driftfleet | entry 001

Entry tags:

entry 001 | arrival

Who: Sam and [OPEN] to all!
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Marsiva
When: December 2nd

[When Sam wakes up, he expects to be laying in his bedroom in the bunker, tired from a particularly long case (clown, there was a clown, he's getting too old for this shit—) but nope. He opens his eyes to stare at a completely foreign ceiling, in a completely foreign bunk. He's of course in his nighttime clothes, to boot. No weapons, no phone, no nothing. Okay. He considers all kinds of possibilities, first. Djinn? Some sort of curse? Witchcraft? Maybe even some sort of dream-root-related snafu, or angels being dicks (somehow). There's also that little elephant in the room, in the back of his head: dude, you know exactly how this kind of thing plays out.

He rises up, easy to spot among a milling, small group with his six feet and four inches of [giraffe-necked] height. When he finally sees the high-tech machinery, the casual and potentially oh-so-different newbies wandering, the absurd amount of space out there — he says but one thing in front of the people around him, first and foremost, to break the ice:]

Well. Shit.

[Well shit indeed. He doesn't panic, but he does suddenly crave another vacation, somewhere without rips in space and time (if that's even the case here; maybe he's a captive to some higher power, because that wouldn't surprise him at all). When he's got the broadcasting thing down — thanks Adstringendum for the life lessons on what to do first — he begrudgingly addresses yet another audience, slipping on that polite and professional (and, okay, exasperated) aura that he's good at.]

So, show of hands. How many of you out there have fallen into other universes before? Because this sort of thing's getting kind of old.

... Did anyone from Adstringendum show up? Guys? Don't tell me the PCD's teleporting feature is going on the fritz or something. I know it was kind of too good to be true, but it was going well for a few months there. [Silly Sam, nothing stays good forever. But he hopes, y'know?] Let me know if I'm riding solo here, fellas.

And, uh. This isn't exactly my first rodeo, sure, but it's the first time I've ever... um... been in space. So I gotta ask, for my sanity: where exactly do us new spacemen go from here? Other than shooting jokes about Roswell, New Mexico.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It helps. It doesn't fix her distrust, because the only thing that does that is action - even after years on the Barge with a few people who were, honest to God, decent human beings, or not human beings . . . but it isn't patronizing, so it helps. She relaxes as much as she can around someone she doesn't know, and nods.]

You stay until you turn your life around. That's the deal. Once you make some changes, realize your mistakes and atone for them as well as you can, he brings you back to life and you're free. Or as free as people ever get.

[The shadow of a smile, then, as she brushes her hair behind the place where her ear used to be and laughs softly as it falls back into place. Even after this long, she's still not used to it.]

That's what I did. The system doesn't totally suck, just mostly.

Just mostly.

[He'd offer sincere apologies for having to deal with that, but he does wonder what crimes she could have committed in the first place. It'd be kind of awkward if he were speaking to a serial murderer who enjoyed it or something, huh? At any rate... she's also saying that she atoned. He takes it with a grain of salt, but it's something to think about.

And also...]

This is kind of random, but — have we met before?

[That would be pretty awkward, hahahaha. Haha. Well. Anyway. Fortunately enough, she's mostly lost her giveafuck about what other people think, so if and when that comes out . . .]

[She gives Sam kind of a perplexed look.]

I've never met you, but maybe you've met me? The multiverse is a freaky place. I'm Abigail.

No — it was from my home world. A girl named Marin, I'd met in a psychiatric ward.

She, um. She was having trouble with a dead relative haunting her, but I guess it's one of those things, right? People having doppelgangers?

In a psychiatric ward.

[Her lip curls. Not judgment, but disgust. That's right at the top of the list of things she hates.]

It's the first time I've ever come across one, but yeah. It happens. It freaks me out. I've never been haunted literally, though, only--

[Hallucinations. She shrugs.]

Only?

[She cut off a bit there, but.]

Sometimes ghosts are preferable to the alternatives.

... I was at least able to fix her problem for her.

[She gestures at her head, finger twirling, the universal symbol for crazy. Get it?]

I had a . . . sort of a ghost once, but it was just a memory, really. Like an echo. Not sentient in its own right.

We didn't have ghosts or anything like that in my world, though. Just ordinary good and bad people. So that's still not something I really know how to deal with. People I can handle, ghosts not so much. You're one of those - hunter type people?

Yeah, that'd be me. One of those hunter types.

But I get it. I had something like that. A memory. Echo. [It's not often he revisits that time, but Adstringendum, well... it'd shoved it in his face. Numerous times. Lucifier's hallucination had almost killed a lot of his friends, then.] Whatever you'd like to call it. Sorry you had to deal with that kind of thing yourself.

If you end up with any ghosts, though, you can always let me know. I'm sure there are space ghosts, too, right?

[For a moment she just regards him, filing this information away. He's like Dean. Other people, but Dean. Maybe he hurt people like Scott. Maybe . . . something to be investigated.]

[But space ghosts make her smile, even if she looks a little surprised to be smiling at all, so the expression comes out softer than some of her more razor-sharp expressions.]

I'll let you know. As long as you don't poke around in my head any more than necessary. It's not my favorite thing.

[And she will bite you. But nevertheless.]

So you're - what's your deal, exactly? I know that's kind of a broad question, but you - you're here trying to gather information, see if there are people you know around here, asking about other worlds, other traps like this one. And you're a hunter, which means you know how to enact and carry out a plan. So are you fishing now, or are you just curious?

Wouldn't poke around in anyone's head; promise.

[... Ah, he is rambling, isn't he?]

Maybe I'm used to it. Hunters, you know. They ask random questions and hope they get information in the unlikely places. But more than that... I don't know. I guess I just like to fill the air, keep myself busy, maybe find a place where I can help out.

[He leans on his palm, elbow precariously balanced.]

You're not big on conversation?

[Mm . . . she purses her lips, thinking about this. She likes him, but not enough to trust him, not yet. So - some of the truth, not all of it. Even though she's starting to get the feeling her particular brand of honesty wouldn't sway him much at all.]

I think that sometimes conversation is what people use to lie elaborately. I don't think that's what you're doing, don't get me wrong. I think at worst you're just trying to disguise a little digging. That's not so bad. But I like to know what I'm dealing with - what the conversation actually is.

[She shrugs.]

So maybe I'm just bad at small talk.

Well, I definitely lie plenty.

[He smirks a little mischievous smile, though he's still got that boy-next-door look about him, because for some reason he just grew into something that looks like a college professor. This is why he's the one Dean nudges forward more often than not. In his sleepwear, he's not exactly looking like a lumberjack monster-hunter warrior.

DECEIVING.

... But no really he's 75% big dweeb, I'm sorry Abigail.]

But — not much reason to, here. I'm barely a hunter, outside of my world.

And honestly, it's nice to meet new people and talk to them without lying about who you are, what you do.

[See, the problem here is that she doesn't trust the boy-next-door thing. Much. Except for Scott, but that took a lot of work. Truthfully, she'd rather engage with the inhuman, the assassin, the monster, the soldier.]

[Big dweebs may take some getting used to. Still: at the very least, she can mischief-smile with the best of them.]

It doesn't scare you, being open like that?

I mean - I'm asking because it used to scare me. A lot. Now it's just a matter of degrees, I guess.

[His expression softens, turns into something more bittersweet.

There's a lot of shit in this head, Abigail. Nami knows — poor lady had to wade through it. The hallucinations, the hellfire, the demon blood and possession and murdering yourself — he is... a real piece of work. But he's doing better. He is. He's much better off than he was in that church, ready to throw his life away to mend his relationship with Dean. And it's not ideal, because it's still an issue (and, fuck, he was willing to die just a few months ago for Dean again; it's screwed up, all of it).

But he's healthier than he was, when he first stepped into Adstringendum.

He dips his chin, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully.]

I guess it does. Yeah, it does a lot.

I don't know if I'll ever really talk about things like I should, but everyone's got to start somewhere. I think — it's a matter of comfort. Nobody should be forced to talk about something they don't want to.

[And he won't talk to you about a lot of things. Won't talk to Dean about a lot of things. Mostly out of fear of what his brother will think of him. Say to him. It's always a nagging little voice: If they knew, would they look at you the same?]

I learned there's a lot of people willing to listen, though.

[A real piece of work.]

[Well . . . that makes two of them. If they knew, would they look at you the same? She knows from experience that they wouldn't. Her fingers come up to brush the horizontal scar at her neck, her mouth twisted in a rueful smile.]

[Everybody's got to start somewhere. Isn't that what Ben always said, without even really saying it? Just by being, he said that. Gave her space to start, to make her choices, her mistakes. To grow.]

[Sam's being honest with her. So maybe she'll be honest, too. Experimentally, at least.]

[When she looks up at him, her eyes don't quite meet his, darting around and a little shy. It's not a sign of dishonesty - quite the opposite. She doesn't work the way other people do.]

I learned that, too. In the place where I was before. I kind of miss it sometimes, honestly. It wasn't home, but I haven't really had one for a long time, so home wasn't what I needed. Just people who'd hear me and not hate me for it, you know?

[Because she has sharp teeth even on the best of days, and she strikes before someone else can strike first on the worst.]

The first day I got here, I played a game with everybody. Because I'm not good at small talk. It went - ask me a question, I'll answer, but then I get to ask one, too. Quid pro quo. So if you want to play, we can, but I'd also probably just tell you the truth, or at least most of it, for free.

[He bites his lip, looking unsure.]

Not sure if I'm ready for that... uh. Yet. Mostly because I'd probably lie my ass off through most of it. [He laughs faintly to himself. Almost exasperated? Is it possible to be exasperated toward yourself? Answer: wholeheartedly yes.] But I'm always open to talk to. I've been friends with some pretty shady people. Worked with a demon or two, some angels. And I've met the devil himself on more than one occasion. So I think you'd be fine.

[A gross understatement; he didn't just meet the devil. He had him inside of his body. Was controlled by him. And worse. The devil himself... The devil in his visions lately, maybe given by God.

Maybe asking him to go back to the devil. Back to the Cage. How fucking horrifying is that? It's solidly hooked into Sam's mind, like a rounded stitching needle.]

But we could always start simple.

Like — [ha] Favorite food? Favorite vacation spot?

[He grows a small little smile.]

Edited 2015-12-05 05:03 (UTC)

That's fair. That's honest.

[Honest is a lot more important than fair, in her book. The devil himself . . . She smiles crookedly.]

My favorite food is . . . it used to be, um, things that are preserved? Like crackers in a sealed box, stuff like that. Now it's breakfast for dinner. So that's a food and a meal, too, maybe that's cheating.

My dad used to take me camping. I like camping a lot. I want to go to Seattle sometime, though.

Your turn.

Nah, I don't think it's cheating breakfast for dinner is a great example. When I was younger, I used to do that a lot. [Especially if that was what they had to work with. Kids... they'll eat dinner for breakfast, breakfast for dinner, and desert for lunch. Dad being out so often left little room for a balanced diet.] I guess I still do it sometimes.

[His turn, though. He supposes he answered half.]

My dad used to take me camping, too, actually. I kind of hated it, but I guess it was mostly because of all the training.

Why Seattle?

It's what I was eating when my father tried to kill me.

[. . . yeah, her expression hasn't really changed. Nor has her tone: wholly conversational still, although she does cock her head at his example. He kind of hated it . . .]

We used to do training, too. Kind of. He taught me to hunt. Not your kind of hunting - deer, rabbits, birds sometimes. Mostly deer, though.

My friend - my best friend. His name was Ben. He used to live there for a while, and there were some places there that were important to him. Like the Space Needle. I want to see the things that he saw.

[His expression sombers, slight surprise smoothing out. He's so used to horrible shit in people's lives -- it's considerably sad, the more he thinks about it, how easy it is to take that information in. He can't say he knows how it feels, but he does know how it feels that one's father could consider it; his dad had spent who knows how long with that thought, that maybe he'd have to kill Sam. It's not something Sam likes to revisit.]

I'm sorry to hear that.

[He's always sincere, with his apologies.

He's gonna also assume that talking in detail about Ben may end up sad.]

... I've been to Seattle myself. Didn't get a lot of sight-seeing done, though. Maybe I should be nudging my brother on taking more vacation time. I guess it's been so long since we've had a normal vacation, we get antsy when we even try.

[Interesting. His empathy, his sincerity, is obviously real, or else he's a better liar even than Hannibal was. She's surprised she waited this long to test him, but the reason why is obvious now, in the way that he doesn't say any of the things she hates: I'm so sorry that happened to you, that must have been awful, is there anything I can do? There's no pity. No arrogant thought that he can change it or make it better. He can't, of course. Nobody can.]

[You can't change the past - only the future.]

[So she gives him a nod, slight but appreciative, and resolves not to do that again. He's earned her respect by showing her the same. Besides, they're talking about Ben now, at least tangentially, and he really is a happy subject. Probably her favorite. Her warden, her Ben, her best friend Ben.]

I don't think I'd know what to do on vacation at this point, either, honestly, but - I think that's one of the things about these places that can be kind of hard, is that you meet all of these people that you don't have a frame of reference for how they grew up, what they did or experienced because it's so far outside your own experience. Ben and me, we were pretty similar in some ways, but his whole world was crazy, so I thought - if I can touch something he's touched, at least sort of, it might help me know more about him.

[She gives a crooked smile, fond. Mostly for Ben, but partly for Sam, too. Another thing he's earned.]

But, yeah. I think I'd go crazy trying to go on a tour or whatever. Being that normal is kind of foreign at this point.

[He offers a smile in return, shaking his head.]

Foreign's one word for it.

I'm more used to never staying still, though.

Yeah. Traveling all the time. That's a hunting thing, isn't it?

That sounds like it'd drive me crazy, too. The kind of hunting I used to do was just . . . a few hours away, tops.

I guess it could drive you a little nuts, sometimes.

[LMAO UNDERSTATEMENT MY LIFE IS A SHITSHOW]

Sometimes it's nice to vanish from a place, always have something you're heading toward. Other times... it's nice to just stop, stand still for a little while. I used to live in motels mostly — now we don't, and it's made things a little more bearable.

To have somewhere to head back to, anyway. Proper workplace.

[YOUR LIFE IS A MESS SAMMY THAT IS SUCH AN UNDERSTATEMENT]

That's what I like about here. Back home - well, a lot happened, tons of things, but one of them is I lost my family and I lost my home. And I didn't really feel safe anywhere? So I couldn't figure out where to settle. I was traveling for a while . . .

I don't like being forced to stay in one place, but I do like feeling as though there's a place to come back to. If that makes sense.

entry 001 | arrival

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