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Intro Post

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You're not the only twerp I've met who can adjust his size. He tries to front up too. To your credit, you're better at it than the one I know."

Mick finishes his first treat and wipes his leather gloves on his jeans, before starting to move on to the next one. It's hard to tell his shape under there, he could have some girth because those clothes are pretty loose. But the truth is, all that sugar is just going to be a fuel for a wall of muscle.

"Some of them went to this free motel. Owner lets noobs stay there for free." Some of them being the operative word.

"Can't speak for the rest." Sometimes a man makes bold choices when he doesn't want to leave a paper trail.

"Who else do you know who can do that?" He was by far the least impressive person who had ever put on one of Hank Pym's suits, so that lukewarm compliment was surprisingly uplifting. "Do you do something? I mean obviously you do things but like --" he illustrated "super things" with a vague yet peppy gesture. Mick definitely looked tough enough for it.

"What happens at the free motel?" There had to be a catch there if the police presence was strong, and in that case the leaving-no-trail option didn't sound too bad.

"Guy named Ray Palmer. He's a real boy scout." Literally. When they tried to mock him by calling him a boy scout, he had actually corrected them and informed them he'd been an eagle scout. "Invented the shrinking suit. Didn't know anyone else had picked up the tech." Or that it could be developed convergently. Sort of. (Hank Pym had made his years before).

"I have a gun that makes fire and I punch people." Which is what he surmises what he does down to. But he does look like maybe he could have more to him than just neanderthal tactics. Maybe.

"The motel is under surveillance, I can tell you that. Don't know by who, but I know if you go in there, declare yourself new, ask about a room, everyone's going to know you're an outsider. Luckily it seems to be the time of year that everyone's recovering from being... some sort of maniac." Mick finishes up the last of his snacks and shakes his head. Now that? That baffles him.

"I don't know him." Which seemed like a mistake, since Hank always knew exactly who had shrinking tech and who didn't, but like Rory had said, different universe/dimension/whatever. At least a boy scout probably wouldn't sell it off to someone hostile. "It wasn't picking up the tech, it was --" a long story. "You know what, it doesn't matter."

Well, that was simple enough. "Yeah, I can see how that would work." Even if Mick did just useneanderthal tactics, that sounded pretty effective.

"And they're okay with that?" Most of the people brought in must not have anything to hide, if that was the case. Which meant the motel might be safe, but Scott had spent enough time being surveilled. "Didn't you say it was a party?"

It's at least enough of a curiosity that Mick mulls it over. "Where did it come from, then?" He asks outright. Because, hell. Who knows how these timelines line up.

"And that was a figure of speech. Apparently, they got a day where they just let everyone go insane." He does wobbly mystery fingers at the word. "Legal to break shit and over-react. They even have insurance for it. That's the big difference here I've noticed. But there's no happy cheat sheet timeline I can take a look at."

But then the idea seems to strike him, and he goes to find some steps to sit on, half-finished coffee planted beside him.

"Wikipedia. Right." The thought spoken out loud. Like a true hard researcher dedicated to his sources.

"Someone not named Ray Palmer invented it. After he retired he passed the suit on to me. Well, I stole it. But he let me keep it." He wasn't about to drop the name Pym after all the fallout from his "mission" in Germany, even if that was in another universe.

"So it's a holiday for riots?" Scott was not the most respectful of laws, or of leaving other people's property alone, and that still sounded weird. "Has anyone said why? Because that sounds like a really stupid idea."

Wikipedia, on the other hand, was the wisest thing Scott had heard all day.

"Nope. But then again, nobody really explains Christmas. They just come up to you on Halloween with their candycanes ready way too damn early. If you didn't know, you'd be confused as hell."

Especially working out when Santa gave birth to Jesus and if the reindeer were in the manger. Christmas is confusing. He takes a few moments to read, working his jaw thoughtfully.

"Says here people can't control themselves. Well... a few people can't control themselves. So they just started forgiving shit and protecting themselves."

"What's it called?" It sounded like the worst execution of Mardi Gras imaginable. Scott was going to have to research this on his own. He wasn't sure he doubted it, though, because it was such a bizarre thing to lie about. "It's over for the year, right?"

"Yeah. Just yesterday, in fact."

It's not like he has a lot of personal info on the thing, so he hands his own to Scott. The background is a dragon and fire, predictably. All the apps standard fare, save for GrubHub and Angry Birds.

"Vesanalia."

He took the phone and read through the article, frowning more and more deeply as he went and looking up in shock when he got to the "history" section. "They've been doing this for centuries? And people die? This is the worst holiday I've ever heard of!"

"I haven't seen any bodybags here. Maybe the lady that god her door axed down was ready for the person that decided to go here's Johnny! on her. My guess after a few centuries you start learning to deal with it. Get desensitized."

Mick mulls that over. "Aztecs had some wild ones. But yeah. It doesn't sound like the best time."

"Doesn't mean there weren't any. It happens everywhere, people have to have died. How can you get desensitized to that?"

Sure, maybe horrible stuff happened everywhere, but this was just... Scott didn't have words for it. "Well I don't know anything about the Aztecs! And I don't think I want to!"

"I went to Juvie as a kid and was fighting off other kids twice my size. Met my partner protecting him from teens out to shank him. Does a hell of a lot to desensitize you. Now, think of that. Every person here has been living with the idea of going crazy and being attacked since they were a kid.

"They didn't learn to die scared. They learned to live around it, do what it takes to survive and keep living." Living in this case being able to wake up every day knowing that once a year your mom might go crazy and try to kill you.

He points to some insurance adjustor examing a car as a tow-truck is lining it up. Some mess further down the street that happened very recently. Seems like the clean-up crews were ready to go. "Or they learn how to cash in."

"Where the hell did you go to juvie?" San Quentin had been better than that. Scott knew he was pretty lucky for an ex-con with two convictions but that sounded more like the Hunger Games than a kids' facility.

Watching the insurance adjuster, he frowned and handed the phone back to Mick. "That's the most depressing thing I've heard all day and I just read this."

"Central City." Is where he went to Juvie. "A lot of gang bangers back then. Kids already used to life on the streets."

Mick takes the phone back.

"Yeah, well. We got 364 days to get the fuck out, give or take a leap year." He checks his wrist as if it has a watch. It has no watch. "Right, 2019. Leap year happens in 2020. But... wait. Leap year is after...."

Mick is smarter than he looks. But the way his eyes swivel as he works that out could cast doubts on that notion.

"Is it just the worst place on earth? Prison is better than that."

What is Mick's life? How was he so relaxed about all this, with his main concern being the calendar? "Look," Scott said slowly, "do you have a plan for what you're doing here?"

"You make me wish I'd gone to your prison." Mick nods sagely. "Sounds like a nice place." He'd never been to a polite one, or near polite one, in his life.

"You want an honest answer or a narc-safe answer? Either way, it's get by for as long as we can until we figure out a way out or help arrives. And help will arrive or some bullshit egghead will show up with their fixit of the hour."

He does a 'cheers' gesture with his coffee. Because he lacks beer at the moment.

"They always do."

"Not really. But better than that." It could have been a lot worse for him if he hadn't fallen in with some much bigger and tougher guys. Once he and Luis became friends, Peachy and his group had kept the more aggressive inmates off his back.

"Kind of both." It hadn't escaped his attention that they were saying this in the middle of the street. Luckily there weren't too many people keen on loitering in the winter, not that it meant anything. "Do you do this a lot?"

Mick, almost notoriously, just doesn't care who might see or hear him. Which isn't always the stealthiest, but he's very good at playing the "who's gonna believe you game." And should they believe them? He's very good at giving the cops the slip. Somehow. Despite being the size that he is.

"Yeah. I was on a time travelling ship. Full of idiots that fucked everything up trying to be heroes. But in my opinion, they fucked it up for the better. Sure, things might need fixing, but before we were getting played. And-" There's... something that goes off on Mick there. Like a switch, like he remembers something rough, and he grunts softly.

"Well. Got pretty good reason... to believe we're gonna be fine. Problem is, I can't tell if this is an alternate world or a different timeline. Because if it's the later you're an amonale- amomany- anenome... something like that. A time hiccup, 'cause you got tech like the guy I know. Or if they just popped up the same in different places."

The stakes on Mick's end were lower than on Scott's, who still had a fully-functional shrinking suit that could currently fit a plastic army man figure in his pocket. He had done some crazy things to escape capture, but talking openly was a gamble he usually preferred not to take.

"A time travelling ship." He repeated the phrase, squinting and trying to accept the image. "All right. I don't know how that works, but that's cool."

Scott shook his head no, defensive over the idea that Hank's tech might just be an anomaly. "I told you, I didn't get the tech from the guy you know. My guy invented it, it's named after him. I've never heard of a Ray Palmer, and I have a pretty good idea who has this where I'm from. An okay idea. A decent id-- I know the guy who invented it, damn it."

He took a deep breath. "So -- that could mean something."

Edited 2019-03-10 12:05 (UTC)

Mick, to his credit, had a state of the art heat gun. (One that, in a very ghostbusters way, he couldn't cross streams with his partner's cold gun so they got pretty good at fighting back to back).

"Yeah, the captain was an asshole but he fucked off and left the smart girl in charge. So. Needs to happen sometimes."

Mick wrinkles his nose a little. "Yeah, but if it was a broken timeline, you could have known someone your whole life. You wouldn't know the difference unless you were outside the timeline when it broke. If it's a whole new universe, then fuck it, it's all real. And it's hard as hell to tell the difference.

"Don't worry, this feels like different world territory. I don't think they have anything useful here. The highest tech things to show up in a while that aren't cars made by a billionaire with a smelly name are, well, us."

"Okay." Scott didn't know how to react to all that. "Cool?"

"How do you know the difference? It sounds like broken timelines aren't that different from whole new universes." He's actually curious, the quantum realm is beyond his understanding.

"In my experience? I needed a ship to be able to tell for sure. Don't got a ship. So. I guess we're livin' it until we figure out which or one of our guys comes to rescue us."

Then a pause as he considers.

"You got guys, right? 'Cause I got guys. Someone's gotta notice and come get us. We do that shit all the time."

"I guess that's fair." Couldn't blame a man for relying on tech, it was what he did all the time. And the nomenclature probably wasn't all that important, it was just the idea that Hank's tech had been some kind of spinoff that rubbed Scott the wrong way.

"I... have a guy? Girl? And I have some guys I know, but they've got their own stuff going on. I don't know if they can follow me here."

"The more geeks in on it, the better. I know I can't build a world hopping portal machine out of kitchen crap."

Acknowledging that he's stuck is... not great.

"Hey, look. I think you oughta let me introduce you to my partner. Three heads are better than two." See he can do math, be proud of him! He ambles over, brushing off his gloved hands.

Welcome to Carlyle...

Waking Up

Getting Familiarized

Settling In

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