⊗01 || Holo || Sanctuary || Arrival Post

[brokenoptimism]

" - Have to learn to keep it under... control." Charles let his train of thought taper off with the startling realization that he was quite suddenly alone. Not only alone, but very much not where he had been just seconds before. His brows knit together, eyes sweeping around the metallic chamber, instantly on guard. His expression set into a

Comments

Apologies for the repost

[brokenoptimism]

The sound coming from the strange tablet caught Charles' attention again as he made his way to it, compulsively rubbing the bracelet on his wrist like a shackle. Skepticism remained even as he regarded the perfect colour display of another man. Brows knit together in a mix of wonder and confusion at the technology behind such a pristine image. A far cry from the black and white flicker he was used to seeing on the Television. Taxon?

"Not the most convincing argument, when you are addressing me within a containment cell." He gave a little huff of amused resignation. Some kind of feed? Prerecorded message of some kind designed to lessen his suspicions? When had they developed such vibrant technology in such a thin device? It was improbable.

"Whatever it is you are expecting from me, you will not find me to be cooperative so long as I am being caged like an animal." Sharp, crystal blue eyes regarded the screen with an almost hesitant stare. "Who does Taxon represent. Clearly not the Russians. Do not tell me the British have decided to join in on this."

[visual] and apologies for the LATE TAG dear lord

[rereremembered]

"I know," Fitz said and held up his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture. "Which is why we'll work on getting you out, right? Even the playing field a bit. Pick up the tablet, the door'll be open, and you'll be on your merry way."

For some value of merry. He listened to Charles and his eyebrows slowly rose. Interesting. "Not the British, not the reds either. Think more along the lines of little green men."

[brokenoptimism]

The last comment earned of furrowing of Charles' brows as he regarded the man on the tablet. His suspicions were no less, despite his hands reaching to comply with the offered information. The door did, in fact, open when he lifted the tablet from the pedestal.

"Surely you must be joking." He wasted little time in exiting the now open door. If this was some new ploy, at the least he would be free of the confining room he had been trapped in. Still, the telepath jumped slightly at the sudden shut and disappearance of the door behind him, eyes scanning for any sign of fault or crack where the door had been before.

[visual]

[rereremembered]

"...maybe a little," Fitz confessed with a shrug. "They're not actually green but they are aliens, and they nick people from different worlds and times and drop them in this glorified ant farm."

Right, good, out of the arrival room and into the madhouse. "I'm Fitz, originally from London, 1963."

Via the rest of space and time but he'd get to that later. Maybe.

[visual]

[brokenoptimism]

From the same time as Charles, though a different location. He nodded, finding little unusual about that piece of the statement. The look he was giving Fitz was still incredulous. Doubting.

"Do you realize how preposterous you sound?" He sounded as tired as he did unconvinced. Aliens snatching people up to bring them here? There were so many pieces to that statement that made little sense to him, for such a short comment. "Different worlds, aliens. We have barely touched the exploration of space. Gagarin, Shepard, Glenn." Charles did not sound convinced of his own words. He knew too much of the vastness of space to entirely doubt Fitz' suggestion.

"Westchester, New York." He conceded the information. Even if Fitz was, in fact, working for them, he would already know where Charles had come from. "The same year, of course." Though 'originally' struck an off chord with the telepath.