25 - TIME TRAVEL'S A HELL OF A THING.

[raisedinabox]

[Video clicks on, and there's a young man who's clearly been yanked straight out of the trenches peering towards the screen. He's dressed in an American first world war uniform, encrusted with grime and mud, and clutching a rifle and bayonet to his chest. He looks uncomfortable, and a little twitchy. Clearly he's not taking being redistributed

Comments

[thewheelofdeath]

[All that can be seen under this guy's cowl and scarf is yellow eyes. His voice is a low, amused rasp.]

Asra Whiteshield. I'm a ... human mercenary.

[Not true and not true.]

It's so refreshing to be able to easily identify the 'good guys.'

[raisedinabox]

A mercenary? You... workin' for the US? Or England?

[Pauuuuuse]

Uh, can you tell me who's hired you, Sir?

[thewheelofdeath]

No one at the moment. I am just as displaced as you are.

[raisedinabox]

So far I spoke to two soldiers, a naval man, and a prince who was fighting when he got took. Could be whatever brought us here was lookin' into places of conflict to choose it's people?

You mind telling me where you're from originally, Sir?

because I'm ridic, have a different account! also SPAM

[fearbycruelty]

[Have an Aldo, John! He got to wandering, and really, why not lend his brain? Or at least swap...stories. Theories. Something.

You don't mind him sitting at your table, do you? Of course you don't.]

Well hey there, Private. How goes the pow-wow?

[Pause, and then, because he's mildly out of practice with this whole Official thing:]

Lieutenant Aldo Raine, First Special Service Force.

[...Yes, he's in civilian clothes. That's how the Basterds Roll.]

Yay Spam! And lol, I had to be a big weenie and look up who this was in the ooc post \o/

[raisedinabox]

[John has finally cracked and gone to get some food, and oh my god he doesn't think he's tasted anything so good in his life. Maybe it's the months on rations, or maybe it's just that the food is straight up better in outer space, but this shit is thoroughly good. He glances up as Aldo approaches, and quickly pushes the food to the side.]

Hello! It's going... a little quiet right now, Sir. I've spoken to a few people over this thing [He hefted the communicator slightly] but most seem to be keeping to themselves.

[He glances up again at the official introduction, and quickly salutes]

It's good to meet you Lieutenant. Have you found anything out about this place yourself?

[spam] -- haha sorry, I should have clarified! O_o

[fearbycruelty]

Yeah, I can't say I'm surprised; weird little gizmo, dontcha think? Can't rightly blame 'em for stayin' off it.

[He waves off the salute; he doesn't really need it. Or want it.]

Haven't found out much; mostly that it's a ship...somewhere. I guess some people end up here when they die, some get here by their own free will, an'...a bunch of us at the moment ain't here for the same reasons an' we get to look forward to bein' back where we came from in a couple days. Ain't much, but I guess that's somethin'. [And cue a wide grin.] Either way, sounds like we get a couple days R&R.

Don't think I caught when you're from; I'd say fresh outta Europe, but your uniform's all wrong.

[spam] -- Haha! No worries! I had a fun guessing game :D

[raisedinabox]

Yeah, it's like nothing I ever saw before. I guess that's true of this whole place though.

[The mention of a few days R&R does pretty obviously lift John's spirits, but... wow, Aldo, wow. That's a special kind of weirdness you just laid on him.] I was thinkin' we must have been taken by aliens, but there was this navy guy saying he thought we were taken by fairies, and... now... I don't know, you think this is the afterlife? Like, you think we're seeing it because we're near to dying?

I'm stationed in France, Sir. At the Marne. [There's a short pause, before he adds (because he kind of knows he has to add it by now):] 1917, Sir.

[strangehstorian]

It is good to see mortals protecting each other even in chaos.

I am Alexstrasza, She Who Is Life.

[raisedinabox]

I--

Thank you, Miss She-Who-Is-Life, I'm... I'm glad that it's good to see it.

[Spam, backdated]

[raisedinabox]

[John's hands gripped the shaft of his rifle, as he stared at his surroundings. This... this wasn't right. This wasn't where he had been. Scarce minutes before he'd been ankle deep in frozen mud in a trench in the Marne, and now... he was not.

After months in the trenches, the sudden silence and calm of his surroundings were... surreal, unfathomable. At the sound of someone approaching, he jerked to his feet and swung around, eyes wide, Rifle arching around to point directly at the man.]

Who goes there?

[The words were barked, not betraying his current panic, but there was that remaining, uncontrolable quaver in his hands, the one that had arisen in his second month in the field, and he'd not been able to quell since.]

[Spam, backdated]

[raisedinabox]

Where is here, Sir?

[His voice does adopt a slight quaver there, but John lowers the rifle, slightly. Whoever Edward Nygma is, he doesn't seem to be threatening, and he's clearly American.]

Private John Stakowski, of the 3rd Infantry Division. I'm supposed to be stationed in the Marne, Sir.

[uberwaldian]

[Nobby's been generally sort of skulking around, but when he spots the bayonet, his eyes light up, and he can't help but rush over to see it up close.]

What's that, mister?

[raisedinabox]

[What? Who is this rushing over towards him? John resists the urge to point the gun at him, but... he's just a little boy.]

It's a rifle, Son. It's dangerous, not something you can play with.

[uberwaldian]

Dangerous? Cool! [Nobby tries to resist the urge to reach for the gun. He fails.] What's a rifle?