sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] Crab Boil

Peter has been thinking about the crab boil all day. Not because he loves crabs or anything — Not that he doesn't, he likes crabs fine — but because almost all of the village is probably going to be there, and he doesn't know when he'll have another chance to talk to them all without it having a bunch of anxiety-inducing build-up. He's got enough anxiety as it is, he'll take a hard pass on adding more, thanks.

And he really thinks, deep down in his gut, that it's probably past time to tell the people who don't know about Thanos and the stones.

The sun's just gone down, but it looks like most everybody is still here — It's now or never, even if it kind of ruins the party. He clears his throat, pulls in a deep breath and yells out into the crowd.

"Hey, everybody!" he cries, and despite the few heads that actually turn, he realizes quickly that he's way too short for this and scrambles onto a chair.

"Hey, everybody!" he repeats with a wave of his arms. "I'm Peter, I've been here almost two months, and I have something I think everybody needs to know." Most of the faces are actually looking his way now, and he falters, swallowing hard.

"Some of the people here are from my same planet and reality, and they already know what happened, but I think the rest of you should know, because I think it's maybe why we're all here together." Another breath. "There are these stones, called Infinity Stones— I'm not really an expert on them, but I guess they were formed at the Big Bang— Um, the start of the universe. They're basically the most powerful objects in the universe. Almost no one can control even one of them, but this big purple guy named Thanos had a gauntlet made so that he could control all five. He had it in his head that there were too many people in the universe and he wanted to get rid of half, and he could do that with the stones."

Peter drops his gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching down. "We tried to stop him getting them, but... we didn't." He glances back up. "He got them all, and half of everyone in the universe just... disappeared. Including me. And maybe including you. Because the stones control time and space and reality... and I think Thanos didn't really know what he was doing because nobody's ever controlled all the stones before. So maybe he grabbed people from other realities or times on accident. And some of us ended up here, where ever this is."

He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "And I know it doesn't explain everything, but it explains a lot, and I'm trying to figure out how we can counteract the stones and get back home, but I guess you already know it's not very easy. If anybody knows about quantum mechanics and wants to help, I'd be really grateful. That's all."

He hesitates a moment more, staring out at everyone, and then steps back down off the chair.

Edited 2018-06-22 00:48 (UTC)

Kate isn't drinking. At least, she's not drinking the potato vodka. Juice and water, that is her. Which all seems a betrayal of her heritage, but needs must. Except, from the way she's studying her glass after young Mr Parker finishes, she clearly wishes she trusted herself to chance a drink.

She sets her glass down next to her plate (ladled with food she didn't cook, because she'd cooked the daily lunch at the Inn and made the executive choice to take the afternoon off and it is lovely) and studied the boy. Young man. Boy. That awkward and earnest stage between the two, which really seems to sum him up from what she's seen of him.

Finally, she speaks.

"Why is he purple?"

At first, Peter thinks she might be making fun of him, but when he looks at her, her face seems open and honest enough. Maybe she's just drunk; apparently somebody brought some alcohol they made themselves. Drinking something like seems about as safe as drinking Drain-o to Peter, but it's not like he's had any experience with drinking, ever.

One time, May went to a wedding and when she came home she pet Peter's hair a bunch. This could be like that.

"He isn't human," he answers, his brow creasing as he watches her.

Cold stone sober, is Kate. Much to her regret, although she has her doubts about him. Still, so many have come here from different worlds that while she doesn't think his explanation covers everyone here, there'd been no doubting his sincerity as to his own experiences. Particularly as he's offered up others who may have undergone the same, clearly horrible, calamity.

It's for that alone she won't laugh at him. Well, that and it'd be impolite.

"Ah," she says as he replies. Still sincere. Still confused behind it. "I see. What is he, then? To control such magic as you're talkin' 'bout. One of the Fair Folk? A demigod or magician? Or... you mentioned 'universe', and so, maybe an alien?"

The relief is palpable when Kate suggests alien. One of the biggest challenges for Peter here is in figuring out how to effectively communicate with people from times and places less modern than his own. Calling Thanos a demigod would have really bothered him.

"An alien, right," Peter replies with a motion Kate's way. "He's not from Earth. He'd done some pretty scary things to Earth in the past, so I think it's possible his genetics make him more likely to actually be able to use the stones. Because apparently that's not a thing people, humans, can do and survive, like... even with just one. But like I said, he also had a gauntlet made that helped him do it. To channel the energy, I guess."

See, this is why Kira has decided to slowly lose his sanity over the steadfast belief that he was grown in tube, implanted with memories from some blown up or desiccated planet, and spit out to explore or repopulate some bullshit ecosystem--because the other explanations sound like this.

Magic, time travel, big purple guys. One big individual, affecting them all.

Difference is, he's not getting up on a chair to shout about his theories--but he's also not some kid, who is clearly dealing with some shit, ripped away from his life and left here with people like Kira, who feel real ire at a teenager trying what is clearly his best. Because their way of dealing with their own ideas is to hold them in until there's bathtub vodka at the village potluck.

Real ire, that this zygote-faced teenager thinks he's going to counteract something and get them home. His sympathy for the kid is the only thing keeping his reaction to: "I've had to deal with being here twice to my knowledge, and that's still the craziest thing I've ever heard."

"I mean, it is," Peter allows with a slight shrug. "But it happened, and there are a bunch of other people here who were there, too. You don't have to believe me, I just thought people should know."

Not that he really expects Kira to even remember talking to him; since their first encounter, Peter just assumes the guy is always some degree of lit.

Kira has, unfortunately, been some degree of lit every time Peter has dealt with him--minus that time he was too far away and climbing out of a decrepit treehouse to do more than text not dead updates for himself and their resident botanist.

But he remembers Peter; he remembers everyone here, notated with their stupid scrub colors, held up against coolers full of blood and hair.

Dear Observers, you didn't cook this one long enough, please stop sending kids full of memories of shit they never experienced, XOXO Gossip Shithead. "Do you know how far half these people are from even knowing what the word quantum or physics means? Or that you're popping off with some reason to divide resources and time when we have an alien environment to cope with, and also, maybe, were trying to take a break from for one day?"

This is not going the way Peter hoped, but beyond that, it really rankles to have the village stoner telling him about wasting resources and ruining everybody's good time when Peter is actually trying to help in a way that he knows is important to most of the people here. Even if they don't understand it.

"I'm not dividing resources," he replies, face pinched with a mixture of incredulity and bewilderment. "Sorry if I'm not spending all day fishing or something, but for me and other people, getting home is important, too." Plus, he helps. Everyday, he helps keep the inn clean because that's what May would want him to do, even if his room is still messy.

"And sorry I ruined everybody's good time asking for help. Thanks for letting me know you think I'm a dumb jerk."

Kira's face isn't pinched with quite the same emotion, but neither of them looks very happy, on either side of Peter's chair. "I don't think you're a dumb jerk," he says, first and foremost--he is definitely not in any state to have a good conversation about this with anyone, or any kind of good conversation with a teenager. And if he is upset, it's not anything to do with the kid's personality.

What does he think, then? What does he think that he can actually say? Sighing with a tip of his head, he looks out at the crowd--for Karen's specific fall of hair, for the set of Mark's shoulders.

"I think you're leaping into an idea without all the facts," he tries, putting a hand on the chair to keep steady--that drink is catching up with him, now that he doesn't actually want it to. "I think that happened to you, and the others you mention, but it didn't happen to most of us, and you weren't here before--all of this. You should talk to Mark and Helen, maybe even Ravi. Not a group of people who are just trying to feel like they could be home with each other."

The expression on Peter's face remains fixed as he watches the guy, clearly drunk, and why would Peter expect anything else? Next, he'll probably tell Peter he needs a drink, too, since he's also fine with underage pot smoking.

"I think you're drunk and don't know anything about what I know, but thanks for leaping into an idea without all the facts," Peter replies with a roll of his eyes. "This was a really instructive talk."

Talking to drunk people is a dead-end; this Peter knows intimately from growing up in Queens. You have to just walk away from them when they come up to you on the street. So that's what he does, and hopefully he's not shirking his duties if Kira starts puking on himself later.

She's heard a number of different theories about why they are here, going from some arena where they are to fight to the death, to some afterlife and not to some purple monster with the help of stones that created the universe or something. It's more amusing now than intriguing. They could speculate and offer up ideas, but it was nothing but words and words were wind.

She waited until he was seated again before claiming the chair beside him. There was an empty plate, which meant that someone was there before, but they would have to find another place. This was hers now. She hadn't brought any food to share, as her cooking was mainly sticking meat over the fire and letting it roast. Everyone else was a cook and she'd enjoy their labors.

She was still picking at the bread, looking at Peter with a bemused expression. "It's an interesting thought, but can this Thunderos pull people into other realms if they are already dead? Dead from other causes?"

Peter slides a look Lyanna's way. It's difficult to know whether she's taking him seriously or not, but he's leaning toward not. Which is fine; what does she know anyway? She wasn't there.

"Thanos," he calmly corrects. "He can manipulate time and space and reality, so he can probably pretty much do whatever he wants."

"Thanos," she amended. It was hard to take much of this seriously when it seemed to be a bit ridiculous to begin with. It shouldn't, but it did. It went against everything she knew and why should some man that she never heard of pull her here or any of her family? What did Westeros have to do with his plan? They were perfectly capable of killing each other off on their own.

"I died before I came here, as did my brother before he was taken from the village. So was my nephew and his lady. In the village, there are three people who died from different means than some stones."

"Yeah, and I died, too," Peter shoots back. "I just said the stones can manipulate time and space and reality. That literally means all of what you just said is theoretically possible if you don't know what you're doing with them, which Thanos doesn't, because literally no one in the history of the universe has ever tried to wield them all. Statistically, if he's grabbing people at random from across all possible times and dimensions, a certain percentage will be from time of death." He stares back at Lyanna, eyebrows arched.

"I know there are people here who died. I know how to do research. But you know what? If you don't believe me, if you think this is funny because you can't wrap your mind around it and the only reason you're over here is to argue with me about it, I have better things to do."

"Ser," she said, any semblance of humor gone from her face. "I'm sorry if I offended you, and I did not mean to make light of a matter that obviously is very dire to you. However, please don't expect me to suddenly be on the same level of understanding as you are. I was not trying to belittle you when I said that others died before coming here but telling you something I wasn't certain if you knew. You say you studied? How am I to know that? I was simply telling you this based on what I know about this situation."

She frowned crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I wasn't trying to argue, I'm not trying to argue. If I laughed or was amused, don't you think that is sometimes the only way to face a situation? It's not an insult to you or your thoughts, it's how I manage through this."

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Frank is sitting in the grass cross-legged with Aretha laying over his lap while he idly scratches her back and listens to all the goings on around him. Just hearing people talk and move is a novelty, even if he isn't too keen on it himself yet. But the weed he'd imbibed earlier too is making him feel hazy, and perhaps slightly less concerned in general about the noise. It comes with a catch, though: a hyperfocus on the actual details of what anyone is saying around him. So when a young man climbs up on a chair to address everyone at the party, Frank's eyes widen in surprise. And they only grow wider and rounder at the description of the Infinity Stones. This kid is from his earth. Just like Karen and Claire. It was a popular world to be from on Reims too: Jessica, Kilgrave, Iron Man, Scarlet Witch, Black Widow, Kamala... he'd even heard ruminations of Captain America being there around the time that he himself had left. What the kid says is disturbing, but he also knows it isn't true. Not the content of it - Frank has no idea what's going on back there now. But he knows for a fact they weren't all brought here to save one planet. Not that Peter would know that.

He watches others talk to him, either talking loud above the crowd the same way Peter had or corraling him after for a more private chat. Three guesses which one Frank Castle will tend towards, and the first two don't count. Once he seems to be alone, Frank and Aretha will make their strategic approach, sneaking up behind the boy silently while he goes for another portion of crabs. Hotdog taps him on the shoulder from behind, such a thing was so common in Reims he doesn't even consider the possibility that he could startle him. Sorry, bro.

The tap to his shoulder doesn't startle Peter much, but when he turns around, the face looking down at him definitely does. Because that face belongs to the Punisher, a guy that Peter was legitimately grateful had never come to Queens (that he knew, anyway), because Peter liked being a superhero, but he also liked being alive, thanks.

His eyes go round as saucers, and he leans back a little in place. "Hello," he says, and darts a look to the crowd, hoping to see Mr. Barnes with his awesome robotic arm — Just as a backup — and realizes despairingly that the Winter Soldier is definitely drinking.

"Hi," he adds, looking back to Castle, and then realizes there's a dog sitting on the grass beside them, also looking up at Peter expectantly.

"That's Miss Karen's dog," he says before he can think about it, not knowing if Castle knows.

Frank had gotten good at becoming non-threatening around the kids at Reims. He'd earned the trust of all of them, in the end. And there were so damn many -- it's a relief that it isn't like that, here. Adults with the occasional smattering of someone Peter's age. People perhaps equipped to deal with this sort of thing, at least once. Frank still isn't sure he's coping with it the second time around himself, so he couldn't expect it from someone much younger and more impressionable.

He gives a heavy nod of his meaty head and hunches a bit in order to appear smaller to a certain degree of success. Peter is only a few inches shorter than him, but the boy is about as tall as Frank is wide and he's never more aware of it (or self-conscious) than at times like this. His lips twitch into an approximation of a smile, though even he can't be sure if it's more or less scary than his scowl. He at least looks apologetic about that fact, as well as like... being alive and in Peter's presence tbh.

"Yeah," he says with the scratchiest voice anyone's ever heard, cracking at the end despite the measured effort to prevent it. Miss Karen is such a sweet thing, such a simple thing, that his smile picks up a bit of warmth. Frank casts a look to Aretha and then back to Peter - wondering if he knows who Karen is. Are they friends? Had she told him about Frank? She seemed to always get on that topic sooner or later, but he likes to think this kid wouldn't have such fear in his eyes if she had. He recognizes him, there are no two ways about it. After months of being Hotdog, family man and community leader he's been thrown right back into Big Bad Punisher by one eyelash-bat of a nearly cherub-like highschooler. Them's the breaks, right?

He holds out his device after a moment of just staring, remembering suddenly that in his pot-induced mania he'd written out a message for Peter while listening to his speech.

what's the date for you?

Because that's what matters, probably. If this place is anything like Reims/Rouen had been, then when he goes back barely any time will have passed. Frank is pretty out of touch, but he's not so out of touch he'd miss a big purple guy with infinity stones killing everybody... is he?

Edited (the one letter edit quickdraw bandit strikes again ) 2018-06-23 05:52 (UTC)

That is definitely a weird segue — Not the contents of the message, staring up at Peter from the pale glow of his watch, but from speaking to texting when they're face-to-face. Anybody else, he might ask if they had a cold. With Castle, he tries to just go with it.

"Like... Right now?" Peter answers, and then realizes immediately they all have the date right now on their watches, and Castle has to mean back home. "It was May 2017 when I left. I've been here about two months, but I don't know if time here affects time back home at all— Can I get you something to drink? Like hot tea or something?"

It was just one syllable, but the guy sounds really bad.

He nods minutely. Like, right now. Please and thank you. The timeline discrepancy gets a slight frown, but nothing to show that it alarms or disturbs him in any way. Rather than worry about his voice, as he probably should, Frank goes back to typing.

it's december 2016 for me

Which explains why he doesn't know what Peter's talking about, at least.

didn't we beat those alien guys?

That's about as much as he knows about the Battle of New York, or as people affectionately dubbed it in his borough: The Incident. But Frank was overseas when it happened, so Peter's bound to know more than him if he's telling everyone here about some purple dude. And man, another thing.

what is it with villains and purple??

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[ Steve feels sick, listening to the speech. He thinks he can hear the stress in the kid's voice, or maybe that's just his own worry talking. Maybe it's the idea that, if what Peter says is true, one of his greatest fears has come to pass. Thanos on Earth, winning. None of them able to stop it.

He waits and hangs back for a little while, waiting for a lull in the people weaving around his target, and then wanders up, hands shoved into his pockets. He may or may not be recognizable without the cowl and spangles. Makes sure to keep a polite measure of space between them, too. Who knows how comfortable Peter will be talking to someone he's fought. ]

You holding up okay?

May has always told him that it's not polite to stare, but in this instance, Peter really cannot help it. He's done his research, he knows Cap has been in this place before, and can't deny that he's been secretly hoping he'd turn up again. Cap here, Mr. Stark staying back home. That's the best scenario, to Peter's mind. But he hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

"Captain Rogers," he breathlessly manages now, honestly feeling a little dizzy. It had been different when he'd been in the suit and had a job to do. This is just Captain Freaking America standing in front of him, asking if he's okay. Because that's what Captain America does.

Once the words, start, though, they come out in a rush: "I'm so sorry about the thing in Germany at the airport and stealing your shield and all that stuff— I just was there because Mr. Stark said I should be, and I told Sergeant Barnes, that's not a thing you say no to when you're just a friendly neighborhood superhero, you know?" A pause as he pulls in a breath. "I'm okay."

[ Luckily for Peter, Steve is used to being stared at. Not here, maybe, but then again, he hasn't been there long enough to gain a reputation. He's also working on being more patient with people. Lord knows he's been wound up for the last few months back home, but none of that mess should follow along. Or, at least, not the majority. Steve can compartmentalize a lot of things, but not everything.

And anyway, this isn't about him. It's Peter who needs a shoulder. ]

It's just Steve. I have no rank here. [ And there's more than likely a court-martial waiting once Ross gets through with all of them. ] And I'm not mad at you, kid.

You're from Queens, I'm from Brooklyn. We New Yorkers gotta stick together. If you don't mind a friend that's a little ... okay, a lot, older than you.

A thin little laugh bursts from Peter's throat at the idea of calling the man in front of him Steve. "What— I can't—" he begins with a shake of his head.

Friends. Captain America just called them, as in the two of them, Peter and Cap, friends. "There's a girl here from Jersey City," he breathlessly says, as if that has bearing on anything at all.

Edited 2018-07-10 06:13 (UTC)

Peter Parker | OTA | BEWARE! INFINITY WAR SPOILERS IN HERE

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