Intro Post

[shitstorm_eve]

Welcome to Carlyle... Waking Up It's happening again. All around town. Maybe it's in the cereal aisle of the general store while no mothers with squalling children are traversing it. Maybe it's in the middle of the town's lonely graveyard, full of hundred-year-old graves in the middle of the night. Maybe in the local city hall restroom, eyes opening to a gaze-full of toilet paper, or in the town's settler museum full of wagon wheels and old farming paraphernalia. There are still a few government workers milling around since the first influx. People in bland suits of various shades of grays and browns, nothing particularly impressive, but if they approach someone who doesn't seem to belong they'll bring them through the intake process. Though there's a chance that, instead, they'll meet a kindly marshall. Average middle-class white guy, a tall Midwesterner with some scruff and a formal uniform and a stocky build. He will discretely move them through if it's needed, make sure they have an ID and paperwork and phone and some concealing clothes if they have the body type that works for it. If they look special or like someone the government might want, he'll try to keep things on the down-low for them. Better than to lose people again. Getting Familiarized When investigating the town, they'll find it with trace damage from the night before. Someone is replacing a door that has ax-marks in it. Another is rebuilding a fence, a crashed car ready to be towed away. And yet another person is filing an insurance claim with his agent, his shed completely burned down and the air closeby filled with the scent of settled smoke. Most of the residents of Carlyle are friendly. If you stop and ask for directions, they'll give them. It's also a time of year in which there are lots of outsiders, on top of current events. Unfortunately, if anyone's dressed in an entirely unfamiliar way, someone might over-react. They may excitedly run to get one of the agents, or they might scream about it happening again, or they might be absolutely delighted and want pictures so they can go viral on FaceBook. There's a cafe in town where there's are a slew of reporters, talking about post-Vesanalia clean-up and the lost arrivals. At first, someone who wanders in might be mistaken for another reporter, there to order coffee or jam microphones at the management outside. But someone might be smart. A towns-person might notice something off, a familiarity in their gaze, or might hear them say something suspicious. The next thing they know, those reporters are turning their microphones towards the newcomer. Settling In Someone might need somewhere to sleep. Well, there's a nice little hotel where it's free. There's probably government surveillance if you care about that sort of thing. Otherwise, your rest will go undisturbed and have the average conveniences of a mediocre bed, a Febreeze smelling duvet, a somewhat new TV, and bathroom with a tile pattern installed in the 80s. One could try a barn, but there's a chance they'll be run out by an angry man in honest to god overalls and an unironic cowboy hat with a pitchfork. They could also try to sleep in a vehicle. Let's just hope the owner doesn't come checking before morning.

Comments

[worldsgreatestgrandma]

Well, that fits the description Scott got earlier. This was either the partner with the penchant for freezing, or some passerby who was dressed sensibly for the cold weather (he was currently wondering if his jacket was a little thin). "Hi," Scott ventures, a few of those second glances focusing on him for a moment.

[slowburn]

Calling out a "Hey Boss" doesn't seem like the best greeting to use and remain low key. So Mick just hollers a quick, "Over here" at Snart. And then, when he gets closer, and Mick is relatively sure all the eavesdroppers, lookyloos, and homebodies are otherwise occupied once again he introduces them.

"Snart, this is Ant Queen. Ant Queen. This is Snart."

That is not the best introduction. Scott might actually give Snart a real name. Luckily, Len's probably used to this crap from Mick by now.

[perfectlychill]

Snart scans the guy up and down, assessing. Why Mick calls him "Ant Queen" isn't obvious to him, but he's sure he'll find out eventually. "Okay, now why should I care." It's a genuine question, and he's got no reason to sugarcoat it. If Mick's introducing him to Snart, there's probably something interesting or useful about him, and Snart wants to get to that part of the conversation.

[worldsgreatestgrandma]

Scott held out his hand for a shake and guessed he'd be left hanging. "Similar lines of work?" That's about the most detail it's safe to go into while people are around. Snart would know what he meant.

"And it's -- not Ant Queen." Though why wasn't that the Wasp's name? It sounded badass.

[slowburn]

"He can do the same thing Haircut can. Either a parallel universe or an alternate timeline. Something off. But it means he's another person with guys that can help. And he's got a few less merit badges he has to live up to than the Boy Scout."

Mick brushes himself off and ambles over to join Snart.

"And looks like he's down with playing it subtle." Which is what they've been doing.

[perfectlychill]

"So when you say similar lines of work, you talking about the hero business or the other business?" The supervillain/professional thievery line of work, which turned out to be unexpectedly compatible with heroism. A suit like Ray Palmer's could be useful for either.

When Mick walks over to him, Snart shift slightly, subconsciously, putting himself close by next to him. He knows Mick will watch his back.

[worldsgreatestgrandma]

"Both, kind of." He tried to be retired from the professional thievery line of work, but that was going to follow him around the rest of his life. It was probably the most useful skill he brought to the hero business -- that and being a fall guy.

"So you guys are used to this."

[slowburn]

"Yeah, we've been at this since we were kids." He pauses. "...The uh. 'Other business'. The hero stuff's been a more recent thing."

And with its own bag of complications.

"So we both got guys. One set of 'em's gotta find us. It might take a while, though." Good fucking god, it might take a while. He rolls his eyes as he remembers the incidents one or any of them ended up stranded in the bowels of time.

Jesus he doesn't even know how old he actually is anymore, give or take Chronos time and Cryo-coma time.

[perfectlychill]

"Usually this," he gestures with a twirl of his finger at the town around them, the being dumped abruptly in the middle of fuck knows where, fuck knows when, "happened to other people. Not me."

Half the crew had been stranded or stuck at one point or another. Snart was lucky enough to be in the other half.

"But, yeah, I know the drill. Sit tight, get comfortable, find an egghead with a prototype gizmo that can fix it." And then steal either the gizmo or the egghead or both, as appropriate. "And wait for cavalry to arrive."

[worldsgreatestgrandma]

"Yeah, I'm new to the hero thing too." It had only been three years, and two of them had been spent under house arrest after becoming an internationally wanted criminal due to a broken airport and politics. "And this hasn't happened to me, either. Not... exactly like this." The quantum realm was an entirely different type of being stranded, and at least he hadn't been stuck there long.

It had taken thirty years to get Janet out, however, because it was such unfamiliar territory...

"It sounds like your cavalry knows what it's dealing with."

[slowburn]

There's a long, awkward pause. He looks to Snart. Then to Scott. Then to Snart again.

Do they really, really know what they're dealing with.

"They're good at improvising." That sounds about right.