strangetrip | [GP/EP] Check-in Day

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[GP/EP] Check-in Day

The woodwinds in her collection were for noodling mostly, and the violin was for memory of her family, but when Curnen really wanted to play she turned again and again to her guitar. This would probably always be her best instrument. It was the first of the month, she’d been here over a year, and it was probably a check-in day. So she sat on the lawn with her instrument in her lap, sending out a subtle magic to call anyone stranded in their little world this way.

At one point, though, she set aside the guitar and turned her face to the sky. For just a few minutes she required a different kind of magic.

It had been a week now since Scanlan had vanished in the battle. And Pike, too, though Curnen honestly couldn’t have cared less about her going away if she tried. Still. The two of them were family to people very dear to her, people who missed them. And Scanlan had been her friend. You marked something like that with a song.

Of all the money that e'er I had
I spent it in good company
And all the harm that e'er I've done
Alas, it was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit
To memory now I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all

It was a traditional Irish goodbye, a farewell to friends said with love, drinking, well wishes, and the hope of meeting again. She couldn’t think of a better one for the occasion. And as she sang she twined her magic into her voice in a new way, sending the song to any ears that needed it, ears of those who knew and missed the departed. Not all of them might understand it, not all of them knew what she was, but she didn’t particularly care about that right now. The song was more important than the hiding.

Once the last note had dissipated she picked up her guitar again and resumed her work. If there were anybody out there, they had to know where to go.

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He stopped, staring at her a bit. Her face, then, very briefly - involuntarily, really - her belly, before picking his eyes hurriedly back up again. "...Yours? Or hers?"

Xavin smiled politely. It wasn't completely unheard of for people to ask for coffee without looking up, so already this new arrival has earned at least a couple of points. "Some, yes. I have some black teas, some green. Herbal, a few. Even a rooibos or two. If you are brave, I will surprise you."

Maria took a full ten seconds to realize why he was looking at her belly. Her hands went to her belly and her eyes widened.

"What?" She said incredulously, "No. No, I am so not pregnant, thank you."

Maria was a virgin and as far as she knew, Liz was too.

"Not Liz either. Some other girl with Liz's used-to-be boyfriend. And she's a total bitch." She said with narrowed eyes. "She's not here, is she? Tess Harding ring any bells?"

John gives something of a smirk and slight flirtatious wink; even if he does not suppose - there is, after all, no one around and playfully remarks; "Surprise me,"

Steve had been wandering the hotel and grounds since he arrived, after his conversation with Caroline. He'd set down his bag, his basket, and his shield in the room he'd been assigned, then took his keycard with him on his walk. It was nearly nighttime now, and Steve was thinking about how he should find some dinner... but he didn't know where to tgo, where to turn.

Then a voice rang out from behind him, and Steve turned. "Hopefully sooner? I don't know how to wrap my head around it. all. I take it you've been here for a while?"

Xavin's smile widened slightly (why not? it's friendly) and then she turned to start manipulating her machinery.

This man, she thought, would appreciate something that seemed traditional but was not. She set Earl Grey tea to steep strongly, then added steamed milk and some vanilla; extract, not syrup, because she also added a little lavender syrup for sweetness and a faint floral aroma. The lavender was her own addition, not technically part of the drink as it 'should be'.

At the end, she presented a neat cup of tea latte to the man. "This is called a London Fog."

"Whiskey, neat." She didn't see any of the bartenders around at first, but shortly after, a blonde knockout appeared from the back carrying something in her arms. Molly. Caroline waved her off and leaned over the bar herself, picking up a couple of glasses and a bottle of Johnny Walker. "There's not a lot of staff, just five. Everyone else, even if they're working, is a guest."

She offered him the bottle. "I've been here since last New Years. It's September, by the way. Sometimes people arrive from different points in the year."

Meanwhile, goes back to reading and when he hears her come back; "This is absolutely brilliant. A box that can receive and transmit radio waves with a selenium photoelectric tube detecter in order to transmute a moving picture on a screen."

Then looks up at her with bright eyes and a smile; "Television. Big of a mouthful if you ask me but leave it Americans for complicated names."

Inhaling the aroma, John melts for a moment; "That smells simply divine." Then a small and playful tongue click.

"Tele, from the ancient Greek meaning 'far', and visio, from the Latin meaning 'sight'." Xavin had been educated in Earth languages as part of her initial training and given more advanced classes in Super-Skrull training. Etymology was hit and miss, but often knowing where words came from helped on the increasingly-rare occasions where she didn't recognize words. "Abbreviated to TV or telly, most of the time. If that helps."

She flashed another smile for the compliment. Good tea, she thought, was smelled first, so this experiment was a partial success already. "I hope you enjoy it! You are the first person I have made it for." He was free to assume that that made either it or him special.

John turns serious; "I know." He was just teasing the Americans. At least he did know the Latin word in there. Also, color him impressed that she's so educated for a woman of her skin tone.

One of his hand is now supporting his chin, as John stares at her gently; "I like telly better. Rolls off the tongue. Telly, telly." His face non-verbally seems to be asking; what else does she know? All during which his other elbow bends and knocks the other two books on the floor.

Oppps, clumsy him.

"I lived in California on Earth, it was always TV to me. Or 'movies'." The Runaways had never actually had television service, so it had been 'let's watch movies'. "Motion pictures. Look those up, you will be fascinated."

She slid around to his side of the counter to pick up the fallen books. It was polite, and he was occupied anyway.

Motion pictures? According to this makes sense to have electromagnetics involved. Which is a very recent discovery in John's time the physics of light waves.

"I have a better idea. Why don't you tell me?"

"No?" He turned back the way they'd been headed, and maybe it was something to do with her reactions... But no, it was a gut feeling, more than any reason. He decided to trust that feeling. "Ah... I think your friend has been here a while. Liz I mean."

John stares at Mary as if she just spoke Greek because she did; Let's see- video. Vid in Latin means see.

That doesn't help; because see what?

"Sorry -," and slowly repeats, "Video? Video games? What are those?"

Even if Mary is leading he allowed it. That's important.

Wow. Were all the women here so absolutely stunning? Steve turned from the woman beside him to the woman behind the bar, and back again. Surprised. Not that he was expecting women to be horrible, but seeing so many people who were so ... perfect... kind of like him?

Steve wasn't about to say no to the bottle. He accepted it with a gentle, "thank you," and then poured himself a rather full glass. "September? But it was..." He frowned just a little. "People come from different points in the year," he repeated. Steve didn't like having time taken away from him. He'd lost so much when he was under the ice. "But what year?" Had he gone forward or backward?

A challenge! How to describe a movie to someone who thought television was a fantastical thing. “Motion pictures are... like plays, recorded by very specialized cameras, that can replayed on television screens anytime you like. Color, movement, sound, all of it. They are fascinating to me.”

Caroline sighed and crossed her legs. "That's the other thing. The hotel itself seems like it's stuck in 1995. For me, it was Christmas, 2012. But there's no rhyme or reason to it. Some people here aren't even from the same world. And...how do you feel about non-humans? Not non-people, like the staff. But elves and gods and monsters?"

Jon listens and looks at her as he sips his tea (with the widest grin on his face) and just is imagining the technology created to create such a feat!

Then looks down at his 'magic pen'. So surely - that will be in his book. Spoilers; it's not.

He does love his dreams of 'Impossible Things'

John then proceeds to flip through the book; looking at just the pictures for his magic pen. He was doing that before but got sidetracked and an index doesn't help when he doesn't know what invention is even called.

However; does stop when he lands on the page about Blue British Police Boxes during the 1950's and stops sipping on his tea and stares.

"Blimey. It's my magic box."

So; he's not the only one with a magic box or rather Police Box.

For his first arrival day from the other side, it was just enough to draw Tony Stark from his Lair of Research--that being, of course, his room that he had little use for beyond utilizing as a workshop and the occasional caffeine crash nap. He had been more obsessive since the injury to himself and to his armor, leaving it on the fritz. Functional, but unreliable. Like a car that you could start without knowing if it'd pop a flat along the way.

Despite all that, it was useful to keep an eye on the goings-on of the Madonna Inn, especially on a momentous occasion. New arrivals, new faces to add to the database. Since F.R.I.D.A.Y. was disconnected from any useful cloud data, he had been accruing his own notes on each guest. Nothing weird, it just paid to know who you were dealing with.

Trying not to look too conspicuous, Tony studied himself in the lobby mirror. His glasses (nanoparticle composites) hid the bags and the thermos of coffee in hand would keep him alert enough for the next hour-or-however-long it took for people to trickle in. He smoothed his hair back. If something was worth doing, it was worth preening for.

In the reflection, Tony caught the outline of someone meandering aimlessly about. Welp, there was the lucky pick of the litter to hit things off with. Not without sweeping the bangs back, first. Few things communicated lack of preparation than constantly adjusting the 'do mid-conversation.

The young woman in the hotel, she had explained things to him and made him understand how things were around here. Well, she had done so the best that she could. His mind was still going to need a little time to wrap around the information. It wasn't every day someone was just plucked out of time and space. It reminded him of those dime store sci fi novels he used to read with Steve when they were kids.

He blinked, frowning at the sudden memory. He still wasn't used to all the things flashing back to the surface of his mind. He would have to pull out one of his journals and jot it down.

Before he could, however, he saw another person in the lobby. Bucky turned and jumped to the right, hiding behind a column, eyeing the man in the mirror. His eyes widened and his shoulders tensed at just who he saw. Dark eyes moved from his glasses to his bangs. Maybe he had not been plucked for just any reason. Maybe he was in hell.

Bucky took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He needed to do this. He could do this, couldn't he? Especially if he was going to be stuck here for an indefinite time. He couldn't avoid Stark forever. He didn't remember every bad thing he'd done as the Winter Soldier, but he did remember a few. Two in particular. His eyes closed and he sighed. He really hated his past.

Reluctantly, Bucky stepped out and approached him. His hands hung loosely at his side. His shoulders were tense, unable to push down the nerves he was feeling. This man was Steve's friend, someone who meant a lot to him. He'd done his research. The Captain and the man of Iron. The team fighting together. Bucky didn't want to be a part of that, he knew he never would be.

Standing there, Bucky waited to be seen. He wanted to say something witty, to address Stark, but the words didn't come to him. So, he waited.

Edited 2018-09-03 07:06 (UTC)

Normally, Xavin was self-contained and dignified, respectful of people’s privacy, many thing that were important for her, particularly, to be. But she’d been having a pleasant if somewhat odd conversation, so she allowed herself to be a teenager and lean over the counter to peel at his book.

Police call boxes in the 1950s. Clever idea, really, miniature police stations for officers and a handy way to be sure of getting the local station if you needed them. But, “What’s magic about it?”

Magic, wrong word. What did Mary say - oh, right?

"Sorry, not magic. Spaceship. Takes me to off places like here."

John turns the page; which shows a picture of the inside - which is nothing special. Looks like a broom cupboard - since that's where a person was detained and locked in until an officer came.

"That's not right. That's not right at all."

"I don't mind the word 'magic'." Magic was, after all, as real as science. They were the same thing, even, at higher levels, or so she'd heard. "Or spaceship, but that does not look like any spaceship I have ever seen." And she'd seen many.

But the broom closet interior doesn't look like a spaceship either. "What should it look like?"

John is quiet for a moment or two; as he's trying to figure out this problem on why where the outside looks correct but not the inside and flips to the Index to look for any more Police Boxes built up to the turn of the century and there are none.

Then proceeds draw on a napkin; the inside.

So, back in time. Steve had gone back in time this time. He lifted a hand to run it over his face, gently pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so. This was irritating and confusing. He wanted to get back on his bike and ride the heck outta here, but his bike was gone. Maybe he could phone the police. Or Tony, or Nick, or Sam, or Sharon. He thought for a brief moment about Sharon, then shook his head again.

"I've spent time with a God." Steve said, thoughtfully. He himself wasn't exactly human anymore, either. Normal humans didn't look the way he did when they were a hundred years old. "What kind of monsters?"

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[GP/EP] Check-in Day

Re: Assigned threads - Meet w Vax

Re: John/ Xavin

Re: Assigned threads - Meet w Vax

Re: John/ Xavin

Re: Steve/Alec - the halls

Re: John/ Xavin

Re: Assigned Threads - Steve Rogers & Caroline Forbes

Re: John/ Xavin

Re: John/ Xavin

Re: John/ Xavin

Re: John/ Xavin

John/ Xavin

Re: Assigned threads - Meet w Vax

Re: Mary/John

Re: Assigned Threads - Steve Rogers & Caroline Forbes

Re: John/ Xavin

Re: Assigned Threads - Steve Rogers & Caroline Forbes

John/ Xavin

Bucky / Tony

let the awkward begin

Re: John/ Xavin

Re: John/ Xavin

Re: John/ Xavin

Re: John/ Xavin

Re: Assigned Threads - Steve Rogers & Caroline Forbes