sixthiterationlogs | I'll go where answers can be found/Kick the door and smash it down [OPEN]

WHO: Samantha Moon
WHERE: The Tubes
WHEN: Spread out across early November
OPEN TO: YOU, YES, YOU (OTA)
WARNINGS: Standard warning for Sam's mouth, will update if needed

Sam liked to spend the occasional evening down in the tubes. She'd volunteered to watch for new arrivals, as was her 'civic duty,' or whatever. But it was more the peace she enjoyed. Living in the Inn came with a lot of dorm-y frustrations, between the single bathroom, the occasional neighbors punching her damn walls, and what she assumed were sex noises echoing through the halls.

But she had a new reason to go down there now: Stealing shit.

That was the idea, anyway. Although, so far, she hadn't found much worth taking. But all scientific endeavors, she knew, came with their fair share of setbacks. True, she and Bruce didn't have to worry about IRB approval or grand funding. No, they just had to deal with a serious lack of any equipment worth having. Not to mention anything that actually had the power to give her any kind of insight into the proteins swirling around the inmates' DNA. But Sam was nothing if not stubborn. So for a few nights, she crept down to the tubes, carrying a kitchen knife, a metal rod, and a canvas bag. Just in case she found something.

The biggest problem was the lists of names. No matter what Sam did, no matter what she told herself, she always and inevitably found herself reading them, again and again. The pain of seeing Avery on the list had dulled from a knife in her heart to an annoying ache. But the trouble with annoying aches was that they were fucking annoying.

Kind of like Avery, she supposed.

And if she wasn't scavenging through the equipment or reading the lists, she would sometimes take a small break, crouching down in a corner and sketching. At least now she wasn't obsessively drawing the sky. She had plans. Maybe unrealistic, irrational plans. But forward momentum wasn't something to sneer at. So she sketched all the equipment she wanted to build or have or make. Everything she and Bruce would need to conduct their work.

You know, in a perfect world.

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It was, by far, the most plausible theory Sam had heard, as to why the Overlords liked that universe so much. Aside from the fact that everyone in it seemed to be majorly fit and trim.

She nodded slightly.

But she couldn't help but smirk a little. "You know, I never thought I would hear of a world more fucked up than my own." She'd always subscribed to the theory of multiple universes. In a casual sort of way. But being part of a world that hadn't exactly mastered the Einstein-Rosen bridge, she'd been myopic about it. Thinking only of her own reality.

Being here made that an easier habit to break. But she still derived a certain wry pleasure out of saying, "The world kinda ended, back home."

There's also that. They are a very, very pretty bunch. Makes sense the Observers would want something nice to look at, if they're gonna be looking all the time, right?

"Yeah, well, we weren't always. The last eight years have been a little a lot, to paraphrase a friend." Who was paraphrasing yet another. Honestly, the expression works pretty well, all things considered. "But we do what we can to keep it going." Which is more, apparently, than Sam's world has going for it, which means she looks a little more seriously at Sam at her answer.

"What happened?"

"Evil psychos decided to make every satellite orbiting the planet crash and burn one time zone at a time, in the middle of a worldwide communications blackout." It was easier to say if she got it all out at once, if she didn't stop to think about the ways in which her life had been interwoven into the events. "We estimate about two-thirds of the population was murdered but it's hard to tell since communications are pretty much still limited to carrier pigeons right now."

She kicked a box absently. Not hard enough to dent it or send it flying. A sad, kind of pathetic kick.

Which was pretty much how everyone felt int he face of the situation.

"My brother calls it the 'Rain of Fire.' I guess it was sort of catching on. Appropriate, for when pieces of fucking space station fall on your city, I guess..."

Natasha thinks about how many pieces of tech are floating around in the atmosphere of her own Earth, thinks what a worldwide breakdown in communications would do to organized efforts at relief, thinks about the steps that would have to be taken for something like that to occur and how few of them there would be. She thinks about that in a world without the Avengers, and she thinks about the future both Tony and Bruce have spoken of in vague terms, and a chill runs down her spine.

She doesn't apologize, though. She doesn't say 'I'm sorry,' because what are those two small words in the face of something that vast? How is the other woman supposed to respond? "And you're still looking for a way back?" The words aren't dubious or skeptical, they're genuine enough. If things are really that bad, is she still trying to find a way home? And why?

Frankly, Sam was good with the lack of 'I'm sorry.' Great with it, even. There was little in the multiverse worse than pity. Except maybe people who thought that Greedo shot first. But that was her own private issue.

She shook her head slightly. "No," she said. "I mean, I don't know. In a situation like this, I guess, I think it's better knowing you have choices than actually making one."

Could she go back home? Sam wasn't sure. Too many questions. Would she remember what Avery was doing to her? Would she be able to face him if she did? Would it be better not to know? And those were just questions concerning the first thirty seconds back home. She couldn't even begin to guess what sort of battle was waiting for them, one that Avery thought was so bleak that he was trying to brainwash her away from the fight.

Vaguely, she gestured to Va-va-room. "From what I hear, your world sounds like an interesting vacation spot."

"I know what you mean. At least you've theoretically got a little time to figure it out." Even if she doesn't necessarily get a choice in the matter. The ghosts of those two previous Natashas haunt her a little too closely for comfort. She'll feel better once she can figure out exactly why and how they left, figure out how to avoid the same thing happening to her if it was a bad ending, and how to duplicate it for others if it's a good one. She's not in a rush, though. You rush, and that's how you mess up and get yourself or others killed.

Sam's suggestion makes her laugh, not a cruel sound, more of a startled one. "I mean, it's definitely interesting. Not sure if you want to try a visit when we're from, though. Tony and Bruce are two years ahead of me, and neither of them have really said much about it--I haven't really asked specifics--but apparently what's going to happen is pretty catastrophic." She does want to know, but...well. Not much you can do about it from in here. Better to focus on one problem at a time.

"I'm Natasha, by the way."

Natasha. Somehow, the whole 'Va-va-voom' thing felt even more accurate, with a name like that. Femme fatale. Or a Rocky and Bullwinkle villain. Although she seemed much nicer than the cartoon Natasha.

Either way, Sam smiled.

"Sam," she said, holding out her hand. "I'd say it was nice to meet you, but under the circumstances, that feels like a dick move, you know?"

She never actively tried to be an asshole. It just had a tendency to come to her naturally. It was a gift.

I'll go where answers can be found/Kick the door and smash it down [OPEN]

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