exsiliumlogs | it's a wonder to me, I still don't understand

Entry tags:

it's a wonder to me, I still don't understand

Date & Time: All through September!
Location: Just about anywhere in the apartments, hold, or town, really.
Characters: Artie Nielsen and YOU!
Summary: Catch-all log for threads and anyone who wants to actually force this dude to have a life over the course of the month. Just put a date in the comment header!
Warnings: None so far, will add them if they pop up.

Honestly, aside from the odd altercation with the natives, Artie's life is calming down in Exsilium. He's slowly but surely finding his niche, helping repair and build equipment for the Radio Free Exsilium project, keeping a distant eye on Claudia and Mischa - who he's still working on telling apart, thanks for that, Initiative - and giving lessons on using the tablets to Transports who aren't as familiar with the technology. There's also Jesse's monthly bake-a-thons, of course, but since the latest of those is over and done with, he's looking for something to occupy his time.

You can find him out and around just about anywhere: shopping for food or parts, helping repair something in the town, poring through a book in the library, or, his biggest personal goal of the month: trying to find himself a working piano or keyboard for the talent show. Wherever you find him, he's not hard to miss with his black doctor's bag and wide-brimmed fedora. (And, yes, those giant bushy eyebrows.)

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It was in the library where Misha found him. She wasn't exactly looking, but she was desperately in need of ways to fill her time with an entire chunk of her usual routine completely wiped out of the realm of possibility here — either keeping up on the latest media and fiction, or being out in the interspace and mapping all of her progress until she found home. The library was honestly the next best thing to keeping her mind occupied when she wasn't mapping the city itself or exercising in the Hold to keep from wasting away.

While floating a few feet above the floor to get a look at the books higher on the shelves, she paused mid-air when she noticed a fairly-familiar face. Hard to miss the guy who had saved your life the month prior. She touched ground silently and made her way over, a smile teasing onto her lips. At least right now, it was a simple matter of noticing the visor resting on her head or the earphones hidden somewhat under her hair to realize it was Misha — she was hardly without ALFRED, after all.

"Artie, right?" she asked, though she already knew plenty well.

"Misha," he affirmed, with a friendly nod. Honestly, the fact that she hadn't snuck up on him, or just plain grabbed the book out of his hands and demanded to know what it was or made a crack about it being old man material was enough for him to tell she wasn't Claudia.

"I see you're feeling better."

"Much," she agreed with a slight bounce in her step. "Which... I have you to thank for, so I wanted to make sure I got that across. You saved my life," she continued with a slightly more somber tone, "which might not mean a lot in a crazy place like this, but I'm definitely thankful for it. Personally speaking.

"So, thank you, Artie."

Once that was done, she leaned forward on the table, arms crossed and tilted her head toward him. "I bet you're going to say it was no big deal and you just did what any decent person would have done, but I'm a pretty drab hand at baking and cooking stuff, so if you ever want to be paid back in completely edible food, all you have to do is ask."

He was in the midst of his default Humble Gesture - head down and shaking, one hand up - when she went right ahead and leaned on the table. Well, didn't she already have him pegged? He chuckled, softly. "You're right, I was. ... But I wouldn't turn down an offer like that. I'd pretty much have to be insane not to, especially here."

He paused, looking up at her. It was so, so strange, hearing Claudia's voice and seeing Claudia, but knowing on some very fundamental levels that it wasn't her. "I'm sorry, I -- I've heard of doppelgangers, sure, but - this is my first actual experience with them. Are you and Claudia the same age, too?"

"Just let me know when, where and what and I'll come running with my chef's hat." With a grin, Misha added, "Yeah, that's fine. I've dealt with it myself before, if we're being honest, but never with myself. It's crazy, huh?"

Misha tilted her head at the question, looking genuinely stumped at it. "You know, I didn't think to ask. Just kind of assumed we'd be the same age, but it's entirely possible we're not. I'm twenty-two," she said, ignoring that her birthday had come and gone while she was within Exsilium. She still had several months, March by this place's calendar, until she was chronologically 23. "How old is she?"

"Twenty-two?" His eyes widened a bit at that, and he shook his head. "She's nineteen." So that answered that question ... but honestly, now he was more interested in other details.

"You said you've encountered it before? Where? When? Here in Exsilium?"

"Oh," Misha said. Then, she just laughed and shrugged from her position against the table. "Well, guess I shouldn't have let her have that wine before, huh?" Too late for that now.

At Artie's prodding, Misha shook her head. "No, not here. I mean, aside from the obvious. This was back home. Suffice to say, my life is completely insane and it's pretty much par for the course when you and your family become superheroes on complete happenstance." Which was only partially true. However, it was easy to come up with a consistent story about the things she no longer reacted to without getting into the nitty-gritty details of her real life and past. That was something she never shared.

Superheroes are just a superfluous detail in the path of other things, to be perfectly honest. It's a good thing Artie has glasses, because if his eyes got any wider, they'd probably fall out over the course of the conversation.

"You gave her what now?!"

Misha read the cues very easily and decided now was probably a good time to grab a chair and sit in it rather than lean over the table this entire time. She folded her arms over her chest and sat back, taking only a moment to appraise Artie before deciding it had probably been a terrible move but not one to have too much regret over.

"Wine. It was only a glass, a housewarming gift from our other roommate," she explained with a one-shouldered shrug. "Did you know 18 is the legal drinking age in the UK, where we technically are right now?" Not that she expected it to get her out of trouble, but it was also good to note that different cultures had different expectations on the consumption of alcohol and the responsibility taken. (And, okay, maybe she hoped it would get her out of trouble a little.)

"I did know that," he replied, fighting and failing to keep the ice from his tone. It was pretty common knowledge, and the fact that she was using cold hard logic against his Completely Fallible Parental Overtones - which he was still trying to deny in the first place - was frustrating as hell. The fact that it was coming from someone with Claudia's face and voice, in regards to Claudia herself, made it even worse, and he bristled more than was quite frankly necessary.

"It still doesn't mean I think it was a wise choice. That allergic reaction you had - how did you know something similar wouldn't happen to Claudia, especially if it was a foreign type of alcohol?"

It did nothing to dissuade her. Artie could be all adorable paternal as he did or did not want; Misha still wasn't going to apologize or bow to the admonishment. At the question, she gave him a critical look and shook her head almost before he had finished speaking.

"Housewarming gift," she reiterated calmly to avoid breaking into quiet laughter. "Which means it was when I got here, not the month afterward when I had that reaction and learned how different and mysterious substances here can be. Am I expected to be psychic? Is Claudia psychic and you're projecting that on me now? Because that's not fair; I fly, I don't read minds."

He saw that critical look, and did not approve. Who the hell was she to judge him for wanting to keep an eye on someone so important to him, especially in a place like this? Artie set his jaw, scowling.

"Projecting? Projecting? No, I'm not projecting. I'm saying it's an entirely different world here than whatever you're used to, and therefore nothing should be presumed to be safe until it's been proven otherwise. I don't know if you've noticed, but practically the rest of the world here is trying to kill us."

Misha leaned forward, templing her hands in order to rest her chin on them. She gave Artie an assessing look. Her first instinct was to shoot him down immediately, point out that she had far superior experience in living within alternate worlds and their similar-but-different dangers presented. She wanted to let it be known that she wasn't some fool Artie was conflating her as.

However, that would give her away. The last thing she wanted was to be pressed on her personal life, all the things she held close to her heart to protect them from anyone that didn't already know.

After a moment, she canted her head in some form of acknowledgment. "You just admitted you don't know what I'm used to," she said amicably, "yet you're saying I have no idea what it could have done to her? No, look, this is still Earth and when this illicit alcohol consumption went down, I'd been in this time for a mere three hours." She paused, eyes wandering around the room as she considered. "On the other hand, yeah, I should have been and will be more careful. On our imaginary third hand, Claudia is adult enough to make her own decisions and deal with the fallout — people have to learn from mistakes, not be shielded from them."

Everyone's at the library these days.

Well, Charlie has every reason to be there, as she's stubbornly trying to pierce together everything that happened with this world. It's a tedious and annoying job, since much of the information might even be fabricated or doctored, but she' fairly certain she's doing some progress.

So when she bumps Artie is not because she's a playful and mischievous little redhead, but more like a completely overwhelmed by books, tall and dorky redhead. She has so many books on her arms she actually can't see Artie. "S-sorry!" she manages to say, although her main concern is not to drop any of the heavy looking books.

"It's okay!" He holds up his hands to make sure none of the books topple. "Do you need a hand with some of those?"

"Pl-please?"

Because she might just drop some if she doesn't get any help soon. "I'm so so-sorry, really." But maybe if he takes some books they can actually see each others' faces.

"It's not a problem, don't worry.". He takes about half the stack, carefully, glancing at the titles on their spines as he does so. "Where were you headed?"

They are mostly history books, but also some recounts of specific events and even a geography book.

"Oh just-just a t-table nearby." Wherever she could put these things down and read, really.

"Sure." He picked the table next to his own, for strategic small talk purposes, and set the books down on it for her. "Reading up on Exsilium's history? I need to do a bit more of that myself, admittedly."

"I think th-there should be s-something useful in here. M-maybe."

It was worth a shot, and if there wasn't then Charlie would at least stop feeling so ridiculously lost, and feel just lost.

It's not that Saul's been avoiding Artie; he's just been busy bailing out the sinking ship that is his life. And yeah, that metaphor is a little dramatic even for him, he knows, but he never thought things would get as bad as they did. And then they did. And then they got worse.

So he's been taking a lot of walks lately in an effort to clear his head, which has brought him to some new spots in town — and the first familiar thing he spots in one of the shops is that stupid hat.

At least Saul's too-pleased-to-see-his-pal-smile is equally stupid.

"Nielsen!"

Artie was hardly expecting to see Saul in the glorified flea market of a shop he's started frequenting for radio parts, so when he turns to greet him, his smile is equal parts genuine and bewildered. "Saul," he reciprocates, though not with quite as much gusto. "It's been a while. I was starting to wonder if they'd sent you back."

"Psh, me? Nah. They like me too much."

Actually, he's pretty sure the Initiative considers him a huge thorn in their side, but whatever. As he turns his attention to some little gadget nearby, he adds, "I've just been busy."

"Dare I ask with what?" One busy eyebrow arches up over Artie's glasses as he meanders over to see what Saul's poking through. Hey, if Saul can get up in his social life, he can get up in his technological one just as easily.

"If it needs that kind of converter, you'd be better off with this one over here, that one's got a broken port."

"Personal matters," he says, with a tone that suggests he'd like them to stay that way — personal. But something falters in his expression when he looks back to Artie. The guy can't easily be so misled, can he? Like Saul knows shit about technology.

"Right, yeah. Broken port."

Someone's not as good as lying as he used to be.

Artie glances around the shop, realizing that Things Are Wrong Here, and that a random gadget rummage sale with four walls and a roof is not necessarily the best place to talk. And if Saul's even in here without knowing a broken port when he sees one, he must have ... actually come looking for him. Which is flattering and worrying all at once, because he knows how many people Saul knows. Why on Earth would he be a contact of choice?

"Why don't you just give me whatever it is you need to fix, and I'll come back and get the parts to take care of it. We can, uh, go get some coffee now instead."

It's a decent enough hook to say "let's talk" and spare his dignity, to be sure - because Artie knows all about Talking About Feelings Without Actually Talking About Feelings - but the delivery is still a little stinted. Mostly because of the Not Actually Talking About Feelings part.

Saul didn't think he was looking for anyone or anything. It was more — it seemed — that he was just wandering, seeking out a distraction. What he found instead was Artie, and the relief he felt is probably a clue that he maybe was looking for a friend, after all.

But he still doesn't want to Talk About Feelings. He doesn't want to talk about anything.

Coffee sounds nice, though, so Artie's suggestion is met with a nod.

"Yeah. Okay."

"The usual place, maybe? Or you wanna go somewhere else?" He paid for the things he'd picked out of the bins while they discussed their options, ignoring the stink-eye the Exile behind the counter gave him for paying with his Initiative card. He hated how accustomed he was becoming to their ire, but really, he'd begun to realize it was not a far cry from how much the people in Univille disliked Warehouse agents. That helped, a little, even if it didn't cover up the fact that ... well, Univille hadn't exactly been bombed.

"Surprise me."

Saul offers the cashier a tired smile, scratching down a mental note to advise Artie to start carrying coin instead of that card. It's more convenient, yeah, but maybe not worth the potential beatings.

That done, he opens the door for Artie and gestures for him to lead the way.

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it's a wonder to me, I still don't understand

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backdated to the 8th;

\o/

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