter is probably the one social thing he's actually good at. Apparently his apathetic smartass nature had been so strong in the forties that even decades of brainwashing couldn't eradicate it. He should get some kind of medal or something. "I'd give it at least a day, but I'm not exactly a good go-to for good mental health practices."

What an understatement. The man's got more issues than Time magazine.

"Bucky," he supplies with a nod, and to his credit, does a really good job keeping his eyes above her collarbones. Mostly. The rest of the time he's got to pointedly look somewhere a few feet to her right. It's been a while, okay?

I just have to put this out there: I get serious points for not saying anything about the beaver or tooth brushing. Because I really want to, even if I don't go full-on 'Grease' sleepover Ipana commercial. But, I used to date a guy named Major, so pot and kettle and all that. Plus, the guy is trying so hard to not look at my chest I feel kinda bad for him.

"Maybe we should coordinate," I suggest with a nod Bucky's way. "You have your breakdown and I say soothing, ultimately unhelpful things, and then when you're done, we can do the opposite."

He huffs a soft laugh, a rare smile curling at his lips. Alright, Liv, keep up the banter. You're earning points pretty quickly in his book, it's something he'll admit he's missed for a long time. Wakandan humor isn't always up to par, at least not with the village elders, and he hasn't talked to Steve for more than five minutes in... a long time. He's been a sassy bastard all by himself for a long time, it's a nice change of pace.

"Not sure I'm the guy you want in your corner for that," He confesses, raising a metal arm to absently scratch at his hair, to push it back away from his face. "Unless 'we're probably going to die' is comforting enough for you. That's about all I've got."

Ha ha, funny story, Bucky: I'm already dead! And, fortunately, even with the supposed enlightenment of New Seattle, I know better than to come right out with that little tidbit in a first conversation.

"I mean, it's not not comforting," I admit instead, pressing my lips together with a little shrug. "It's kind of become a common refra— Whaaaaoh my god."

Is there a better way to change the topic than a robot arm reveal? This is my first time, so I've got no barometer for this.

"That is..." A lot of things, actually, and I struggle for a second to pick one. "Unexpected. And probably the coolest thing I've ever seen. Can you like crush concrete blocks with that thing? Lift cars off of accident victims?"

Funny how he can go an entire year without anyone bringing up his metal arm, but Liv's two in as many days. It's not a sensitive subject by any means, so he's more amused than anything by the reaction. He also doesn't really know how to handle attention, so any discomfort he feels is more because of that than the subject himself.

"Uh..." he starts extending his arm out as though he's inspecting it for the first time himself. Thinks back to punching dents in concrete and slamming in the hoods of cars, thinks of his own excessive strength coupled with it, and... "Yeah, kind of."

Though that's not what it's largely been used for. More the opposite, crushing people with cars more like. To be honest, ever since he's gotten here it's felt weaker somehow. Hauling himself out of that well was as much effort as it would have been with his good arm. He can't explain it, and there isn't exactly a Robot Arm technician hanging around this town to diagnose it.

Edited 2018-05-31 01:23 (UTC)

The smile's gone, and the pang of guilt is instantaneous. Why did I react that way? Why didn't I just politely swallow it all back and act like everything was completely normal? It's not okay to point out a typical sort of prosthetic limb, why would it be okay in this instance just because the limb is super sweet and space-age?

"I— Sorry," I start and then stop again, holding both hands up beseechingly. "I wasn't trying to be rude, but that was rude, wasn't it? I wasn't lying, it really is cool, but can we just forget I said anything?"

He's pretty sure it's his fault she feels guilty now, maybe a more sociable person might have reacted to her questions better. More enthusiasm, a bigger smile, maybe more than four words of conversation instead of the awkward and stilted stuff he's been giving her to work with. It's nothing personal, Liv, and he tries to express as much with a tight and twisted smile.

"It's fine," He offers earnestly. "I get it."

And he does; Sam had gushed about his arm the day before at the inn. Something about a billion points of articulation or something, evidently this curse hanging off of his shoulder's revolutionary. He wonders what people would think about it if they knew how many innocent lives he'd snuffed out with it. People keep thinking it's something heroic. How many cars can he lift off of crash victims?

Yeah, no. Think again.

"No, seriously," I insist, and move to take a seat on one of the bigger boulders ringing the pool. Getting in still seems like it would be weird, even more than it was originally now, but at this point I think packing up my social ineptitude and fleeing would be the rudest move yet. I'm just gonna have to lean in.

"It was weird. And ignorant. I'd offer to buy you a drink to make up for it, but I'm not sure alcohol would make me less of an asshole, and apparently there's not any to be had anyway."

To her credit, he's not exactly sure what the best move is here either. He could tell her he doesn't bite and invite her in, but that... seems weird in and of itself. If she wanted in she'd go in, and he can't leave because that's already been brought up and shot down. So here they are, two socially inept people navigating the treacherous seas of a hot spring.

He feels bad that she feels bad, and now they're caught in an endless cycle of apologizing until one of them dies. Or, dies again as the case may be. Maybe it's time he man up and take a little personal responsibility for this trainwreck.

"You don't have to do that. It's really not a problem. It's- got a billion points of articulation or something, apparently." Maybe quoting Sam isn't the best move, considering she compared it to Space Hannukah, but whatever. To top it off, he nods at the vacant opposite end of the shallow water. "There's a lot of room in here, by the way, even if it seems like we're filling up the space with awkward conversation. I'm not- uh- I'm not exactly the best at people, so. Don't take that personally. It's a work in progress. I'm taking suggestions."

I falter a moment, mouth open yet silent for all of the completely obvious reasons: Hot stranger in a warm pool, lack of proper attire, the fact that I'm probably desperately trying to not think about where I actually am. Hell, the robot arm is almost an afterthought. But then I drop my head with a soft laugh and slow shake of my head. Levity: Check. Maybe we can actually salvage this thing.

"Okay," I say at length, and pull up a foot so I can begin to untie my boot. "But as previously established, I don't have a bathing suit, so when the pants come off, you have to be gentlemanly and avert your eyes." I stuff my sock into the boot and then plunk it back down to the grass. "Not because I'm shy, but because I don't think it would be fair to drive you wild with lust with the granny panties they gave me to wear."

He snorts, he honest to god does. Of all the people he's met so far, Liv's rapidly approaching the top of the list in favorability. It's hard to top Benedict, the man who fed and sheltered him. Their conversation had been pleasant and welcoming, but there hadn't been the quick and sassy rapport that comes so naturally to him. Not like this; stilted as it may have been for a second there.

"I'll do my best to fight the temptation," He deadpans in return, preemptively tilting his head in the opposite direction and settling his eyes somewhere on the evening skyline above them. Say what you want about this place, but the sunsets were beautiful. Nothing compared to Wakanda, nothing could ever live up to that, but they good in their own way. He can't wait to never see them again.

At any rate, his forced sociability seemed to have paid off, and he figures he might as well tack on some attempt at small talk on top of it. That's what healthy, well-adjusted people do. "Where were you before? The fountain, I mean, before the involuntary drowning session."

"Seattle," I reply as I toss down the other boot and then slide back off the boulder. "Oh, apparently I should clarify that's on Earth," I add, and throw a glance over my shoulder to confirm eyes are firmly elsewhere before I start wiggling from my pants. Sports bra and granny panties; I truly don't know how anyone could resist me. "How about you?"

In theory, I should be open-minded about his answer. I'm a zombie; that's got to be right up there with space alien cyborg on the freak-out scale. But god, I'm really hoping he's going to say Boise or Palm Beach. There's only so much a girl can take in a single 24-hour span.

The clarification is wholly unnecessary, he knows Seattle, and says is much with only the expression on his face. Not that he turns it toward her, they've got a deal, after all.

"Wakanda," He says, but it doesn't feel like a full answer because that's not where he's from. "New York originally, but. Wakanda right before the fountain."

He's not wholly a saint, though. He blasphemes and sneaks a sidelong glance at her out of the corner of his eye, not because he's trying to catch a glimpse of her body but rather a sort of reflex. Hard to beat the instinct to know other people's relative proximity to himself at all times. She's practically white as a ghost, and the setting sun only helps to further illustrate the contrast between her skin and the dark rocks around it. Don't worry, Liv, your complexion drowns out the granny panties.

"New York I know, but I've never heard of Wakanda," I say, stepping gingerly into the gently steaming water. It feels like a warm bath, and it only takes me a second more before I've fully taken the plunge with a happy sigh. The air is just cool enough to make it feel absolutely blissful, and I dunk myself quickly under the water and then pop up again, smoothing back platinum hair.

"Alright, it's all clear," I add, sinking toes into the silty bottom of the pool. "And don't think I didn't see you trying to peek."

"They kept a low profile," He dismisses easily. Wakanda was barely an afterthought in the United Nation's mind, let alone the average american who could barely name a dozen countries and most of them all with at least a speck of notoriety before 2015.

Once he gets the all clear he chances a timid look at her again, clearly guilty of her accusation, perhaps a bit chastised after it. "No offense, but you're practically a lighthouse. Hard not to look."

Not that it's an insult or anything, lighthouses are beautiful and they save thousands of lives by existing. He's not sure if what he just said comes out as a compliment, an insult, or like he's trying to hit on her, and frankly he doesn't know how he means it either. It just comes out, and it's accompanied by an uncertain shrug.

"Oh-ho-ho!" I chortle, and then slowly shake my head. "That's it, Bucko, I no longer feel remotely bad about pointing out your Terminator arm. I'll have you know I have a condition," I add, an emphatic hand pressed to my chest. A condition that hopefully my smile makes clear isn't something I'm remotely worried about people noticing. I got over the strange looks early on; even my fellow zombies think it's weird I don't fake tan and color my hair, but I'm too used to people thinking I just crawled out of a cave for the bother.

"I wonder if I could make money that way," I muse with a tilt of my head. "Stand out on rocky outcroppings in the middle of the night. It would save on electricity. Reduce the carbon footprint."

Edited 2018-06-03 05:08 (UTC)

"Your condition a sun allergy?" He responds in deadpan, an amused quirk in his eyebrows. He's never seen Terminator, but he's pretty sure he's heard mention of the movies. Something about a robot and the end of the world, and yeah, okay, he'll give her the point on that joke. It's only because of the look on her face that he knows it's okay to fire back, otherwise he'd be stumbling over an awkward apology.

He can't help but laugh, though, at the way she pokes fun at herself. The mental picture's a good one, not that he's picturing her naked or anything, not like that, but there's something admirable about self-deprecating humor. He's got it in droves, he respects it in other people. "At the very least maybe you'll blind a pilot and get us salvageable plane crash. Fix it up, fly it home, you're the luminescent hero."

"I think that plan, brilliant though it is, would require an actual plane, alas," I reply with a resigned sigh. "Plus, that's just high-risk. What about the pilot? What if they were hurt? Great power comes with great responsibility, you know. I take my superheroing very seriously."

Now that I consider it, joke or not, this isn't exactly untrue. I've had more meaning in my life since becoming a zombie than I ever had before, even as a medical doctor. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do here, where I presume most people refrain from killing each other. That's just one more thing to put right up on the shelf labeled 'Think About Later.'

"So like, is that just an arm, or does it do other things? Have you got a nail file and a pair of tweezers in there like a Swiss army knife?"

Edited 2018-06-05 00:35 (UTC)

6I Fountain - May 28, Evening

Hot Springs - May 29, Evening

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