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

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

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.

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Scornful of courtly gestures? Be still his elven heart. He crackles a quiet laugh as he drops his hand, turning to lead her inside. The inn isn't all that crowded for now, leaving plenty of space near the hearth, He motions to the table closest for her to settle as he fetches them a meal.

It's less like servitude if he's gathering something for himself at the same time, after all. Upon his return he settles accross cheerfully.

"So, what may I call you?" Easier than asking for names. They're such tricky things.

"Went back Scrapper-142, back on Sakaar." Shrugging, she reaches for her own portion of food, a handful promptly going into her mouth. A few moments are spared for chewing before she swallows. "Don't see a whole lot of scrap here that needs hauling, don't know if you all wind up in scraps of the fighting sort, but it's what I'm good at."

There's another pause, and a wrinkle of her nose. Alright, she'll give herself credit where it's due.

"Some of what I'm good at, anyway. What are you called, then?"

"Not that I have seen, not yet. But I have not been here very long." Barely long enough to get the lay of the land for himself. There seems to be no war, no invading party, nothing but the plague recently that has been cured.

"Zevran Arainai, Zev to my friends." He sits forward, one elbow planted on the table, cheek resting against his palm. "Most of what I offer lies in hunting or cooking as there is not much call for my usual skillset in a place such as this. I would consider it a vacation of sorts if it were not for the lack of wine and the weather."

Hunting. There's a valid prospect. She's spent a fair number of years moving through wilds, handling animals, tracking and living off the land when pursuing quarry. Wouldn't be the worst way to chip in around here.

Her mouth quirks thoughtfully as she seizes another bite, chewing slow with absolutely no call to manners or grace of any sort. In fact, she's already licking her fingers. "So they just left everyone here to their own devices, after dumping us here?"

She gives a small sort. "I'd put bets on this being some kind of exhibit, then. We're someone's pets, or a zoo, or something along those lines."

On one hand- Zevran probably ought to find the lack of manners unappealing. On the other, much more pertinent hand- he loses a moment or two watching her lick her fingers clean. If it weren't for the fact she obviously didn't care what anyone thought of her in the slightest? He'd assume she was attempting some manner of seduction.

But.

He's pretty sure that is not what she's doing. Mostly.

"That is the way it seems. There is a record of some sort, a history of all the events in the village as chronicled by those that live here. Terribly informative- and terribly...dull. Flooding, famine, no dragons, no war." Which probably makes for a peaceful existence.

"A zoo? Then I would wish to complain at being left so far from my natural habitat. It is far too cold."

"Where's that, Alfheim?" Look, it's where most of the elves are from, at least the Light Elves. This guy...doesn't strike her as a Dark Elf. Too peppy and high-spirited for that. Of course, he could be from elsewhere, too. Or nowhere.

Honestly, if he doesn't want to say, she can hardly blame him.

"At least they're giving us the means to scrounge up a way to live here." Her eyes lift to the structure over their heads. "You figure these were from them, too? Or people who got brought here before us?"

Just idle wonderings, as she stuffs another mouthful of food in.

"Ah? No. Antiva. Is Alfheim somewhere near the Anderfels?" It sounds terribly northern, terribly foreign and...terrible, all around. "Are you from a world where there are elves? Most here seem to not."

And stare more often than he'd like but- it isn't the usual sort of staring. Precious little derision or reason to slink out of sight, it makes him less than invisible. He shall have to adjust.

"It seems like. Those that live here say it's been here since the first group crawled from the fountain. Though the records show...something of a simulation? An illusion they all lived once before."

"Alfheim's where most of the Light Elves live. Not exclusively, of course. Just where they're all from." She shrugs, not knowing where the Anderfels are and not caring too much at the moment. Everyone's from somewhere, or nowhere. Or Knowhere, for that matter.

As many realms as there were in existence, it's not entirely strange that he's from somewhere else entirely. They're all here now, the same as on Sakaar. All cut loose from their homes and left to drift, to find someplace to wash up and make do.

"Sounds like I was pretty close, then. Not a life, but something for show. An experiment maybe...or someone who got bored and wanted some free-range pets."

"There are dark elves? Like-" He gestures to his own skin, a far shot from fair and fine as some of the Dalish he's met but- they were in the south, far from the loving embrace of the sun. "Or some other manner of dark? Are they into morbid poetry?"

Or is this some manner of magic thing? IT could be a magic thing, though it calls into question what world she has come from and-

She eats like a wolf with zero shame. It's so strange to him he cannot help but be fascinated. What a marvel it must be to not give a single solitary fuck. "If they wished for pets perhaps they ought to have considered a better means of arrival than dunking us in a lake."

"They were born of the darkness that existed before the rest of the universe. So, dark. Because darkness." She gestures vaguely with one hand before allowing it to drop to the table again, continuing to chew.

"Not sure if there's any left now. Fought everyone until there were none left, or they'd all scurried back to their own realm. You don't seem like one of their sort." Licking her lips, she pauses long enough to really give him a look over.

"Probably. Gonna slip that into the complaint box?"

"...I suppose that does make sense, yes." Terribly uncreative but- what would an elf from darkness be like? Zevran himself doesn't wish to dwell, more than content to have been from the sun and sandy shores of Antiva.

"...In a general sense or you, in particular, fought off that great many? That is truly impressive." So much so that he's forgoing the usual flirtations, elbows on the table, meal forgotten.

"Perhaps I should, if such a thing exists. If it doesn't perhaps I ought to make one- it can be cathartic to shout into the void, as it were."

"Me. And others." It's vague in a way that stymies further inquiry, clearly a topic she wants to steer away from, and she takes another bite to fill her mouth and silence her ability to backstory any further for the time being. Zevren clearly doesn't have that issue.

Curious little bugger, isn't he?

"Might as well. It's something to do that isn't 'scrounge for things to stay alive', and you need at least a few of those to keep your mind right."

"Ah." That conversation seems pretty well shut, more than enough to pick another topic. The complaints box offers a pleasant enough diversion as he returns to his own meal for a thoughtful bite or two.

"Set it up here in the Inn where most people might see it- or the town hall? No names. Anonymous readings. Perhaps...one for the overloards, one for neighbors?"

"Why not? People grouped together like this, someone's bound to piss someone off." Not that she minds a good scuffle. There's more than one way to settle an argument, after all, and she's more likely to just punch someone than submit a complaint.

But everyone's got their own style. Zevran's clearly a talker.

"True enough, I'd be surprised if it has not happened already- but we are not so large a community that breeding that kind of discontent among the populace would be wise. Brawls get large, things end up on fire, someone might get stabbed. Tragedy." Horrifically tragic. Common enough back home but here?

Maybe less murder.

"True. On the upside, less mouths to feed."

If one were going to look at it from a practical standpoint. But it's not said with any kind of real intent.

"Probably not for the best if it turns out to be someone useful, though, huh?" Finally pausing with about three-quarters of her plate emptied, she props her chin up on one hand, surveying Zevran with a very keen look now. What purpose did he serve, besides being very chatty and friendly to newcomers?

"Also: people take death so seriously for some reason? There is much wailing and gnashng of teeth, even for those that seem to be more of a warrior's persuasion. A reluctance about the whole thing, I suppose, which is strange to me." But he shrugs, returning to his own meal for a moment. Not everyone is as cavalier about life and death as an assassin-

or a mercenary

or a scrapper, as she calls herself.

"Most people find ways to make themselves useful. Hunting, making clothing, minding animals, cooking, fishing. We are a small enough village and most jobs simple enough that all hands ought to be busy, yes?" Including his very own. "Even those with precious few mind the fountain or the Bunker for new arrivals."

"So how many are here?" Clearly nowhere near the extent of Sakaar, or this little village area would be a lot more crowded than it was. Some of that could probably be attributed to them being out, doing said jobs, but...

There's a feeling that it's a little more scarce here than that. Whatever draws them here seems a lot pickier. More deliberate, somehow. Something she's not so concerned with this five minutes, as she tips her plate towards her in order to scrape the very last bits of food off and devour them swiftly.

Hunger sated, she feels slightly better about her circumstances. Funny how that works.

"More than seventy, less than ninety. I would be more precise but it is difficult to watch both villages, and some members are reclusive, spend their days in the woods hunting, or vanish without much notice. The common assumption is they were sent home, but-" He shrugs, a fluid thing.

That is a kind assumption made by those with hope for a kind end.

No room for that sort of optimism here. She knows what people disappearing in the woods means likely as not.

"Well. That's more than nothing." The plate clatters to the table as she wipes her hands off. "And they're trying to build things up around here before the cold sets in?" That would be the plan anywhere else. It's cold but not unbearable outside yet, but it seems as though it's just setting in rather than starting to clear up. If there's a winter to be endured here, people would need to scramble for supplies and fortification.

Which meant opportunities to be of use, and not get left out in the cold.

"That is the plan. Watchtowers are going up, stores of food being filled before the winter begins in earnest. Fishing shouldn't change much but hunting in the woods and any crops we've left to tend will become thin until spring. Provided the winter is not overlong, we should be able to last." Key word being should but- he is a recent arrival and this is not a climate he is entirely accustomed to.

Hence the constant huddling by the fire.

"There is a lot of heavy lifting to do as well, at least in the southern village. It is where most of us live."

"Think I could probably pitch in with that. I've got a moderate interest in not freezing to death."

It's bleak, as outlooks go, but not impossible. It'll be a bit of a change, working alongside other people for survival as opposed to against them. But clearly they're not all bad.

Zevran, despite coming across a little too slick for his own good, clearly knows the score. She suspects he's every bit as interested in staying alive through the winter, if only to see what happens next.

"As do we all." He lifts his mug in a quiet toast, leaning back to sip as he considers again the weather, his skills, and the village. It isn't the worst place he's landed,

But it isn't the best either. Far from.

"There is a great deal of muddling through from those of more...advanced worlds. They seem less accustomed to the work." The minutinae of survival when their comforts aren't as readily available.

She snorts inelegantly. "It's not the advancement of the world. Trust me. It's the people."

Asgard, after all, had been a beacon of advancement. Technology so grand mortals would consider it magic. But she'd done without all that for a while now, and could continue to do so if need be.

So too could her capable friend here, it seems, from the way he talks.

"If you let yourself get comfortable and shrink away from getting your hands dirty, it's going to be rougher for you when you get dumped in the middle of nowhere and have to make your way. That's just how it is."

"Work ethic?" The more comfortable, advanced words breed softer, less hardworking folks. Or it could seem as such, he has yet to meet anyone that lazed about without attempting to pull their weight. A lack of a place to bitch anonymously does prevent him from knowing the truth.

He could fix that.

Probably should. It would be the best way to get the village gossip.

"I suppose you and I will have no trouble finding our footholds." Separately, of course.

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

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