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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Xavin watched with interest, still leaning over the counter. "That looks like some kind of drive core!" Not a familiar one, but she knew Skrull ships and a few others. There were many kinds of ships she'd never seen.

And this was proof that the man's box was indeed a ship, anyway. "I wonder why your ship looked like a box. Most ships look like ships."

When Curnen had first arrived at the inn without Rob, she had been so determined to make him find her and yet so without song that she'd all but howled "Wayfaring Stranger" at the gathering dark without any words, without even remembering what the song was called. It had been Lindsey who'd given that back to her, starting what had at first been an agonizingly slow process.

She no longer thought Rob was going to find her here. For all that the night winds had brought them together, perhaps it had only been for that one purpose. To free her. To destroy Rockhouse. But she still sang it on arrival days, because it worked so well with the subtle magic she wove. Because she didn't want to forget.

Sitting cross-legged on the grass with her guitar in her lap, Curnen flowed from the last song she'd played into the old standard.

I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger
Traveling through this world of woe
There is no sickness, no toil, nor danger
In that bright land to which I go
I'm going there to see my father
I'm going there no more to roam
I'm just going over Jordan
I'm just going over home

Her voice soared high and clear, eyes closed in the enjoyment of the music. She'd been doing this for so long with most of the same people about that it felt entirely natural now. If she had any audience, she didn't notice.

Edited 2018-09-03 18:03 (UTC)

Which is when the delusion starts to break- just a tiny bit because she made a remark that John himself just went with. Not questioning why the ship is in the shape that it's in - it just is.

It's his ship, right? Why can't he answer her wonderment? John looks over at her - that he doesn't have an answer either.

"I suppose in space it does not matter," Xavin mused, missing his blank look. "Aerodynamics do not matter, there is no drag to consider. And the color is pretty, that blue."

Aero in Latin is air - and dynamics is the branch of science about force. Wright brothers; they had to factor in aerodynamics - surely.

"You're implying that space is a vacuum."

“It is,” Xavin confirmed, but it was her turn to look confused. How could he have a spaceship, however odd looking, and not know space?

How could anyone know that space is a vacuum? John only gives a 'huh' interesting - look. In way feels behind on knowing things here.

And at her confused look; "What?"

“I mean no offense, but how do you have a spaceship but not know about space?” It was deeply strange.

Tony blinked, and the man was gone. He squinted--a ghost, perhaps? Ah, well.

Oh, he was back. Tony adjusted his frames by the side.

Still catching sight of him in the mirror, there were faint alarm bells going off in his head at register of the man's gait, his hair, his down turned head. Tony stilled like an animal under predation as they grew louder with every step of his approach. Gooseflesh broke out on the back of his neck, trailing down his arms. This was no ghost.

And when a flash of the man's features caught Tony's eye, he didn't even need his scanning function for it to sink in. The memories played out in an instant before his eyes and he was spinning around, raising his arm in automatic self defense, back flush with the wall. A high-pitched whirring filled the air as his repulsor charged, aimed right as his torso. He was vulnerable, save for the gauntlet having formed over his right (non injured) arm, and he knew it. Deja vu, right?

"James Buchanan Barnes." Tony's voice was as still, as clear, as could be--the name utterly bitter on his tongue. He had to be sure this wasn't some hallucination on his part. He sincerely hoped it was.

So all those adventures of Impossible Things - were off in other worlds. His spaceship looks like a 1950's British Police Box. Where it always feel safe in there; even if does feel more like a fugitive.

That's it. That's exactly it; isn't it? He must have stolen the spaceship.

"I stole it. Maybe..."

Why is thinking so hard hurting? Like trying to reach for something that isn't there but also is?

John also starts to look scared because he's not able to find an answer to that question.

A ghost. That would have been a good way to describe Bucky Barnes. If he had his choice, he still would be a ghost. He didn't want to be here, plucked out of his time and place with no say in the matter. He didn't want to be stuck here with no way to return home.

At least, he thought, nobody would find him here. Right? Wrong.

Dark eyes watched the man in front of him. He could see the shift in him, the way his body language changed and the facial expression shifting right before him. He watched as the man recognized him, followed by the fear and anger. It was always there.

A shiver runs through him at the sound in the room. The quiet is broken by the noise and he raises his hands as well. While Tony's are raised in self defense, Bucky's hands are raised as if he expects to be captured.

"Tony Stark," he murmured. "I... Please. Don't."

Yes, Caroline, what kind of monsters? a mocking voice in her head asked. Terrifying vampires, perhaps?It sounded vaguely British. She picked up her glass and sipped it.

"Monsters isn't really the right word," she said firmly, more to the voice in her head than the man she was sitting with. "Aliens, sometimes. Other races that aren't human. People with powers, like magic or other stuff." She smiled a bit. "It's a good sign that your immediate reaction wasn't 'there's no such thing'. That will make your life easier. Whatever they are, though, the thing to remember is that they're stuck here just like you."

"Wait, Liz?" She asked. "She's here? Wait. Did you say 'a while'? I just saw her."

Maria followed with an inquisitive look.

Steve understood people with powers, people with magic. He knew Wanda, and Bruce. He'd met others with super human powers. They were different from human, but not monsters. And he'd met his fair share of human monsters, too.

"I see." Steve was both intrigued and relieved, not the tiniest bit scared. It was good to know he wasn't alone. He wasn't the only super-human, or not-quite-human here.

"No, I definitely know there are non-humans out there. And that they run the same gamut as people do when it comes to empathy and selfishness." He paused. "How many people are here? At the hotel?"

"Including you and the other new arrivals today?" Caroline thought about it for a moment, "Just under 60. It's a lot for a small space, honestly. When you can't get more than a few hours away from someone, everything seems magnified after a while."

Caroline inclined her head toward his key, "Which room did they give you, did Darryl say?"

Maria couldn't find Liz, but the man at the front desk confirmed she was here. She was probably busy doing something important which was typical of Liz.

She heard the music. It was pretty. She had never heard that song before. As she approached, Maria was all smiles. The person singing was also playing guitar.

She stood and watched.

Steve held up the keycard. "I think he said... the Independence room." And then he decided it was time to pocket the card. He slipped it into his jeans pocket, then picked up his glass for a sip. "I'm sure I'll have to find it eventually."

If everything he'd been told was true, Steve was going to be stuck here for a while. He wasn't yet entertaining that idea entirely--he wanted to make sure. He had to walk, to find out on his own, to make a few phone calls and try to get to the bottom of things.

“It is all right. I have stolen. I was a Runaway.” Xavin reaches out to try and hold the man’s hand. He looked so scared and lost; she remembered feeling that even if she'd always tried not to look it. “No one will hurt you here. You need not fear.”

"Independence." Caroline pictured the room map in her head. "That's building 2. Oh, that's a double, so I should warn you about the ghosts."

There was a feeling you got when somebody was watching you, even when you weren't particularly paying attention or looking for anything like that. It was also, in Curnen's experience, rarely a wrong feeling. So when the last notes died away, she stilled the strings and opened one eye before she grinned at the kid. "You're new, huh?"

"Yeah, almost a year coming up, actually. Fun times." That last part didn't sound as enthusiastic as it should have sounded.

"You already have someone do the whole 'you can't leave, this place is like being on drugs in prison'?"

"...Ghosts." Steve repeated after her again, eyebrows raised. It was a common expression for this conversation, though he hadn't realized he was doing it.

In all his years believing weird things, ghosts had never been one of them.

The problem is John isn't sure and these questions that he hasn't been asking himself are starting to challenge the denial reality that he's created for himself to cope with this place.

When Xavin takes John's hand like that - he's reminded of his servant girl; the one that looks a lot like Martha Jones or maybe he's thinking of Martha. Either way that face was always there to doctor him.

If anything; at least he's comforted.

His expression made her laugh, even though it was completely reasonable as a reaction. "Yeah. Spirits, ghosts, shades, whatever you want to call them. All of the rooms that have more than one bed but only one person have...roommates? Most people don't seem to mind them and they usually behave themselves but...well, it's only fair to tell you about it beforehand."

She refilled his drink. It seemed necessary. "You know, you still haven't told me your name."

He stopped, again, and asked himself why he was doing this. Not in general, not at all, not a 'maybe there's still time to be a cobbler' - just why he thought it was a good idea to be the one to have The Talk with someone when what he wanted was to indulge in a full-on pity-party of a Brood.

Because Pike would want you to do the right thing and be kind to someone in need. And Scanlan would find humor in the irony.

He took a deep breath. "The Madonna Inn - where we're at now... It's not my world, my time. It's not yours either. So I believe you when you say you just saw Liz, and you were somewhere else. But the Liz here, our Liz, has been here for months. And she might remember more or less about things you did together, because she maybe has or hasn't done them yet."

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[GP/EP] Check-in Day

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