Heather turns in the direction of the voice, her head canting to the side as she considers the familiar figure of Logan in the doorway of a cabin that certainly wasn't there just a moment before. Then again, the cabin was far from the only unusual sight -- last she checked, Tamarind Island was hardly home to a tropical jungle.
"Logan?" she says, slowly starting towards him. Despite the sudden change of locale, she can't help but notice there's a distinct lack of danger -- a fact that's only reinforced by his greeting. With a sweeping gesture of her arm, she adds, "What is all this?"
I might be used to dead people getting better, but that doesn't mean seeing people important to me back on their feet and walking around like they don't know something's meant to be wrong doesn't have an effect.
Might be the adamantium poisoning talking, a little. That's the reason I have to brace against the door frame, at least.
"Bad news," I say, after a long pause in which I just stare at her. "That's what all this is."
"You'll forgive me if I don't find that particularly enlightening," she replies, stopping only once she's within a few feet of him. He looks older, she thinks, which strikes her as strange as she only just saw him a few hours ago. She hasn't the slightest idea what's going on, but she can say with some certainty that she doesn't like it.
There were a lot of things that Wanda had learned to take in stride in her time, and people appearing out of the ether was right up there on the list. Normally, she probably wouldn't so much as bat an eyelash when a figure appeared right at the periphery of her vision. When that figure happened to appear right in the middle of her hut, however, well, that got a reaction. Dropping the copy of Cognitive Psychology she'd been paging through and swinging her legs down from the nightstand where she'd been resting them as she reclined sideways on her bed, she got the second surprise of the day when she saw (and heard) exactly who her involuntary intruder was.
The entrance of Mansion Alpha cannot be described as particularly lavish, but it is of a certain standard -- a standard not met by Heather's present location by any means. Of course, decor is the least of her concerns, especially seeing as she's apparently not alone, and Puck is still nowhere to be found.
"I'm sorry, but do we know each other?" she says, eying the woman warily from behind her visor. She assumes the answer to be yes -- at least on the stranger's end -- but barring a slight resemblance to Snowbird, Heather can't think of anyone she might be. Her calm demeanor is already starting to slip, the first flutterings of anxiety finding root in her stomach. It's never a good sign to not know someone who already knows you. In the corporate world it shows poor preparation, but in the world of heroes it can prove far more dangerous -- an enemy who knows your weaknesses while you remain ignorant of theirs. Though she senses no danger, she knows senses can easily be deceived. She keeps her distance.
It was her. It was really her, not a dream, not an imaginary story, but really her. Heather also apparently didn't recognize Wanda, and she briefly thought about Iron Man and all the other alternate world heroes that had a tendency to show up, but any second thoughts to that effect didn't last. Didn't matter.
"I- hopefully, yeah," she said, breaking out into a grin despite herself and despite how this all must look to someone who didn't know what was going on. She couldn't help it. "It's me, it's Sasquatch."
"...Walter?" she says, more than a little dubious for obvious reasons. Sasquatch was a man, and a dead one at that. Still, there's something about the woman that's undeniably familiar, and for that reason alone she's willing to hear her out. "I don't understand. You... He died. He's dead. If this is some kind of joke, I swear--"
George supposed that it took more than a week to get used to life in some sort of alternate dimension. As it was, he'd felt nothing short of miserable since he'd arrived. Not that he hadn't been trying. He'd even gone to breakfast in the compound one morning.
...he'd have to remember if he ever saw Annie again, to let her know that he preferred her coffee.
Walking along the path towards the compound, he idlly kicked a rock in front of him, mostly looking down at his feet as he walked. And then he looked up, expecting the same, mostly empty path, but instead found something else.
"AHHH!" George screamed, nearly jumping a foot in the air when there was suddenly a woman (in what looked like a figure skating costume) almost directly in front of him who hadn't been there before.
Eyes widening in surprise, Heather takes a few stumbling steps backwards, one arm wheeling behind her to brace herself against a nearby palm tree. A palm tree? she thinks wildly, slumped against its trunk, Where on Earth am I? Mercifully, she doesn't match the man's scream -- the one saving grace of this entire situation thus far. Though not generally clumsy, the last few moments have been anything but settling.
"Puck...?!" she tries yet again, more urgent, and she looks around in the vain hope that he might come cartwheeling forward.
He hadn't really meant to scream, but the woman had appeared out of nowhere. Unless she'd silently run out of the trees and stopped just in front of him in some sort of cruel joke to make him nearly wee himself.
"Did you-- did you just appear out of nowhere?" He asked, almost hoping that she'd run out from somewhere in the trees and he'd just been too preoccupied to notice.
"Yes, I believe I did," Heather replies with a certainty that's almost entirely affected. Alpha Flight has had its fair share of strange happenings, to be sure, but she's never heard of anything quite like this before. With a quick intake of breath, she pushes herself up from the tree and stands up straight, smoothing her hands over the battle-suit and then planting them on her hips. Puck is still nowhere to be seen. "I take it you're not responsible?"
"Hello?" Rahne calls in return, just a little ways off and through a few trees. She can see enough to see that there's someone there who wasn't a moment ago, and she's about to exhale a long sigh at the thought of having to explain this place to someone else when she gets nearer and can actually distinguish who the figure there is, someone she recognizes right away, even if that someone is supposed to be dead. A zombie wedding isn't easily forgotten, and around here, dead people aren't that uncommon. "Heather Hudson?"
"Yes?" she says uncertainly, turning in the direction of an unfamiliar voice. She knows her own name, of course -- that isn't the problem. Unfortunately, what the problem actually is remains a mystery, and for a moment she just stands there, unsure of how to proceed. Heather Hudson is the kind of woman who has a plan for everything, but this -- whatever this is -- is beyond even her ability to foresee.
"We must not've met yet," Rahne murmurs to herself, unfazed. It isn't like they were ever best friends or even anything close to it, and she's seen enough discrepancies in the way time worked here to all but expect it. "I'm Rahne Sinclair," she says, coming closer and holding out a hand. "And you, I'm guessing, were somewhere else a minute ago."
The name rings a bell, if not the face it belongs to. Nodding in recognition, however faint it is, Heather takes the hand in her own and gives it a solid shake.
"You're from Xavier's," she realises, though that fact alone doesn't do much in the way of explaining where they are now. After all, palm trees made as much sense in Westchester as they did Tamarind Island -- which is to say, none at all.
Comments 88
Except with a place like this, who's to say it can't be anyone? Sure, she's dead, but so is Banshee.
I force my aching bones and muscles into action, push myself to my feet. Push open the door and there she is, like she just stepped out a memory.
"I'll be damned," I say.
Reply
"Logan?" she says, slowly starting towards him. Despite the sudden change of locale, she can't help but notice there's a distinct lack of danger -- a fact that's only reinforced by his greeting. With a sweeping gesture of her arm, she adds, "What is all this?"
Reply
Might be the adamantium poisoning talking, a little. That's the reason I have to brace against the door frame, at least.
"Bad news," I say, after a long pause in which I just stare at her. "That's what all this is."
Reply
Reply
"Oh my god... Heather!"
Reply
"I'm sorry, but do we know each other?" she says, eying the woman warily from behind her visor. She assumes the answer to be yes -- at least on the stranger's end -- but barring a slight resemblance to Snowbird, Heather can't think of anyone she might be. Her calm demeanor is already starting to slip, the first flutterings of anxiety finding root in her stomach. It's never a good sign to not know someone who already knows you. In the corporate world it shows poor preparation, but in the world of heroes it can prove far more dangerous -- an enemy who knows your weaknesses while you remain ignorant of theirs. Though she senses no danger, she knows senses can easily be deceived. She keeps her distance.
Reply
"I- hopefully, yeah," she said, breaking out into a grin despite herself and despite how this all must look to someone who didn't know what was going on. She couldn't help it. "It's me, it's Sasquatch."
Reply
Reply
...he'd have to remember if he ever saw Annie again, to let her know that he preferred her coffee.
Walking along the path towards the compound, he idlly kicked a rock in front of him, mostly looking down at his feet as he walked. And then he looked up, expecting the same, mostly empty path, but instead found something else.
"AHHH!" George screamed, nearly jumping a foot in the air when there was suddenly a woman (in what looked like a figure skating costume) almost directly in front of him who hadn't been there before.
Reply
"Puck...?!" she tries yet again, more urgent, and she looks around in the vain hope that he might come cartwheeling forward.
Reply
"Did you-- did you just appear out of nowhere?" He asked, almost hoping that she'd run out from somewhere in the trees and he'd just been too preoccupied to notice.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
"You're from Xavier's," she realises, though that fact alone doesn't do much in the way of explaining where they are now. After all, palm trees made as much sense in Westchester as they did Tamarind Island -- which is to say, none at all.
Reply
Leave a comment