Sam Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
collegedropout) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2015-12-02 05:47 pm
collegedropout) wrote in driftfleet2015-12-02 05:47 pm
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.
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.
video.
video.
[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.
video.
video.
Actually, just 'hunter'.
We're kind of secretive people, so bonafide job titles have never been a thing, I guess.
video.
video.
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...]
video.
video.
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?
video.
[ she's back to this old lie. it's easier told than the truth. ]
video.
video.
video.
video.
[ bloody americans. ]
video.
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?
video.
video.
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?
video.
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.
If it makes you feel any better, we're kind of in the same boat. I'm pretty sure I'm really friggin' far behind in this time's technology. We can bumble through it together?
video.
video.
... Which is good, because I'd rather not be in charge of piloting one of these.
video.
Re: video.
The WRAF's, was it?
video.
[ another (partial) lie. the wrafs make for an easy cover when you're a woman in uniform. [
I'm quite retired from that work, now.
video.
My father was a marine. It's not exactly something you can shake off, though, so he's always been that kind of hard-ass. Kind of a drill sergeant. We used to butt heads a lot because of it.
[.... WELL SORT OF. There's more to it than that, but his isn't a partial lie so much as it is omission. He's not about to dive into the more severe of his daddy issues.]
video.
Sergeants are tricky beasts. [ she smiles more with her eyes than with her mouth. ] Drill sergeants especially so.
video.
video.
video.
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video.
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