one_man_army | (no subject)

(no subject)

When he steps through the door from Milliways, he's expecting to find the interior of his tent, which is why his head is ducked. His rucksack is over his shoulder - he'd thought it might be a good idea to bring some certain items from the Bar through in case things went wrong with his room - but when he suddenly runs his face smack into a rack of metal shelving, he yelps with surprise and confusion.

(Also? That is going to leave a bruise.)

Carl glances around at the room he's found himself in, realizes he's not in his tent (and therefore probably not in Africa, either) and immediately steps back with one hand poised to grab the doorknob back to the Bar.

Except the doorknob isn't there either.

Just where the hell is he, and why is he in what appears to be a storage closet?

+++

He spends two minutes quickly mapping out the room, while digging out his sidearm and stashing it at the small of his back where it'll be hidden safely in his concealed-carry holster. He's glanced at some labels on shipping crates and all it tells him is the department the items (whatever may be in the crates - he doesn't check) are intended for.

Science. R&D. Technical.

So he's...in a lab. Maybe.

Wherever he is, he can't stay in this storage closet forever. He tries his cell phone - no service, but it figures.

He hears footsteps outside of the door (hallway? offices?) and freezes, but relaxes once they pass.

Obviously he is going to need to get out of here and figure out where the hell he is. Carl shifts his bag on his shoulder and walks towards the door, waiting until there is relative quiet before he opens it and walks out like he's belonged here this entire time.

It's a hallway. Slick walls and smooth floors, signs posted near the doors. All right, he can manage this. He starts off in the direction he hears voices - lots of voices - figuring that at least then, he can try to blend into a crowd (hopefully) and figure out what the heck the Bar has gotten himself into.

He rounds the corner and finds himself staring at a huge open room, full of hundreds of people that appear to be packing (and unpacking) various boxes, bags, and crates. The tech is definitely nothing he's ever seen before, and a lot of them seem to be carrying what looks like gas masks at their sides.

One of the larger crates is lazer-stamped with three letters on the side: RDA

And then it clicks.

He's on Pandora. (Probably, anyway.)

"...shit."

He has got to find Trudy.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Well, it started with an explosion, as far as I can tell. Out back. Left a hell of a crater. Then the bar itself started acting strangely - orders messed up, or even given literally. There's a hell of a cold snap that has taken over the back and the sky has gone from blue to red...and some weird floating crystal has appeared over the counter, too. I almost forgot that. And there's a rumor that there are cracks forming in the Window."

Aka: shit is not good.

"And yeah, my door wasn't behind me when I turned around in the closet. I'm lucky your friend found me otherwise I might have wandered around for days."

She lets her boots drop, hauls off her socks, and then rubs at the back of her head.

"That's...aw, fuck," she says, letting her hand fall. "Okay, let's try my door." She gets up, walks across to her room's door, and opens it.

The hallway is there.

"...that's a pain," she says, but this time when she goes to flop back down somewhere, she flops next to him.

"Cracks in the Window, huh?" she asks, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I went and looked," he says, draping his arm around her shoulders once she's settled down beside him. "I didn't see any myself, so it might just be the rumor going around. I think if the Window was actually cracked, the staff would be doing more about it."

Right. Right?

"Right," Trudy says. And then, "Fuck it, I need to get out of this damn suit. Hang on."

She stands up and quickly strips, dumping everything into a basket before pulling on a clean pair of shorts and a tank-top. Then she goes back to curling up next to him.

"Okay. Look. You're still here in the morning, I gotta tell the Colonel, okay?"

"That's fine. I figured you'd have to."

He nods, then glances over at her.

"So, aside from comin' back to find me in your room...how was your day?"

Trudy's not looking forward to that conversation, but hopefully it won't have to happen.

"Eh. Pretty normal - long, out in the field, boring. One of those days where I spent most of it in my chopper's cargo-bay, drawing."

"I...managed to not get stabbed by a stingbat."

It sounds as if he might have had a more exciting day than her.

"What were you working on?"

"What were you doing playing with stingba- Oh, you appeared in the main base?"

"Yeah. In a closet."

He points at his face, where the red mark beside his right eye will likely be a dull bruise come morning.

"And managed to run into a shelf in the process. Your friend found me in one of the...hangar bays? I'm not sure where it was. A bunch of people were packing and unpacking stuff. He must have recognized me from one of the photos we have. Thank god he did, otherwise I'd still be wandering around, I'm sure."

Trudy reaches up, and gently runs a finger down his face starting from near the red mark. Then she smiles wryly, leans up and kisses him.

"Closet, stingbats, and Farzan. Hell of an intro y'got yourself there."

"At least he didn't read me the complete version of the riot act."

Carl leans closer into the kiss, a feeling of relief flooding his senses when his mouth meets hers. When things had started going wrong at Milliways, part of him had begun to fill with dread at the thought of the door malfunctioning and keeping them apart, for good. Never did he expect that would lead to him landing on Pandora, for course...but he was going to take what he could get.

"I love you, you know," he says quietly.

"I know," Trudy says, smiling. "I love you too."

Beat.

"Although, congratulations, you've got me wishing I was back on Earth. Be easier to get you to blend in that way."

"Two sets on congratulations in one afternoon. I'm on a roll," he says.

"You survived stingbats and my best friend. I am moderately impressed, and....you know. Glad you're here." Beat, and her expression flattens. "Y'know, in the sense that Bar's...malfunctioning, and despite it being a rather large pain in the ass, I'd...you know. Do like having you around."

"I guess I'm glad it put me in your world and not some...cartoon, or fairytale, or something. That might have been hard to explain later."

"No ending up in a fairytale. You'd try and kill a dragon, or something equally heroic and stupid."

"I'd only slay a dragon if it was attempting to hold my damsel hostage," he protests.

"The only reason a dragon would be holding me hostage is if it ate my damn arm."

Beat.

"Then I wouldn't mind a rescue."

"I'd have to kill it then, to get your arm back."

He runs his fingers down her forearms, tracing idle patterns on her skin.

"Because I'd hate to see how pissed off you'd be at the prospect of not drawing again."

"Hah, or never fly." She shudders at that. "Okay, you may kill dragons under those circumstances."

"Oh, we'd get you some sort of prosthetic to allow you to fly," he says. "I wouldn't even consider you not able, Marine."

Or she'd come up with some crazy way to fly one handed.

"Sure, we have them. All computerized and linking with your nervous system. I don't quite trust 'em."

"It wouldn't be the same as having your hands."

He links one hand with hers, intertwining their fingers.

"You'd have made a good Night Stalker, you know. If you could have gotten past the whole 'Army' thing."

Edited 2012-02-14 22:37 (UTC)

Trudy grins at him.

"Almost flattering. 'cept that I spent some time bein' the Marine version."

"Flattering, because I would only trust the Marine version with my life if you were the one piloting it."

(It's made in jest, really.)