snowblindrpg | [network] @ADMIN; Arrival [open]

[network] @ADMIN; Arrival [open]

Welcome to Norfinbury. The time is E̛̬̞͖͖̫R҉͖̯̬R̼̻͉̰͎̳̙O̩͓͔̫͇͈̯R and the date is E̛̬̞͖͖̫R҉͖̯̬R̼̻͉̰͎̳̙O̩͓͔̫͇͈̯R. This network has been provided for your use. Please interact politely with everyone else on this network.

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[Peggy is still not good at all with the tablet. Video is just the top option and she keeps on picking it, instead of replying via text.]

You can make yourself a makeshift weapon with what you find in the rubble. Otherwise searching all houses you find is your best bet. Also, do not trade away your food and clothing, you fool. It's cold out here, and food is scarce.

[She hopes this person finds their sense of self-preservation soon. She does not look forward to more obituaries.]

What the hell?

[Bucky's immediate undertone of shock is broadcast out, along with a sharp inhalation of shock. He can't believe what he's seeing. That's Agent Carter, right down to the last detail, but it's impossible.

She has to be dead by now or, if not, then she would be a very elderly woman. How is it possible that she's here and talking to him now? It's not possible, is the answer. Either this is a figment of his own mind playing tricks on him, or else she's a deliberate trick by whoever has brought him here. It has him tense in a second, muscles coiled and ready to spring into fight or flight.

When nothing comes for him in long seconds, he finally begins to type a response. Careful, cautious, and utterly suspicious. He types up several and deletes them, too accusatory and giving away too much just by the questions themselves, before he settles on something innocuous. Thankfully, his lapse with voice was brief and muffled, so it's highly unlikely anyone would recognise it as him.]

Who are you?

[Peggy raises an eyebrow at the question. That's unusual. Also, she can't help but think it's a little rude, and while she wishes to help, she's fought hard to earn respect and she hasn't done so by being meek.]

Who are you? Why does it matter, who we are? All that matters is that we're stuck here together, and only together will we get a way out. Which is why dying of hypothermia or starvation because you were too harebrained to realise that right now, clothes and food are more important than proper weapons is really the last thing we need.

Oh, also, you might get a knife, but you won't get anything that's much more than that. What do you want to do with that? The monsters can't be killed with a mere knife. Or do you plan on killing another resident of Norfinbury? Because I'll have you know, it's pretty frowned upon. Whatever you're thinking, we're not the enemy, here.

[If someone's first thought upon waking up is to look and ask for weapons, that's a degree of paranoia Peggy has never witness outside of soldiers, waking up from night terrors clutching their gun. This, she can understand.

She's concerned, though, that this J person thinks the rest of them present some kind of danger to him. This could get messy.]

[Who are you? It's an excellent question, it's one he's been asking himself for months now. He wants to say that he's Bucky Barnes, but the words get stuck in his throat for more reasons than just caution over being found out.

He could give her a false name, but he'd rather not have any trace left to him, so he'll skip over that. She's given him enough else to respond to in her tirade, a familiar classy but spirited voice, one he thought never to hear again. It was her. Somehow.

He can't ask her how. That would give him away as knowing her at once, something unacceptable, so he'll have to research it alone.]

I was told there are enemies among us.

[Even if he hadn't been told that, it was common sense.]

Two murderers. If not more.

[Keeping oneself safe and able to self-defence is perfectly understandable, and Peggy doesn't begrudge them that. Peggy nods.]

Fair enough. Just so you know, though, it is entirely possible that even if you hurt or kill them, they will come back.

And you still need to keep your clothes and food. Trading them away when you have nothing else yet is still incredibly foolish. You have plenty of time to look through houses to try and find useful things to trade, instead.

People don't come back from the dead.

[Not really.

He knows what the guide says, but the guide must be wrong. Someone must have compromised Steve for him to believe that. There would be some other explanation.]

You go right on ahead and tell that to the corpse in the morgue that looks exactly, exactly like me. And to the people who knew me, another me, walking these streets at some point in the not too distant past.

You go ahead and tell that to Mister Beckett, who I saw die with my own eyes, and was back less than a week later. You go ahead and tell that to Doctor House, or to Vriska, or Stephanie.

[Peggy shrugs.] You'd be surprised what this place does.

[He refrains from pointing out that if there is a corpse that looks like her in the morgue, then it's clearly not her. They must be accomplishing this via high quality prosthetics or intuitive disguising technology, though the why is a mystery in itself.

Either way, he can't argue this with her.

The longer he speaks to her, the more chance he'll slip up and then Steve will know he's here. He can't allow that.]

Not much surprises me. Thanks for the information.

[Peggy, for some reason, smiles. Of course not much surprises them, not waking up in a completely different place in the middle of an unending winter, with anomalies and machines and strange technologies.

It reminds Peggy of all the soldiers she's met, again. Sometimes so blasé they wouldn't even flinch as bombs rained down around them. So numb inside they wouldn't even react to their friends dying.

Peggy takes a breath, trying to shake off the memories.]

Be safe out there.

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[network] @ADMIN; Arrival [open]

@besame; video

voice; text

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text forever

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