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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.

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"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.

"Me neither." World-altering tech was the sort of thing other people did where he was from, and while Scott was a decent engineer, he wasn't Stark or Pym/van Dyne level. He again wished Hope were here, or Janet. Hell, he wished Hank were here. They'd know what to do.

Rory had a point and Scott nodded, knowing that ignoring the time-and-space people wasn't going to do him any favors here. "What does your partner do?"

"I burn stuff. He freezes stuff." That's the more blunt part of their skill set. But, on a more useful level.

"He's good at improvising and planning." And generally pretty suave and more likable by random people than Mick. "And he should know there's more than one chance of getting out of here."

Because he's not going to discount Scott's people. After all, if they can make something on par with Palmer's tech.

Mick said he was waiting for a guy with silver buzzed hair in a parka. That guy is sauntering down the sidewalk towards them right now. Just a normal guy, out for a winter stroll, totally not a man from another dimension or whatever the hell this is. Snart catches a few second glances as he walks by other people, but he's not sure if it's because this town is small enough that a stranger stands out, or if they're just looking to look.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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.

"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.

"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."

"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.

"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."

"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."

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.

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Intro Post

Welcome to Carlyle...

Waking Up

Getting Familiarized

Settling In

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