one_man_army (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
one_man_army) wrote2012-02-12 06:00 pm
one_man_army) wrote2012-02-12 06:00 pm
(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.
(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.
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"I...I don't know, exactly. We can't wait too long, with how bad the Bar had already gotten before I got kicked out. Part of me wonders if it was trying to activate some sort of failsafe and get me out before it...imploded."
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And he'd rather not fuck anything up on her end, as much as possible.
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Hopefully, though, not for that much longer.