animus_network | 001 Star-Spangled ☆ Text/Action

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001 Star-Spangled ☆ Text/Action

[ A young blonde is at a terminal in the dorms, typing away furiously. Her hair is drenched through from the ever constant rain and sitting beside her is what appears to be your stereotypical grey extraterrestrial. Child-sized and looking about curiously, the grey is a passive counterpoint to America's livid demeanor. ]

Hey, just what the hell is going on around here? One minute I'm making plans to celebrate St. Paddy's Day and the next I'm waking up in the Twilight Zone. It's raining. INDOORS! And it looks like I somehow ended up in someone's worst (or best?) latex fetish dreams. My clothes are nowhere to be found, my jacket is gone, this is definitely not my bedroom and not my house, and, ha, oh yeah, apparently the world ended.

Seriously. This joke isn't funny. Somebody please tell me this is just the sad results of one of England's stupid experiments gone wrong and everything will be back to normal if I click my heels and say "there's no place like home". This can't really be happening. It's not possible.

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[Thankfully for England he's pretty accustomed to rain, though this is just plain ridiculous. He looks like a wet cat, both in appearance and disposition.

He's on his way to America's room when the sight of a familiar alien stops him. It's disorienting (America isn't nearly old enough to have met that little bastard yet), and England stops dead in his tracks, squinting through the heavy rain at the...thing.

He only notices the woman at its side afterwards. He can't see her whole face, but—

nope he's not dealing with this.

So he hurries down the hallway behind the blonde and the terminal.

And promptly slips and falls magnificently on the flooded metal floor in his haste.]

—bloody fuck!

[Must need better traction on those dress shoes of his.]

Better?

[For the moment, the rain pelting the girl at the terminal and her...pet stops as Diarmuid holds a rounded piece of thin metal over their heads. He's been carrying it ever since he picked it up on the workshop floor, not for himself, but for the others who he might run into. He might not look the best--soaked to the skin with his armor clinging to his body even more than usual--but it doesn't bother him, and he can't get sick. A good many of the others he knows in the tower can.

And this girl must be new if she is still walking around in that ugly suit they all wake up in. Could it be she was unlucky enough to arrive without clothes? He hopes not, but definitely wouldn't put it passed the tower.]

[ Both America and Tony turn their heads at the unmistakable sound of someone slipping and cursing in anger (and possibly pain). Amelia raises an eyebrow, too upset about her current predicament to really lau—

No. No, that's not correct; she snorts a laugh anyway. ]

'Real smooth, Prince Harry.

[ After shooting a distracted glance back at the terminal to see if anyone has replied to her yet, she stands up and walks over to the fallen Brit. Behind her, the Grey seems reluctant to follow, but she does at least turn around in her seat to watch the scene unfold. Amelia offers her hand to the guy on the floor. ]

'Need a hand?

[ The pelting of rain unexpectedly ceasing over her and the extraterrestrial causes America to look upwards, her attention instantly diverted from the terminal...

...and she's suddenly aware that this can't be in any way England's doing, because England would definitely not be nice enough to send a chivalrous, wet, pretty boy to greet her. ]

Oh, yeah. Thanks.

[ She laughs a little and Tony beside her makes a quiet hum in appreciation. ]

Uh, do you know what the deal is with this indoor rain? It's kinda nuts.

[Diarmuid nods, a look of distaste entering his eyes. It isn't directed at her and that is obvious from the gentle way he speaks to her.]

The people who run this place like playing games with us. They happen about once a month, and it is unfortunate, but you seem to have arrived just as this one is starting.

[He bows his head slightly, careful not to move the metal from where it's shielding her from the rain.]

My name is Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, First Warrior of the Fianna. I've been here a few months now, and I will be glad to help you however I can.

[ Huh. Well, that certainly is different. America hasn't heard anyone introduce themselves with such a lofty formality in a really long time. We're talkin' centuries here.

And why does that name sound kinda familiar too...?

America doesn't feel very cheerful or friendly right now, but she's not about to be a total jerk to this Diarmuid. She puts on her best happy grin and rearranges herself so she's sitting backwards in her seat. ]

Well, the situation sucks, for sure, but it's good to meet you! I'm the United States of America!

[ She winks and gives him a jaunty little salute. ]

Just America is cool though.

Edited (too much grinning; MIXING UP CHARACTERS NOW TOO) 2013-03-18 12:32 (UTC)

You know England? I know England! But England didn't do anything it was a bunch of bad guys and sometimes weird stuff happens like indoor rain. What's St. Paddy's Day?

[Looking quite like a drowned rat, her hair without the usual pigtails and tangled terribly, drenched all over, England is on her way back to her dorm room to find her wand and attempt to do something about how soaked she is. What she wouldn't give to have had an umbrella included in her chest. She's distracted, and it is the fairy flying by her side that alerts to England to the other woman and the... thing by the computer terminal.

She pauses, staring at the American typing furiously and apparently oblivious to the English woman who has stopped dead, several metres away at the end of the hallway. After weeks of wondering whether she would ever see America or any other nation again, she's afraid to move, afraid America might only be an illusion, a cruel trick of the tower. She's torn between running up and hugging the woman and running up and hitting her. Instead though, she strides forward, giving the grey alien a look of disgust, before peering over her shoulder at the writing on the screen and frowning slightly.]

My "experiments" do not go wrong.

[Not this wrong, at least.]

Huh? You know England? Is she around? And who are these bad guys? And how do you not know what St. Paddy's Day is?

You must know another England since my England's not a girl. They're called adminastraters and there's four of them now. I don't know how I don't know because I don't know what it is.

[ Tony growls before America can say anything at all and blurts out a very heated "FUCKING LIMEY!" just as the younger woman is trying to process the picture in front of her. She's not sure she's ever seen England looking so... disheveled before. Hell, she's a rainy little island! She ought to be used to this! ]

What the fuck did you do!? This is totally your fault!

[A fall is hardly the worst thing he's ever had to deal with, but damn, is this undignified. England pushes his torso up off the floor with aching arms just in time to catch Amelia's words to him.

They're cutting in a way he can't really explain. It's bad enough that she's offering him help (and no, he doesn't need a hand, even though it's really just common courtesy to offer it to someone who has fallen), but he doesn't know if she remembers. If she does, then her help is not help, but mockery.

And if she doesn't, he's not sure how he's supposed to go about it this time around.]

I'm fine, thank you.

[All right probably not like that.

But he's not just going to let that "Prince Harry" quip go.

He sits up, and he is absolutely drenched, hair plastered to his face and dress shirt an utter, sopping wreck. He glowers up at Amelia, distaste evident in his expression.

However, the longer he looks at her, the more it transforms from distaste to something a bit more deeply troubling. His brow furrows and smooths out, and then furrows again — not with distaste, but with trepidation.]

...are you a new arrival?

Wait, wait, wait, wha? England... not a girl? r u srs. C'mon, really.

Okay, look, St. Paddy's Day is a holiday where you go out with your friends, get drunk, and kick over trash cans. I guess you must be like, one of Vietnam's citizens or something?

In the tower there's lots of people and some of them are the SAME people but different! Once I met someone who was me but bigger and he could do magic. I'm not allowed to drink yet so that's probably why I don't know what it is but I don't know why you would want to kick things over, I get in trouble for kicking things. Who's Vietnam?

Okay, okay, 'no need to get your panties in a twist, dude.

[ She finds the way he looks at her a little odd, but she doesn't question it. She shrugs it off as the man being a little shy normally and nervous about talking to a total stranger when he just fell on his ass. She smiles at him and crouches so that they're face-to-face. ]

"New arrival"? Yeah, I guess. I was just sayin' that I woke up here a little while ago.

[ She jerks her thumb over her shoulder towards Tony and the terminal.

And then she notices his eyebrows and she can't stop staring, but she strongly resists the urge to say something about them in favor of learning what she can about her current whereabouts from him. ]

[ Amelia's not sure she buys this whole "same people but different" thing. It sounds really, really out there as far as weird shit goes and so far, all she has by way of proof is some kid's word on the... sort of internet. She wants to push more on the issue, but something else distracts her: ]

Uhm. How old are you?

I'm not sure since I didn't keep track when I was real little. I'm I think forty? Maybe older I'm not sure.

[ F— WHAT. ]

And where're you from?

Virginia. Or America. Or New England! The colonies. England calls it the new world sometimes.

[His shoulders relax a little at her answer. So she doesn't remember. She must not, or she surely would have said something by now.

It's comforting and disconcerting all at once. How many times will he redo this meeting?

Though she doesn't say anything, her staring doesn't go unnoticed. Arthur huffs and turns his face down and away, and resists the urge to raise his hand to his forehead in defence. He bites it out a little more than he means to.]

What do you want to know?

[ Oh—

Suddenly, America feels kind of sick. It takes her a while to respond and she keeps looking at Tony beside her like the Grey will have an explanation or comforting words to offer her. Tony just pats her shoulder. ]

Is your name America?

Yes! Who are you?

[ It is probably a bad move, honestly. Amelia does find it kind of rude how he turns his face away from her combined with that tone, but she also finds it kind of cute. A grown man behaving so petulantly! It's funny to her, so she's not really offended. ]

Uh, well, everything, for starters?

[ She gestures around her. ]

I mean... this is nuts. Seriously cray-cray. And where are my clothes!?

[ Amelia jumps up from her seat and actually walks away from the terminal. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. This is absolutely fucking crazy. She wants to run away from this computer, honestly. It's too much. It's all just too much.

The only thing that brings her back to the terminal is the thought of the kid. Baby, really. She remembers being that age and she knows that that America is very young. Amelia forces herself back to the chair and makes herself sit, then resists the urge to flee again. No. She can't run away from this. She can't be scared. The United States of America does not scare easy.

Explanations can come later; right now, she's got to deal. ]

Amelia. My name is Amelia. Do you have your own room too, America?

Edited 2013-03-18 16:01 (UTC)

Its's nice to meet you! I live in room 16 on the 2nd floor of the dormatrees. It's got my name on the outside.

[He's in the hallway near his room, in one of the terminal alcoves, to be more specific than that.]

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