i remember marching

not-oom, for trudy

Mon, 05 Aug 2013 01:07:22 GMT

He's not been up to his room yet since he got back to the bar, but he's glad to see that it's still in the same condition as he left it once they step inside. Carl leans the rifle against the wall near the door and locks it behind Trudy once she's inside.

"It's almost frightening how much the prospect of sleeping in a true bed tonight excites me," he says, glancing towards the bedroom. He sets the backpack down near the closet, and then looks over at Trudy.

"But I'm not going in it until I get a shower."

It's an open invitation to join him if she wants, but he won't mind either way - his goal is to get the layers of dirt off of his skin - even a shave at this point would be a bonus.

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upstairs, for trudy

Sun, 04 Nov 2012 02:33:42 GMT

The first order of business is most definitely the desire to get out of his dirty work clothes and into a shower - the same goes for her as far as her flightsuit goes. Dinner will come later, probably. And possibly a raid on the cabinet in their small kitchen that holds the liquor, if the conversation topic proves it necessary.

But first: shower.

He unlocks the door to their apartment upstairs and holds it open for her, lights coming on as she walks through.

"Was it just me, or tonight did the bar seem a little...off, to you?" he asks, closing the door behind them and locking it.

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Sun, 11 Mar 2012 02:11:38 GMT

He's gotten very good at navigating through the reading system on her flatscreen, the last few days, between looking for doors back to the bar - and he's even practiced his art skills a bit, too. (There are various sketches of her room stacked neatly on her desk, more practical than artistic in nature, but it's something.)

When she gets back from her shift, she'll find him on the floor.

(Doing crunches. He's been doing a lot of PT the entire time he's been here, if only to distract himself from the cabin fever that's starting to set in and the boredom that creeps up when she's out flying.)

He was also grateful that his iPod was in the bag he packed, even if it means that he doesn't hear her come in the room because of the earbuds drowning everything else out.

(If he closes his eyes, he's not stuck on a moonbase in the future with what is looking like a dwindling chance of ever getting home again.)

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Sun, 12 Feb 2012 23:18:59 GMT

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?

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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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