sixthiterationlogs | I'm waving through a window, oh, can anybody see, is anybody waving back at me? [OPEN]

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I'm waving through a window, oh, can anybody see, is anybody waving back at me? [OPEN]

WHO: Samantha Moon
WHERE: Various Locations (see below and put one in your subject!)
WHEN: First week of October
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Will update as needed, but just assume Sam's potty mouth

Kitchen at the Inn
It scared Sam a little bit that she was starting to develop a routine. But she was. And whether that meant she was settling down or giving in, she couldn't really say. And she wasn't sure she wanted to analyze it too much. At any rate, for the time being, she was just sort of going with it. Which meant that the first thing she did in the morning was swing by the kitchen. She always waited until after people had done their breakfast thing, so she wouldn't be in the way. Or, more accurately, so her Rube Goldberg-esque distillery wouldn't be in the way.

She usually made about three batches of potato vodka every day, at this point. As long as there were potatoes. She was always careful to cut out the eyes and save them for the botany freaks. Sometimes, she would experiment, trying to mix in different flavorings.

They usually all tasted vile.

But that was fine, since the vodka was strong enough to burn off a normal person's taste buds, anyway.

There was something calming about sitting on the counter, watching the way the diamond-like bubbles traveled through the tubes. Like one of those glittery stress-relievers on the corner of a professor's desk. Sam played little mind games, counting and following and observing. Anything she could do to avoid thinking.

Didn't help much. She still saw Avery's name, like a fucking neon sign on the inside of her eyelids, every time she blinked.

Spear Fishing
Sam decided it was pretty safe to assume that she'd never go down in history as a singularly spectacular fisher. But there was a gross, morbid satisfaction to spearing fish. Likely, it was a combination of factors, the most obvious being that what she really wanted to spear was the faces of their generous Overlords. At least fishing was more productive than hitting a tree with a lead pipe. Her hands still stung from all of the cuts and bruises she'd inflicted on herself. Not to mention the ones Danny had given her.

She wadded up to her calves in the water. The Overlords had given her a pair of black, short pants with laces up either side that, unfortunately, delighted her little Goth-loving heart. And they were perfect for getting wet. Sometimes she wore them with her scrub tops or some of the shirts she'd collected over the past year and a half, but today, she was just in a sports bra.

One thing she would absolutely never take for granted again was the way the sunlight felt on her skin.

Schoolhouse Library
Of the many gifts she'd received from the Overlords, the one Sam trusted the least was the large set of colored pencils. She'd watched one-too-many horror movies growing up. She kept expecting some bizarre plot twist. Every time she'd draw with red, someone would lose blood. If she drew monsters, they'd come to life. Somehow, drawing a picture of something might whoosh it into the circus. The usual tropes from her life before she was, in fact, the monster at the end of the horror movie.

But there was nothing.

Which wasn't to say she started to trust or anything like that. But she did start to draw.

And out of a desperate need to be useful to someone, she'd taken it upon herself to start decorating the library with headers for each category of books. Science. Sports. Mathematics. All of it. With perfect, neat handwriting, she labeled the sections, then drew little pictures around and through the letters. Spinning planets with rings of fire. The pennant over Wrigley Field (if only...). An elegant Pi, like a rusty shed with a roof curved by the rain.

The project was good for long nights, when Sam couldn't sleep. But sometimes, she'd be in the middle of drawing something that would remind her of...

She blinked and saw it again. Avery's name.

And somehow, on stolen bits of paper and old napkins, his face started to appear, thin and bony and redheaded. Just like she remembered him. Just like he'd been when he...

...no. There was no point in thinking about what he'd done to her any more.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Bruce admittedly could find contentment in the strangest of situations. He'd been blown from one bad place to another at this point, so he just sort of accepted where he ended up for as long as he was there. It was why he went to the camp fire, and why he and Tony were working on a community idea with Frank and Kamala, and why he allowed himself to be glad when he saw the schoolhouse. And books. And a library. He never got past that feeling of excitement in his gut whenever he read something new. He joked that his true soul mate was books, or knowledge, and that seemed pretty accurate.

He already made it through a few, after sheepishly digging and finding his glasses in his bag, and he was bringing them back now. Bruce walked in, his mind going through its usual amount of calculus and question marks, puzzling over a dozen different issues. It made him absent minded, so when he looked up, he saw the back of Sam's head and jumped. Oh! It was her. His memories were very blurry, and also very embarrassed, but they were good too. Bruce had this hovering moment of indecision. Leave her to herself? Say hello? Make some noise so she'd see him and do it instead? This time he would probably not pass out from alcohol.

He decided to pick B and C. "I wondered who was responsible for the little sketches." His voice was quiet and intentionally pitched to not startle someone. Bruce was no spy. He put his borrowed books down to the side, uncertain what to do with his hands, so he slid them together for now. "Hi."

Sam didn't startle. Maybe because her mind was somewhat desperate for an excuse, any excuse, not to think of Avery. Fitting, then, that she turned around and saw Bruce, the guy in town who probably most reminded her of fucking Avery.

Of course, she remembered him. Their encounter in the kitchen had been...

Been...

Okay, it had been weird. Like, really, really weird. But not the bad-weird that Sam was kind of used to these days. Except for him walking out and not coming back. She was incredibly used to that.

She couldn't tell if he was being contrite now, or if that was just his personality. But she decided to at least temporarily afford him the benefit of the doubt. It wasn't something she did often, though. And she was already prepared to be disappointed. "He lives," she said, setting down her pencil. "I did warn you about that vodka."

"You did. Ordinarily I'd be smarter, but, well." Clearly he hadn't been. Bruce was generally a contrite and apologetic person. He was the type of person who someone could intentionally knock over, and he'd apologize to them for being in the way. It was a trait he never outgrew, he just got better at dodging them. "I'm sorry about that. I'd never actually been drunk, or drank ... anywhere near that before." He was an older man, but in some areas he was inexperienced. Drinking and drugs were top of the list, and he had no intention of suddenly changing that. Outside of extenuating circumstances. "I passed out, got sick, and passed out. In that order I think."

He didn't mind admitting to it, because if there was an embarrassment or shame spiral going on with him, it was on a much higher level than getting drunk. Bruce drank a lot of water and got his head on straight. He also learned a lot about the situation they were in, and took as many notes as he could while still saving space. They had some plans. And more research to do. This place was far from boring, and honestly, he kind of liked it. He felt badly about it every time he admitted that to himself, but he did. Luckily no one else had to know.

"As bad as I'll be right back and passing out is, it probably would have been worse to be hi nice to meet you, I'm going to vomit on your shoes." Not that he had anything in him to vomit up, but that was unnecessary details. "No moer liquor for me for awhile, I think."

Contrite. Okay. That wasn't so bad. Sam afforded him a slight smile. "You say that now. But believe me, eventually you'll come back for more. They always do." Well, a lot of people did, anyway. And given the nature of their prison, Sam couldn't blame anyone for wanting to get good and sloshed.

A part of her wished she could. But, of course, then she remembered what had happened when she got drunk off of Bucky's blood and...

...yeah.

That never needed to happen again.

She shook her head and started to put her pencils back into the case. "If you're looking for a good read, they have some Gregor Mendel here." She gestured to the science section. "Man, I used to love that dude. Because I was a total and utter nerd."

"I'm giving my stomach a break, but maybe another day. I at least should learn moderation." Bruce liked the concept of casually having a drink with his friends, even if he was fairly certain the alcohol was poisonous, because it seemed almost normal. In abnormal situations, yes, but theoretically. "My, uh, the super powers I had before kept me from being able to get drunk, so it's new." He was fairly sure he mentioned that he had them before, since he'd been startled about losing them, but he was only vaguely certain. He remembered what she said, but not everything that he did.

"Gregor Mendel?" Bruce was surprised to hear it, and also, delighted, smiling. "I'm fascinated by the choices they have here. I think it might all be part of the experiment, as if encouraging us to read up on specific things will help." There were stranger things that could happen. He felt like either everything was a clue or nothing was. Or there were red herrings, but they didn't know what it could be, so they might as well note everything.

He went over to the section in question. "You're in good company. This was my pleasure reading as a kid." Bruce had good memories of that, even if not so much with the rest of his childhood. His brain could never get enough of trying to understand how the world worked. Exactly like how he felt about this place and the situation they were in. Sometimes he felt terrible about it, but most of the time? He was fascinated. Absorbed. Curious.

Superpowers that prevented inebriation? Well, that meant they probably were connected to his metabolism. Which...she would not have guessed from the looks of him. But who better than a Kindred knew looks could be deceiving? Anyway, none of them had their fucking powers now anyway. Something that was currently bugging her, both scientifically and personally.

"Wow," she said teasingly, know full well about glass houses and stones and all that shit, "you must have been a serious nerd. I don't know about you, but I never found that Mendel really killed at parties."

Now keg stands, on the other hand. Yeah, that was a golden ticket to popularity.

She hopped up onto the corner of a table, letting her legs dangle over the floor. "Guess that explains what you're doing here with a loser like me at this time of the evening."

"I am the nerdiest of all the nerds. I'm pretty sure Harvard considered taping my picture next to the definition at one point." Bruce was their super star student, so there was a lot of good natured jabbing, and also a lot of not so good natured jabbing. "I never went to any parties. It does sound like me to bring up Mendel at parties though, maybe that's why I was never invited." Going to a party sounded like a disaster for him growing up. "I did go to a few at the last place I lived, because Tony owned the tower and Tony likes parties, but I'm still the wall flower at heart."

The tower was a great home, and he was the fool for giving it all up, but that wasn't really something to think about too much right then. Bruce walked away from the books to head back to her, leaning on a table across from her with the back of his legs. "So I guess that makes us a couple of losers. I'm in good company." Bruce wanted to ask why she was so hard on herself, but they didn't know each other well enough for that yet. But he did remember something.

"You asked me to read your pulse, but I didn't want to vomit on your shoes. Was there a reason for that?"

The remarkable thing about people who went to Harvard was that you couldn't really know them more than an hour or two before they made it known that they'd gone to Harvard. Maybe Bruce saw himself as a wall flower. But Sam had to hide her amusement at the way he easily slipped into the tropes of the 'cool' smart kids.

The irony, of course, was that Sam had been accepted to Harvard. But chosen Arizona State to chase after ghosts that turned out to be...well...vampires, actually. But real, all the same.

This could have been her.

She sighed softly, as he returned to that awkward encounter in the kitchen. "I guess you were pretty drunk at that point," she said.

For a moment, she considered turning back. But it wasn't like she was hiding any more. She couldn't.

So she held out her wrist to him, beckoning him over.

"Step right up. Try your scientific curiosity."

"I think I was pretty drunk after the third sip, that's about when I stopped keeping count." Bruce was always about making fun of himself. It was easier. He knew now to be careful with what he drank. It also seemed like this wasn't a situation or a place where it was easy to water anything down. So alcohol was rough. "I remember everything you said, by the way, it only got fuzzy at the very end there." Otherwise he wouldn't remember the pulse at all.

He did as she asked, stepping forward but still keeping a respectful distance between them. He never liked crowding someone else's personal space. His hand was very gentle when he took hers, cupping it in his palm and easily pressing two fingers to her pulse. He waited, but the thing was, Bruce wasn't ultimately surprised when he didn't hear a heartbeat. Maybe that was odd, but honestly, considering the people here and everything going on, this was hardly the strangest thing to happen. He used to turn into a giant green rage monster. She didn't have a pulse.

"You said life after death, and I guess that's what this means for you." He wasn't going to assume she was anything until she explained in her own words.

She had to give Bruce props for his chill. It seemed that drunk or sober, he just kind of went for it. Then again, judging by what she'd learned about his life and his universe, this was probably a walk in the park.

It was funny. She'd never imagined dropping the Masquerade could go so smoothly. But then again, she'd never really figured the multiverse into her predictions.

That would show her. Or something.

"Yeah, I died about four and a half years ago," she said, as casually as if they were discussing the weather. "I'm kind of the village vampire. And no, before you ask, I don't fucking sparkle."

"I'm not sure if I should say I'm sorry or not, because you might like being one. If you do, I'm not sorry, if you don't, I'm sorry. You died young." She still looked so young, but it had only been a few years. At least she wasn't two hundred and looking like she could be his daughter. It would be hardr to adjust to, but Thor looked younger than him and was over a thousand, so it was doable.

The look on his face was genuine surprise and confusion. Bruce had no ability to mask his thoughts, most of the time. "...since when do vampires sparkle?" He was too old and too distanced from society to pick up on most pop culture references. Steve was frozen for a long while, and Bruce was fairly certain he knew more about the world at the moment than he did.

"They don't," she said. "And I don't like being a vampire, for the record. The ones who do tend to be a little bananas, so always watch out for them."

She took her hand back, hooking her thumbs through her back belt loops and rocking on the balls of her feet. One of her two favorite nervous gestures and occupations. It always felt a little awkward, when someone pointed out how young she was. Mostly because she knew she was staring down the barrel of a potential eternity looking the way she did. Already, no one took her seriously. How would she be able to handle that when she was in her forties? Her nineties? Past double-digits?

The mind boggled.

"It's not a big deal," she said. "Or, at least, I don't want it to be a big deal. But I feel like it's only fair to be open about what I am. I mean, in a village this small..."

She didn't know how to end that sentence, so she let it trail.

"It's not a big deal if you don't want it to be a big deal. I'm pretty sure most people here have something unique about them, otherwise we wouldn't be here." It seemed very clear that the people who took them were looking for interesting kidnap victims, not average ones. Bruce didn't know very person there, but he'd be skeptical if any of them claimed to be ordinary. This was no ordinary situation. Once she pulled away he went back to leaning on the table behind him.

"I used to turn into a giant monster called the Hulk whenever my pulse jumped too high. Mostly anger or fear triggered it. He destroys everything in sight. I'm really hoping that whatever they've done is permanent, because none of you should have to deal with him on top of the rest." Bruce hated talking about it, but on the other hand, she was right. People did deserve to know. He told Kira the truth and some ways to get around it if the Hulk ever came back.

"Do you need blood here? I can offer mine, but I'll admit I'm hesitant, I'm assuming the radioactivity from before could be better now, but I'd hate to accidentally poison you with toxic blood."

Once again, Bruce's talent for baffling Sam had managed to manifest itself. She had no idea what the fuck his world was all about, but it certainly sounded way more...colorful? Yes, colorful than hers.

"Okay," she said, holding up a hand. "Back up about five steps here. Let's start with the giant monster thing triggered by anger or fear." Which sounded oddly Kindred, actually. Sam hadn't experienced a single anger or fear frenzy in all the time she'd been here. Not even a hunger frenzy. So it was entirely possible she might have some seriously good news for Bruce.

But exposition was desperately needed.

"Uh...explain that part?"

"What, you think that's interesting?" Dry humor to its core. Bruce sighed and ran fingers through his now short dark hair. "About thirteen years ago, I made a mistake during a scientific experiment, and I was mutated. This mutation was morphed into its own identity of a kind, set off by adrenaline. The Hulk, as he calls himself, is about eight feet tall, giant, green, strong to a level that I can't describe. He could pull a plane out of the air like it's nothing." He could do a lot more than that too, but the scope was always the difficult part. "I spent most of the time since on the run, trying to keep him from hurting others."

And it rarely worked. "For awhile, the Avengers were able to keep him in check, focus the rage in the right direction. But it doesn't work anymore." Not the last time he tried. Bruce frowned, crossing arms defensively against his chest. "He's not here though. I woke up here, and he's gone. We always feel each other, only one of us can be awake at a time." The Hulk was gone. Bruce had a lot of complicated feelings on the matter. "It's good though, he's too dangerous to be set loose here." That was an understatement.

Dissociate identity coupled with some kind of shape shifting mutation. A year and a half ago, even with all she knew and all she'd been through, Sam would still have had a hard time believing him. Did she believe him now? Well, it was a pretty stupid thing to lie about, for starters. 'Oh, I have this badass side but you can't see it.' And why in the world anyone would call themselves 'the Hulk' was beyond her.

Too outrageous not to be true, then.

They were in the multiverse, after all.

She frowned, a line forming between her eyes. There were a shitload of questions she really needed to ask about this situation. But one in particular rose to the surface and beat out the rest.

"...why green?"

Bruce waited for her to process, and he smiled at her first question. "It's because of the type of gamma radiation I used and in extremes. When he's awake it's supercharged, he practically glows with it." There were other reasons too, explanations Bruce had, but he generalized when it seemed easier. "If my eyes or veins ever start glowing green, just be smart and move out of the way. Get Tony or one of my team, he sometimes listens to them." Rarely, but it happened. Bruce was pretty sure the Hulk was more likely to listen to them than himself at this point in time, but being at an inner war was nothing new.

"I wonder if he's gone because they couldn't replicate the accident, or because they think he's more trouble than they want. Or who knows why, really, but I'm sure it was a deliberate decision." Bruce drummed his fingers on the top of the table, not quite looking at her. "Clones would make sense in this case. The Hulk is a part of my body and my brain most of the time. For that to be completely gone, I'm not sure what it would take, but I'd certainly like to know for my own reasons." To permanently decide to get rid of him? That used to be the goal.

Sam ran her tongue along the tips of her teeth. "Bear with me on this train of thought," she said. "But, see, the thing is, vampires like me--we call ourselves Kindred, I guess, because we like euphemisms. But Kindred possess something known as 'The Beast.' It's a kind of parasite. Sort of what makes us vampires, instead of baseline humans. And when we get mad or scared or hungry, The Beast basically takes over. It's like baser instincts. Fight, flight, food. There are vampires who dedicate their whole lives to finding ways to control The Beast, instead of letting it control them. And, well, since I've been here, I haven't had a single episode of frenzy. Even though I've been royally pissed off. I mean, like, beating-up-a-tree levels of angry."

Which was to say, Bruce might be on to something. Two points of data didn't represent a pattern. But there was the possibility that there was some common theme they'd stumbled onto.

Or it was just the Overlords being control freaks.

Or both. Both was entirely possible, really.

"I wonder if there's anyone else here with a similar MPD-like situation going on that's...no longer going on."

Sadly, the first name to spring to mind was Fucky Darns. But that was different. That was terrestrial in origin and completely in the realm of normal science. Also something he'd told her in confidence.

Bruce listened to her describe the Kindred, and that was interesting, and semi-similar to his situation. He was the only one of his kind (thank God), so to think there was a whole group of super powerful people with the same struggle, he could see why things might have gone sideways in her world. "So they removed both of our Beasts, but left us otherwise the same. Although I don't ...." He paused. "I haven't even checked. It's possible my blood is still radioactive, it's only the Hulk isn't able to come out." He would need blood samples and a microscope. He wouldn't be able to tell, his body had been one way too long, so only a test would do that.

"It makes sense. They don't want us to be too powerful. If our Beasts could handle things thrown our way easily, it's not exactly a very good experiment." It would be better to essentially defang them. "Everyone else has lost their powers the same way, but for us it's removing a living entity that used to share our body." So it wasn't the same as simply losing powers, whether you were born with them or not. This would take a more precise touch, and a more precise choice. Unless he was overthinking it, which was always, always possible.

"I'm not sure how we would ask anyone that."

"The same way you find human subjects for any study," she said, clicking her incisors against her bottom teeth. "You ask for anonymous volunteers. The problem is that it's crazy embarrassing for a lot of people to admit. And our sample size is probably too small to get anywhere."

No way Fucky would volunteer that information.

At least, she didn't think so. Admittedly, he was from Bruce's world, so maybe that provided some kind of cache, but she didn't want to assume. Nor did she want to speak to him ever again, as it was.

"Still," she sighed. "We could get so fucking much done without having to worry about IRB review." She offered him a lopsided smile. How she missed the days when IRBs were the biggest obstacle she was facing.

Another world. Another life. Literally.

"It won't be anonymous from us. It is asking a lot from someone. You and I might have our reasons to be more open about it, but not everyone will feel the same." Bruce got the sense he and Sam were both pretty level headed about their powers, and maybe very aware of the danger inherent in them. He didn't want to talk about the Hulk, but he knew it was important. "Normally I'd want to respect everyone's privacy, but we're in a situation here where people might have to be willing to get a little embarrassed for the greater good." Good luck convincing anyone of that though.

He laughed. "It's a slippery slope to be a scientist without an IRB review, but yeah, in this place, we'd never get anywhere." It was nice to have someone speaking his language who wasn't Tony. "It's interesting, we have a good amount of scientists here, for such a small population." It wasn't like they were in huge amounts or high demand back home. The only time he'd find himself in a room full of scientists is if he was at a conference, not in some supernatural multiverse survival world. "It could be they want us to try and figure it out. Having a lot of people here with no scientific curiosity might lead no where."

She didn't like the idea that they were playing into the Overlords' hands. But she wasn't sure she could buy the premise that they'd just been kidnapped to solve a mystery. It felt a little too science fiction.

Admittedly, her life already was a fucking messy mix of science fiction, fantasy, and horror.

But it probably wasn't healthy to think of life like a genre.

"I've been here going on two years," she said. "And while I'm not big on the social sciences, I have noticed that a lot of social mores and rules are kind of suspended. I came out as a vampire and no one cared. No one's scared of me. We're all just working toward a greater good." She sighed. "All that to say, I think we could get volunteers. If there are any to have."

Was she proposing a research study to her? Did she have to get down on one knee?

"Everyone here seems to come from some unusual background, on the whole. I haven't met anyone yet that made me think they'd be afraid of vampires or the supernatural. Maybe because of where we are, or maybe because we all have some qualities in common. Like an interest in survival and an acceptance of the strange." It didn't mean they all were supernatural themselves, but he did feel like there were patterns going on. Their kidnappers had to have a precise reasoning for why it was happening. Or he was overthinking. Bruce was always overthinking.

"I agree. There's no harm in asking and explaining why." Bruce was all about research studies. While he wasn't very good at dealing with people in general, he was confident he'd be fine once they had a focus and purpose. "We'd need the equipment. Someone else asked me about being able to check their friend's blood, I don't know why yet, and said maybe the bunker had equipment to do that."

"I'd love to be a part of that," Sam said, before realizing it was probably a little insensitive. It wasn't on purpose. She just really missed doing science. And this was something she was actually good at. "I can help rig up some equipment. When you live in a post-apocalyptic world, you get good at improvising tech. And I can read blood like the funny pages."

Why did she say that?

Sam cringed.

"I mean...you know what I mean."

She really just wanted to...belong. Serve a purpose. Maybe even be fucking useful to someone.

Bruce isn't sure Jessica would want anyone else to be involved, he got that sense from the conversation, but that was just one person's caution. Other people might not mind. "Tony and I are both good at improvising too, between all of us we might be able to handle that. It might be smart to raid the bunker, see what in particular we could work with." Bruce hasn't been down there yet, which is an oversight that he's aware of. He's nervous in enclosed spaces, although he doesn't need to be anymore, since there's no monster to rip it to shreds. It'll take a long time before he gets used to no Hulk.

He isn't bothered at all by her blood reference. Or her being a vampire. "I think in general, we should check everyone's blood who is willing. They've done something to us. Taken things away and can give new abilities too, from what I've heard." Bruce is interested in puzzles, and his interest in science comes from the desire to see how life works. Humans, animals, plants, the world around them, it's a question mark. And now they have more of them. "I'm not sure to what end, what we'll learn from it, but it's better to know than not know."

I'm waving through a window, oh, can anybody see, is anybody waving back at me? [OPEN]

Schoolhouse

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