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

[perfectlychill]

Snart notices the girl but doesn't pay her any attention at first. The mis-mash clothes, the giant backpack, looks like either a runaway or a college student. Hard to tell the difference sometimes. But then he looks again...that thing on her wrist...that's different. He saunters up to her.

"Nice bracelet. You get cable with that?"

Her reaction, to reach for her hip like she's used to carrying a gun, that's interesting too.

[quixotically]

An apology dies on Elle's tongue. She shouldn't have -- She shouldn't have jumped this badly, shouldn't have... tried to reach for her pistol, even if it -- even if it isn't there. But she feels exposed, uncertain. And she definitely wouldn't have expected for someone to... not care that she tried to reach for a gun. But... This place isn't like the Mojave. Maybe he... didn't recognize what she was doing. She doesn't know. She just doesn't know. All she can do is try to understand what he said. "I, um... No?" Elle fidgets with the dial on the back of her glove again. She doesn't know what he means by 'cable,' and doesn't know if she should try to pretend she does. "It's... called a Pip-Boy."

[perfectlychill]

Snart's from Central City's slums. Where he's from, someone who doesn't reach for a gun when startled probably isn't gonna last very long. He's used to gauging when someone's a real threat or not, and is smugly confident in his ability to draw faster if he judges that they are. This girl is lost and nervous, not murder-y. "Not the kind of tech I'd expect to see in a place like this. You're not from around here, are you kid."

[quixotically]

There's no real point in denying it, she guesses. "No," she admits, brushing her thumb over the top of the dial. But, shortly afterwards, it starts to dawn on her that his phrasing is... If he was someone from here, he would've said it differently, right? Unless he just meant the hotel when he said a place like this, but that would be... odd. Her brow furrows a little, and she looks at the man properly now. "... are you?" She could be wrong. But, more than allowing for that possibility, she thinks it'd be better for her to ask than assume.

[perfectlychill]

"No way. You know, I hear the murder rates are higher per capita in small towns than in big cities. I always figured it was to relieve the boredom." He's still not entirely sure where he is. Knows it's called "Carlyle" by looking at the newspapers and the names of the stores (Carlyle's Best Antiques. Carlyle General Store.) But he's never heard of the place and doesn't know where it is, why he's here, or how far to Central City.

[quixotically]

Elle blinks, slowly. She's... not sure if she understands what he means. She definitely isn't sure about "per capita," or what that has to do with whether or not he's from here. But -- She thinks the boredom is the important part. Which... she thinks means he's not from this town, but he's from "here."

She can't help but fidget properly with the dial on her Pip-Boy glove, slowly turning it. She doesn't know why she got her hopes up -- didn't notice that she had. It takes her a moment to figure out what to say. She's not sure what to, but... She guesses she can fall back to talking about her Pip-Boy.

"This..." She taps the screen. "It's not... super common where I'm from, either."

[perfectlychill]

"Yeah, you might want to stash it somewhere if you want to avoid attention." He shrugs. "Your choice. But something freaky is going on around here, and people like us, who were dragged here to Butt Fuck Carlyle from across time and space, are in the middle of it."