baedalites (
baedalites) wrote in
multiversallogs2011-12-22 05:20 pm
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Entry tags:
- @ mog hill,
- @ mog hill: apache,
- alexia swiftdawn,
- anna demirovna,
- hasibe ozcelik,
- hellboy,
- ilde decima,
- ivan,
- james t. kirk,
- john allerdyce,
- jones,
- kalinda sharma,
- megan gwynn,
- rachel conway,
- steve rogers,
- } alan shore,
- } angela montenegro,
- } billy kaplan,
- } fauxlivia dunham,
- } gaheris rhade,
- } hermione granger,
- } hilmi moran,
- } jay nagai,
- } kate bishop,
- } katherine pierce,
- } martha jones,
- } mozenrath,
- } njoki rainmaker,
- } rex lewis,
- } sebastian lemat,
- } severus snape β,
- } shawn spencer,
- } tadhg maceibhir,
- } teddy altman,
- } tim drake-wayne,
- } tommy shepherd
Bite they little heads off! Nibble on they tiny feet!
Who: EVERYONE.
What: Catenrat party.
Where: The Apache and surrounding environs.
When: Givdi the 22nd of Toidaren
Notes: The topic threads are just suggestions; if you've got somewhere else that your characters simply must be, make your own thread. When your characters are ready to leave, they'll be given a little wooden cheese, a glass fish, and a voucher for a big basket of snacks.
Warnings: None yet. Please put warnings up on individual threads.

The Apache is much the same as it always is: dimly lit, with the jukebox playing in the background, and the bartender serving whatever's on tap. Above the doorway and wound through a few of the sets of antlers some enterprising soul has placed a garland decorated with little blue and green fish.
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He has to pause to think about it, and that disturbs him mildly, to think he's been here so long the length of time isn't an exact number at the forefront of his thoughts anymore.
"Four months or so. Sometimes I swear it feels like I'm still adjusting. You found work yet?"
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The organization she named sounds familiar; Jim racks his brain a few moments before he comes up with the reference, from history classes. It was an agency from his planet's past, an organization tasked with coordinating national security and overseeing the armed forces of the United States of America. At least, he assumes that's the country she means, based on her accent.
"I'm guessing I'm a couple centuries ahead of you, but I'm more or less a military officer. That's how I've gotten my relevant skills and experience to translate. What did you do for the Department of Defense?"
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Her brows lift when he makes his estimate of their relevant positions in the history of their (theoretically) shared universe. "Centuries? I don't know why that surprised me." She laughs it off. "I'm in Fringe Division. We investigate abnormal occurrences. Things that threaten the stability of our universe. I'd say advanced scientific breakthroughs, but I suppose they'd be antiquated where you come from."
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He grins. "And you never know. Things aren't always as antiquated as you'd think. Especially when it comes to the stability of the universe, which is not something I have a lot of practical experience with. What kinds of things do you investigate?"
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"Maybe not," she says of antiquated scientific techniques. "When something falls out of the realm of what we consider normal, Fringe Division is called in, and we investigate. Situations that appear paranormal or just impossible. Shapeshifters, time slips, bleed over from other universes. If it's strange, we look into it, figure out how to make it right."
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He raises his eyebrows at her explanation. "That's definitely not something that would be antiquated in my time. We still grapple with those kinds of things once in a while."
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"It doesn't sound like science is actually too popular here. Magic seems to be the oddity of choice. Was that weird for you, too?"
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He digs around in his pocket, fishing out his CiD. "You have these," he says, waving it. "Pretty elaborate communication devices. But not much else in the way of computers. Trains but no motor vehicles. I have to wonder how much of what little technology there is is native, and how much was brought here by people like us."
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"Did you bring any tech with you?"
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He gestures with his hands, indicating something rectangular, roughly the size of a clipboard. "--computer peripheral, meant to interface with the ship's computers or other computers and libraries. It's useless as an interface here, because it's lost those connections, but I have my own library and files stored on it. I don't carry it with me; it's not convenient to, and even with the crazy mix of technologies here I worry about something being too advanced." He shrugs. "Training dies hard, I guess. Did anything from your world come through with you?"
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When he asks about anything that did, she freezes (albeit blearily, thanks to those three pints), and debates for a moment how or whether to answer that. Ultimately, she decides to trust. "Yeah. I actually have some experimental tech from back home. I thought it was responsible for bringing me here in the first place." Olivia's brows hike upward for a moment. "Maybe it is."
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He eyes her a moment. "Maybe sometime we should get all this tech together. I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
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She catches his gaze and a smile curves her lips for a moment before laughter bubbles to her surface. "Sorry. That choice of words." Olivia waves it off and nods. "I think it's a good idea, actually. What's the worst that can happen? Apart from tearing a hole in the universe." End-of-the-world humour.
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"What are you drinking and where do you prefer to sit?"
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She drums her nails on the table top absently while she waits, scanning the space casually with a faint smile still on her lips. She's actually enjoying herself, she realises. That was the point of attending the party tonight, of course, but there was some pessimism lingering. A notion that having fun might prove impossible. Her gaze drifts off to find Jim in the crowd again, watching and waiting for his return.
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But he does return, pausing when the crowd thins out, away from the bar, to search out Olivia and their table. He grins when he sees her, hoisting a glass in greeting and then making his way to her.
"Here you are." He places one beer in front of her, sits, and takes a sip of the other before setting it on the table in front of himself, hands folded around it.
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There's something comforting about the way that beer is beer no matter where you tend to be. (Apparently.) "So... Starfleet captain. What made you decide that's what you wanted to do? Is that a childhood dream?"
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"Not always," he admits, the momentary lapse overcome with his usual warmth. "I was torn about it for a long time. My dad was a captain." His smile fades, and his gaze drops to his glass. He wouldn't be this open if he wasn't already so full of beer and tired on top of it, but...
"For all of twelve minutes. He died saving his crew. Including me, and my mother. Part of me wanted to follow in his footsteps but part of me was terrified I wouldn't live up to his example. And then most of me was angry."
He looks up at her again, almost sheepish, and he shrugs. "But I got there eventually. Can't imagine doing anything else with my life, these days."
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This is what happens when I don't tag for a week. The words just pour out. sry sry
No worries! :D
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