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Angela Edmunds, aged seventeen, was heading out to a modeling shoot. She was sort of tired of them now and it took away from her surfing too much. And she did not want to do competitions and she didn’t feel like studying…

Ugh. It wasn’t that things were bad, they were just tiring. And dull. She shifted her carryall to the other shoulder, and began to walk towards her car…

She blinked from a white flash of light (sun must have been in my eyes), and suddenly, she was…somewhere else.

She was on a long stretch of highway, surrounded by desert and brush. “What the…fuck?” She turned around, this way and that, looking for her car, looking for anything moderately familiar.

It was hot, it was afternoon, and she was in the desert with only a liter of water in her bag.

“Oh, shit.”

First Milliways…now this? What the hell? What had she done to deserve…whatever this was?

“What the FUCK, universe?!” she shouted, pissed off beyond reason.

Well. Nothing to do for it but walk. So walk she does, grinding her teeth and refusing to drink her water until it was absolutely necessary. After a short while of walking, she comes to a sign.

“I-40 East,” she reads. She looks behind her. Los Angeles is…a million miles backward. She might have a better chance at finding help if she went forward.

“Shit, fuck, dammit, hell, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she mutters under her breath. It’s quite possible she’s never cursed this much in her whole life.

Could be because she’s scared half to death. And she doesn’t have a gun.

Dammit, dammit, dammit!

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OK, tall blonde. Short skirt.

Short skirt? How does she fly in that thing?

"Um...um, hi," she says, her voice sort of trembly and scared sounding.

Well, Angela is trembly and scared, so it fits. She's burning in the sun because her sunblock is wearing off, she's nearly out of water, and she's famished.

Aw, trembly and scared. Zinda vaults to the ground, ignoring the ladder, and unslings the bag at her hip to bring out a bottle of water.

"You're a new flash? I'm Zinda, pilot. This here's the Aerie One, best bird under the sky. 'Course, we think it might be only one of two're still flying, but it's still the best."

"Flash?" Angela repeats. "Oh, I guess yeah. You could say that." She manages a weak smile. "I'm Angela. From L.A. but I landed out here in the desert."

She looks at the plane. "Is...is everyone gone? Except Kansas?"

"Yeah," Zinda confirms, bluntly. "Yeah, this world's pretty much a goner. Metropolis is thrivin', we got a refugee community set up there and we're getting everyone there we can. There's a few other isolated communities scattered around, but the only one's doin' any good is Smallville -- also in Kansas.

"You look like you could use a lift."

Angela nods, shakily. "Oh, um, yes. Please." She rubs her eyes. "Sorry to be so stupid sounding," she adds, smiling again shakily.

Honestly, she's still in shock, and having her brains baked out over the last few hours hasn't helped that much.

Zinda nods, and wraps an arm around the girl's shoulders comfortingly to lead her towards the plane. "How long've you been out here? Looks like you could really use a hot bath and a nap, honey."

She's still shaking. "Um, about four or five hours, and um. It's been so quiet."

It freaked her out a little. She's used to Los Angeles, the bustle of the city and the rush of the ocean.

"And both of those sound good right now," she said, with a shaky laugh.

And then, a really good cry where no one could hear her, maybe.

"And a drink," Zinda says firmly, at that shake in Angela's voice. She helps her up the ladder and gestures expansively at the inside of the plane. It's obviously a working plane, but the outfittings are luxurious -- as Zinda's about to indicate. There's also more space in the passageways than usual for an aeroplane, and everything, but everything, is wheelchair-accessible.

"Spa's in here. I'll grab you a clean towel, and we've got a handful of clothing around somewhere -- we pick up a lot of refs," she explains. "Don't touch Dinah's icecream or Babs' lobster, help yourself to anything else in the fridge. We got a couple hours' flight, so when you feel better, come siddown and I'll tell you all we know 'bout this place, and get your details, find out if we can locate anyone else you might know."

"That'd probably be good too."

She blinks. "Wow." It's a bit more than her fried brain can really comprehend, but she is definitely appreciative. "I've...got some clothing in my bag--I was headed somewhere when I...got here." Plus, Angela's sort of gangly herself, and this way she'll know they'll fit.

"That's definitely a bonus," Zinda says, grinning at her. "Good. Okay, you go get yourself sorted while I take off. Next stop Kansas.

"I'd give ya the safety spiel, but I don't crash."

She can believe that. She grins back. "Okay...I'll be...out in a little while."

She goes into the spa and feels the hum of the machinery as she takes off. It's comforting. She draws the bath perhaps a little cooler than hot, and slips in. The water helps a lot.

"We pick up a lot of refs." Refugees. I'm a fuckin' refugee. She put her head on her arm, covered her mouth with her hand and sobbed. Better here than where people can see, better now than later.

But eventually, she stops and washes, then gets out, toweling off and putting on her comfortable and well-washed cotton skirt and t-shirt. She actually had been preparing for a date after her shoot. Well. That wouldn't ever happen now. She shoved her feet into flip flops and walked out to get some water from the refrigerator and a slice of bread.

Then, she heads up to the front, her damp hair hanging down her back and her eyes obviously red. But she feels better, and that's something. "Hey," she says.

"Hey." If Zinda notes the redness, she says nothing of it. "Want a beer? This century's got good booze."

"Yeah. I do. I'm underage, just so you know." Full disclosure time. "Still want the beer, though." She curls up on a seat, the muscles in her body loose after the long walk and warm bath.

Zinda nods, offering her a bottle without hesitation. "Don't mean you couldn't use a drink, getting chucked into a new world like that. Least I came through with the Skip and Dinah."

Angela takes the beer and opens it, taking a long drink. "Thank you." She rubs her eyes. "Have you been here long?"

"Couple months now," Zinda says, frowning. "And there's folk here been here up to a year. Nobody's found a way out, not that we know of."

Angela nods. "I met this...bunny. And he said there were monsters."

"Yeah." Zinda hits a few dials and swings around on her seat to look over at Angela, cheerful. "All over. But this world seems t'know what it's doin' -- a helluva lot've the flashes-in are warriors, fighters, all that. And there's us. There's good folk too."

"Good. I've...I've been other places before where I have been pulled from my rightful place, but...I was able to leave before. And go home." She takes another sip of beer.

"But there are good people? I can fight some, and I can shoot, if I have a gun, but..." just about now, she feels like she just wants her Mom.

Zinda nods.

"We're all workin' together. People finding people they missed. There's one girl at the farm who's dead where I came from -- she's alive here, came in from another version of the world. Things ain't all bad -- you never know who you'll find or where." She leans over to pat Angela's knee, with a comfortable lack of any respect for personal space.

"I'm taking you there, I reckon. The farm. The ref camps in Metropolis are good, but Dinah's running fighting classes at the farm, and if you wanna help build the new world insteada just camp out in the ruins of the old one, I reckon you'll fit in better in Smallville."

She doesn't mind. At least there's human contact. Angela mostly hates being alone.

"I think that'll be best. I don't want to just sit around...I mean...I'm going to be missing my family enough without having a bunch of idle time to think about it."

Zinda nods, grinning. "Attagirl. There's plenty t'do at the farm. Say -- you're not freaked out by people with powers, right? Superhumans, metas, firebenders, all that?"

She shakes her head. "No...heck, you should see what the alternate version of my mother can do." She grins, the first real smile since she came here.

"I'm ordinary, though. Just plain old me. I'll work hard, though."

"You'll be all right," Zinda tells her, confidently. She grins.

"Once you get some more food into you, anyway. Go on, I'll restock once we get to the farm anyway. Claire's cupcakes are worth killin' for."

She grins back. "All right."

She goes to get one, feeling a lot more relaxed. The full meaning of being here hasn't really hit yet, and she's not looking forward to when it does.

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