[pounding on the door; open]

[captainredwhiteblue]

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?”

Comments

[aldabeyoun.livejournal.com]

Njoki chuffs, content to slow down to a jog, and see how Steve interacts with the locals of her canton. One woman smiles and waves at them both, her hand looking slightly out of place on her body -- perhaps the skin tone is subtly wrong or the shape just a tad off. Looking pleased, Ki smiles back at her and continues jogging along.

"If you keep up night running, going through Mafaton is one of the safer areas, because it's so busy at night. Along the river is great for a straight-away, but it's a bit abandoned in parts."

[captainredwhiteblue]

The waving lady gets a bright, polite smile in return. He notices the hand of course, but he says nothing. He's not bothered; more than that, he remembers what it was like to be different, in a bad way, and remembers that having it pointed out only made him feel worse. He won't do that to anyone else.

"That's good to know. Thank you."

[aldabeyoun.livejournal.com]

"And, hell, faint heart never won fair lady, right? If you need a running partner, I'm up for it." Ki is not usually quite so forward, but she doesn't often get the opportunity really push herself when running with a partner.

[captainredwhiteblue]

Steve beams. He never gets that chance either. "I would like that a lot. I really would. Thank you."

[aldabeyoun.livejournal.com]

Njoki motions to Steve that she needs to stop for a moment so that she can write out her number and hand it over. "That's me on the network. Give me a shout, eh?"

[captainredwhiteblue]

Steve smiles as he takes her number, glancing down at it before securing it in a pocket. "Thanks. I'll have to--" Insert sheepish back-of-the-neck rub. "Send you mine when I call, I haven't figured it out yet. But I will."