sixthiterationlogs | 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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"Well, nobody wants to fight for their lives," she replied, still looking to the window, although her smile faded. "I mean, who doesn't want it easy? It's just a question of if they rise to the occasion when they're forced to. Or if they fucking give up."

Or if they made stupid-ass decisions, like she had, when the moment was upon them.

She could have died. She could have given in.

But she was fucking seventeen years old.

"Experiment or not, it's better than where I was."

She sighs heavily, lifting a hand to wave the conversation away. If they needed to fight? They'd get to that part. She's not in any hurry to join a battle with losing odds, not after the last one. Sam can get riled up about people standing their ground or not if she wants.

Heavy conversations like that are a great way to lose that pleasant buzz she's got going on.

"A lot of people agree with you there," Sam replied, turning back to Scrappy, the pensive lines of her forehead disappearing. Especially some of the people from That World. Which, from what Sam had gathered, seemed reasonable. Although it was hard for her to overlook the lack of technology.

She fucking missed the internet.

Of course, it wasn't exactly thriving back home.

To be honest, she wasn't sure if she thought it was better or worse than back home. But it was a cage. And she knew she didn't like cages.

"Just don't let yourself get too relaxed, that's my advice," she said. "The Overlords love lulling us into a false sense of security."

"Ah." She lifts a finger. "But if you're always expecting something terrible to happen, they can't exactly get the drop on you, can't they?"

Check and mate. Take that Overlords.

Hauling herself back to her feet, she walked over to give Sam a firm clap on the shoulder. "It's all shit, everywhere. So. You take the good where you can get it, and forget the rest. And if a fight comes? I'll happily kick whoever's arse needs kicking. Worked for me so far. Ish."

She's alive. That's gotta be something. Not a whole lot, but enough to get by on.

'Plucky' was an old-people word, one that Sam always heard as a kid and didn't really understand. But for some reason, she wanted to ascribe it to Scrappy now. In a good sort of way.

She found herself smiling. Not exactly a full-on, real smile. But something slightly to the left of it. "They still have some surprises. If I had any money, I'd bet you that if you stay here a year or so, something they manage to cook up will surprise you."

Big if, though. The turnover was surprisingly steady.

"But," she continued, "if it's fighting that you enjoy, I'd suggest looking for my friend Danny. He runs the Dojo."

"Yeah? Where's that at, then?"

All liquored up and ready to fight? Any place called "the Dojo" sounds like the perfect way to start this day off. Regardless of what time it may actually be.

"A little northwest of here, but still in the South Village" she said. "It was converted from an old house. Yellow, with white trim." Which was an entirely cliche paint job, but that wasn't Danny's fault.

Maybe she'd offer to do a mural for him...

"He's been working pretty hard on the equipment. I know he's got some tumbling mats. Something that serves as a punching bag. And big sticks to hit people with, I guess."

"All that get left behind by the last people here?"

Or set out for the lab rats to see what they'd make of them. That seems another likely option. Regardless, she's not feeling rebellious enough to turn her nose up at it just because it might have been given to them by their captors. She's not that proud.

Not anymore.

She shrugged. "Some. Some is also homemade. And I have no idea where the fuck the rest of it came from." Danny had determination and drive. She'd give him that. But she was pretty sure that even his sheer force of will couldn't conjure up wrestling equipment.

No. Probably the Overlords having fun. Getting their jollies off.

Although it certainly strengthened the going theory that they'd been chosen to form some kind of army.

"I never bothered to ask Danny. Apparently, I was suffering from an extreme lack of curiosity." That, and the last time she'd seen him, things had gotten a little...out of control.

"If it's here, they want us to have it, so."

Though apparently some things need to be worked a little harder for. Like booze. Pity. One seems as important to the other, as far as she's concerned.

"Well. Think I'll pop in and see who feels like testing those mats for comfort," she murmurs, rolling her head and popping something in her neck, with a satisfied little hum to follow. "You wanna come?"

Sam imagined herself fighting Scrappy--well, more accurately, getting pummeled by Scrappy--and had to suppress a shiver. She was learning some of the moves, but she was a long way from the big leagues. The fact is, her last spar with Danny had left her covered in bruises that she didn't entirely recognize. And that was before their little adventure at the hot springs.

No, she definitely wasn't up to Scrappy's level.

She smiled, shaking her head a little bit. "I need to finish this batch before I leave. Otherwise, the Inn might burn down and I'd be homeless. And some people might be, you know, pissed." She could only imagine what Kate would do to her. It would probably make Scrappy tame by comparison. "But you tell Danny that I sent you."

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

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