multiversallogs

Entry tags:

:E

Who: OPEN
What: an evening outing
Where: around Brock Marsh, possibly a little further abroad if desired - any setting is fine
When: the evening of his arrival
Notes: this will take place after he meets Kate, naturally, but that thread isn't finished yet so if something comes up, I will edit it in and note that!
Warnings: none

It's comforting to be ignored, as the people of Mog Hill are more or less used to newcomers staring at everything. Still, he doesn't like to play tourist, so John steals looks rather than gaze outright, keeping his head down and radiating a certain irritable unsociability. As he trudges along, glancing here and there, he probably looks a little disreputable — it's the whole slightly unshaven, more than slightly sullen thing. And maybe the furious chain smoking. Which is not really calming him, since he only has the one pack and it's running low already. With that in mind, he eyes what looks like a convenience store and then enters to peruse the cigarette options.

He's traveled quite widely for someone his age, so not seeing any familiar brands doesn't throw him, but it is still a little weird. Scowling at the rack, he hunches his shoulders and tries to collect himself. He needs a job. He needs to get the fuck out of that inn, and get familiar with the city.

He needs to go home, but if this shit happens often enough to have a fucking pamphlet for it, that's probably not happening. God knows he's not exactly indispensable to the Brotherhood, anyway. No one contacted him and that doesn't mean they're not here but it means he's on his own, which he hasn't been for a long time. Purposeless, too. Maybe he should go back to school, however the fuck that works here. He can't really imagine that.

Selecting a brand at random, he then lingers over the available selection of newspapers. Some of them remind him of tabloids, except they're not sensationalist — instead of LIZARDMAN EMERGES FROM FLORIDA SWAMP, EATS PET CAT, it's like LIZARDMAN OFFERING SUBSTANTIAL REWARD FOR RETURN OF LOST CAT. There's a thought. He could go cat hunting.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hellsing is well-known enough in Baedal that when Lyla comes in, wearing her admittedly quite bastardized (http://www.polyvore.com/never_knew_id_know_much/set?id=28804845) version of the staff uniform, she attracts some glances. Which receive a flat stare and little else, because she's nicfitting like a fiend, and is fidgety while she waits at the counter for her preferred Baedal brand.

Once she receives them and pays, she immediately rips off her badge, in order to not misrepresent Hellsing during the course of her cigarette acquisition, and puts it in her jacket pocket. When she swings past John, she pauses, observing the newspaper selection near him.

"Those papers are two degrees above fucking useless, aren't they," is her incredibly eloquent (and drawling--her accent has not faded during all of this dimensional traveling) input.

"Well," John says dryly, looking up from the papers at Lyla, "there's a novelty factor, but I was hoping for something less..." Grimace. "... human interest. Or lizardman interest, for that matter. Which one is the least useless, you think?"

There's something about her poise that reminds him of the Frost girls, but he doesn't feel uncomfortable the way he does around them. Which isn't to say she's not a telepath, but how would he know? Not that there's anything wrong with that, he thinks loudly, just in case. Even if she were, though, she doesn't seem (based upon this five seconds of interaction) to share any other traits with them. Well, nobody's really like them. And if he keeps comparing every girl he meets to them that's going to get old.

"The ones with the zombie headlines are pretty relevant," she says, after a contemplative once-over of the papers assembled. She plants one hand on her hip, smiling a little in a vague, semi-friendly way; Lyla is friendly by nature, even if she's more irascible than usual due to a dire shortage of carcinogens in her lungs.

"Catching up on recent events? 'Cause ours ain't nothing like anywhere else, which is really saying something."

She acquires one cigarette and lights it. In the store. This will end well when the employee working notices.

[ The evening of this conversation (http://multiversal.livejournal.com/45555.html?thread=2323443#t2323443): ]

Because Gambit was not born yesterday, he does not waltz into the bar at the stroke of ten like he's off to meet an old school buddy - instead he takes his time, spies for lookouts, and creeps seamlessly and easily into the establishment through the back entrance. It's more his abilities as a thief than a super hero that help him with that, and leaving his trademark coat at home and keeping sunglasses on until he's actually inside mean he's not quite the target that he could be.

When he is inside, he doesn't look around, and just casually comes up to the bartop and gets a beer, lighting a cigarette while it's poured. He knows how to get in and out, he knows the bar tender has a laser rifle under the register, and he has an eye in the back of his head for everybody in the place. Remy's distinctive enough, on time, and not talking to anybody else. He's sure John'll find him.

There's at least one guy who was definitely watching everyone coming in, though he wasn't entirely lacking in subtlety. John's description of Gambit had been focused on his eyes, the one variable he was betting would be the same even if Gambit were, as he is, from another universe, so a few minutes pass from the appointed meeting time before the lookout picks up his CiD and messages John to let him know. Then it's about two minutes before John comes in from wherever he was loitering, eyeing the Apache's decor with a guarded skepticism. Though the lookout had let him know Gambit's position, John at least doesn't look and go there straight away; he scans the bar's occupants naturally, without acknowledging the lookout, and then slumps over toward Remy without hurry.

While Gambit looks more or less how he expects, it's not like he'd spent much time with his version of the guy to begin with, so physical differences don't strike him the way they should have if he'd been paying more attention. John himself is in distinct shortage of blondness and terrible costume choices. He just looks short and scruffy.

Never much one for ceremony, he dispenses with any form of greeting in favor of ordering a beer and then glancing to Gambit. "It's okay to talk here?"

All right, well... the first thing Gambit knows is that he truly has no fucking idea who this guy is. Great. His best guess is still Pyro, between 'John' and 'matches', but everything else is so different that he can't help but second guess himself. Based on Charles and Raven alone, he could be talking to Jean right now.

"Long as you ain't got a problem," he says easily, though his cigarette. "You in one piece, man?"

Might as well start off friendly, and go from there. Wanda couldn't place him any closer, which isn't great, but they'd known from the get-go his message was about the Brotherhood. So something is the same, here, he's just got to figure it out.

In response to the first part, he takes another look around and shrugs. Not the strangest bar he's seen, but he hasn't been able to stop being anxious yet. He hasn't even slept. Everything is too weird. Not because it's so different, though much of it is, but because things jerk back and forth between doable and alien.

There's a little of that going on right now, too. On the one hand, he's trying to keep in mind exactly what Gambit said earlier, that this place has no set reality. On the other hand, he's kind of acting like he knows John.

"Sure. Be better if there were people I knew around, but I'll deal." Blunt and to the point, but it's not precisely impatient. He'll take pacing cues from Gambit depending on his response.

"We all gotta work with what we got," he muses, and plainly sizes him up. "Which is why I'm gonna be honest with you - and, considering my particulars, this is no small effort, if only by compulsion alone." Here, he gestures with the hand holding his cigarette, the glowing end of it making after-image patterns in the dim light of the bar. "You strike me as a paranoid man, but I respect that. Can you chill out long enough for a conversation that is without a doubt going to be weird as hell?"

Remy figures this kid has to know the old incarnation of the Marauders, the ones who he led under those sewers. The Brotherhood won't have shit to do with Sinister these days, not like that, and he's sure if his old friend was around, he'd warrant a mention alongside Magneto - or above, if one was truly paranoid. (Magneto can be reasoned with. He's got a fucking soul. Sinister does not.) He wonders how long it'll take John to realize that the man he's talking to is no eighteen-to-twenty year old, like he was back then. Remy's kept pretty well, but... not that well.

John shrugs again and abandons trying to prod the conversation along, working on his drink instead. Any sense of Remy being older than he 'should' be is vague at best; when he last saw Gambit, John was sixteen and Gambit fell firmly into the 'older than me and knows what he's doing' category, though in fact he tends to overestimate the people he meets now that he's with the Brotherhood and especially when he was younger. The universe differences being what they are, in any case, that Gambit really had been older than 18-20.

He's used to shutting up and listening, so it's not exactly a hardship. By all appearances he doesn't have any weapons on him. There's just that odd little... sleeve? Thing? That's pulled down low on his right hand, the thing with the stylized shark on it.

John can try to light Remy on fire if he wants - hell, he's already got a lit cigarette right in his face - but that won't really be helpful to anybody. And it'd be totally rude to the bartender, who apparently did not even card him.

"I have, at best, a vague idea of who you might be." This is going somewhere great, surely. "My best guess is Allerdyce, but that guy was a yellow jumpsuit wearing Australian jackass working under Mystique's unit, not the old man's, and seeing as you ain't Australian or carrying a tank of rocket fuel on your back like a lunatic, you're either not him or you seriously lucked out in the universe straw drawing and got away with a few more braincells."

"But-" more gesturing- "I am pretty well versed in this dimension hopping crap and I am not hugely bothered if we don't match up, because shit happens. So far I got three different realities pinned down, at least, of folks from ones like ours. It may sound crazy now, but... you'll get used to it. 'Specially if Xavier hasn't bit it in yours."

Trying to set Gambit on fire has not occurred to John, despite the fact that the situation with the Marauders became messy later on. Gambit, after all, hadn't been one of them. And really, that last sentence has all of his attention. His expression goes sort of rigid, even though he's spent the last three years stridently opposed to and occasionally trying to kill the guy himself — just never personally. Not his place. He doesn't have a handy telepath-blocking helmet.

"Huh." John takes another drink while processing this. His dual citizenship is hardly of interest, so he forgoes commenting on the Pyro that Gambit knows. "So one is of old people, one is your world, one is mine?"

He has probably given away more than he meant to, not only to Gambit but to the possibly sympathetic stranger he talked to over the device. That's got to stop, anyway. Just in case.

Well, that is an interesting reaction, which of course doesn't go unnoticed. Remy decides, perhaps flippantly, that this guy gets to be Pyro. Even if he's not, he is not feeling creative enough to make up a stand-in code name. Sullen Camping Kid. Pee Guy. Catchy, sure, but Pyro is easier to remember.

"You flatter me," he deadpans, and yeah, he's thinking of that sympathetic stranger, too. Curiouser and curiouser. "You look older than the blonde girl who popped up not too long ago, and she ain't one of mine."

"Just one?" He says sharply, wondering how well the Frost girls would function on their own, if in fact only one of them is here. But they're hardly the only blond mutants, of course. It's just that he doesn't know any associated with the X-Men or Brotherhood or even the Marauders, though his knowledge is hardly complete, there. And he's also sure, even given their dislike for him (he assumes, anyway, they don't treat him any worse than they treat other people), they would have said something.

Taking out his CiD (perhaps a little slowly, just to be polite), he looks further back into the archives than he'd delved before to see if he can find her. And while he's seen Mystique take on a blond form before, it was both an older form and a different face than the one found on the cohort network, so he's shit out of luck again.

"Who're you thinkin' about?" It doesn't sound nosy, because it isn't - Remy has an easy way about him, and it's parts genuine and deceptive. In this instance, he isn't deliberately trying to pull a fast one on John; it's going to be easier for everybody if he's just nice to the guy. It's not like Gambit has a huge lead on anybody in moral high ground, anyway, concerning things like the Brotherhood.

"Anyway, about your question." ... From hours ago, "Me, you, and an ex-member I'm not sure if you'd know. Three kids from my world, a woman from another timeline. Somebody's Xavier is here, and blondie."

There's a pause, ostensibly because he's distracted by the CiD but also as he comes to roughly that conclusion for himself, before John answers. "I don't see any of them. Celeste, Sophie, Mindy, Phoebe, or Esme." Tucking the device away, he adds, "So now he's not dead, or he's from before he was dead?"

This is ridiculous, his voice says. But he doesn't even know the half of it.

He'd also like to hear about the ex-member, but he exercises a bit of restraint and only asks one question at a time.

It would be difficult to contain his honest reaction to that list of names, so he doesn't, and Remy immediately shudders and makes a face. "Damn, homme, if them or Frost was here I'd say somethin' specific. Who the hell you runnin' with?" The Cuckoos, Jesus Tapdancing Christ. They'd better not show up.

"Who? Chuck? He's fine where I come from." There's plain familiarity in his voice at that, but... there was with the Stepford girls, too.

Well, he can't deny he's amused and very vindicated to see Remy's response to their names, so he smirks briefly into his beer.

"I'm not supposed to know, but we rescued them from some fucked up government lab. Don't really know what happened to the original." If John had any idea just how different things were for Remy... but he doesn't, and the significance of the familiarity escapes him for the most part. They had suspected Gambit had fallen in with the X-Men after a while, but they had never confirmed it, nor were they sure of his actual allegiance — if indeed he had any at all. "And he's fine in my world too, though not for lack of trying. But obviously —" John makes a stalling or placatory gesture. "— that's not important here."

Not least because Xavier could scramble his brains in the blink of an eye. He might prefer not to but he could. "So, where did he die? And who's the ex-member?"

His tone does not suggest malice towards this person. He's sure it'd be best for everyone if he just stayed away.

"Weapon program?" There's familiarity with that, too, and a little tiredness. God, he's sick of hearing about government labs, of any incarnation. Maybe someday, they'll all stop doing it.

"Clarice's world, and you can ask her about how that went. She don't like me none, but you should be in the clear." Easy enough; he can't remember for shit if Pyro did anything in that timeline. He can play that hand for himself. "And she's my girlfriend who is sick of this shit, so don't bug her."

Gambit's always been a ladies man. Maybe he's just really whipped.

John just nods, indifferent, as both answer to the question and agreement to the last part. It might be useful to know the girlfriend's name so he can properly avoid her, but he decides not to push. Remy being whipped does not occur to him. The request seems reasonable. He's curious about Xavier too, but asking more will probably make the whole thing where he just said it's not important look less sincere.

"As long as it's not Joanna...?" That's really doubtful in his mind, just because he doesn't think Gambit's her type, but he could always be wrong, or Joanna could be different anyway. "Anyone else I might know?"

Leaning one elbow on the bar top, he rubs irritably at his temple. Things could be worse. They could be better, though, too.

He shakes his head. Not Joanna. (By all that is holy, do not let the subject of Rogue come up. Good lord.) "You mean here? I dunno, that's my runnin' tally so far. You look too young to know any of the kids. There could be more who aren't on this cohort, though, we don't got access to anything citywide. No internet." He stubs out his cigarette, and then smiles, lopsided, at John's expression.

"Pretty much, homme." ... Pretty much a headache? Yep.

The subject of Rogue is a spit-take waiting to happen.

"All right." And then, as if it is an unfamiliar process, he adds, "Thanks." Then— "Will you let me know if you see anybody popping up?" The question makes him sound about as young as he is, maybe even younger, and he grimaces a little. Gambit isn't a friend and John should be more careful. He might as well wear a sandwich board announcing what a newbie he is. But Remy has clearly been here a lot longer and will have more feelers out. "I mean like... well, no, actually I guess anybody but Magneto or Joanna can go fuck themselves. It's not like anybody will actually see Mystique unless she wants them to. I guess Madrox wasn't bad. That's all, though."

"You just a basket fulla sunshine, ain't you." He drains his beer. "Yeah I'll keep you hooked up. Don't be a stranger though, it's hard to tell in these places when somebody goes quiet if they got kicked back out or if they're dead. And there's plenty here to kill you. Speaking of-"

He gestures for a refill. Aha, he wasn't done. In either sense. When the bartender vacates, Gambit continues: "The reason why the network ain't secure is it's government run. The government likes to do fuckall about things that don't benefit it. Like allow a cover-up for anti-xenian cults to happen." Presumably John can peg the word xenian by now.

The second of blankness is similar to what he did when Gambit said Xavier was dead, but this time it's distant and not personal, and when the second passes, he laughs — not scornfully or dismissively, but a short little cynical thing that escapes him even though he didn't mean to let it go.

"Yeah. Okay. I was wondering. So many different kinds of people and weird shit here, I didn't know, and I didn't think it was gonna be okay but for a second there, I did wonder." John finishes his drink and doesn't order another. "Girl I was talking to, Kate, talked about vampires and zombie ants or some shit. Yeah, okay, fine. Keep my head down and all that."

"I'm not sayin' keep your head down," Remy says, and the smile in his voice now isn't really all that nice - but nobody's ever really known with him, have they? "There's vampires and there's demons and werewolves and people look at us the same way. I'm sayin' don't get lazy and don't bother callin' the cops if you're in trouble. You handle it yourself."

Part of him realizes he's advocating killing humans who try and shove him around based on his genetics, but then, it's the same advice he'd give Billy or Tommy - even though he knows handle it doesn't mean the same thing, where they're concerned. Fact of the matter is, the Militia's not going to help them. At all.

(Maybe they would. Maybe he'd have more faith if somebody like Jean was here to talk to people. But even when he's playing nice, Remy knows what the score is; he can't pretend otherwise.)

"That what Australian rocket fuel Pyro would do, call the cops?" A few years ago he would've been snappy and offended, but there's no fucking point, he's come to understand that. (Most of the time.) So instead he sounds both amused and annoyed.

Remy just laughs. "I got way better looking jackasses to hang out with then your unfortunate"...ly dead "cousin, homme, believe you me. But you look pretty damn shell shocked under there, so hell if I know what you're gonna do. You got enough cash to keep from havin' to mug anybody for a bit?"

Now he does bristle, but it's purely reflexive and it goes no further than that; it just disappears after it happens, the way a cat swipes at anything small and fast-moving, then goes back to sitting there. About as threatening, anyway. "Yeah, it's fine."

... because he's smoking more than eating, but whatever, he's in no danger of starvation. "All right, I'll keep in touch. If I don't die and get settled then maybe I'll ask you about training some time, that okay?"

He expects a reaction along those lines, so he doesn't blink - John can take it however he wants, but it's not pity or him looking down on him, just the fact that they're both mutants. Old habits die hard, and all. (Though he could probably work on delivery and audience. Oh well.)

"Knock yourself out. I'll be around." And not hiding, at all, because he's too old for that shit.

John nods and leaves some money on the counter, mind already elsewhere by the time he makes his way out of the Apache.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

:E

no subject

no subject

no subject

later, @ the apache

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject