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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, he certainly can't say no to so blunt an introduction to conversation. He only stands a little straighter, conscious all over again of the poor state of his self and clothing. ]

Indeed, as I believe we all have. [ He bows, because even if this woman isn't quite the lady all in skirts that he would recognize from home, she's still a woman. ] Captain William Laurence, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

[boughtabookstore]

[ Her eyebrows go up at that, just a touch. Interesting. They had mentioned time travel, but she's still hoping this is just some extremely detailed and disturbing dream. ]

Captain? Which branch?

Nice to meet you too, though the circumstances suck.

[bottlegreen]

[ …Suck? Laurence has basically no idea what that could possibly mean, but context points to "are unfortunate". ]

Captain of Temeraire, in the service of his Majesty's Aerial Corps. [ Her manner isn't exactly formal, or even as polite as meeting a new person ought to warrant, but he makes a decent attempt not to be offended by her failure to return an introduction. Perhaps it only slipped her mind. The circumstances are, after all, poor enough to forgive some lapse of manners. ] 

If I may be so bold as to inquire after your name, my lady?

[boughtabookstore]

[ you know what? at this point she is just going to go with it, because questioning his Majesty's Aerial Corps is just going to give her an even worse headache and suggests that she believes any of this. but it's an instinctive reaction for her to straighten up a little at that, and though her salute is lazy it's still there. ]

Former First Lieutenant Roslyn Small of the United States Navy.

But I'm hardly worth a my lady.

[bottlegreen]

[ ...well then. just give him a few seconds of utter shock, if you would be so kind. Are the Americans such heathens that they'd allow a woman into the Navy? He stares openly at her, deep surprise clear on his face, for a whole three seconds before he remembers himself, clears his throat, and adverts his eyes. ]

Forgive my manners, Lieutenant Small. The British Navy takes no women; I am merely caught off-guard.

[boughtabookstore]

[ She actually smiles at that, a tiny little thing that flickers and vanishes immediately. Well, at least he's remaining consistently old fashioned. And he called her lieutenant. She hasn't been called that in years. It actually feels kind of good. ]

There's nothing to forgive.

Actually, in my time the British Navy takes women as well. Since the early 1990's, I believe it was.

[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.