strangetrip | Check-In Day: A Carnival of WTFery

'Asgard is a people, not a place.' Indeed.

Valkyrie had spent more of her life loathsome of meager words. You couldn't pay anyone with words, but you could make people eat them. That was about it. There had been no one to offer reassurances during her years as a scrapper, "presenting" combatants for a freak's indulgent little freak show, anyway.

In a few short days, however, she had seen a return to form. She reclaimed her duty as a Valkyrie--an elite warrior sworn to serve and protect Asgard and its throne. Except there was no more Asgard, planet-wise. That had been annihilated to fulfill a prophecy. And its people had seen a catastrophic massacre, now numbered so few they could fit aboard a spaceship (a massive one, yet still.) And the throne she was protecting was now comprised solely of a one-eyed king and his brother with a legendary penchant for backstabbing.

And, as far as Valkyries went, she was the only one. She had been the only one for millennia.

So, how was it she had any room for hope? Let alone as much of it as she carried?

In the few days aboard The Statesmen, the spaceship comprising the entirety of Asgard, her days were filled with making up for lost time. Mingling among her new charges and drinking--rather less than she had grown used to, but not something she had any plans of stopping. Today, she had plans. Other plans. She had been in talks with Thor about their trajectory to Earth and their plans once they arrived, but there was always more to be discussed, and none of them were going anywhere. Rising groggily from her bed, clad in her under-armor, she grabbed her pristine traditional armor and its mounted weapons off its hook as she exited her room and headed for the baths firmly on auto-pilot. The Grandmaster was a lunatic, but he knew how to keep a ship.

Or so she thought. When she bothered to open her eyes, there was pink. Everywhere. Enough to gag the lunatic if he were here to see it. And there Valkyrie was, wandering the halls fruitlessly until she happened upon the faint, familiar, and all too tempting scent of well-aged spirits. Pity the pleasantness of the smell didn't match the decor. The roses on the floor were cloying and she didn't care for the look of them. Growing impatient with being clad in simple linens the covered her body but did little to armor them, she eyed the curious bird of flame drifting above.

"Pardon. Which part of the ship is this?" She steeled herself for any answer. She didn't need her age and breadth of experience to tell her something was simply off.

The newcomer, the Firebird formerly known as Kitty, noticed was dressed very simply for her formiddable presence. And, furthermore, she seemed very angry. Or at least sounded very angry. The Firebird understood both the anger and the futility of the anger and wished for its part to help the lady.

So she drifted down at the sound of her voice and, surveying the shelves, chose a bottle of age whiskey. Catching the bottle in her beak, she carried it to the counter and set it in front of the woman. It took several tries to grasp a glass with her talons, but eventually one was set beside the bottle.

The Firebird nudged the bottle toward the woman with a wing and said in a voice that might have telepathic or might have been aloud but at once human and inhuman, "No part of any ship. You are not where you were but you are safe."

Approaching the counter, Valkyrie rested her palm on the mouth but didn't move to pour herself any right then. The gesture was met with an appreciative nod--she sensed no lies nor hostility from the beast as she was.

"Not where I was?" Valkyrie kept her grip on her armor. She had surmised she was indeed somewhere very other, but nothing further than that. Nothing about the setting seemed immediately dangerous but she never let appearances disarm her.

This part seemed self-evident to the Firebird. Then again, the woman did not know she had not been here before so she could not know that she was newly arrived. It tilted its head, and not for the first time found it entirely inconvenient to have a beak and not be able to frown or make expressions with its mouth, although it wasn't entirely sure when it had had a mouth that it should know that.

Irritated and slightly concerned by this state of affairs, the Firebird tapped its talons on the counter. "Here, is the Madonna Inn. A place that was California, on Earth. It is not certain whether this place is still on Earth. But it is still the Madonna Inn. If that is not where you were, then you are not where you were."

Bother. It felt very warm again.

"Alright." Valkyrie's lips drew into a thin line, and down the hatchet the drink went. A few swigs to help her think.

Did they happen through another Magnestar wormhole? She had scarcely felt a thing since her head hit the pillow. And Earth--Midgard. If that was the case, she had to find the nearest place of communications and send word.

Valkyrie pointed the bottle at the bird. No sense in losing her head. Every sense in making an ally in this strange land. "Valkyrie. Of Asgard. I was traveling on a spaceship to Midgard--Earth as it's called--seems I've gotten here rather unexpectedly. Yourself?"

Valkyrie. Asgard. These words, the Firebird knew them. Or had known them once? It flicked its tail and fluffed its wings in agitation. Why could it not remember the words?

It opened its beak to answer, but all that emerged was a long, eerie wail, as red-gold feather-flames caught and swirled. They wound around the bird-girl shape, spinning wildly, and then abruptly, they stopped.

Where the bird had been, there was only a (very large) pile of ashes.

Alcohol filled the caverns of her mouth and merely lingered as she watched her gracious host go 'poof!' The creature, lovely as she was, was far less so as a pile of ash. Slowly, Valkyrie swallowed, and pushed her bottle to the side. The scent of smoke and heat masked everything else and demolished her appetite for drink.

Looking about, she stood and kept her eyes out for other parties. That...happenstance felt less like an attack and more like some sort of force of nature, but she had to keep her wits about her.

'Communications...medics...'

A half a moment after the Firebird incinerated, a luminescent being of purest white with widespread diaphanous wings and quite scandalously nude, slipped through a wall to settle beside the pile of ash. "Kitty. Oh dear."

She glanced aside at the very beautiful and worried-looking woman with the bottle of whiskey that the Firebird that was also Kitty had brought for her. "Do not worry. She will be reborn in a few minutes."

Stunned, dark eyes flicked between the woman and the once-was(?) a woman.

"Right." Valkryie's tone was one that bespoke the incredibly long day she had, even if she'd been awake for less than an hour. While she was predisposed to enjoy the sight of such a beauty, it was hard to partake when the list of questions only grew. And grew.

"Friend of yours? You will see to her, yes? Good. I'm Valkyrie." Picking up where she left off. "I was on a ship, but now I'm at your...inn. Correct?"

Edited 2018-11-02 05:38 (UTC)

Taking care of Kitty was a good idea, the Angel Lillith agreed. She made a complicated set of gestures with her fingers that reminded her of other gestures that she had known in life, and the pile of ashes that had been Kitty moved from the awkward, risky spot atop the bar to a location on the floor, surrounded by a gleaming protective circle.

After, the Angel Lillith turned again and smiled at the Lady Valkyrie. "Hello, Valkyrie. I am the Angel Lillith. You are in the Madonna Inn, now. That is correct. You must have many questions."

Squinting, Valkyrie re-assumed her seat. If Lillith was to be another host, then she would play the guest. For now.

"A few--" She drew the bottle nearer once again, "For starters, am I dead? Imprisoned?" The latter seemed more likely. This domain was obviously neither Valhalla nor Hel.

"Do not fear. I am not an angel of death." The Angel Lillith remembered that she had dealt death to some, but she could not remember who or when. This troubled her enough that she fell silent for a brief moment. "I am the Angel of Color," she said when she recovered from her reverie.

"As for the other, we are both imprisoned and not. We may go where we like in this pocket universe but we may not leave it. The distance is measured in time, and we may travel four hours in any direction."

Pocket universe? No, it wasn't an unknown concept. As long as she had lived, few things were. However, the existence of this inn was utterly unknown to Valkyrie. If she had ever known of it, she may have sought it out for her former self-imposed exile.

"Right. So--" A pause to sate her growing thirst with a swig off the bottle, "How does one end up in such a prison...? I mean. I've got a list." Her brow quirked sheepishly. 'Though considering I'm a few days into atonement, I'd like a word with the jailers.'

Edited 2018-11-03 20:16 (UTC)

"We do not know. All of the people here arrived in the same manner you did, with no prior warning and no explanation."

Somewhere not far off, the Angel Lillith heard querulous raised voices and the slamming of a door. Her angelic senses or semi-divine awareness, she was not sure which, told her that it was that the drunken priest named Sam had attempted to perform some arcane banishment on the werewolf who had once been a very evil queen; he did not succeed and the werewolf had better control over her temper than the queen once had. Hence the slamming of a door and the aggravated sigh from the priest but no screams and no scent of blood.

"There are some," she continued as though she had not stopped, and gestured with one long wing at the cook, Kahni, who had emerged from kitchen, perhaps looking for Kitty. "Who have been here since before the first of us arrived, but they are little more than shades, and know nothing but their functions."

Valkyrie's head followed the sound of the noise and then Lilith's graceful gesture. Her frown deepened at the sight of the figure who was visible to the eye but bore no presence at all. It called memories of shambling draugr who lived in their graves. She pointed a look back at Lillith. It bore no ill will nor hostility--this woman bore no control over who came and went--but it was sharp. Her mind was working.

"Angel Lillith. I thank you for your hospitality." And she did. It was not a dog-eat-dog world like many places Valkyrie had haunted during her time as a scrapper. "I must return from the place I came. I have a duty. A personal one. If there is any way to return or anyone here who has any knowledge of how to do so, you must tell me." She paused. "Please."

"Oh." The Angel Lillith frowned. She felt...very nearly crushed by the weight of the Lady Valkyrie's personal obligation. "I am so sorry, Lady Valkyrie. There is no way that I know of, or I would tell you." It tugged at the back of her mind that she did know of a way, but she did not know how to access it, or where it would lead, but the thought seemed so very very distant, not sufficiently her own for her to speak it.

But the tall and scowling figure who was just now entering the cafe might know more. "Father Samuel has been here longer than most anyone. If there is anything to know that neither Kitty--" A glance back showed that the ash pile glowed now, although it had yet to reassemble. "Nor I do, he might know it." She leaned in and gave a small conspiratorial almost smile that looked rather strange on pure-white angelic features. "His bite is rather less fearsome when he is sufficiently 'lubricated'. Help him to a bottle and he will tell you anything he knows."

Cocking her head at that look, Valkyrie turned her body on the stool to face the new figure. If this man had a bite, she had one of her own, whether she was clad in her armor or not. Not that she'd resort to fists if booze and a heartfelt request would work just as well. Diplomacy was a stiff muscle she was warming back up. Nodding in gracious regards to Lillith, she turned her attention towards this Samuel.

"You there. Father Samuel." Father of what or whom? It didn't matter much, she supposed.

Samuel rubbed the scruff of his beard and turned a rough look on the scantily clad young woman shouting his name. He tugged his collar straight, and palmed his rosary to ward off the flood of inappropriate thoughts.

What? He was a priest. He wasn't dead for Christ's sake. Sorry, Lord.

"What do you want, child? And can it wait until you put some clothes on?"

'Child,' he says. Valkyrie made a cheeky little movement with her neck and held up the remains of her bottle in an invite--or a challenge. "Why? Surely the sight of a stranger in their underarmor isn't so formidable."

The bottle changed everything. For the promise of a drink, he could ignore her physical form, pleasant as it was. "Formidability has nothing to do with it. I worry for your soul with the temptation in this hotel."

But he gestured for her to join him at the table he met to sit at. "Planning to share or are you trying to lead me astray?"

"Let me worry about my soul and join me. I'm in need of your purported expertise. And a stiff drink." Valkyrie's fingers tapped the bottle enticingly before raising it to her lips for another hearty swig. Sealing it once she was satisfied, she tossed it Sam's way.

"That one's yours." She nabbed another fifth of whiskey. "This one's mine. Let's talk."

"What expertise would that be?" Samuel opened the bottle he'd just caught and forwent the obligatory wiping of the rim before taking a sip. It was alcohol. It would disinfect itself and it was the closest he'd get to her lips in this lifetime. God forgive him.

"If you're not concerned for the state of your soul, I'm sure how I can be of help."

Even if Valkyrie were concerned for the state of her soul, what would the man before her propose? Spreading the cloth of that stiff looking outfit into a pair of wings and helping it ascend to Valhalla?

"Information." Valkyrie answered promptly, sliding partly onto the table Sam was seated at, asserting herself into his entire field of view. "Here's what I know--" She paused to quench another spike of thirst, "We're in a pocket universe known as the Madonna Inn. Means of arrival unknown. Means of escape unknown. I'm in need of those blanks filled."

Since she seemed determined to put herself in his field of vision, Samuel gave in an permitted himself to look. As long as he didn't touch her -- or himself while thinking of her -- the would be no harm in it. Beauty was a gift from God, after all.

"Technically, the pocket universe extends four hours in each direction beyond the Inn. It includes a beach and ocean, but sailing to the horizon will only land you back here; the same as climbing the mountain out back. Everyone arrives the way you did, on the road, having been somewhere else. It generally occurs on the first or fifteenth of the month here. There's no known means of 'escape' although some people leave in the same unpredictable manner they arrived, and as of today, exactly one person has left and returned with their memories of the place intact."

That information given, Samuel rewarded himself with a generous swallow of the whiskey she'd put in his hand, and simply waited for the next round of questions. There would be one. The ones like her always had questions.

"And of the worlds we leave behind?" That question was sharper than the rest. The urgency Valkyrie felt to return to her people was readily felt, though she had nowhere to point that urgency. No feats to channel it into beyond her line of questioning. "We simply vanish?"

Ah. That question.

"We appear to be the products of divergent timelines." And he had learned from the books and Henry that time travel was possible. "Wherever you were, you still are. Simply not this current version of you."

"So we've simply--temporally split off." Valkyrie made a rapid circling gesture with her wrist as she thought to word it. "How do you know this?"

"There's a large group from a world called Exandria. They arrived separately from different points on their timelines. Some before others, some after." He palms his rosary again, pushing one bead through his fingers. "The ones who came after and from later in the timeline didn't know the others were missing."

The mouth of the bottle parted from Valkyrie's lips with a harsh 'pop!' as she lowered it. Father Samuel was neither lying nor had he doubts in the veracity of his claims--that much was clear.

How that boded for Valkyrie and her situation--her people weren't abandoned in a pure sense if this was, in fact, the case. Although they were traversing through the galaxies with their hopes high, it was a chaotic universe. A ship full of refugees with few combatants were pitifully easy targets for any roving bands, beasts, or even anyone with a grudge against the Asgardian throne.

This left an obvious pressing question in Valkyrie's mind. If this prison was not an act of sabotage, then what was left?

"The jailers. Who or what...?"

"There's been no sign of them since I arrived. It'll be two years at Christmas."

Samuel shrugged and all but upended the bottle over his face. He didn't like to think about the fact there was someone or something that could keep him here against the Lord's will, and if this was the Lord's will, what point was there in him being a priest? His flock such as it was included three lapsed Catholics, an erstwhile Anglican, a Jew. The rest appeared to be irreligious or pagans.

"Supplies arrive. No effort at tracking them has been remotely successful. The nearest we have to evidence of an exit is the mass entrance of an army of undead several months back." Another shrug and a deep swallow. "Neither the scientists nor the wizards have made any headway."

So the residents were not wholly complacent with their imprisonment. At the least in captivity there would be solidarity.

"Your graciousness is noted, Father Samuel, and something I intend to reward at a future time." Valkyrie clinked bottles before taking another swig off of her own, leaning well back to do it. The bottle was empty when it came back down and she capped it off with a disarming smirk. This Father (of what? She still didn't know but he clearly felt it important enough to emphasize as a title) was reassuring in his genuine disdain for their predicament.

"My last question. Are there any other Asgardian folk here?"

The word 'Asgardian' stirred up an intense antagonism that Samuel could find no source for. Perhaps he was simply jealous of the brothers, although they got along no better than he and Dean. Whatever the unknown cause, it provided no reason for not answering the young woman.

"I will have my reward in heaven," he replied, a cynical edge to his dutiful response. "But you will find two Asgardians here. One tall and fair, called Thor. One dark and slight, called Loki. If you write a message in your journal for them, one or both will doubtless appear."

So the infamous brotherly pair were about. The man she'd sworn her fealty to and the man she'd...also technically sworn fealty to in a traditional sense. And at no point had either mentioned a Madonna Inn nor any especially strange confinement. It was possible they'd both be from her own future but there was nothing for it until she found them.

Valkyrie's tense, bare shoulders relaxed the slightest amount. She gave Sam a quick pat to his cheek. "Wait if you must. I can grab us another bottle."

Caroline was quite fond of this little inn with its quaint, queer inhabitants. She'd always thrived around the strange and the glamorous. Naturally that is why Hollywood had welcomed the small-town girl with open arms as moving pictures had become more than a curiosity. Another 'It Girl' they called her, like Mary Pickford and Clara Bow.

The new guest was quite one of the queerest folks that Caroline had seen. A warrior woman, like an Amazon or a Roman soldier from some astonishing spectacle. She would have been ravishing under studio lights, Caroline had no doubt. Always pleased to meet a (future) fan, Caroline swanned to the newcomer. Her lips moved rapidly in a greeting, all wide smile and bright eyes in a face rendered in gray.

Next to her a black card popped up with white scrolling writing, from nowhere cheery piano music played.

"Hello, so wonderful to meet you!" it read.

By the time Father Samuel had went on his way, Valkyrie elected to get properly dressed and linger about the bar. On her way to and from her new room, she'd seen a few faces. Two familiar (dog or no), most not. She saw little point in thrusting herself into further insanity as these things ebbed and flowed. Even so, some of the insanity still managed to find her.

At the sight of the lovely--if monochrome-- woman, Valkyrie's instinct was to make conversation. Opening her mouth, Valkyrie was cut off by music and her eyes followed the woman's active but silent lips. Readying her nth question of the night at the display, the card popped up and filled in the gaps.

Right. One question answered. So many more to go.

"A pleasure." Valkyrie replied stiffly, nodding for Caroline to have a sit.

Caroline did, with a flourish of her capelet, the sequins on her gown catching the light in a strangely muted way. She held out her hand, still gloved to the elbow in grey satin, just shades darker than her pale skin. She chattered silently as she did so, avidly and obviously fascinated by the acquaintance.

"Caroline Forbes. What brings you to our little getaway? the black placard asked, presumably condensing the content of the speech.

As bizarre as this character was, there was a mesmerizing quality to her--her appearance, her movements...glamor, in a word.

"Valkyrie." She pushed her drink Caroline's way, offering the whiskey soda as a gesture of goodwill. "I'm still figuring that out."

Caroline gave a soundless laugh and the piano music tinkled obligingly in response. She accepted the drink with delicate fingers and took a sip. She loved that alcohol was so free here. Not that you couldn't get it if you were anybody in Hollywood but the inn had the best drinks, like you only got in Europe on press tours. Not bathtub gin from a sleazy speakeasy and the bathtub wasn't too clean. This was quality stuff. She nodded her thanks and lifted the glass in a toast.

"Cute name. You pick it yourself?" Caroline hadn't had to change her name. The studio thought Caroline sounded glitzy and fun.

"I did." Valkyrie answered the words on the card in a straightforward manner, taking a sip following Caroline's. She granted her a small, brief smile and brushed her dark hair back. Valkyrie intended no hostility towards any of the residents here, after all.

"How long have you taken up at this hotel?"

Caroline made a small drama out of thinking about the question, her head tipping to the side with a sweep of glossy gray hair and counting off the months on her gloved fingertips. "Nearly two years." announced the placard at last. "A lifetime in my world I'm afraid.

Sadness tinged her eyes. Would she be forgotten by the time she returned to the stage? Would anyone clamor for her attention? Or would the greedy film camera have moved on to younger women, more bold and beautiful?

That glint of emotion wasn't lost on Valkyrie. The whole day (night? Might as well. With no star to circle, it might has well have been any time of day on the ship that she arrived from) had been a lesson in tolerating insanity and she'd not yet processed a single emotion that would arise from being so suddenly thrust away from all she knew. Two years was paltry to an Asgardian, but for a mortal...she could imagine. She refilled the glass and slid it Caroline's way with a sympathetic nod.

"What is it you do? In your world."

Caroline drew herself up proudly, tilting her head to catch the light. It was an iconic pose for her, one that had graced the poster of her first film, though her part had been small. "I am an actress."

She smiled, then explained that she meant screen actress, though of course she also did stage work as well as modeling. The placard did its best to keep up, summarizing her words as it flickered.

"And you?" it and she asked after some time.

At the explanation of Caroline's job, Valkyrie found herself quite intrigued with what kind of portfolio this woman boasted. She'd run across many entertainers in her years, though few of them really screamed class.

"A Valkyrie." True to her namesake. "Sworn to serve the Asgardian throne and escort the worthy to Valhalla." She took another sip of her own drink. "Not getting up to that last part, lately. I'd need a steed."

Caroline had met so many queer people since she had come to the inn, that she hardly batted an eye at the strange profession. A woman who was also a warrior? It was odd but hardly unusual around here. She beamed at Valkyrie and flourished her hand toward the back door where, after some walking, one could find the stables.

"We do have horses!"

"The winged kind?" Valkyrie inquired further, daring to get her hopes up.

Horses, as a general rule, did not have wings. Caroline was absolute certain about that. Although, she had once done a film that included Pegasus of myth. That had been played by the sweetest mare, which had put up with being saddled, literally, with large clumsy wings.

She sipped from the glass, and tried to think of a solution instead of simply shutting down the request. Her acting classes had always emphasized that you never did that.
"Not usually. Do you need to fly?"

"Yes." Valkyrie stated plainly, circling her glass around against the surface of the table. "It's in my nature. I used to have such a steed, but he...met a warrior's end."

Wings. Caroline didn't pay much attention to other people, except in as much as they might be useful to her career (a survival skill in Hollywood,) but she did know that there were some of the very strange sorts that could do things that she called miracles or impossibilities except that they were right there in front of her.

And so, in the spirit of finding people useful, she perked up. "Why, you should ask Regina!"

Although, now that Caroline thought of it, she hadn't seen Regina in some time.

"Regina?" Valkyrie asked the natural question, perking up in the slightest.

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