She searches for you.
Jane's got a really good gut feeling about this one.
Which isn't to say that, as a woman of science, she's concerned with that sort of thing. Instinct certainly has its place in certain sections of the community, but when you're trying to calculate the optimal conditions for inter-stellar travel via an Einstein-Rosen bridge, logic and mathematics should obviously prevail. For days she's pored over readouts and weather reports and meticulously-rendered diagrams. She sat out in the desert and took readings of vacuum fluctuations to the nanosecond while Darcy flopped around in the front seat of the camper and maligned the lack of cellular signal. She worked and reworked the figures until her eyes crossed, and the three of them are speeding across the sand right now fueled not by some vague sensation that could just as likely be caused by the burrito she ate for lunch as intuition, but rather science. Solid, dependable science.
But seriously, she's got a really good gut feeling about this one, way down in the solar plexus, the sort that just has to mean something. It's going to work this time, she just knows it.
When the RV jerks to a stop, she all but springs from the driver's seat, a ball of tiny and intensely focused energy coughing against the cloud of dust turned up by the tires. Erik's calling for her to wait up, reminding her in that paternal tone of his that she can't do anything without the equipment, but she's got that feeling-That unshakable feeling that makes her certain that she'll look up once the dust clears and see something that wasn't there just a moment before.
She isn't wrong, precisely. It just…isn't quite what she expected.
"What?" she says, incredulous and still blinking against the sting in her eyes. The stars are wrong. Completely wrong. It isn't even as if the constellations are shifted according to a new, unexpected point of view. They're just utterly nonsensical.
"Erik, are you seeing this?" she calls, and takes a step back only to find her feet out from under her and arms spiraling to catch purchase on thin air. The stars veer as she falls, and there is a fleeting moment wherein she thinks in a naive, giddy rush that she's done it. She's repaired the bridge.
When her body collides with the trampoline, it comes as something of a shock, to say the least. With a startled squeak she bounces up several times, hair flying and limbs gracelessly flailing about. When her momentum slows she's left flat on her back, taut fabric still humming beneath her as she stares up not at the majestic, golden columns she'd imagined Asgard to be populated with, but rather…
Was that a monkey?
Well, that is just completely incongruous with Norse legend.
[OOC: She's just appeared on and then fallen backwards from the Compound roof onto the trampoline. Please see this post before tagging in, open to new threads through Monday!]
Which isn't to say that, as a woman of science, she's concerned with that sort of thing. Instinct certainly has its place in certain sections of the community, but when you're trying to calculate the optimal conditions for inter-stellar travel via an Einstein-Rosen bridge, logic and mathematics should obviously prevail. For days she's pored over readouts and weather reports and meticulously-rendered diagrams. She sat out in the desert and took readings of vacuum fluctuations to the nanosecond while Darcy flopped around in the front seat of the camper and maligned the lack of cellular signal. She worked and reworked the figures until her eyes crossed, and the three of them are speeding across the sand right now fueled not by some vague sensation that could just as likely be caused by the burrito she ate for lunch as intuition, but rather science. Solid, dependable science.
But seriously, she's got a really good gut feeling about this one, way down in the solar plexus, the sort that just has to mean something. It's going to work this time, she just knows it.
When the RV jerks to a stop, she all but springs from the driver's seat, a ball of tiny and intensely focused energy coughing against the cloud of dust turned up by the tires. Erik's calling for her to wait up, reminding her in that paternal tone of his that she can't do anything without the equipment, but she's got that feeling-That unshakable feeling that makes her certain that she'll look up once the dust clears and see something that wasn't there just a moment before.
She isn't wrong, precisely. It just…isn't quite what she expected.
"What?" she says, incredulous and still blinking against the sting in her eyes. The stars are wrong. Completely wrong. It isn't even as if the constellations are shifted according to a new, unexpected point of view. They're just utterly nonsensical.
"Erik, are you seeing this?" she calls, and takes a step back only to find her feet out from under her and arms spiraling to catch purchase on thin air. The stars veer as she falls, and there is a fleeting moment wherein she thinks in a naive, giddy rush that she's done it. She's repaired the bridge.
When her body collides with the trampoline, it comes as something of a shock, to say the least. With a startled squeak she bounces up several times, hair flying and limbs gracelessly flailing about. When her momentum slows she's left flat on her back, taut fabric still humming beneath her as she stares up not at the majestic, golden columns she'd imagined Asgard to be populated with, but rather…
Was that a monkey?
Well, that is just completely incongruous with Norse legend.
[OOC: She's just appeared on and then fallen backwards from the Compound roof onto the trampoline. Please see this post before tagging in, open to new threads through Monday!]