shatterverse | (no subject)

Current Location: US 34, Western Iowa

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(no subject)

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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"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?"

"Tar."

Curiosity appeased, Jamie wipes the remaining dirt from his hands and turns a frankly sensual look on Eleanor, a suggestion that while the word 'jello' might still be unfamiliar, her intent is not. Flirtation is, after all, a universal language. He's abruptly glad of that.

The question makes him laugh. She'd seemed puzzled when he hadn't asked many himself, and now that he has -- again, because once he sets his mind to know something he doesn't easily let go -- she can't figure out why.

"Da didn't elaborate on the finer details," he explains at last, eyes bright with humor. "Tortallan roads are either dusty or cobbled stone. I've never seen its like." A hand wave at the asphalt. "I'm only sorry my preoccupation gave you the opportunity to study it at such close range."

Smirk. Near fatal his ass. He saw her haul that bike out of the ditch.

Edited 2008-07-18 15:01 (UTC)

Eleanor looks down at her dirt-stained jeans and the scrapes on the bike's muffler, before awarding Jamie a solemn nod.

"Apology accepted."

"For future reference, it's not such a good idea to wander on paved roads in this world. They tend to carry high volumes of motorized traffic. If you have to, walk on the left, so you're facing the oncoming vehicles..."

She trails off, an odd look on her face, and checks both directions of the road. It just occured to her that in the fifteen or so minutes since the crash, not a single vehicle has passed them. US-34 is a fairly major highway, and it's early afternoon. The lack of traffic is... inexplicably weird.

Jamie follows her gaze, frowning slightly.

They are utterly alone.

"Advice likewise accepted" is his absent reply. "Though I don't think I need to mention that circumstances would suggest otherwise."

He has no reason to doubt her word. So where are all the other motorbikes?

"Perhaps the road is closed ahead," he hazards.

Edited 2008-07-18 15:25 (UTC)

"I didn't see any construction signs," Eleanor replies.

She waves her arm to the east. "There's an interstate—a big four lane highway—a couple of miles that way. This road is the main connector to the town of Plattsmouth on the other side of the border. They wouldn't shut it down."

Her eyes narrow suspiciously.

"It is unusually quiet though."

The truth is that everything about the last half hour is unfamiliar territory for Jamie. He'd been transported here by unknown forces, so of course things should continue in a strange pattern. If he stopped to think about it -- to really, truly examine the potential cause and effect wreaking havoc on his sense of normalcy -- his head might start hurting again. He'd rather take things one step at a time.

What worries him more is Eleanor's reaction. This shouldn't be strange for her.

"We should have a look."

"I guess," Eleanor agrees, striding into the grass again and picking up her helmet from where she threw it. Returning to the bike, she stows the map, saddles up and kicks the engine into noisy life again.

Before sliding the helmet back on, she looks to Jamie and pats the pillion seat behind her.

"Mount up, buster. We're moving out."

"Jamie," he repeats, grinning, above the roar of the engine.

Studying the helmet, then the bike, Jamie hesitates. There's no trepidation on his face, however. It's more like he's absorbing the details his father never mentioned, so that he can recall them later.

Whatever it is it passes in the space of a few heartbeats, and he deftly throws a leg over the bike and sits, hands lightly gripping her waist. No hesitation, there.