driftfleet | eins (video/action)

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eins (video/action)

Who: Darkholme and whomsoever dares.
Broadcast: Fleet-wide
Action: Marsiva
When: March 4th

Broadcast (can also be an action option for anyone close enough to hear the racket):
[The communicator comes online in the middle of clattering to the floor, bouncing and skidding until it ends up wedged against something that props it at an odd angle. Most of what it shows is a bland view of the ceiling, though the audio of a heavily-accented German voice grumbling is clear as a bell.]

Goddammit, what part of let me d--what the? [There' s a loud implosion of air, with a similar bamf sound echoing further away. The voice mutters something, words indistinct but tone harsh. The clarity increases with the volume as the owner of the voice begins to swear emphatically, lapsing halfway through into truly inventive German, punctuated by the sounds of clattering and movement. Someone just realized his swords are missing.]

Action:
[Sometime after he's calmed down (and hopefully found the communicator/been given a heads-up on the situation, Kurt temporarily gives up on retrieving his swords and goes exploring his temporary home. Feeling vulnerable without his weapons and with a distinct lack of shadows to blend in to, he opts to scurry along the ceiling on fours in lieu of using the floor like a normal person. It also lets him inspect the ceiling for visible cameras, ventilation shafts, wiring, or anything to give him information about their captors' technology level.

Occasionally he stops near one of the huge windows, the view catching his attention even after he's given up on recognizing any of the stars. Kurt's been in space before, but never for long and always too busy fighting to get a good look at the sky. His own world is so polluted with the aftermath of two wars that the stars are hazy--and that's on the clear nights. It's not a good time to catch him on the floor, but it is a good one to catch his attention without interrupting anything.]

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[She can't see the speaker since he clearly fails at taking a good selfie, but the voice? The accent? That very specific sort of teleportation? There's no doubt it's Nightcrawler. And while the tone and word choices are extra familiar to her she's played this game too many times to get her hopes up for just anything. They really are raking in the X-Men lately. Still, a little extra Kurt in her life is hardly a bad thing.]

It's almost like you don't enjoy someone else suddenly transporting you somewhere.

[...okay. That was particularly blue language. And in German.

And...huh.

Huh]

Okay. Three guesses for what's upsettin' ya an' the first two don't count.

[The cursing dies down immediately preceding another bamf, and then something blue flashes in front of the camera right before it starts moving. Flash of--a lot of white, actually, a bit of black, and that same voice snarking back even before he can see the screen.] At least I do it with a bit more finesse than whatever this--

[The camera settles on a face that's a little gaunter than it was during the first war, more worn by the horrors of the second and his own personal tragedies, but there's the same mark staining the fur over his left eye. And since he can see her too, shock is written all over his face. He'd recognized the voice, but he'd expected to see the long-haired Katherine he'd met and shoved away in the alternate dimension. Not this, who looks so much like the Kitty he buried.] Kätzchen. [And then 'reality' sets in, and his face twists into a vicious scowl.] Very fucking funny. I've killed men for doing less than taunting me with the face of a dead woman.

Think ya can calm down on that jumpin' 'round, donno 'bout others but think it startin' to make me air sick just from watchin' ya bounce 'round. [This one was certainly more active than some of the others who had arrived, and that was a certainly distinctive sound, wasn't it? Remy would assume it was Kurt, the Kurt from his world, if it wasn't for the swearing.

Then again, they had gotten a Shadowcat, Wolverine, and Storm from another universe, there was certainly a chance this also applied to this person.]

[She switches to private pretty quickly after that. Her death isn't a secret, but she hasn't exactly mentioned it to...anyone here.

She met a Piotr once who thought she was dead too. Didn't think he'd been the one to do it though. Some giant bullet thing. Maybe that's all this is too, but the mark is there. Some of the details feel off, but it's also been a year and memories play tricks.

Don't do it, Pryde. Don't get your hopes up.]

Nice to see you too, Kurt.

[He would know that drawl anywhere. After a few seconds the communicator gets snatched up, literally tossed from his tail into his hand. Hope Rogue doesn't get motion sickness easily.

Then he just stares at the video display, expression still and a little sad after the brief moment of shock wears off. She'd not his Rogue, not unless his managed to reverse her aging and decided to go with a different haircut, but. But he'd just, a few hours ago by his time, seen the statue they rose in honor of her death. So he just looks for a minute, and then offers a weak and gentle smile.]

Hallo Rogue.

[His scowl wavers minutely when she responds, because taking that without a blink and firing back at him is--pretty close to what he'd have expected from the one he knew. More claws, but time enough for that if or when they're in the same place.

If this isn't a trick.] Missing a surname there, aren't you? Common enough face, I'd hate for you to get egg on yours.

[Oh, he was much older. Maybe even older than she was now. And look at him, look at that mark over his eye, look at the way he held himself, and the way he looked at her...

And something in her heart broke, just a little, and it didn't matter that he wasn't any version of the Kurt she knew. She gave him a small smile back.] Heya, sugah.

[He's expecting a different surname? Why would that be unless he's used to people from other realities too?]

Got in trouble last time I mentioned it to a Nightcrawler. [And by trouble she just means he looked all sad and uncertain. Which is much harder to deal with than the cursing and threats.] Not as close to his Mom I guess.

[Well, that is some colourful language. Not something he disagrees with either, given the circumstances. He opts to reply in the fleet's default tongue, but his tone is knowing.]

I doubt you'll find anyone worth that kind of attention, over there.

[Kurt's first suggestion, fired back in the general direction of the communicator, is vulgar. It's also in German, so maybe the entire Fleet won't get their ears blistered. The communicator gets picked up soon afterward, thankfully while he's standing still.

He's seen just enough familiar dead faces that surprise flickers briefly over his face before it settles into a distinctly unsurprised expression.] Nein, I think you're the only one who can claim such a tender stomach.

[Almost definitely older than her, given he's probably in his late twenties/early thirties ~~Marvel why you allergic to exact ages~~. Certainly worn-looking enough to be, even with fur hiding a multitude of sins.

That gets a small, rusty chuckle out of him.] I doubt I'm as sweet as the man you know.

[A grin and shake of his head at the swearing, picking a few works up from the limited German he knew, Remy let out a chuckle at the comment thrown back at him.] Maybe so, must mean I gotta 'nvest in some air sickness bags then.

Ya seem to be havin' some trouble settlin' in Monsieur Nightcrawler, just don't go teleportin' too far, don't think ya fur can protect ya from the coldness of space.

[Laura smells him before she sees him, curled up where she is in one of the chairs looking out at the stars. She's been spending more time than she'd care to admit doing that, since she arrived here. But he smells...off, slightly. Familiar but not. Like the Kitty she had spoken to, probably.]

[Still, when 'Kurt' comes around the corner, the teen is sitting up in her chair, watching him warily.]

...Nightcrawler.

[Half a statement, half a question.]

[It's a familiar voice and a familiar sound - but the words don't fit at all.]

Language, elf. [Does he kiss his mom with that mouth?]

[And as Rogue is, and appears to be about mid-twenties, then she finally has the older brother she never knew she always wanted?

Age aside, she does know better than to ignore a warning when she hears it, and her smile turns a bit wry, if still welcoming.] I'll consider myself warned.

[The comm's been full of surprises lately. Kurt thought he had braced himself for anything. But all of that changed when he looked into the video feed of the comm and saw a very unusual sight. It almost looked like what he'd see in the mirror. But older, and scarred. Cool. But scary, too.]

What the...?

[It's almost like he projected an echo of the other him's words. Just a younger and lighter-sounding echo... and one wrought with even more hesitation and confusion.]

[Ororo hadn't caught any of his colorful words, but was close enough to hear that definitely familiar bamf of air - and for a moment she's particularly perplexed. The Kurt she'd met here was on another ship, wasn't he? She'd assumed he had no way of bamfing onboard this one, so how was she hearing this?

She follows the sound of teleportation until it stops. Then she gathers enough of the air around them to push the offending puffs of sulfur and brimstone away from the immediate area.]

Kurt, what do you think you're doing?

They don't tend to be. [He doesn't even blink at the concept of other versions of himself, and why would he? He spent nearly a year in the world they were trying to make their own into.] Heard of one who decided to join the priesthood. Is that the one you've met?

[He actually doesn't much care yet whether the version he kept getting mistaken for is here. Kitty's reaction is what he's fishing for, something to combat or confirm the sinking feeling in his gut that she's exactly who she claims to be.]

He did what now? [Definitely surprised and incredulous of that one.] No, I met the teenager who's also here by the way.

[And it's her turn to ask some questions.] How do you think I died? [Not why. That's clear enough to her, but the how would really narrow things down.]

Good. I wouldn't want to break your heart. [It's more truthful than he honestly intended to be.

His eyes don't appear to look away (benefits of having featureless eyes) his chin tilts minutely.] How has this place been treating you?

Oh, you think not? Here I thought it looked like a lovely evening for a walk. It's not as though I have to worry about my insides winding up on my outsides if I should leave the ship.

[So sarcastic, even if he's fighting the urge to shiver at the thought of that bone-deep iciness. He's a tiny bit of a baby about being cold.] Speaking of this ship, how long can I expect to be confined here?

[Hearing that voice, Kurt's first reaction is to straighten up, a distinct look of chagrin crossing his face. The voice is slightly different, but he's spent enough of his life answering to his world's Erik as a mentor and friend *not* to have a moment's embarrassment at being caught essentially throwing a tantrum.

The face he sees looking back at him makes him blink. That certainly looks like Erik, albeit much younger, but wasn't his hair white by this point in his life?] They should be so lucky as to receive half that amount of personal attention from me.

[Shit. Logan.

The man had said the two of them were settled there at the end, right before--before he should have died sealing his own universe off. But men say things in the heat of battle they don't mean, and he's already met people from different points in time. If this one is still clamoring for his blood, how the hell is he going to defend himself without his swords?]

I've told you not to call me elf. It's effeminate.

[His stomach lurches when he hears that voice. He'd already been warned by Kitty that there was a younger version of himself on board, but he'd irrationally hoped to have a little more time to steel himself. For a moment he considers just turning the thing off, or ignoring the response altogether. But he can't avoid the boy forever.

At least the accent dispels any lingering chance he might've been Waggoner; that boy had been raised in the States. Darkholme isn't certain how he feels about that. Taking a steadying breath, he perches on a table to address his counterpart.] Hallo boy.

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