exsiliumlogs | waiting for the world to stop

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waiting for the world to stop

Date & Time: September 1st, mid-day
Location: The Hold
Characters: Fox Mulder and YOU!
Summary: Now arriving: One Very Uncooperative Transport
Warnings: Language might get mild, anyone who chooses Option A will probably have to deal with violence, but overall it's just another day.

When the lights in his apartment building's elevator go out, he's unimpressed, but unsurprised. When he starts falling instead of rising, then there's cause for alarm. But when he opens his eyes and he's in a white room, well. Mulder's lip curls in disgust. Really? he thinks. Out of the frying pan and into the abduction. Fantastic.

But what he's expecting isn't what he gets - he gets the same thing every new Transport gets, of course: The Speech. But he doesn't even let her sweep him along into the armory - he stands his ground as firmly as he can and demands answers. He only gets as good as any other new arrival does, and that's not good enough.

Soon enough he's raising his voice:

"I don't care WHAT you're trying to sell me, I want to know who put you up to this! Was it the Cancer Man? Was it someone else? Whoever it was, I want answers. And I'm going to get them. Because I've been through ENOUGH the last couple of days."

She tries to assuage him, and he reaches out and shoves her, by both shoulders. "I didn't even get to help bury my father. You people are scum, you know that? You'll do anything to keep the public at large in line, to keep the world the way you want it. And if you really think that dragging me here - however you did it - is gonna stop me? You have so many more thinks coming that it's not even funny."

With that, he reaches for his gun ... and security arrives. At this point, anyone wishing to actually have something to do with this kamikaze ball of crazy has two options...

[A:] You're part of the security detail. Congratulations, it's now your job to try and rein Mulder in and get him to the holding cells where he can cool his heels for a couple of days and Think About His Life Decisions.

[B:] Post-containment Option 1: Once security threw Mulder into his cell, they gave him his tablet, since he might as well have something to do with his time. Anyone looking through the feeds will see him scowling down into the screen and sullenly poking at the controls, but not saying anything. He won't speak until spoken to: he doesn't trust the thing yet, after all.

[C:] Post-containment Option 2: You came to see the new nutjob in person. You'll probably have a better chance of having a rational conversation with him than anyone in Option 1. (NOTE: This can either be in jail or outside the Hold, because I forgot to be specific and flexibility is a good thing. :D)

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"Fourty-six." He answers easily, by now well aware that a lot of adults got pretty upset to discover that they would be holding ranks with child soldiers and teens as well. It's an absurd lie, but it both acknowledges and hopefully dissipates the tension a bit. It's the response that works best so far, anyway.

Stanley plops down on the floor by the cell, clearly not concerned that maybe this guy is in a cage because he's dangerous or something. He leans back against the bars and puts a palm over his eyes, a little woozy but friendly just the same.

"What'd you do, kick and scream? I bet they'll let you out soon. No one ever says anything about being stuck for long."

Oh, he's upset, sure, but not for anywhere near that reason. The wisecrack earns Stanley a ghost of a smile, though: Mulder can appreciate anyone with a sense of humor.

"I told them I wanted the truth about where I was and I wasn't going to take no for an answer." He slid off the cot and scooted over to sit on the floor near the bars. "Firearms may have been involved. ... My name's Mulder, I'm with the FBI. ... Have they done anything to you?"

"Besides the kidnapping thing?" Stanley peeked out between his fingers, then shrugged. Nothing that sounded even vaguely believable, actually. "Yeah. They sent me to Alaska to help some Victorian guy upload a computer virus to save the world. And then to a prehistoric beach party."

"Alaska." He said it quietly to himself, as though he was weighing the merit. The bounty hunter's UFO had been in Alaska, and he'd had a few other cases up that way ... it made sense that other things could be covered up, there. "What kind of virus? Were government files involved? ... Not that I'd expect them to give you many details."

"Uh..." Wow, he's not exactly in the right frame of mind for this many questions. But he remembers how it feels to be new, so he tries to answer anyway. He drops the hand away from his face and wraps that a around his stomach instead, sitting up straighter and trying to concentrate.

"They just told me to go help, nothing specific. I ran into the dude with the virus there on my own."

"Okay." He believed the kid - he looked like he was a little fuzzy in the mind at the moment, and Mulder hoped that it wasn't due to anything this so-called Initiative had done. His laid-back attitude suggested that it probably wasn't, and Mulder nodded slowly.

"... What's your name?"

"Stanley." Had he forgotten to introduce himself back? Yeah, he must've. Whoops. But at least the dude isn't too put out. He's not treating this like an interrogation. At least not as much as he might've expected from a suit.

"I've been here a couple months. Since June, and it's like...August now. So that's all I know about."

Actually, it's September. But the tone suggests the kid isn't lying, not to mention his body posture is relaxed. His expression is quiet but sincere. He's either a great actor or just a sickly teenager who wants to help a stranger.

It's a fairly easy read, all things considered, though the sickly part of it worries him. A lot of it worries him, honestly, but here and now, maybe even more than the truth, his concern is Stanley's health. The fact that they could bring someone so young here, and not keep track of how well he'd be faring ... it's just a hair's breadth away from the implication that this is all an environmental experiement, and that makes his skin crawl.

"A couple months, huh? ... You don't seem too upset about it. What about your family, your friends back home? You afraid anyone misses you?" Mulder leans back against the wall, as at ease as he'll let himself get here. It's mostly for Stanley's benefit - he knows most younger people can have pretty strong opinions or pre-disposed defensive reactions to law enforcement, and introducing himself as FBI may have put more tension into the conversation than was needed. By sitting on the floor, putting himself at Stanley's eye level, talking candidly, he's hoping to maybe coax a little more of the whole picture out of him.

"Huh." Stan's been here all this time, but until today no one had asked him that. He hasn't even thought much about it himself, because he figured it didn't apply. But it's strange that two people asked on the same day, just an hour or two apart. That's strange, right? He thinks about it for a minute. Mulls it over.

"My mom." He decides. It's got to be the nerdiest thing he's admitted this whole time. And only the third personal thing altogether. But if he were new and locked up, he'd probably be asing questions too. "How about you? FBI guys still have moms, right?"

"We do. I'd actually just left my mom's house a few hours before I got here." A shadow crossed his face at the thought, and he scrubbed a hand over his face. "I don't suppose you know anyone here named Samantha Mulder?"

It's a long shot, he knows, trying to connect this to the Colonists, but ... well, just because it's not highly probable doesn't mean he can't try.

"Not yet." Stanley answers honestly, because it's hard to guess who may or may not randomly appear. A lot of people have at least one person from home around, and most of them seem to have whole groups of people. The machines aren't as genuinely random as advertised. But getting into all if that is complicated. It's easier just to say no but leave room for some hope. He shrugs, apologetic. "Just her?"

"She's the only one I'm personally concerned about, but there could be others who look like her. She'd be a few years younger than me, long dark hair...."

Lots of people look like that, but he nods anyway. Hey, he can keep an eye out at least. And warn her that an FBI agents is asking about her, in case she doesn't know.

"Try the cookie tent when they let you out. Most people go through there the first day."

"Cookie tent?" Mulder tilted his head at him, confused. "Is that a euphemism, or is that seriously what it sounds like it is?"

"Wait, like how?" He's not sure if it's the cookie part or the tent part that's confusing. Maybe they're supposed to be complimentary euphemisms?

Anyway, never mind. Stanley shakes his head, but regrets the movement. He has to stop and hold it for a moment, to make sure nothing bursts out if his skull. Ugh, ow.

When the coast is clear, though, he cracks a smile. It's a little shaky, but good humored. "It's a tent. And they give out cookies inside. Jesse and some people I mean, not They."

"Oh. Huh, so it's a welcome wagon." The thought of it actually made him smile - the presence of common human decency in the midst of so much weirdness and uncertainty. Good, it meant that he might still be able to get something done, here.

The smile didn't last long, though, as he caught the move Stanley made to hold his head. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's hard the first day, so some people hand out cookies or umbrellas or whatever."

Stanley answers, still rubbing his temples a little. But he peeks over at agent Mulder anyway, noting the concern. That seems to be pretty unusual here. Most people have their own problems to worry about. Being locked in a containment cell, for example.

"Uh. I'm okay. Mostly. Think I'm coming down with something. But at least I'm on the good side of the bars."

"Cookies and umbrellas are all well and good, but it seems to me you need to find the tent where they hand out antibiotics or something. ... Is there a doctor, here?"

The possibility that there might not be worried him, but he kept a lid on letting that show.

Hmm. Medicine. Now there's an idea with some merit. Why is it he never thinks of these things until an adult suggests them?

"It's not that bad. But if you happen to have a roll of antacids on you I wouldn't complain."

"On a normal day I might be able to help you out," he concedes, patting down his pockets, "but right now all I've got are sunflower seeds, and those aren't exactly going to help much."

He holds up the little black fetish bag the shaman gave him with a rueful look.

"Sorry. ... There's probably a clinic in a place like this, but I don't know how much you trust it. Or how much you should."

That's an interesting thing to have, and Stan gives it a once over, tilting his head a little to one side. He shrugs, though the clinic suggestion has merit too. There's gotta be something like that around. He might just look into it. "You shoukda asked for the family size. Food sucks here."

"I believe it. Military food always does." He tucks the bag back away in his pocket. "Thanks for the warning, though."

"Yep."

He starts to get up, apparently finished conversing for the time being, but pauses halfway.

"...Want me to let you out?"

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