Bruce Banner (somuchgreen) wrote in helladjacent, @ 2017-06-17 13:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | !jumps: library under the neitherlands, character: bruce banner, character: steve rogers |
Who: Bruce & Steve
What: Arrival
When: Saturday - New Plot
Where: The Lobby and then the Kitchen
Rating: Low
Status: Ongoing/Closed
There was a jukebox in the lobby of the hotel that was playing music Bruce had never heard of before. As tempted as he was to head toward it and discover the title and artist he held his ground. He'd never experienced a dream as vivid as this one before - most of the things he saw in his sleep were nightmares, snaps of colors and the sound of crushing metal coupled with screams. His mind was trying to wrap itself around the possibility of being one place just a second ago and somewhere entirely different the next. It wasn't unheard of - the space/time continuum was a real thing but he'd never attempted something of that magnitude before.
Bruce had seen a lot of things in his lifetime. He was seasoned in tragedy, well versed in emotion and the struggles of life. Things like the lavish, and now sand-strewn carpet beneath his feet seemed like some sick, weird dream. Things like this didn't happen to people like him without some alterior motive.
Making the usual rounds that any of the others here would (not that he knew there were others but if anyone from the outside had been watching the motions and actions may have been similar to the arrivals of before) Bruce checked the doors. He opened them up and peered with interest out into the gray fog. There had been sunshine before, sand and water. Fiji was paradise. And yet he'd seemed to have left it behind. The doors closed gently and the scientist turned.
Surveying the lobby, Bruce noticed the large staircase leading up to the next floor. In his hand he discovered some sort of mobile device which quickly went into a pocket of a pair of pants he'd stolen from a clothesline. His now free palm pressed tenderly against the fabric of the front of the shirt he wore (also stolen) as if to confirm he was dreaming. He wasn't. He felt real. Too real.
His footfalls were light as he moved. There were so many questions and so few answers to be discovered based on simple observation. Breaking to the right, Bruce trailed sand from the shoes he'd taken (a trait he'd perfected years ago and not an honest one) down the hallway and into the next room. A kitchen. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until his eyes met the appliances and the empty countertops. The low rumble from his mid-section seemed deafening.
The rational part of his brain was telling him that there was food. Was it safe to eat? Obviously this was no dream where things always went as planned. And so, in the name of scientific experiment he made his way across the cold floor, approached the fridge and pulled it open in efforts to see what lay beyond.