shatterverse | (no subject)

Current Location: US 34, Western Iowa

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It starts the usual way: A flash, a bang, a person standing, disoriented, near a long stretch of deserted road.

But this man falls to his knees-

(thousands of voices; screaming, crying in his head; anger and despair and everything in between, and he can’t fight, can’t ignore, can’t resist them; stop, stop, Goddess why won’t it STOP)

-and clutches his head, letting loose an agonized shout of surprise.

Then it's over, and it's like it never was.

Jamie lowers his hands, noticing in a detached manner that short strands of blond hair come away in his fingers, and sits back on his haunches, blinking. The last thing he remembers is laughing at a joke -- a bad one, with three tavern wenches and a statue -- and climbing a ladder to get at the apples high in an Olau tree. His shirt still smells like the orchard: sun and fruit and green, growing things. Had he fallen? Is this a fevered hallucination brought on by his broken body and healing magic gone wrong? Grace never could get the hang of it. She’s probably given him an extra thumb.

No. All’s right with that.

Digging his fingers into the earth beside the road, he watches it sift back to the ground. It's chunky and rough, but not dry. Even so, it's clearly not the smooth, dark soil of Olau. Jamie sniffs his hand, frowns and pulls himself to his feet. The road crests a hill to the west. Maybe there's something on the other side to explain what's happened; maybe not. Nothing to do, he supposes, but to start walking.

He'll get back to the pain (voices) in his head later. When the mood strikes.

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His reaction is... unexpected. His unfazed demeanor doesn't do anything to dampen her fiery rage, and his gentle flirtation and all round amusement just serve to fuel it. She's half a second away from taking a swing at him when he poses his question. Her glare becomes an incredulous stare.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

No longer completely blinded by fury, she actually absorbs the guy's face and his somewhat out-of-place rustic garb. And that's when it hits her.

"...Jamie? Jamie Young?"

Still staring, she takes a step backwards to get a better perspective.

Jamie blinks, but doesn't otherwise let on that he's at all surprised. Lifting a hand to his chest, he nods his head in acknowledgment and offers a small bow, the formal gesture seemingly incongruous with his simple attire -- stained here and there with grass and fruit juice -- and laughing eyes.

"You have the advantage of me. And I never kid," he kids. One eyebrow arches, and concern seems to saturate his features as he pointedly looks behind her. "Don't back up too far, lass. Now that you're out, I find I'd hate to have you fall in the ditch again."

The woman glances over her shoulder and heeds his advice. When she looks back, she's squinting in mild bewilderment. The lack of any recognition at all is odd.

"I'm Eleanor," she informs him. "Daughter of Goldilocks and Eros. Our mothers are friends at Milliways."

"I saw you at the lake party there a few days ago. And I thought you saw me?"

Of all the strange things to happen to Jamie today, this seems to throw him the most.

"You're mistaken," he says simply, giving her another smile.

It fades.

No one outside of his immediate circle has ever mentioned Milliways in his presence. Its existence has long been a secret kept not by necessity, but common sense.

He returns to the road, eyes taking on a dreamy look as he studies the top of the hill he'd been walking towards, and scuffs at its surface with the toe of one well-worn brown boot.

"I've been at home for the better part of a month," he tells her, "and nowhere else. But I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Eleanor."

Eleanor is frowning hard by the time he finishes.

"I'm not fucking mistaken," she snaps, defensively.

Following him onto the tarmac, she positions herself in front of him again, arms folded.

"I know what I saw." And she knows that she liked it. "Maybe it was longer ago for you? Time shifts can happen outside the Milliways door." And maybe he's got a really short memory for hot chicks. That wouldn't surprise her too much, given the number of girls who were hanging off him and vying for his attentions that day.

"They can," he concedes.

It's no hardship to look at her, but he stays staring at the horizon for another long moment. When his gaze finally returns to hers, it's with his full attention.

That proves to be an innocent mistake.

Jamie makes a muffled noise like a low growl and grabs at his head with a tense hand. There's something (sun and water and unfamiliar people, but it's a girl under a tree watching, watching...) there, light and color and sound, and he looks away again.

"But unless I was about a year and a half old," he says, voice changed, "then that isn't the case. It couldn't have been me."

Composing himself, he chances a look back and relaxes when all he sees is her intriguing face.

A rare flash of concern passes over Eleanor's face during his momentary head pain. It passes though, when he seems to recover so quickly, and puzzlement settles back in.

"We did meet when we were babies," she reports, "according to our mothers. But... it was you I saw. Like you are now."

She scratches the back of her head, only realizing afterwards that her hand is filthy from her extraction work in the ditch. She frowns and wanders back to the verge to wipe it (and the other one) in the grass.

"I suppose, if you're saying you haven't been there since... it could have been an alternate version of you. Such things have also been known to happen beyond Milliways." She struggles for a good way to convey the phenomenon, and comes up with: "time splits and the like."

"I see."

Whether or not that's true doesn't seem to matter; Jamie's characteristic grin is back, brightening his face, and he seems relaxed as he follows.

"Two of me? It's enough to make any mother cry," he laughs. Focusing on Eleanor with obvious interest, he licks his thumb and gestures to her cheek. "You've a smudge. May I?"

Anyone used to being dirty knows that if you attempt to wipe it away yourself, the dirt will only spread.

After a little chuckle at his first comment, Eleanor affords him a very dry look.

"I'm not a child. I'm quite capable of cleaning my own face."

She lifts the hem of her tank top (incidentally exposing her stomach and pierced navel, and the lower portion of a bra cup) and scrubs at the approximate area. Unsurprisingly, she does indeed smear the mark around rather than clear it.

"Okay, so. Alternate Jamie it is," she continues obliviously. It doesn't really matter to her, since they didn't formally meet at the party. "I guess the next question is: what the hell are you doing here, on my Earth? And in backwoods Iowa of all places?"

She assumes that's where she still is, as the scenery didn't change for her after the strange flash. She is ostensibly in the same place, on the same road, heading in the same direction.

Edited 2008-07-16 21:35 (UTC)

With only a minor detour into a ditch.

Amused, Jamie shakes his head and lets his hand fall back to his side.

"I prefer Jamie, if it's all the same. To me, I'm the one and only." A shrug, as he peers at her bike, then the road. "I have no idea. One moment I was picking apples at Olau. The next I was here."

He looks up, smiling in a bemused fashion.

"So. This is Earth."

She shows him her first positive facial expression: a little smirk.

"Yes. In all its mundane glory, as my mother would say. It's not such a bad place though."

His name preference falls on deaf ears. Hence her smirk. Eleanor has already decided that she's going to call him AJ, and Eros only knows that no amount of protestation can make this girl change her mind once she's set it.

"You just got dumped here, huh?" she surmises. "I suppose that explains the flash of light I saw just before you appeared in front of me."

The smirk does interesting things to her face. And to his libido, frankly. Jamie is suddenly very aware that the only woman with whom he's kept company for the last few weeks is his sister, Grace.

The look he gives her is warm and approving.

Knowledge of the nickname wouldn't change that. Probably.

"Just before? I'd been walking for a few minutes before you... found me."

Eleanor's brow furrows as she tries to make sense of that. She can't, so she just shrugs.

"Okay, well, whatever. You're here now." And she's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Since you've never been to Earth before, I think it's only right that I show you around a bit. Then, when you're ready to leave, I can give my dad a call."

"He's a god," she explains, matter-of-factly. "He's always been able to give me passage to Milliways, so I'm sure he'll be able to get you back to Olau somehow."

Her smirk returns, with a more coquettish edge this time.

"If you don't find anything worth staying for, that is."

It's answered with a knowing smile, and Jamie leans forward to say, "If recent events are any indication, I think I'm sorely in need of a long, pleasurable holiday."

The height of apple picking season isn't really the best time to be away, but something or someone clearly thought it best to send Jamie to his father's world. The Lioness might disown him if he didn't at least have a look around.

And he can't be expected to turn down such pleasant company, now can he?

"A god?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. "That's not something you hear very often."

Only once, if his memory serves.

It's settled then. Eleanor lets loose a happy smile before addressing him again.

"I suppose not. It used to be all the rage in the times of the ancient Greeks and Romans, and it's not quite so rare around Milliways." Another shrug. "He's the Greek god of Love. Still pretty powerful, if not worshiped quite so blatantly."

She cocks her head over inquisitively.

"Your dad was originally from here wasn't he. Has he taught you anything about Earth history? Or geography, for that matter?"

Jamie snickers. "I can only imagine how one might blatantly worship a love god."

It sounds like fun. He's ever careful to give the gods their proper due, after all.

One tan, long-fingered hand scratches at the stubble along his jaw line. His expression turns slightly sheepish, if only because he's never been as curious about Earth as his siblings.

"Some. Mainly he's told me of his youth in England." And all that entails. "He's also mentioned-" a moment while he searches for the word "-bikes, as it happens. I assume that's what you were riding. Either that, or it's the strangest horse I've ever seen."

Eleanor lets out another little chuckle.

"Yes. Except mine's powered by a gasoline-fueled engine instead of pedals. It's called a motorbike. It goes much faster than a push bike and requires almost no physical effort on the driver's part."

She turns and ambles down the slope to where the bike lies on its side. Without much ostensible effort, she rights it and wheels it out of the worst of the rutted mud—a fairly impressive feat of strength that doesn't quite seem to fit with her stature and body type. She then hops on, fires the ignition and drives the beast up the bank.

Once girl and bike are back on the shoulder tarmac, she over-revs exuberantly a few times, just for show, then turns the engine off, kicks the stand down and dismounts. "Voila," she announces, patting the driver's seat proudly. "This is my baby. We've been through a lot together."

Not waiting for comment, she lifts the seat cushion up, revealing a hidden compartment, and pulls out a standard road map of the US, Canada and Mexico. It's unfolded and stretched across the re-lowered seat for Jamie to look at.

"And this is the United States of America," she says, illustrating with her finger as she talks. "We're right here, on the border of the states of Iowa and Nebraska. It's an area known as the Mid-West. Very flat corn farming country mostly." She points way off the eastern edge of the map. "England is over there somewhere, three thousand miles across the Atlantic. I've been there a few times. Quite a nice place."

Bike, motorbike... Jamie listens to her explanations, nodding when it feels appropriate, and absorbs it all in that way he has of paying close attention while appearing to let his mind wander.

When she's finished, he politely studies the map and wonders, offhand, how much the 'motorbike' weighs. Yes, he'll have several questions about what she just covered. Later. After they percolate in his mind a bit.

"Well, I'm already impressed," Jamie announces. Looking up from the map, he gives her an irreverent wink. "You'd never find a horse with that kind of storage space."

Eleanor's response is an un-ladylike snort of laughter this time, and a gentle elbow nudge to his ribs.

"Smart, good looking and funny. Heh. Lucky me."

She's mildly surprised by the lack of follow-up questions—she was prepared to field a few at least, but the way he seems to takes everything in his stride is fascinating. And definitely appealing.

"So, what kind of places do you like? Cities, mountains, oceans?"

Instead, this is what gives him pause and turns his expression thoughtful. Walking around the bike, he keeps his eyes on hers as he reaches to scoop up a handful of dirt. He bounces it in his palm so that it spills out the sides of his fist, and smiles.

"I like the sharp, fresh scent of the mountains, and the rich soil. The trees grow over and around each other, up and up, digging their roots in like you and I might bury our toes in wet sand," he says, then tilts his head. "I also like cities. The earth is so tightly packed, life so concentrated, it's hard not to feel the energy."

The faraway look in his eyes melts into a grin.

"Of course, it depends entirely on whether or not I desire more pleasant company than wolves and bears." If so, sometimes the city just won't do. "But as I am quite pleased with my present companion, I leave our destination in your capable hands."

It's his way of saying 'Whatever. I'm just along for the ride.'

Eleanor looks quite bemused by the verbose and descriptive nature of his reply. It's a side of him that she wasn't expecting, though perhaps she should have. He had to have a romantic streak in him to go with all that charisma.

"That was a very poetic way of copping out," she snerks, not unkindly.

"Fine. We'll go to Omaha first," she decides, jabbing a short and dark nailed finger at the city on the map. "It's the closest city. Not much to it, but it has population."

"And then we'll head to Colorado. If you like mountains, you'll love the Rockies."

It's only romantic until you remember he's waxing poetic about dirt, says Grace quite often; loudly, and usually with a roll of her eyes.

Jamie doesn't seem to care, if his casual shrug is any indication. There are certain things he feels strongly about, and sometimes people ask the right questions.

"Earth -- America -- has mountains named 'The Rockies?'" he teases, raising his eyebrows. "Inspired choice."

"Heh. You shouldn't mock, alien boy."

Directing a heavy smirk at him, Eleanor starts folding the map back up.

"These particular mountains could be made of jello for all you know. Making their name highly ironic."

"For all I know," he counters, "jello is made of rocky material. Making their name still highly descriptive and simultaneously ridiculous. And you-"

A wicked grin.

"-have yet to tell me what the road is made of."

Jello?

"Shit. You don't even know what jello is? We're going to have to remedy that asap. It's a well-known fact that everything is better with jello."

The suggestive intonation at the end and the accompanying eyebrow waggle really do not help pinpoint the nature of the substance. The truth could well be an anticlimax now. Then again...

Still smirking, she glances at the road surface.

"That's tarmac. Or asphalt. I don't know. It's a tar-like substance mixed with rock chips." Unapologetically, "Sorry. I was kinda distracted by the near-fatal wreck I'd just survived when you asked."

"Why are you so interested in it?"