driftfleet | ( #001 )

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( #001 )

Who: Hermione Granger and you!
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Marsiva, baby
When: From now until shuffle!

[ When she wakes up, the first thing that's obvious to her is that this is not her house; it's nothing like it, and that's more than enough to have her drop her hands to her hip - where, again, there's nothing familiar. The next stop is around her neck and it's obvious that she finds some comfort there, her fingers sliding around a ring before she breathes out and moves to sit up. At least some things are familiar, and she recognises a video feed when she sees it, lifting her free hand to push her hair out of her eyes. ]

Well, this isn't the Drabwurld, is it.

[ She sounds remarkably put out about it, shifting to stand and adjust her weight, her fingers finally dropping away from the ring around her neck. It's only then that she really looks into her feed, wondering if it worked just like the lockets did - and, at the same time, wondering if she ought to be afraid. Considering the number of worlds and things she saw and went through in the Drabwurld, however, she thinks that it'll take a little more than this to put her on edge, even without her weapons. ]

I don't suppose anyone here has heard of Nimh Gleanne? Leathann? ... Anything like that?

[ There's a kind of awkward hopefulness in her voice as she tries to smile, the scar on her cheek shifting with her lips. ]

Anyone?

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[It's a good thing she's not recording just yet, because when Nightingale spots her teammate's face, she nearly falls out of her chair in shock.

On the other hand, there are signs that this isn't the one she knew. That scar, those words... Those weren't from the castle, Rosella didn't have those. But seeing a familiar face, she misses all of that, sending a video message right away.]

Rosella! Did you just arrive? Are you still on the Marsiva?

[It's been so long since he's heard any spoken Irish, he actually sort of stares at this message for a while before he flicks his communicator on to reply. Then, at length,]

Miss.

[A respectful nod. He's still a bit thrown, because Irish belongs to a part of him that's ages old and buried in ice.]

I know the words individually-- but if you're speaking of a specific place ['valley of poison'] then I'll be of no help.

[ Hermione pauses, startled, for a moment, before she stops and shakes her head. She's seen this before, plastered all over the lockets back in the Drabwurld - mistaken identities, people forgetting and remembering things... This must be the case here, as well, and a part of her feels a pang of sympathy. ]

No, I'm sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else. My name is Hermione.

[ Miss.

One word is enough to make Hermione stop and stare into her feed, hands shaking a little before she swallows. She knows the voice, but the formality - it's all the information she needs to let her know that this man, this replica of the one she had known... Isn't the one that had known her. This wasn't her friend, the one she had danced with, fought with, teased, and the sting in her heart makes her stop to breathe in, long and deep, before she can even think about responding.

All she knows now is that she's going to have to be careful, and it makes her feel even worse. ]

Thank you all the same. I wasn't expecting too many people to know them, but - it means a lot that you even replied.

[... Oh. She can't hide her face falling when she realizes what's going on, but...]

... Yeah. Granger, right?

That's right.

[ She shakes her head, looking apologetic. ]

I'm sorry. I wish I did remember.

[ her hair is dark and her eyes are filled with -- what? hesitation. the very outer edges of an unexpressed fear. sansa sits stiffly in sight of her communications device.

her voice is soft. ] They are beautiful words, my lady. What do they mean?

[ Hermione freezes.

She stops. She stares. Even the gentle my lady means more to her than she can put into words and it hurts to think that, maybe, Sansa doesn't remember these places. Surely she had visited Nimh Gleanne, surely she had seen how beautiful Leathann was - but she had been the Lady of the Cothromach...

Either way, if Sansa Stark remembered the Drabwurld she would remember those names. Right? ]

They're, um, places. From the world I'm from.

[ The Drabwurld became her home, after all. ]

Can you say them again? Please? One time?

[ there is a girlish curiousity that lingers in her tone. somehow, she's not as stricken and trembling as she once was upon her first arrival within the fleet. she has brothers and (on her better days) friends.

and the names sound like music. ]

Of course I can. I can even say more.

[ And there's nothing Hermione wants more than to see Sansa smile. She remembers the markets, buying dresses together, gentle words and promises - and she kept hers, even in Sansa's absence. ]

There was Nimh Gleanne, to the north-west of Caer Glaem, which was below the White Citadel. To the east was Treun and Leathann, and the north held Caer Scima and Quendi. There were even elvenlands and high castled keeps, such as Redgate and the Cothromach.

[ A gentle whisper of the word, to see if it means anything to her. ]

[ and music is all they remain.

there is no spark of recognition -- no shudder of knowledge. only plain-faced delight as sansa dares a small self-indulgent smile at the sounds. this new young woman speaks them well, and makes them sound like something enchanted. every syllable in its place. ]

I'm sorry. [ she sighs. the smile disappears. ] Wherever they are, you're far from them now.

[ Hermione softens and shakes her head, her bushy hair falling around her shoulders. Even as she smiles a part of her does look regal - and, for once, she doesn't brush off the gentle my lady that came before. She's been Marchioness for years, now, and she's too used to it to complain - and she knows Sansa, too, even if it was never as well as she liked. ]

I thought so. It was a nice thought, at least.

[ Pausing, she hesitates before she leans forward a little. ]

Have - have you been here long?

A handful of moons. Not many. [ she rushes to explain that she's hardly an expert -- hardly a veteran. ] Other have been here longer. I hope you have at least a familiar face. I think it's easier when you're not alone.

[ she is fortunate. she has brothers. ]

[Something tips her hand. He can't say what, exactly, but the slight shift in her demeanor from her post to her reply-- to him, specifically, makes him realize something's amiss. He wonders if he's said something to wound or offend her.]

I'm sorry.

[Apology is not a natural state of existence for Steve Rogers. As someone who only ever does and says things he means and can continue meaning even in the face of adversity, he rarely feels justified in giving them. But something about her prompts the words, and his brow furrows.]

My name's Steve Rogers. If you- have any other questions about where we are, I'd be happy to try and help.

[ So, longer than she had been away from the Drabwurld. It made sense, considering her shard was left behind for Robb to take (Hermione had checked on that, too), but... Still. Still. A part of her yearns to talk to Sansa, to speak to her about her Keep, her brother, the promises she made and how she had taken care of Robb even when he had lost his shard and his connection to home - but she doesn't.

She keeps her mouth shut and a smile on her face. ]

I'm sure I'll find someone I recognise. I'm not too worried about that.

[ A breathe, and then - ]

My name is Hermione.

No - you didn't do anything wrong, don't be sorry.

[ She's quick to shake her head, lifting a hand as if to literally brush away his apologies. It's not his fault that he doesn't remember, after all - Hermione understands because she lived it for years. There's no promises when it comes to the Drabwurld and there's no hope when you're taken out of it, either. She knows. ]

It's really nice to meet you, Mr. Rogers. I'm Hermione Granger.

[ A hesitation, and then - ]

Do you think - could you tell me where we are, exactly?

[Innteresting. Katie's never heard of the Drabwurld, though it sounds frighteningly dreary-- but combined with Leathann and Nihm Gleanne, one word she's familiar with and the expression she can place, it sounds...

...kind of like her thing.]

What sort of places are those?

[The speaker is young and also British. West country, by the sounds.]

Edited 2016-01-22 22:36 (UTC)

[ The accent is almost soothingly familiar and Hermione brightens, shifting to lean forward, more than happy to explain. She's a stranger in a new place all over again but some things never fade away - and lecture mode is one of them for her. ]

They're places from where I came from. Nimh Gleanne was a little town with beautiful houses and a nice trading centre. Leathann was an island that was enchanted with a great deal of magic and became - well, a floating island.

[ The Drabwurld was somewhat... Complicated. ]

It's all right.

[She takes a deep breath, and manages a smile. Above all else, she really is relieved to see a teammate again, memories or no.]

Amnesia was sort of the big point of the last place. Besides, I... didn't exactly make a good impression, back at the castle.

Oh! They sound very pretty.

[Magic is involved. She can't resist asking, because she's very curious and a little envious and not particularly wise:] Did you have a silver road, too? Could you travel anywhere you want?

[ SHE'S GOING TO BE EXCITED, sue her. ]

Hermione! Does the name 'Asgard' mean anything to you at all?

[ hermione. is it possible that such a name could be even more beautiful than the ones already spoken? a smile ghosts across her face -- tugging at the corners of her mouth, but never staying long itself to resolve itself into a proper expression. ]

Sansa. Mine is Sansa, and I'm aboard the Blue Fish. [ ... ] It will be some time before the Atroma shuffle you onto a vessel, Lady Hermione. I'm sorry.

[ something about the other young woman puts sansa in mind of nobility -- it makes it easy to err on the side of a title. ]

[He offers a smile-- it ought to be a familiar smile, at least, if not a bit younger than she's used to.]

Sorry, no, but-- people come in waves, and simply because they're not here now doesn't mean they won't be here later. I'm Remus Lupin-- it's nice to meet you.

[And that is an equally and unnecessarily vehement response to something so simply said. Steve shifts his jaw off to one side-- this late in the game, he's learned to trust his instincts and though he thinks she's hiding something, he doesn't think it's out of any especial malice.

He clears his throat before he speaks.]

Please, just-- Steve. And I can only answer that in the most general sense-- we're in a sector of space I don't recognize and can't compare to anything on Earth. [A bit dryly,] Believe it or not, our gracious hosts haven't been forthcoming with exact coordinates.

[ cas is just returning from the cafeteria, wrapped sandwich in hand, when he passes by; so this really is a thing, isn't it? people just.. popping in, unannounced, inexplicably.

experiencing it is one thing, but seeing it with your own eyes is another. the hospitality deck is only so big, and he's definitely not yet seen her face. ]

That's, uh.. a mouthful. [ a thoughtful squint. ] Gaelic? That language was always too much of a tongue twister.

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