I wanted to stay home but I went running running running running from the troubles

[paidforit]

WHO: Valkyrie
WHERE: The Bunker, around the village
WHEN: End of November
OPEN TO: Bruce Banner (Bunker), OTA (Village)
WARNINGS: Possible mentions of alcohol abuse, past implied slavery, and PTSD.

---

Arrival in the Bunker

To wake with swirling, swimming vision, everything distorted in front of her, is nothing new. Many are the nights where the previous night's inebriation simply bleeds over into the morning, one day into another. But the tube? The tube's a decidedly new development.

Groggily she draws a hand up to push at the glass. Then knock against it a few times, the noise enough to discourage further taps with a groan and a squint. Okay, no, hangover is not liking that at all. Though this didn't feel quite like the average hangover.

Still might puke, though.

There's a shape moving past the glass that she can't quite make out, and she tries to lean forward enough to see who it is. One of the Grandmaster's goons? A gladiator? Is this the new pit? She'd worked her way out of that mess already, or so she'd thought. Or was this some scavenger crew who thought to sell her out?

"Hey!" And that initial shout reminds her with a grimace that yes, still in glass tube. Still only really hurting her own ears here. Ow...


Arrival in the Village

Freed of the tube, she's free to marvel at how much...really hasn't changed at all. She's stuck here, instead of there, with less food and booze but more trees and greenery, and fewer tasers or holding cells. Maybe they like their 'prisoners with jobs' free-range, here.

Still, for a new arrival, she doesn't look that fussed by the change of scenery. Anyone look at her could tell she was new, a well-muscled but slight woman with messy dark hair bound back out of her face. Her expression? Says she's already about a thousand percent done with the shake-up and ready to move on. This gaping uncertainty under her feet is a little less than ideal, but she's handled herself in worse.

Clad in telltale red scrubs and carrying her complimentary pack on her shoulder, she's making her rounds, from building to building. Taking in the landscape, such as it is. There's a vague tally to keep, places to sleep, people she'd be expected to work with to do...whatever needed doing. Because of course they're going to ask her to do things, that's not a question, really.

So the sooner she finds out what she needs to do to get secure and get out of her own mind? The happier she'll be.

Comments

Village

[ombranera]

"Hello Bella." Zev calls from where he is huddled in front of the inn. New faces- not that he has time to learn everyone here just yet but she seems the particular brand of vexed that the few newcomers he's seen so far all share. Certainly she is wearing on her face what he felt when he hauled himself out of the fountain. Red which- he envies more than a little. His own violet scrubs are hardly flattering but there isn't anything for it until he finds someone willing to trade- but he does have to admit it looks lovely on her. "There is a free meal available inside- but not ale, alas. It seems that despite the weather and good reason such drink is difficult to find."

His heart weeps for the lack of good Antivan wine and Brandy. One day he might con someone into producing a bottle but- it will not be the same.

[paidforit]

She draws to a halt, her eyes slowly traveling over the man -- ah, elf -- where he sits. "In there?" she repeats, lifting her chin towards the door of the inn. Food doesn't sound terrible, but the lack of alcohol is troubling news indeed. Still. Take what you can get. It took months of fighting before she worked her way up to buying luxuries like that on Sakaar.

Might be the same here, for all she knows. She still hasn't figured out what this guy wants for the info.

She pauses, then shifts her weight on her feet, cocking an eyebrow. Might as well dig for more, if he's doling out information. "Someone's got an interest in keeping us fed, then?"

[ombranera]

"Mhmm. There is also a large hearth to warm and dry yourself." Which he's used more than once while trudging through the weather. "I have not been here long but I have observed a few odd details in my poking about."

She seems like one that appreciates people with use and Zevran? Knows how to make himself useful. Besides- she looks him in the eye and speaks with no more or less derision than he might expect of someone unfamiliar of elves.

"The other villagers arrange it. As a community they intend to survive the winter. Very heartwarming, quite charming. Occasionally there is a boxed delivery of goods to individuals granted to us by our overseers but I have yet to sort out how, exactly, they are delivered or why they choose to give what they give." He shrugs.

[paidforit]

Oh she's familiar with elves, Zevran. Maybe not your exact kind, but not being what she is doesn't really make a whole lot of difference. He's just as stuck here as she is, chances are.

"So no tasks to curry favor, no..." She gestures idly with a well-toned arm. "Rounding up random people and making them fight for a good show? They've got to want something out of us."

People banding together to survive is easy enough to understand. But she also understands those people aren't the ones who pulled her here. Maybe they're all in the dark here. It doesn't matter in the long run. She'll do whatever she has to to survive.

If that means playing nice for a while, sure. She can do that too.

[ombranera]

"...That would make more sense, wouldn't it? But alas, no. Their motivations remain ever mysterious." He loses a moment, admiring that arm. A warrior woman, then? Dangerous. Beautiful.

Precisely the kind he will do something foolish for in short order.

Self awareness doesn't save him from being a fool. He offers a hand, head tipped back inside. "So far it seems as though we all band together. Perhaps barter skills for skill, since not everyone knows how to hunt or sew or cook. I can tell you more over lunch, perhaps?"

[oorah]

Another red scrubs, is the first thing he thinks. It has his danger-sensing buzzing on overdrive before he's even close enough to recognize her. It's windy and rainy today, but he doesn't seem phased by it, and nor does the dutiful black-and-tan bloodhound at his side. He approaches slowly, hood drawn up over his long hair and beard but he's squinting against the weather anyway. It feels like snow, but the temperature is still too high yet - probably tonight. Before he can call her back, Aretha runs right up to the stranger and starts sniffing at her knees. Frank opens his mouth to scold her, she's usually a much better listener, but when he sees the woman's face his heart stops. Brenda, as he had known her, though he'd always known too it wasn't her real name. He's caught gawking a few moments before he finally snaps himself out of it enough to push some words past his lips, still hanging open. "S-sorry," it's less of a stutter than a hesitation, his voice soft and yet its gruffness carries it through the wintery breeze. "You come from there?" He points back to the lake as it starts to overflow, knowing she must have since he was just by the fountain with no sign of a new (old) face.

[paidforit]

The dog loping up to her has her stiffening for a moment, before her mouth curls in a quiet smirk. There had been hounds on Asgard, big beautiful beasts, and she took to a knee for a moment to offer hands and let the dog sniff before giving her a few gentle scratches around the ears.

"Well, aren't you friendly. Where's your person?" she murmurs, not truly expecting any answer at all.

No sooner said, she notices Frank approaching from some distance off, looking her way as though he'd seen a ghost. That's a hard expression to miss, even on a face like that. She blinks, glances over her shoulder, then down to the dog before lifting her eyes once more. Alright, that look was leveled at her after all. What was this guy's story? Color her curious.

"Yeah. Bunker up that way. This your friend?" she replies, nodding towards the animal whose fur she was currently ruffling.

[oorah]

He nods stiltedly in understanding, knowing she's too perceptive not to pick up on him being a weirdo. Too late to take back now, though you'd think he'd get better at this each time it happens. It still throws him for a loop every damn time.

"Aretha," he confirms, finally schooling his expression into something that could pass for neutral. After a moment, he touches his own chest and labels himself: "Frank," though the urge is strong to bring back what she had originally known him by.

[paidforit]

Not that it would make a difference. He's a stranger, unfamiliar entirely save in a certain hollow darkness around his eyes that she knows. She sees it now and then in her own reflection, that gnawing void that gets left behind when you survive. More specifically, when you survive and others don't.

Broken people can recognize the fractures in one another, it seems.

So if he's being weird -- and yeah, he is a bit -- she doesn't prod him for it. Instead, she gives a little nod of understanding. "Scrapper," she answers in kind, before lowering her attention back to the dog long enough for a few more good pats.

Then she's rising to her feet, shifting the weight of the bag on her back. "You two been here long?"

Village - Inn

[thegreatexperiment]

Sam's vodka still looked like something out of a Rube Goldberg drawing. There were pipes and tubes and glass jars and jugs. Everything was rigged up by string over burners and counter tops. The whole thing had to be disassembled and reassembled every time she used it, or no one would be able to use half of the kitchen. As a whole, Sam tried not to be that person. A dick. Admittedly, it was a habit that came to her naturally in most arenas of her life. But she had surprisingly excellent kitchen etiquette.

Especially for someone who couldn't eat.

She missed eating, as of late. Comfort food, really. A bag of Cheetos or a nice, hot bowl of her mother's Matzo-ball soup. Anything to clear her mind. She was working on her second batch of the day, her eyes following the glittery, shining bubbles as they traveled along her patchwork distillery. There was an art and a beauty to it, but Sam couldn't fully appreciate it today.

It was just that she was so fucking distracted. Stupid Danny. Stupid hot springs.

In the most affectionate way, of course.

[paidforit]

She'd been pointed towards the Inn for food, though warned alcohol was in short supply. Whoever told her that was clearly a liar, however, because that right there? That's distilling. And she knows it at a glance.

The clouds might well have parted, and the birds started singing, and it wouldn't have seemed out of place at all, even indoors. Smirking slightly, she makes her way closer to the woman hard at work. Clop-clop, goes the steady stride of those boot heels.

"So you're the one to talk to about stocking up," she observes, when well within conversational distance. "They were trying to tell me no one here was selling."

[thegreatexperiment]

The fact that their generous Overlords had a penchant for selecting underwear models as test subjects had gone from funny to annoying back to funny again. So when Sam looked up at the woman--clearly a n00b, she practically had that new-arrival smell--she lifted the corner of her mouth, just slightly. Another really, really, ridiculously good-looking person.

Go figure.

"I'm not sure 'selling' is the word," she replied. American accent, with a bland, Midwestern twang. She brushed a few of her synthetic curls back, over her shoulder. "Although, in all fairness, the word 'alcohol' barely applies to this shit. It's more like...lighter fluid. Or something you use to clean granny's silverware."

She was wearing her combat boots today. And, in defiance of the weather, a tight, black shirt with sleeves made of fishnet mesh. She crossed over to one of the finished batches, grabbing a bottle of murky, clear liquid. "I take it you have a need?"

[paidforit]

Sam's assessment was a flattering one, considering that the woman looked a disheveled mess and in no mood to walk anyone's catwalk, unless it meant possibly cold-clocking whoever stood at the end of it. Not that she'd have minded the positive review, oh no, considering Sam looked far more model-like and put together than she ever could on her best day.

A good looking woman and a bottle of booze. The day was looking better, already.

"I've always got a need. Question is what your need is, for it." Her smile quirks a little wider. If 'selling' isn't the word, then it's barter. Got to be. No one's giving anything away, not for the sheer kindness of it. That's not how it works.

"So. What'll you take for it?"

[assemble_the_lovbacken]

Thor is still trying to settle himself into the village with this terribly fragile and all around ridiculous mortal body he has the displeasure of inhabiting. He's still stronger than the average man, he figures, but that's little consolation when he used to be able to conjure thunder and lightning without a second thought. He's sat himself by the riverside, baseball cap and peacoat having been scrounged from his backpack and now doing their bit to help protect him from the cold, a ridiculous concept in itself. He's never had to think about the temperature outside before.

He's mumbling little things to himself, mostly made up scenarios that involve: 1. Defeating Hela as soon as she showed up in Norway; 2. Having Mjolnir back and using it to escape; 3. Gleefully finding himself in a pit of snakes, though he realizes now they'd have to be non-venemous since he's mortal now; 4. other Avengers-esque adventures. He's even fashioned himself a tiny clay Mjolnir with some effort, though it doesn't really stay put together too long before crumbling back into nothing.

At the sound of nearby rummaging, he lifts his head and turns towards the sound. He's given up on finding his brother hidden amongst the wildlife, so he doesn't think much of whomever might be picking through the nearby cabin. When he catches sight of the red scrubs, it still doesn't quite register - it's only when he sees her face that he immediately hops to his feet, grinning from ear to ear, and jumps up and down where he is, arms waving wildly overhead.

"HEY! HEYYYY!" he shouts, unable to contain his excitement. He begins to trot over, remembers he's left his backpack and goes back to get it, then resumes his beeline for her. "You look so different without your armor," he notes with giggling amusement. "When did you arrive? How long have you been here? Have you seen Banner yet?"

[paidforit]

The yelling gets her attention, because of course it does. She's not entirely sure why he's yelling like that, bounding over like an over-eager puppy and grinning at her, and the puzzled look on her face says as much. What spills out of his mouth makes about as little sense as the rest of it, though.

Maybe she's already had too much to drink. Or not enough. One way or another, the mix is wrong to understand the conversation she's suddenly in the middle of without realizing it.

"...you've seen my armor?" is what she latches onto finally, because that? That might lead somewhere worthwhile. The rest is nonsense she'll sort through later.

[assemble_the_lovbacken]

It doesn't immediately register with Thor's stupid, mortal mind that she doesn't recognize him. He knows who she is. She helped him escape Sakaar. She promised to come home to Asgard to help save their people and defeat Hela. Why on Midgard would she not immediately know who he is?

It's only when she asks her question that something inside of his stupid, mortal mind clicks, and he realizes that she's looking at him .. exactly the same way she did when they'd first encountered each other on Sakaar. There's not an ounce of recognition in her eyes, and this epiphany causes Thor to pout a little bit.

"Of .. course I have," he responds, the corners of his lips tugging downwards. "You're a Valkyrie. I grew up with stories of you and your victories." A beat. "But you were wearing it when we stole the Grandmaster's Orgy Ship and flew into the Devil's Anus."

[paidforit]

"When we what?"

That takes her aback somewhat, though with a blink she gives a slight bob of her head. "It does sound like something I'd do...how much did I have to drink?"

Because she absolutely remembers none of this. And if that happened? She thinks she'd want to remember some of it. Maybe. Depending on what was on the other side of the Anus.

Bunker!

[notsoangry]

After taking Thor out of a tube before he drowned, Bruce has been anxiously going down to the Bunker daily just to be certain someone isn't scrambling around in there. It's not that hard to take a book down with him and take some quiet time while he's there. Currently it's how to sew. He knows how to sew, the bare basics, and he's excellent with sutures, but there are some styles in here that he's not aware of. They might all need to figure out some day how to create more complex pieces of clothing, and at the very least it's keeping his fingers nimble.

He is on his way into the bunker with that book when he thinks he sees something moving within one of the tubes and then a very clear banging. Bruce moves quickly over to it, dropping the book to the side. At first he tries to see who it is, but really, there's no point to that. It doesn't matter who it is, they need help. He thinks he has a better idea of the controls now, except in the end he pushes a few buttons until one of them works. Expertise will come later. Survival has to happen now.

It opens up and he offers up his hands to help whoever it is down, although it only takes a quick beat before he recognizes the woman. Bruce looks much the same as the last time he saw her. A little thinner, hair only slightly longer, but still simple, unremarkable, and yet familiar in the face. The Big Guy and him were echoes in expression, and he understands now why she felt so familiar in Sakaar. It's almost a pang of sadness in his chest, knowing the Hulk was no longer around to spy a friend.

"Scrapper, it's um, hi, it's nice to see you. I'm sorry that you're here, in the general sense of, uh, it's not where any of us would choose but." Why was he so tongued tied around people? She of all people he can relax around. Slow down, Banner. "Are you okay?"

[paidforit]

The air's a lot less stuffy all of a sudden, and there's no longer glass holding her in place. So naturally, she stumbles forward with a big gasp of air, catching herself with one hand in Bruce's and the other braced on his shoulder. With a grunt, she's pulling herself out and onto her feet, swaying slightly for a moment before regaining her balance and--

"...do I know you?"

She blinks at the man in front of her. There are shades of something familiar about him, and he knows her name, but. No. No, her mind doesn't immediately connect the nebbish-looking fellow in front of her with her big green friend.

So it's this odd sense of familiarity-and-yet-not as she blinks at him, then backs away, looking all around this place. It doesn't look like Sakaar, not nearly as garish. Another glance down and she realizes her armor's gone, all of it. Weapons, too. Just red scrubs and something slung to her back that she immediately reaches to pull off.

[notsoangry]

Bruce is surprised, and he shouldn't be, because he knows first hand how people are from different time points. Thor for example, who didn't know what happened to Asgard or with Thanos. It takes him a moment to catch onto that. "Oh, I'm Bruce." He blinks a few times and shakes himself out of the confusion. As before, she looks alarmingly familiar. They've only exchanged a few words, but he feels like he's known her for years. That's how deeply engrained the Hulk is to him, regardless of the fact he's gone.

"I'm Thor's friend." But what if she doesn't know Thor either? Oh god that was going to be an explanation. He lets here put distance between them, very respectful of other people's personal space. "I'm the Hulk's friend." That she hopefully would connect. Bruce never refers to himself as the Hulk's friend like they're external beings, but it feels like a wiser move than explaining that they used to share a body.

"Sorry, this is going to be complicated. We've been, well, kidnapped is probably the best word. We're not on Sakaar anymore." For that he's very, very thankful. "There's an island above this bunker, and a village where everyone lives. There's a lot of us, all stuck in this place with no discernible way out." Bruce reaches down to pick up his book, not having a clue how to explain this even though he's done it several times now. Every person reacts differently. "We're trying to figure out how, but we've had no success so far."

[paidforit]

"They kidnapped us from the Grandmaster?" She stares for a moment, before the unexpected: she snickers. Actually laughs, nose scrunching, as she tries to imagine the circumstances that would lead to that.

"The look on his face...."

Eventually, the novelty wears off, and with a shake of her head she's tearing into the bag that wound up strapped to her. Clothes, a lot of basic items, all being rummaged through and then dropped to the ground once she'd looked them over to her heart's content.

"Well, we're not on Sakaar. There's a start." Was that a bra? Yes. Yes, it probably was. It's on your shoe now, Bruce.

Arrival

[houmaprotector]

Alec keeps to himself. That's what he does, but at least you know, there's a use for what he does. So he picks up plants, forages, avoids boars and comes back and still thinks about the machine and if he can somehow make it so he can't die...what it might do to him...

Carrying a pile of plants he nearly collides with a young woman (perhaps?) nearly dropping several stalks and stems before he pauses. 7 feet tall green and made of plants, he looks as surprised as he can manage.

"...I'm so sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going."

[paidforit]

Luckily, large green men are nothing new to her. He's a bit leafier than the Hulk, but certainly not enough to be intimidating or odd in any way. For a moment, she's reminded of the Groot...though this guy seems a lot more fluent in the common tongue.

So she skids to a halt, drawing back a step and looking up. And up. And up some more. "Yeah, obviously," she replies, though more as acknowledgement than anything. Squinting down at the scattering of plants, she grabs at a handful and holds them up.

It's a little grudging, but she's making an effort here. That's somewhat new.

"Someone got you on babysitting duty, or what?"

[houmaprotector]

By assuming that the plants have life, that they might possibly be a baby or in need of protection, this woman instantly endears herself to Alec. The Swamp Thing's smile is genuine, "No. No they're for cooking or medicine as needed. Arrow root, garlic, yucca, some kale. One of the few nice things about being here is sustainability. Everyone's getting ready for winter so the green is willing to give up it's gifts a bit more freely."

Little known fact. Over centuries there are some plants that have grown to enjoy being harvested. They see themselves as natural allies to the red kingdom.

"I thought I'd go gather some Christmas plants next. There's not a lot to be done here ."

[paidforit]

...well. She's looking for something to do with herself, isn't she? She lets out a brief sigh, looking once over shoulder for literally anything else to do before planting her hands on her hips and letting her gaze fall to the greenery. "Do you...maybe want a hand with that?"

It's the absolute bare minimum of helpfulness, with next to no enthusiasm involved, but it's help. And she's offering it at not cost. Act now, while supplies are limited.