driftfleet | entry 001

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

In one very pedestrian sense? Yes. Yes I did. But that's because I was born in London, Mister Winchester. And these days I work in New York. [ a slow smile. for a moment, she wonders whether he even knows earth. some people didn't -- except by hearsay. ]

A transatlantic migration was culture shock enough. But -- this is the first time I've gone transgalactic or however we should call it.

[He grins, deep dimples appearing.]

I can only imagine. I'm not usually in bigger places like New York, but I've been all over the place myself. It's kind of a requirement for the job. But, uh... welcome to space? This is my first time off a planet, anyway.

And yet I still believe I ought to be the one welcoming you.

Oh — right, sorry. I'm used to welcoming people into weird places. I guess I better get used to being the new guy again.

For a handful of months, at least.

Then I can move up the chain of space experience, become the sympathetic greeter?

"Welcome to space. Sorry about that"?

Ah, see, there's the good old American entrepreneurial spirit I know and love.

[grin]

Guess I've been collecting a lot of that all across the country.

Ah, yes. That itinerant job of yours. Travelling salesman?

... Not quite. My dad used to say he was one, but no. More of the less-than-ordinary variety.

[He's not really being secretive about what he does for a living, not since he'd been in Adstringendum for a while and knowing what people were capable of became a necessity to survive.

It's kind of freeing in a way to just casually admit it.]

I hunt things that kill people.

Interesting. [ a little deadpan. a lot curious. ] And does that description come with a title?

[He snorts a good-humored snort.]

Actually, just 'hunter'.

We're kind of secretive people, so bonafide job titles have never been a thing, I guess.

But not too secretive. Apparently.

[Pffht.]

Not outside of my universe, no. I've found that my occupation isn't as crazy everywhere else as it is there. Might as well take advantage of it.

[... His life is just crazy in other ways.

But those are carefully, safely guarded. Kept under old, bloodied up wraps in the back of his mind, unseen except by certain little fae children and sneaky orange-headed pirates...]

I'm not so certain everyone sees it quite like you do, Mister Winchester. [ a little thoughtful as she thinks upon her own secretive occupation. ] Sometimes, caginess runs in the blood.

They certainly don't have to see it like me. I'm just commenting on my own situation.

I have plenty to be secret about outside my job, anyway.

[He quirks his brow at her, smiling slightly.]

Does that mean you're cagey yourself?

Hardly. Telephone operators have very little to hide. Except for, of course, everyone else's secrets.

[ she's back to this old lie. it's easier told than the truth. ]

Are you saying telephone operators don't have action-packed, enthralling jobs that require secrets?

We connect an awful lot of calls. How thrilling.

I feel like you're not giving yourself enough credit. Every job has some weird stories at the least, right? Dealing with people on phones all day sounds like a challenge.

Oh, you have no idea. [ a tight smile. ] And in New York, no less.

[ bloody americans. ]

Yeesh, New Yorkers.

As dangerous as my job could be, I'd rather not have your job.

[you heard it here folks, dangerous deadly hunter life > telephone operator.]

What year are you from?

Edited 2016-01-08 02:36 (UTC)

Hah. [ wry laughter. ] I suppose that means my datedness comes across as rather obvious. 1946.

Hey, nothing wrong with datedness when you're not dated the era you came from.

Earlier than when my grandfather was from, though. If I remember right, I met my grandfather from the 60's.

[—oh right]

Long story.

Enjoying the latest tech yet, at least?

[ well, that's an awfully suspicious sort of wording. she squints for a moment, and then allows it to slide. ]

That rather depends upon your definition of enjoying. For now, I think I'm still more bewildered than all else. But it is nice to use something clearer than an old radio to talk to each other.

video.

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