multiversallogs | [pounding on the door; open]

Entry tags:

[pounding on the door; open]

Who: Steve Rogers and anyone at the Inn.
What: Cap arrives!
Where: The arrival rooms, the Valhalla Inn.
When: afternoon into evening--I'm being flexible with time so many people can play :D
Notes: In-person log because shhhh learning a CiD is hard when you're from 1945.
Warnings: Potential for lots of aw-shucks behavior. Also eyelashes, stand back.

The frozen white ground looms up closer and closer, faster and faster. The drone of the engine has sharpened into a protesting whine, nearly drowning out the sound of Peggy’s voice in the cabin. He knows this is it, that he has mere seconds.

He’s as brave as ever, playing it up for her sake. “We’ll get the band to play something slow,” he calls out to her. “And then maybe I won’t step on your feet.”

He has no way to know those last few words were cut off, no way to know she can’t hear him any longer and she’s already calling his name into her microphone, frantic with worry and grief. All he can see out of the plane’s broken windscreens is the ground now. I’m sorry, he mouths, without really knowing who he’s addressing; before he can figure it out, the plane’s nose impacts, sending him flying forward.

He’s braced for pain, for the scrape of metal and ice over his suit and skin, for bones crunching as the hard ice stops his momentum. He slides, but it’s… odd. It’s not the slick movement of a body over ice or the tearing of his body over broken metal. It’s like skidding on a floor.

He stops with a gentle thump. Far too gentle. When he sits up he’s no longer in the plane but not out on the frozen tundra, either. He’s in a room. It’s green. His shield is propped against a table; he slings it across his back and then he studies the pamphlet he finds on the table. Twice. Carefully.

He looks over the device—a CiD?—and he pockets that. Yes, he could call for help, but he’d need time to study the device and learn what to do, and there’s a more direct way, at least he thinks so.

“Hello?”

Anyone in the vicinity of the arrival rooms will hear a thumping from behind one of the doors, and a man’s voice, calling out politely.

“Hello? Is anyone out there? Could someone open the door, please?”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Njoki schedule has always been variable and since arriving in Baedal it's become even more so; current and potential clients know her regular hours and that if she's a sign in the window, that she'll take on any work so long as she's home. When she's not working or searching for reputable suppliers, Ki tends to go running.

While she can pass it off as a good way to get to know the city or a good form of exercise, she really just loves to run. The steady action helps her to focus on something other than being trapped in a foreign city in some tiny pocket of nowhere normal.

Steve has much the same idea, with a bit of reconnaissance thrown in. He rarely sleeps as it is; he knows he won't tonight but he's got to do something with himself. It was an eventful day, his head is still trying to wrap itself around everything that's happened, and his body is restless.

He takes off from the inn in the lower half of his uniform and a t-shirt, and he waits until he's on side streets to work up to full speed. There's something about the steady rhythm of arms, legs, breaths that soothes him and lets his mind take a step back.

A few miles in he hears... well. Something he shouldn't, normally. The sound of someone catching up to him. He's been running at a dead sprint, no one should be able to match him let alone catch up to him. This city's full of surprises.

He slows his pace--which isn't saying much--glancing back over his shoulder to see who's approaching.

Njoki is used to seeing all sorts of things while out on one of her runs: carts pulled by all manner of beasts of burden, bicycles and delicate solar powered craft, or one of Baedal's rare cars, but she doesn't expect to see someone else out and running at a speed she needs to push herself a bit to keep up with. If he doesn't complain about her approach or move to take a different path, Njoki will nod politely and (once she's caught up) do her best to keep pace with him.

Her preferred routes tend to criss-cross over the Gross Tar and weave through some of the smaller, safer parks -- well-lit areas that offer variety in terrain and a low chance of being nabbed by something that's crawled out of a sewer.

Steve quickly figures the approaching figure means him no harm. There's no effort to hide, or sneak up, the approach is open. There's no weapons, no threatening posture.

So he nods as the other runner pulls aside. "Good evening, sir."

"Evening, eh? Not too many runners out tonight. You mind the company?" While Njoki can look pretty imposing and she moves confidently, controlling the space she's in, there's no intentional threat.

"Not at all," he replies with a good-natured shake of his head. "Honestly, I don't often get company. So. Please."

He doesn't read any threat at all, and he relaxes, letting his attention shift to being divided between running and his new companion. "I'm Steve. Captain Steve Rogers."

"Me neither. Njoki Rainmaker, but Ki works." Running with a partner means she has to pay a little more attention to her immediate surroundings, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. "And it's good to meet you, Steve. Captain? Which d'you prefer?"

"Hello, Ki. Steve's fine. Good to meet you too."

He adjusts his pace to match hers--he doesn't have to do much adjusting, they're already nearly pacing one another.

"You from around here or did you get kidnapped in too?"

Njoki smiles and nods to show her thanks that he's adjusted his stride.

"Montreal and I came in a few weeks ago. A little angry that I got pulled away from school, my life, but, well, I can be useful here too, so it's been strange, but not all bad."

Steve is impressed with her optimism. He can relate--he's rather like that himself. And it's refreshing to talk to someone who says it's not all bad, after a day full of gloom-and-doom reports and surprises.

"Yeah, I'm angry too. But there's no point stewing in it, it'll get me nowhere. And it's good you're useful here."

"I moved around a lot when I was kid. My father, he worked for a big oil company and we were stationed all over the place -- Nigeria, Sengal, anywhere with pepper soup, sand, and oil, he'd say." Maybe this is a bigger change than moving from Mbao to Ogoniland, but it's been easier to adjust to than Montreal.

"There's a job office to help people find work and if you hate the inn, my couch is already taken, but we can find blankets and you're welcome to the soft piece of floor you can find." Yes, she will offer newcomer strangers a place in her apartment. Even if it's less comfortable than the Inn, Njoki can appreciate not wanting to stay there.

"Wow. You sure have been all over. I never even left New York City until I enlisted in the service." He was happy to leave, to serve his country and protect people, but he misses his home. Now more than ever, now that there's a chance he may not see it again.

"And that's sure nice of you to offer. But I think I'm all right at the inn for now. I do intend to get out of there soon as I can, though, get my own place."

"New York is grand. I went down there for a week once and met a lot of very nice, very friendly people." Most of that is true. She did go to New York and she did meet a lot of friendly people, but the reason for her trip was to work on a very old group of vampires who'd been caught and badly burned. They weren't so friendly.

"What sort of work are you looking for?"

"It's a great city. Best one there is, in my humble opinion." He loves it. He misses it. He'd do anything to save it--was doing so, in fact, just a few hours ago, before he appeared here.

"Work--I don't know yet. My only real professional background is as a soldier. Guess I'll have to find something that fits."

"Just between you, me, and the four walls that aren't really here right now -- if the Militia comes knocking, be somewhere else." Ki doesn't know much about them, but what she has learned and head from others Mafaton worries her. "Nice uniforms, but that's about the best you can say for 'em."

Steve nods. "Thanks," he says. "I appreciate the information." He would've hated to get mixed up with a group that people couldn't think highly of.

"What do you do? For work?"

"Conjure. Usually in New York, you can find it through a good botanica?" She's not about to mention that a good portion of her work comes from specializing in the undead.

As they run, if Steve is very observant and familiar with anatomy, he might notice that she moves a little differently from your average woman.

"A botanica," he repeats. His gaze drifts a moment, thinking, and then his face lights up in recognition. "Yeah. There was one near my neighborhood in Brooklyn, I think. Somewhere nearby. I heard some of the girls used to go there for love potions. I don't know how accurate that is because I never visited myself. But that's what people said."

He does notice the way she moves but... well, he's Steve and he doesn't think about peoples' anatomy. He assumes that if there's anything unusual it's because she's unusual enough to be able to keep up with him at a sprint.

"Not my thing, love potions, you know? I can do 'em, sure, but I mostly uncross and repair." Njoki pauses, running for a little bit before deciding whether or not she should continue to share. Tonight she won't be confrontational and tell him about her work, daring him to disapprove.

Steve nods. He's more or less following what Ki means; he's not familiar but he's guessing uncross and repair means putting things right, and that's something he can get behind.

"You're doing the same work here? That's good, that you can do something to help other people."

"It's not charity, but it's not bad." There are some rootworkers that believe it's not bad for them to perform hexes and crosses, but Njoki has never had the stomach for most of the nastier stuff. "Most of what I've been doing is sleep-work: dreamless nights, no nightmares, things like that. S'not really what I'm best at, but people are calling for it, so..."

"Nightmares?" He glances over at Ki. That's surprising, that there's such a specific request being made over and over.

"People get those a lot around here?"

"So it seems." She's not going to get into the nitty gritty of fog-eels and other creatures that seem to be able to infect people with bad dreams. "I listen, a lot. S'not all herbs and hands, eh?"

He nods; that makes sense. Even doctors talk to people, and listen--good ones, anyway.

He thinks of Dr. Erskine for a moment, a bit of sadness settling over his features. But then he shakes it off, refocusing his attention on the road ahead. "Can't imagine this is an easy place to be, for everyone here. Being kidnapped and having to stay."

"It's hard on a lot of people. Folks who've left family or jobs back home and, yeah, I'd rather have been given the choice to come or not." But what can you do except accept the hand you've been given and do your best with it. "Would I've come if I didn't have to? I don't know. Probably not. Do I like how accepting this place is about some things? Hell yes."

Some time after Steve is out. Day, night, dusk, you name it, lady.

\o/

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