shatterverse | (no subject)

And the mysterious glowing white triangle descending on him from above.

Can't forget that.

Descending quite fast, we might add.

Well, if that doesn't just take the biscuit.

<What did you do?> demands Orlit, unheard by all except Adam, who ignores the alien in favour of glaring up at the approaching light.

...no, wait, backing away quickly from the point which it seems about to hit. That's less brave and defiant, but more likely to get him not killed.

She brakes neatly about ten feet up, and the sky is briefly as white as a Canadian winter.

Then she drops to the ground.

He doesn't look armed, so she drops the faceplate of her armour, revealing straight red hair and an expression of faint boredom.

"Welcome to Bizarro World. That sound was you leaving the universe you were in two minutes ago, never to return. This world gets a lot of that. Sucks to be you. Any questions?"

...what.

...what.

...what.

Adam's thought process leaps from 'who is she?' to 'WHAT is she?' to 'how can she get away with being so blatantly non-human in the open?' Sure, the beach is deserted, but she came flying from insanely high up. Surely someone would have seen.

Orlit, meanwhile, is in something of a panic, throwing himself against the bars of his mental cage.

"What--" Adam stutters for a second, then takes ahold of himself. "Where am I, and how did I get here?"

"The planet's called Earth, but it might not be the Earth you know. Definitely isn't the one I knew, but I've gotten used to it. For one thing, nobody calls me a mutie freak if I sprout wings in broad daylight. That's always a plus. I'm guessing they don't have mutants where you come from?"

"Not unless you mean a creature with a random DNA alteration," says Adam. "Which I'm guessing you don't."

He might not be calling her a mutie freak, but he's definitely staring. One hand twitches momentarily as Orlit continues to freak out, but Adam stills it, his eyes glassing momentarily as he growls: <Quiet, Yeerk.>

<What did you do?!>

<Nothing! And you're not helping find out what happened!>

She raises her eyebrows. Oh, boy.

On the other hand, she's seen weirder than a guy who spaces out at random.

"As to how you got here, not a fucking clue. We call them transfer points, or flashes, or 'oh shit, another one'. They don't happen in Kansas. Loud noise, bright light, and suddenly something is here that wasn't a minute ago. Or isn't that was."

No worries, Adam is back with her now. And determinedly ignoring the continued protests of the alien trapped under his consciousness.

"And I'm not on Earth any more," he says, in the tone of one trying to get a story as straight as he can. "Or not-- not the real Earth?"

"Not your Earth. This one's real, trust me. None of that Matrix bullshit."

Does that mean that the Yeerks have come to this Earth as well? Adam allows himself a moment of optimism, that with more than one Earth comes more than one chance for a free human race. His expression is briefly hopeful.

Of course, if there aren't any Yeerks--

--now his face says, very clearly, oh SHIT.

Val raises her eyebrows.

"Care to share that one with the class?"

--He's going to have to, isn't he.

(There aren't many things that Adam fears, but the Fugue is one of them.)

"I have," he says carefully, after a couple of seconds, "special dietary requirements."

It's impossible to miss the note of distaste in his voice as he reveals this particular piece of information.

Snort. "Good God. Fine, okay. Whatcha need?"

Actually using the word 'Kandrona' is out of the question. If she even recognises the word, then she's either a Controller or fighting the Yeerks; he has no desire to associate with the first more than he has to, and to reveal his... present condition to the latter would be downright dangerous.

"It's a--" he pauses for a few seconds, then continues: "What am I thinking? You just flew out of the sky in a shining light, you're not going to have trouble believing it. It's... a kind of radiation."

"Okay. That's more my brother's specialty than mine. You have any objection to flying halfway up the continent in a basket made of this stuff?"

On 'this stuff' she holds up a white-armoured hand demonstratively.

...Adam is slightly suspicious of the concept of being carried in a basket made of light.

Then again, what are his other options? Wander around a beach for three days and then starve to death?

"Is it strong?"

She glances up at the sky and raises her eyebrows.

"Got here on it, didn't I?"

"That's true," he concedes. He still isn't sold on the idea of letting a stranger haul him through the air, though, until Orlit mocks:

<Go ahead, stay behind and starve.>

...and he remembers the Fugue, and how much it hurt before he finally accepted (or at least tolerated, or at least temporarily faced) what had happened and went down to the Yeerk pool.

"I can't really say no."

"Well, you could, I just wouldn't recommend it." Cheerfully. "All right, let's book. What's your name? I'm Val."

While she says this, she wraps a soft cuddly white tentacle around his waist. And then another. And then ten more. And then a Titan's bedsheets sprout from her shoulders, and she lumbers her way into the air with Adam dangling beneath her in a safe snug cocoon.

"My name's Adam Wea--aah!"

This comical vocal interlude is brought to you by Adam being wrapped up in light-silk and hauled skyward. He attempts briefly to find some kind of handhold on the stuff, and settles for bracing himself on the (admittedly sturdy-feeling) interior of the cocoon.

"Good to meet you, Adam. Prepare for a long boring flight to Smallville."

"I'm looking forward to it," he answers, trying to sound dry instead of shaken.

<Impressive job working out how we arrived here,> sneers Orlit. <Couldn't have done better myself.>

<Yes, I especially like the part where you have any idea what's going on,> Adam snaps back.

"Well, I could give you a long interesting flight to Smallville, but I don't think you'd like that any better."

"Is this the kind of 'interesting' that gave rise to the use of may you live in interesting times as a curse?"

"Pretty much. Don't worry, I'll play nice. Promise."