towerofanimus | 1 - Not the WORST Awakening...

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1 - Not the WORST Awakening...

Characters: Annika Whittenberg and anyone else
Setting: Cafeteria, floor 5 viewing stations, and dorms.
Format: Prose to start, but I'm fine with replying to whichever.
Summary: Seasoned adventurers don't take these sorts of sudden life changes nearly as bad as some. Annika's so seasoned she's positively dried out and dessicated, so she's taking her arrival to the tower fairly well. At first.
Warnings: Undead are gross?

[Cafeteria]

There's yet another new arrival to the tower, one that seems to be taking the whole matter fairly well in stride. For Annika is certain this 'world has been destroyed' business is a bunch of nonsense. Because she's been in strange places, and managed to escape from strange places. And because everyone looks so interesting. Mostly human, mostly... and as far as she can tell, nary another member of the Horde in sight.

She picked up her bowl of oatmeal from the cafeteria staff, stuck a spoon in it, started for an empty table... then hesitated, looked about the place, and made for an occupied one instead. Perhaps the locals would have better information than that simple little letter.

"Hello there!" Yes, that is is a very dead-looking lady approaching you, clutching the newcomer's bowl of oatmeal and smiling. Her eyes have a sickly glow. She smells a bit bad. And she wants to talk to you. "This is a funny kind of place, isn't it?"

[Floor 5 - Viewing Stations]

Any optimism that Annika had managed to gather up at breakfast had been quite rapidly snuffed out. It only took five floors of climbing to find the viewing stations and to see what they were put there to demonstrate. That was Azeroth, blown into pieces, shattered even worse than Outland, for Outland at least held some life within it. There was nothing, nothing remaining with a flicker of life to it. Not even the Scourge, not even the Burning Legion's demons... nothing.

"What could even do such a thing...? How is it even possible?" She pulled away, rubbed at her face, then dipped back in to stare some more. "I've never... never in all I've seen... never heard of even an indication that this..."

It's so astonishing that it has to be said aloud. Everyone needs to hear it. No one needs to hear it. But she has no time to seek about with her eyes for anyone paying her words any mind. She adjusts the viewfinder, continuing to stare in fearful awe.

[Dorms - Room 1-05]

The scent of heavily-perfumed potpourri hangs in the air, and it's especially strong around the bed of the newest arrival to the room. She's sitting upon that aforementioned bed, some rough fabric from the workshop in her lap, busy at work with a needle and thread. And quite engrossed with her work. To work was to put bleaker thoughts out of mind, at least for a little while. And to work was to be useful.

Maybe you're out in the hall and the perfume is making your nose itch. Or maybe you live in the room, too, and it's time to start negotiating a proper roommate agreement...

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David glances at the dorm room's sign first. He's a little hesitant about barging in on a dorm full of the opposite sex—he does have some gentlemanly manners—but if this girl is offering for him to come inside, it's unlikely that any of the other roomies are present. And if they didn't want visitors, they would've protested, right?

So, into the dorm he goes, floating through the air with a brisk pace. The first thing David does is glance over to the woman's workstation.

... Oh. It really is potpourri. "Man, where do ya get stuff dat strong? I could smell dat all da way out dere!"

Sure, the Tower might be simulating everything everyone owns, but if it's accurate then this would be just like the real deal, or so David supposes.

Absolutely potpourri. It's sprinkled liberally about the perimeter of the bed, and even more strongly scented now that he's inside. She's not looking up from her work just yet, though. It seems more like purposeful avoidance of his gaze.

"It was in with my things when I woke up here. I bought it in Silvermoon City." She pauses. Would he even know of the place? She turns her head so she can actually look at David. And just from the glimpse of her face that he could see from beneath the hood, he'd likely draw the conclusion that she's not well. Terrible complexion. She's awful scrawny, too.

"...have you ever been there?" Somehow, she's... not sure that he has. But she feels that she ought to say something.

David's mouth clamps on the cigar in mild surprise when the woman turns to look at him. Surprise might be the wrong word, there; it's not so much a shockingly unexpected sight as the fact that something about her appearance is reminding him of his experiences in Paragon City. Certain kinds of villain groups used minions with awful complexion like this woman's—and they tended to be the sort that used strongly-scented magic.

... okay, so they'd just established that magic's not in play here, but still. He's having to resist the urge to scan her with the targeting equipment in his helmet; not really to "con" her but to see if a growing hunch he's having is correct.

The question she poses is a good distraction from that. David's mouth pops open again. "Uh—nope," David responds. "I'm from Paragon City. Pretty sure dere ain't no 'Silvermoon City' on Primal Earth."

Annika's not sure that she likes the look on the man's face... but it's one that's not entirely unfamiliar. He seems to have an idea of what she is. But he's still talking to her. Fair enough. She retreats back into her hood, and continues to pass needle and thread through cloth.

"Primal Earth? Isn't that an alchemy reagent...? ...aah, no, I imagine there isn't. I've never heard of Paragon City. I hear we're all from very different places... can't be helped." She affects a laugh, but it's quite plainly nervous, not actually amused.

"Yeah. Dat's da real pisser," David says with a bit of a grumble. "Whatever's out dere dat's killin' off entire dimensions, dere's only gonna be one survivor dey pull from dat world. Dat's how it was explained to me at least." He doesn't really want to believe that, though. This is not the sort of lottery he wanted to win.

... He's pretty sure he heard her mutter "alchemy" just now. And any time that comes up in Paragon City, it's always in a magical context. He glances at the potpourri again. She's saying she's not using any magic, but he can't shake the feeling that stuff is stronger than it should be.

"Dat Silvermoon City place, do dey do a lot of alchemy dere?"

Edited 2013-10-06 04:14 (UTC)

"That's... how it was explained to me, as well." She sounds less bitter than him, and more sad about it. "Doesn't seem the least bit fair.."

She shakes out the cloth that she's stitching together, which appears to be simple curtains. The work was nearly done, she didn't really want to stop, and maybe this was a bit rude... "Mm?" The question did make her hesitate on the next stitch, though. "Oh, yes, yes, it's an elven city, they have some very talented alchemists there, they're up to their pointy ears in that sort of thing..." Not much love for elves in her voice, no sir.

Elves, eh? David muses on that for a moment—and realizes he can't recall any sort of city populated with elves like that. There were some in the superhero community—and with interdmensional travel, just about anything could be found in the superhero community—but it did give him food for thought. Where did those kinds of beings make their home in Primal Earth? Some astral plane, maybe? Or whatever it is the Magic types call it ...

His attention refocuses on the woman after noticing her stitching again. David takes a moment to clear his throat before responding. "'Kay, so—if dey play with alchemy all da time dere, what're da chances dat potpourri's, um, enchanted somehow? 'Cause I gotta tell ya, I see dat stuff in stores back home an' dey never get dat strong."

What was it with this fellow and his magic fixation? She passed another stitch through the fabric, and turned her head towards him again. Just enough so that one eye peeked out from beneath the hood. It glowed faintly yellow.

"Yes, it's probably enchanted potpourri." A pause. "It's not my magic." Another pause, and a little more steel in her tone. "That's not a problem... right?"

Oop. David picks up on the hardness in her voice. He actually looks a little caught off guard in response, like he didn't realize he was telegraphing his misgivings so easily.

"What, with magic? Naw, no way," David says with a little laugh—not a hearty or earnest one, but the sort of timid giggle that accompanies someone who's newly aware of their uncomfortable conversatonal spot. "Just, uh—I was reminded of da kinds'a people who use magical air fresheners where I'm from, yanno?"

David's discomfort puts her... not at ease, exactly. But she's feeling more comfortable having him in the room, now. He's not to be feared, is he? Oh, this is a strange feeling to shake, the reflexive fear of living humans...

"Oh? What kind of people are those?" And it's asked with a softer, more curious tone. His world had Forsaken in it? Likely not, but...

"Usually da type dat use undead for minions," David responds. Which ... probably tipped his hand toward his hunch big-time, but there's no implied threat in his voice. Might as well remain un-subtle about it if she's sensed that out of him so far.

"Usually it's a villain thing, but I seen a few good guys doin' it, too."

"Aaaaah...." There we go, right out in the open with it. No use being all sneaky about it, then. He's pretty clued-in. She sets down her sewing and pulls down her hood. And that ought to be more than enough confirmation that she's undead.

"Villains raise the dead, but the dead that they raise sometimes get to pick for themselves what they end up doing." And she gives him a level, even look, gauging his reaction.

For his part, David seems completely unfazed by the reveal. His only reaction is to idly readjust the unlit cigar in his mouth. No fear or revulsion. He's had plenty of time to get used to fighting against and alongside the undead.

"Sounds about right," David replies. "I've teamed up with a few heroic types like dat." He almost wants to ask where she stands ... but, no, that would be kinda dumb to ask of a person who's just sewing.

"Really?" She smiles, but it's tight and it's sort of sad looking. "There aren't a lot of living humans that care to work with dead ones, where I'm from. You're really not from Azeroth at all..."

Annika shifts herself about on the bed, so she's facing him, her legs hanging off the side. "I'm Annika Whittenberg. You'd be?" And she extends her hand for a handshake.

For his part, David doesn't hesitate too much at the gesture, and floats over to where she sits to return the handshake. Though he is managing his grip on Annika's hand when he shakes it, keeping it tender and light, since he doesn't want to take off chunks of her flesh or wrench the whole hand off.

David might not be a Scrapper, but his power armor doesn't make him a fun guy to play "handshake" with.

"I'm da darin' Little David," he says with a bit of a grin at the end of it. "David Puskás's my real name, but ever since I got in da hero biz, most people call me 'Little David' instead."

He seems proud of that fact, too.

Her hand does feel rather light and delicate when he shakes it. Her grip is not terribly firm, though she's making an effort.

"All this talk of 'hero' this and 'hero' that... I haven't heard that in a while." She glances away a moment, seeming briefly wistful. But then her attention is right back on him. "Ah... it's good to meet you, Little David. Or is David fine? Which do you prefer?"

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1 - Not the WORST Awakening...

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Sorry again for the long delay! Not the best birthday I've had ...

Understandably! D: