citylogs | (no subject)

WHO: (

nostalgiabomb)
WHAT: Reunions
WHERE: District 1, apartment building

WHEN: Shortly after their arrivals
WARNINGS: Bickering, probably

[ How many times would she arrive in a place that looked like it belonged better on Earth this week? Apparently, twice. Which wasn't a whole lot, but it's annoying that it's happened twice. ]

[ It's unsettling not because it looks like Terra, but for the whys and hows. It's not like sleep is entirely unnecessary for her, but she hardly needs to do as much as someone else might and even if she did she hadn't been asleep. Her first instinct was to control her hand and turn it into a concussive gun, just in case, as she had made her way out of that stupid vehicle (train). With every fiber of her being determined to take it out on the first person she saw... except, there was no first person. ]

[ By the time she had found anyone else, she'd already turned her hand to normal. That conversation has been useless - someone else who'd been dragged here and just as unhelpful as she was. She'd left in a hurry, with more important things to do. Important being find a way back to Knowhere and find who - take names, kick ass you know - but hours had turned into a near day and the only information she had was that the dead could come back to life. Not Infinity Stone Science bullshit nonsense, but the actual dead. It's a spin and a half and for a moment her mind had wandered not about the woman she had met here but the her she'd met, if this place could bring her here too. ]

[ Too much of a headache and a what if to linger on, she'd kept her word and investigated the buildings they could. Had run headfirst - literally - into the edge of the district just to be turned around. She did it several times before accepting it for what it was and that acceptance is used loosely, she's not familiar with technology or magic that can do either. If this city was off to begin with, there's something hauntingly worse about defining it for what it is: ]

[ They're trapped in a prison. ]

[ Sure, a creepy prison that houses you with everything you need... Or it thinks you need, because what she needs is to be back on Knowhere. There's a city to maintain and rebuild and children to take care of. She has no time for off-shore vacations to other planets and she doesn't want one. But with the world circling in on itself, no ship in sight, and darkness pitching itself over the city even she knows when to go back to the drawing board for the day. ]

[ The drawing board, in this case, being the fact that she was still covered in soot and grime from their earlier battles and she'd long since found it disgusting. She didn't exactly have to break in anywhere, but it didn't stop her from finding first some clothes... And if she paused as she picked them up and couldn't find a way to pay for them before taking them and leaving, she didn't. Then found a restaurant that had street-food on display it... Shouldn't be possible and if it was poisoned, she'd find out, since at the moment she has the clothes under one arm and the food skewer in the other as she chews into it; At least the food tastes Terran, too, and she's got off-and-on experience with the New York area that she knows she doesn't hate it but — ]

[ Current mission: Look in these apartment buildings for a room that opens to clean up. Try not to make a mess, awkwardly apologize if it is someone's apartment (at this point, she doubts it is)... And well, maybe, rest for a couple hours. She thinks in terms of do, do, do or otherwise she'll just get frustrate at the situation all over again. ]

[ She finds herself then in the second floor of an apartment building, mid-ranged style and is on the verge of opening a door when down the other end, near the opposite exist, she spots something that can only be called familiar. Someone, who'd served often as a nuisance and attachment to her sister in their past that had evolved into someone more complicated - family. Her head turns sharply in the direction, but there is no double take because her mind doesn't let her forget anything. ]

Peter.

[ She half calls with a waver of surprise and then stops - almost accusingly adding: ]

How long have you been here?

Threaded | Flat

[ When Peter woke up on the train, it was with a sort of world-weary resignation. He probably should've freaked out more. Maybe he should've, like, tried to figure out how to commandeer the train to get him home. Maybe he should've tried to go into problem-solving mode right away and started coming up with a game plan.

Instead, he had sighed to himself and mumbled, What bullshit am I dealing with now?

A couple of days in, and he's rolling with the punches. He figured out that there were finite boundaries to this place, that the edges were clearly defined, and that, at the very least, he wouldn't go hungry. So that was nice. He hesitates to call it kind, but at least it's relatively humane. Plus there are other people here, and gregarious as he can be, at least he doesn't have to suffer through this shit alone.

If nothing else, Peter Quill is adaptable. He learns quickly that if he wants to find a way out, then he needs to survive, first and foremost. So he scavenges. He finds a place to call his own. He learns quickly what the basic expectations are. After that, he'll start tackling the problem of getting the hell home.

He has his backpack on him after a fun-filled adventure through the grocery stores. He'd never call himself a cook, by any means, but he picked up a couple of things. His brief return to Earth also means he's learned a couple of simple dishes, so at least he doesn't have to sentence himself to sodium-poisoning after eating too many instant noodles. So he's got a couple boxes of dried pasta rattling around in his Jansport, some pasta sauce and packages of meat, along with a couple boxes of far too sugary cereal. He has a jug of milk dangling from one hand as he opens the door on the apartment he's claimed as his own.

Deja vu, he thinks to himself, when he hears his name called. For a place that he was pretty sure was a really well-appointed purgatory, he seems to be running into quite a few familiar faces. His head jerks up, and at least this time it's a far simpler task of figuring out the direction the voice came from.

He's recognizably tense when he gawks at her. He's been having a weird time of reunions lately, okay?

There was no fucking world in which he wouldn't instantly recognize her, but he's still hesitant. This place, apparently, was having a whole lot of fun screwing around with time, so he's half-expecting murdery Nebula. Stabby Nebula. The Nebula from some point in his past who always seemed at least five seconds away from happily cleaving his head from his shoulders.

The instant he recognizes the uniform, though, dirtied as it appears, he visibly sags with relief. ]

Nebula.

[ He doesn't say, "thank fucking god," but the words are definitely implied in his tone. ]

I just got here a couple days ago. When did you get here?