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[initiates]

Date & Time: Evening, 10th February 3312
Location: Transport Room
Characters: Open To All
Summary: Everyone is brought into the transport room at roughly the same time, in a great succession and flow of imported individuals. Everyone is being lead around in small bundles, or left to their own devices together inside the Initiative Hold.
Warnings: None.

Widespread and crowded, everyone is being transported into this unusually bright room with an efficiency that is almost horrifying. One after the other, new people are appearing -- being led, shown around and then ultimately abandoned with one final phrase; "Good luck."

The Initiative Hold is wide, like a small town in its depth and industry. You've received your weapon; you've got your keys, your netbook, and one of those robed strangers has shoved a small pouch full of what you can only assume is money into your open palm. You've been given an apartment, but where on earth -- are we on earth? -- is it? Your best opportunity right now is to mingle; at least, that's what everyone else appears to be doing. Those strangers in the robes have left. They're tending to the people who are arriving, one by one and in a quick procession. Energy bustles all around you, as you're strapped up with your sudden gifts and looking around.

Hey, maybe you'll even see some familiar faces.

Comments

[bottlegreen]

[ Well. Now he's looking back at her. He's not sure whether to be intensely skeptical of the British Navy taking women, or-- or 1990? It's all he can do not to look astonished all over again, although this time he is more successful in holding that back. ]

I beg pardon? Did I hear you say 1990?

[boughtabookstore]

[ heh. she'd been wondering what the reaction would be. with a tilt to her mouth that might actually be a growing smile. ]

I did. It's 2011 where I'm from.

You? I'm guessing, what, early 1800's?

[bottlegreen]

[ Well, that's-- pretty ridiculous. Isn't it? True, she's in strange dress (so is everyone around here, really), and true, she claims to be in the military, which is odd enough for the world (and time?) that he knows, but -- of course that's impossible.

So, really, what it comes down to is wondering what reason this woman could possibly have for feeding him such an outlandish tale. He steels himself against the bemusement, pulling up a somewhat chilly front. ]

The year six, to be precise. [ 1806, of course. But the eighteen is ever-so-implied. ] And, begging your pardon, but I see no real need for you to claim otherwise; the year is only common knowledge.

[boughtabookstore]

[ okay, now she's having fun. and feeling a tiny bit guilty for it, but hey. you find your entertainment where you can. ]

I'm wearing pants. And does this gun look like the ones you know?

[ she takes it out and holds it out on her palm, though it's still far closer to her than him and she keeps a couple fingers curled around the stock possessively. ]

[bottlegreen]

[ He has to admit, she holds the gun like she's familiar with it. And her confidence does speak in her favor. He studies the gun, shifting slowly from skeptical to interested, though keeps a respectful distance in response to her obvious caution with him. It's no design he's ever seen. ]

It does not, no. Still, I find it somewhat difficult to believe that it comes from the-- [ oh god this sounds crazy ] --The future.

[boughtabookstore]

[ she shrugs. ]

Napoleon loses. [ and then with a grin. ] Twice.

[bottlegreen]

[ He blinks. It's not outright surprise, not again (he's starting to acclimate), but it's... not what he'd expected to hear.

Hesitantly, like he doesn't want to believe it: ] I... beg your pardon. [ yeah she's gonna hear that a lot. ] How?

[boughtabookstore]

[ English accent, so hopefully this was good news to him. It should be, anyways. ]

Battle of Waterloo the second time. The first time he lost a few big battles and the Coalition invaded France successfully.