Which Way The Wind Blows


ff_atticus_icon.gif elisabeth_icon4.gif wf_lance_icon.gif

Scene Title Which Way the Wind Blows
Synopsis A surprise encounter brings out the imp in Elisabeth, and Lance is rather shocked at the telenovella he watches.
Date October 27, 2018

Mini Trading Post

The Pelago is a strange world to the travelers who've landed here — full of both wonders and some horrors, as befits Wonderland at its finest, one might suppose. The buildings that make up the islands are all the tall ones that used to stand around the city of New York. The Twin Towers stand as beacons still, and it's a sight that draws the blonde woman standing near the blown-out windows on what was once the 32rd floor of this building. Now it's a scant 15 feet or so off the sea's waves. In a storm, this area actually floods occasionally, depending on which way the wind is blowing. She watched several vessels come in and dock, and though she's not offhand familiar with any of them, she watches the crews tie off and head in through what constitutes the 'arrivals' area of the building. The place she's taken up her watch is in one of the common areas where some amount of community trading goes on for people to see and maybe trade for what the sailors might have scavenged out there. It amuses her to see the excitement of this kind of day — not that she has anything to trade for what might be found here. But perhaps if she sees something she likes she'll figure out a way. Mostly she just people-watches. And he's rather hard to miss. So she's not the only person staring at the giant blonde pirate.

Pirate. Well, one does what one has to..and for those that have heard of the man, he doesn't seem to have much compunction about doin' whatever he feels he must. Whatever. He's some odd damned mixture of Viking and sea-giant, long dirty blond hair kept tied up in a ponytail that runs down to near the middle of his back, a beard to make most men envious, and a single hard and cold blue eye - the other hidden behind a simple rough and undyed leather patch with no apparent fastening or anything to hold it in place.

He wears a pair of jeans so well worn and used that the salt of the ocean and the dirt have embedded themselves in the fibers..turning them from what was likely blue to something more neutral grey, like storm clouds in the morning. A pair of black leather combat boots serve for shoes, and there's at least one knife tucked into a sheath at one hip, another in a sheath wrapped around his opposite thigh. Pausing by one of the stalls he begins to sort through some of the rucksacks there, with their patchwork leather and cloth, judging a few for size as he does so, and apparently entirely oblivious to the stares he gets, and the comments that seem to fly around him.

Seeing people whose alternates she knew in her own world is not exactly new to her. Elisabeth has come to realize that at least in the strings they are currently traveling, enough things have stayed similar that a lot of the same people — coincidence or fate — have wound up following their own similar paths to the people she herself knew… and so they find themselves running across one another. Pushing off the column on which she's leaning, she makes her way through the crowd looking mostly like she belongs here, though with perhaps something that hits the locals as 'a little different.' She's just not from around here, after all. She moves easily through the little trading post to a point where she can deliberately get a better look at the tall man. And when he does finally look up, there's a flicker of recognition in her blue eyes. And she's bold enough to approach him. "Hey…. I heard that you might be someone to talk to about chartering a boat…" She shoves her hands into the back pockets of her scuffed jeans. It's the boots, with their attendant knife — VERY much more 'new' than most of what he sees around the Pelago or the other places he's been in recent years — that might be more stand-out than her person.

For this Atticus, however, this is the first time he's laid eyes..err eye on Liz, whom he doesn't miss the approach of despite his apparant disinterest in the crowd around him. A crowd that seems to have learned to give the big giant of a man a wide berth unless they've business with him. So, as the 'new' woman approaches and asks him about a boat he doesn't look up right away. He takes a moment to toss the rucksack he found that he apparently has decided on over his shoulder while laying a coupla metal strips on the top of the pile for the proprietor to take in payement - there wasn't a word spoken about what was 'fair'.

Then, well then he does look over at Liz, his gaze starting at her feet and then making its way upward, slow, unabashed and unhurried, and pausing at all those points one might expect a man to, before eventually meeting her gaze and holding it for a good five count before he says a damned thing. "Yeah? Who the fuck said that? " A pause to settle the ruck on his shoulder a bit, "Where to?"

A faint smile quirks one corner of her mouth upward. "Word gets around," Elisabeth comments wryly. "Especially when one cultivates a certain… air about them. West," she tells him, watching him closely. Her gaze is watchful, but if she does recognize him, the knowledge isn't something she's trading on. And when his gaze meets hers after that rather detailed scrutiny, she quirks a brow and comments tartly, "Take a picture, if you like. I don't mind being the new age pin-up." Sass! Apparently she's not afraid to sass the Jolly Blonde Giant.

Atticus lifts the eyebrow over that single eye of his at her reply..though it's not really immediately clear what part of her response earned the shift in expression. Then he snorts, "Fresh outta cell phones, hell - outta fuckin' polaroid's all the same." He takes a step towards her, his gait smooth and powerful with more than a bit of a roll to it that proclaims the man quite a bit more used to walkin' aboard a ship's deck than anything quite so stationary as this. A pause, he glances west - mostly not visible through the wall of the building, missing glass or no, and then back to her. "Find someone else. I'll go damned near anywhere, for the right price, but not west - not this time of shit-storm year." He flashes a smile at her that's still full of bright white teeth, but isn't nearly as 'friendly' as it looks, "I'm sure, however, I can find somethin' for you to do while you're waitin'."

Well, this version of the man she worked with briefly is definitely just as full of piss and vinegar as the one she knew. It amuses Elisabeth and she rocks on her soles. "Since what you're lookin' at is of far higher value than a charter going west, I guess we're both shit out of luck," she observes candidly. Tilting her head, she asks mildly, "How bad's the weather get between now and spring?" Not that she's intending on waiting that long, but hey… he's obviously got at least that kind of information that she can use.

He looks at her with that ice-cold blue eye of his, one that's far harder than either of those that belonged to the one she worked with, her comment about her 'worth' gives him all the excuse he doesn't seem to really need to sweep his gaze over her again as he takes the last step towards her that brings her within reach of his arms, if not the other way around. "Luck's a fickle fuckin' bitch, lass. She'll as soon's eat your face as warm your bed." He shakes his head then, "Nothin's free these days. You wanna know somethin', 'specially what the water's like between here and what was the West Coast? That'll you have'ta pay for..with somethin'."

She's watching him closely, and the differences don't escape her. Elisabeth has no plans on tweaking the tiger's tail too hard. She doesn't retreat, though her body language shifts subtly to a more balanced stance that gives her a full range of motion if he should actually invade her personal space. For now, the only outward hint she gives of the instinctive battle response is to remove her hands casually from her back pockets so they're free. And the casual expression taking on a more dangerously amused cast, as if she's enjoying the adrenaline that just hit her bloodstream, perhaps. She shrugs easily. "Nah… I really don't. I'll just ask someone else. Thanks anyway, McCallan." A jerk of her chin accompanies the step backward that she now takes, making sure she's just out of his arm's reach.

Atticus's quite suddenly not standing just out of arm's reach in front of her.

But he's also not behind her. No, he's about two feet further back from where he was, reachin' down to grab the little streeth Urchin that was about to try and take advantage of Atticus' apparent distraction to try and lift somethin off the man's belt. Without too much strain the blond giant hoists the lad into the air and turns him around to look him in the eye, "Yer fuckin' lucky you didn't actually get a hand on me. Now.. cause o' that I won't drop you from the top of the buildin', this time. Tell your mates I got eyes in the fuckin' back o' my fuckin' head..and don't let me see you again you brainless git." Then he lets the boy go, to drop the foot or so to the floor, as he turns his attention back to Liz. "Suit yourself. T'aint' many that's got as many miles under their feet as I. An don't really have'ta be you you're payin' with - though I'm thinkin' that'd be the best deal for both o' us."

And she shows zero surprise that he should vanish and reappear somewhere else. None. She does go still for just an instant — long enough to wrap her head around where he reappeared. Because who knows? He could be trouble. She hoped certain things would hold true, but this world has apparently been harder on him than theirs… of course, she has no idea if he even survived the war back home. Perhaps he's now the same there. Those thoughts are pushed aside as her blue eyes flicker from him to the kid, and she tenses visibly when he speaks to the boy that way. Urchin or not, she's not going to let him hurt the kid. "Nope," she tells him. "Ain't no way in hell I'm sharing a bunk, hammock, or bedroll with a man who'd drop a kid off a building. More power to you, if that's the way you roll these days." She pauses and looks him up and down with an expression that is dismissive. "You used to be a better man."

Moving to pivot on her heel and skirt around him, she doesn't take her eyes off him either. "Fair winds and following seas, McCallan. I'll find what I need elsewhere."

Atticus watches the street rat scurry right the hell off, then looks back to Liz as she starts to turn around. There's somethin in the way he looks at her that makes it damned clear he knows that she somehow knew just what he could do - and like most 'pirates' - well, there's usually a metric ton of fluff to go with the stories. Clearly someone's been talkin' a lot more than they should - someone that knows him well, and there aren't many that fit that bill these days.

"Yeah, lass, you go on then. When you get back to whoever's been whisperin' in your ear? Ask'm just how easy that kid got off, and what'd've happened if anyone else that does what I do had caught'm. " A pause as he starts off in the direction of the makeshift piers, "Or just how many kids, or anyone that' hadn't fuckin' deserved it, I've dropped off buildings or otherwise brought to what passes for gods fuckin' be damned justice these days." A pause, "Offer's still open. Clearly you know where you might find me, when you're ready to talk."

"Christ almighty." The voice is brittle-sharp as broken shells, as dry as sand from the side of the crowd from where a lanky teenager is leaning against the edge of a stall's ramshackle facade; short brown hair freshly cut back, a grey shemagh draped over his shoulders and a worn, patched-up grey hoodie beneath it, blue jeans threadbare and faded to finish off the look. He wasn't noticed earlier, his presence as anonymous as any.

Infiltration was always Lance's specialty, after all.

"Does everyone where you come from bluster like this, Harrison?" A brow crooks upwards, a rather dubious look on the young man's face. "I seriously just can't keep listening to this, you two sound like you're out of one of those horrible /telenovelas/ that they used to play."

Where the hell did he come from? Elisabeth turns at the sound of Lance's voice and grins cheekily. "Naw… that was just fun. Well…. until I thought he might be serious about dropping some kid from the roof. For a minute I wasn't sure he was the same guy I knew." She shrugs. "He's pissier. But pretty sure the guy's still decent under there. And the flirting's hellaciously fun. I mean…" A shrug accompanies her words. "Leading my band of merry misfits and being Aura's mom is glamorous and all, but it's not like I get to play very much." She walks toward him and quirks a brow when she pauses to stand in front of him. "Did you finally pry yourself away from Lene for a bit?" He's been hovering. Understandably.

Atticus seems quite set on continuing on his way, despite cocking his head slightly at the lad's comment, his reaction to the interjection by the younger man a non-event - unless you've got good eyes and picked up on the slight tensing at his shoulders and the checked drift of one hand towards the knife at his side. He doesn't stop his walk, but does call over his shoulder, "Like I said, lass, you find me when you're ready to fuckin' talk.. or somethin' else, for that matter."

"Yeah. Lucy's watchin' her," Lance admits with a shrug, producing an rather small, sad looking orange from a pocket and producing a knife from his sleeve with a quick gesture of his hand. He starts to peel it as he allows carelessly, "I don't care who you flirt with, I'm just out here to keep you alive. We don't know this place and you tend to trust people way too fuckin' easily." A piece of peel on the knife is pointed at her, "That's how you ended up with us after all."

Elisabeth slants a glance over her shoulder, speculative for a moment. Would the man take her west if she found something to barter for the trip? She'll have to consider it. For now, she turns her face back to Lance and crosses her arms as she stands with him easily. "Well…. it hasn't killed me yet," she observes in a tone that holds laughter, though her expression flickers to a pained one for a moment. As if what he said reminds her of something. "Thanks for having my back," is all she says aloud, though. "So … I've been looking around at what people find and trade for. Glass is a big deal. Metals trade well. I was thinking maybe talking to Cat and Walter. If the coast itself isn't ridiculously dangerous, I wonder whether actual soil would be worth something. I mean… the gardens on the top of the building use it, right? If we're going to be here a while, we should probably figure out a way to manage some income."

Lance takes a bite of the withered orange, the juices staining his chin before he wipes them with his fingers and licks them clean. No waste, after all. "Go figure, we come from somewhere that all we have is dirt to a place where it's worth gold," he mutters, glancing down the road after the 'pirate'. "Yeah. He would. I've seen his type before," he notes analytically, "He's big, so he acts big, because it's what people expect and what'll get him respect and what he wants. But he didn't hurt the kid, and wouldn't've. And he didn't push it from flirting to anything harder, even with you looking like a perfect target."

Tilting her head, she considers his opinion and smiles faintly at the read on the tall man. "Sounds about right. Momentary doubts aside, I'm pretty sure he's still solid under the window dressing of this world. I think if we needed to, he'd be willing to help. Might cost us. But we'd get what we paid for and full faith on it being delivered." She nods slightly and then says, "C'mon… I have a few things worth trading and I saw something I wanted to get for Lene. We don't have a lot of clothes for her, and there's a lady selling honest to God baby things." Some things are still needed in the world, after all. Cloth diapers and baby clothes when you're dimension-hopping with an unexpected guest top the list.

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