awildthing (awildthing) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-10-28 15:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, bethany hawke, sheriff graham (the huntsman) |
Who: Bethany and Graham.
When: Saturday evening.
Where: Bethany's place.
What: Graham thinks he's stopping by to drop off a costume prop. Instead, he gets to "meet" Angela Simmons, steampunk engineer.
Rating: PG-13.
Bethany was making finishing touches on her costume. It wasn’t time to wear it yet, of course, but she was trying to get in some details from the book. She had Angel Dust open to a page that described the character working in the engine room. Graham’s costume had gotten a little out of control. It was impossible to make the Tin Man edgy or cool or in other ways non-embarrassing, so he’d decided to go for the full cheesy effect. Silver suits were apparently a big deal in other parts of the world, so he’d placed an order on the web. To go with the two-button jacket and pants? Tacky silver shirt. Face paint. A pocket watch in the shape of a heart. He’d decided not to go for the motorized flying monkey. Sometimes too much was really too much. However, he’d had the parts to build a little toy-helicopter sized object, and Bethany needed an airship. A week or so later? Graham thought the addition was about ready. Time for a special delivery of awesomeness. Knock knock! Jumping, Bethany looked at the door. She'd been so engrossed that the sound had startled her. She looked down at herself, in a pair of faded jeans and a gold paint stained tank top, and shrugged. Whoever it was would just have to deal. She opened the door, and burst into a grin, "Graham!" “I come bearing gifts,” Graham announced, and held up the airship. It wasn’t anything amazing, just a balloon with a motor attached, but the visitor looked inordinately proud of himself as he offered the object over. Bethany stared, taking the object from his hands, and inspecting it, "It's adorable, Graham! Thank you so much!" She set it aside and hugged him, "Come in. Do you want something to drink. Does it actually work?” If it were possible, Graham was even prouder of himself after the praise. “Water’s fine, thank you. It flies. Bit wobbly, but what can you do? I’m an animal trainer, not an actual engineer.” he followed Bethany inside, then stepped out of the way to allow the door to be shut. “It’s more aerodynamic than a flying monkey, though. I’m glad I gave up on that idea.” "I would have paid to see that. You could have just glued a monkey to your shoulder. But I suppose that only works if you're the wicked witch." She paused to look at him, "Next year you can be the Wicked Witch!" She picked up the airship and looked for how to turn it on, "Is it controlled or automatic? “Controlled. I’m not clever enough to make it automatic.” Graham gestured to the bottom of the airship, where the switch was hidden next to a replica of a cannon. “I’ve the controller, ah...” Somewhere. Pocket? He went fishing in his jacket and pulled out the little box a few moments later. “--the Wicked Witch?” Graham’s smile wavered a moment, then righted itself as a smirk. “I’m not sure I could carry off the hat.” "You'd have to wear it just right," Bethany said as she put it down and then poured him a glass of water. "Cocked off to the side a bit I think." She was beyond excited to see how the little blimp worked. She couldn't believe he'd built one! “Here we go.” The noise from the mini-blimp wasn’t tremendously loud, but there was clearly a motor hidden inside the little toy. The fans that moved the ship were on the bottom, hidden beneath the ship/gondola portion of the balloon. It drifted upward as Graham moved the controls, then made a slow circle. “Trade you?” He asked, offering the remote. “Water for airship. Seems fair.” "Mmm, I don't know....I really like water." But she was eager to get her hands on it, and so offered over the glass, eyes glued to the little ship as it drifted around in a circle. It wasn't too fast, but it didn't need to be. She thought Varric would be delighted - and envious. “Water is the foundation of life,” Graham answered, scrunching up his face in what he probably thought was an earnest expression. (He looked a little ridiculous, but that was fine. He made a lot of ridiculous faces.) “But this is a ship that flies.” Somewhat miraculously. Faking a UFO with a blimp kit was one thing. The aerodynamics of a steampunk airship were another thing entirely. Bethany snatched the controls from Graham's hands, she giggled and started to control the airship around. She wondered if she could put little popcap cannons on it for added authenticity. And noise. And setting them off behind Marian. Actually that last idea was only a good idea if she wanted Marian to burn the airship up, so maybe not. "Fair trade!" She made it slowly dive towards Graham. The mock-indignation was immediate. He couldn’t duck and cover with the glass of water, but he could duck, which was a start. “Hey! This is an airship of peace, not of war.” How he could say these things with a straight face was anyone’s guess. It was an aspect of his personality that she adored. The airship buzzed his head as she pulled up at the last minute, and it continued to fly around in circles, "This is fun!" She put the controller down, still grinning. “You’re going to be a proper terror at the party.” Which was going to be fantastic. Graham took a sip of the water, primarily to hide a smile. “I can’t wait to see it. I’m not sure anyone else will come equipped with props that can dive from above.” Sitting on the counter, Bethany nodded her head, "I could have gone as a mage, I have the magic and the props and everything, but I wanted to do something different. And kind of sexy without being..sexy nurse or sexy cop or anything like that. You know? Well, you don't know, you're male." Graham arched both of his eyebrows. Bethany wasn’t wrong, but he wanted to retort. Oh, he wanted to retort. “...I’m sure there are--” No. There weren’t. He went through the entire costume store in his head, and he couldn’t recall a single flesh-exposing man’s costume. A cowboy was actually just a cowboy. “Why aren’t there any? I’m sure that one fellow from Valarnet would wear them.” Welcome, Graham, to the land of gender differences in expectations of physical appearance. Women had to deal with all kinds of stuff. "I mean, you could go as a gladiator, but they're supposed to be shirtless. And I don't know. I'm sure someone would, but I guess they don't think there's enough of a market." They could probably go to certain clubs and find it, but that probably wasn't either of their preferred bag, as it were. Bethany smirked, "Not that most guys mind the difference. Even mine has cleavage." Graham opened his mouth to reply, thought the better of it, and laughed instead. “Well, my costume is a shiny suit with an even shinier shirt. There may not be any skin, but I could possibly blind all onlookers.” That’s right. There was no good answer to a comment about Bethany’s cleavage, so he’d let that pass on by. Heaven knew that he’d had a talent for saying all of the wrong things to Buffy. "You'll be positively polished," She replied, smiling. "You slick, sparkling man you. Do you want to see mine? I was working on it when you so rudely interrupted me!" The alliteration. Graham snorted and slapped a hand to his face. “I would love to see your costume,” he answered, and took a breath before dropping his fingers from his eyes. “If it’s not trouble, and finished enough. Otherwise, there will be time at Stark’s party.” "Stay here. It'll take me a few minutes to squeeze in." She bounded out of the kitchen and grabbed up the costume, careful of the parts that she'd recently painted or glued on. The props mostly consisted of goggles, which was required for Steampunk practically, and assorted tools for fixing engines. She carried it into her bedroom to strip and pull it on. Bethy adjusted the straps and one of the gears and tilted her head curiously. Something seemed..off. "This ain't tha Angel," Skywoman Angela Simmons declared, her voice twanging. Wait. Twang. In the kitchen, Graham was just finishing off his glass of water. He choked down the last mouthful and squinted. Was she getting into character? He worked in film; sometimes people needed to prepare themselves. Seemed odd for showing off a costume, though. “Bethany?” Graham called. “Are you all right?” Perhaps he’d misheard. It was also possible that she muttered to herself like he did, when he was alone with his wolves. Bethany? She thought. She wanted to respond to that name. There was a flood of memories associated with it. Her memories. Only not her. She rubbed her face. What in tarnation was going on? Magic wasn't real. The ship was real, the crew was real, running away from the war was real. She stepped out of the bedroom, and wandered down the hall. She walked into the kitchen. All these gadgets and doohickies and things! She wanted to take them all apart. And who the hell was this? Graham. The name floated up from somewhere. He was handsome. And Angela liked herself rugged looking men, "Well hello, sugah..." “Excellent accent,” Graham congratulated Bethany. “When I try for even standard, Midwestern American, I sound like I’ve been hit in the head by a bat.” It was a slight exaggeration. He sounded drunk, not injured, but he considered that close enough. And oh, was that ever some costume. The reaction was a bob backward, before he caught himself and tried to remember that he needed to poker-face and not stare at his friend. (Can’t commit? Or rather, don’t know what on earth the two of you are doing? Then don’t do things that might complicate matters.) Uh. Except that she was right. Her costume was fairly revealing. Graham decided the safest thing to do was put the cup into the sink. “It looks like you’ve put a lot of work into your outfit.” "Well it's pretty damn important, sug." Angela walked towards him, placing her hands on either shoulder and stroking lightly. The part of her that was 'Bethany' was trilling in alarm, and she shushed her. She had no patience for the sort that don't take what they wanted. She strategically pressed her chest against Graham's back, "It defines who ah am on the boat." Uh. Speaking of not knowing what on earth he was doing - Graham froze, cup carefully placed in the sink, and tried to process information. The move with the arms was clearly a come-on, but that didn’t seem like how Bethany would’ve gone about it. Bethy was -- well. Not Southern, and not quite as... he couldn’t think of the word. Probably because he was too busy trying to figure out what he was going to do. “Bethy, I genuinely don’t want to hurt you.” It was a warning, because he thought he was still talking to the girl he’d been tethered to in that weird spontaneous bit of magic months ago, and not to some stranger from a book. “You’re dear to me and I’m not sure that I’m capable of anything serious or long-term.” "Who said anythin' about long-term!" Angela laughed, the sound not at all like Bethany's. It was lower pitched and more rolling, "I was meanin' more of a roll in the hay." Her voice lowered, sounding like a growling purr, "Scratch that nether itch." She leaned in, blowing on the back of his neck, then seemed to hesitate, "Or ah am. Or ah'm not. This is confusin'..." She stepped back, folding her arms. ...okay. This was clearly not a joke, or a roundabout attempt at moving beyond friendship. Graham turned around, suddenly quite worried. “I’m not trying to be rude,” he said, which was almost always a preface for something rude. (Alas.) “But this isn’t a part? You’d gone to try on your costume, and now I’m confused about what’s going on.” And now that he could see her face, Bethany looked a little confused as well. That was not a good sign. "A part? A part!? Ah am Angela Simmons, mechanic aboard the CSS Angel! Well, former CSS." They kind of defected. She eyedarted, "Ah don't know what ya are insinuatin'...Does this have to do with Miss Bethany? Thinkin' about her gives me a righteous headache..." “I’m Graham, Ms. Simmons,” he said, deciding instantaneously to just go with it. They both knew that crazy things could happen, and while Bethany enjoyed pranks as much as he did, this didn’t feel like a prank. (Which would mean it was an excellent prank if Bethy pulled a ‘gotcha!’ later. But. For now, he was treating it like it was real.) “Bethany dressed up as you for Halloween. ...I think. I’m not tremendously familiar with your story. She’s a very good friend of mine, and I’m just -- ah.” Worried? Panicked? At a loss? All of the above. “This feels very much like taking advantage. Do you remember how you got here?” "Ah dunno. Ah was just..suddenly here. This place is strange. All these gadgets!" She leaned forward, studying him, "Ah think she's kinda disturbed at how ah came onto ya. Ah'm sorry 'bout that." “You don’t have to apologize. I think we were both confused.” And that was possibly still the case, but at least now he knew it wasn’t Bethany-as-Angela. It was Angela. With Bethany in there somewhere? (Nope. Still made his head hurt.) “Are you good with surprises? If you work on an airship I’d imagine you don’t panic easily, but I don’t want to give you a fright.” "Can't panic, panic means dyin'," She said. "Ah figure that's why it don't bother me none pouncin' on an available man. Could be dead tomorrow. An' mama always called me a slut." She shrugged, even as Bethany broke through enough to grimace. “It’s 2012. The American Civil War is in the midst of its 150th anniversary.” Graham was watching her closely for signs of distress, but he had an eye for people. Angela didn’t strike him as the panicking type, and Bethany certainly wasn’t. He was more likely to have a crisis, honestly. “It’s October. The country is still whole, and on its way to an election of a new president, in fact.” "What?!" That strained the edge of her belief system, but so had the ability to fly before she'd seen the airship. she seemed momentarily frazzled, "That ain't right. That can't be right. That means everyone ah know is dead." She started to pace, "The North won?" And the country was whole. So they'd all healed. That was a relief. Maybe the Angel really had turned the tide. She wasn't sure how to ask her next question. She'd initially been one of the two that had rejected defection, but had flipped her opinion after a former slave had saved her life. “If it helps, I have dreams about being from a fairy-tale.” Graham said, matter of fact. When in doubt? Trump with something crazy. “Orange County, California is a very strange place. I’m going to text Bethany’s sister - maybe she’ll have ideas about what to do?” Graham had no idea if magic ran in the family, but if it did, Marian would be of more use than a stunned wolf-trainer. “I won’t leave unless you want me to go, though. You’ve my word.” "California?" What was she doing in California?, "Lord, ah do not remember where ah was last..." She found a chair and sat down in it, "Please stay. For her an' me." “I’ll stay,” Graham promised, and took a seat near to Bethany. Angela. He didn’t know if proximity would be any comfort for her, but it was calming him down. He pulled a phone from his pocket, typed in a few lines, and sent the text to Marian via Valarnet. Then he reached out to show the engineer the object. “It works like a pocket telegraph,” he explained. “But instead of Morse code, it sends text like a typewriter.” Oh, he hoped he had his timelines right. Graham was not a historian. For all that he knew, neither machine existed in the 1860s. "Huh. No wires?" She asked. She wasn't sure what a typewriter was, but it sounded like something that wrote type. Maybe a smaller type of printing press! The possibilities were endless, "Can ah take it apart?" “Let me send one more text, and then yes. You can take it apart.” There were more telephones in the world. Graham could always break down and get one of those Starkphones, but out-of-time engineers in the bodies of dear friends didn’t come along every day. Graham punched in another message. Once it was sent, he leaned forward to give Bethangela the telephone. Eagerly, she took the phone and started turning it around, and pressing buttons, "Ya can really send messages with this? Ah don't even see where the gears would fit! They'd have ta be tiny, like one of them swiss watches!" “I’m not certain how they work, but small bits of silicon are involved. I only dabble with machines - my primary job is with animals.” ‘Small bits of silicon.’ As technical explanations went, it was only a step above ‘the Internet is made of a series of tubes.’ Graham winced, but went with it. She managed to pry the casing off, and stared in confoundment, "What is this, ah don't even..." She trailed off, and poked lightly at a circuit board. It was alien technology as far as she was concerned, and she wasn't sure how to do anything with it. "Circuits," Angela said quietly. Thank you, Bethany. Graham smiled abruptly. “Circuits. Thank you. So, you build and repair things on your ship?” He wanted to keep talking. If anything proved that he had a heart, it was the amount of worry he felt. Graham wanted for things to be alright, and he couldn’t fix them. All he could do was try to make the lad(ies) comfortable. She nodded her head, pulling out a screwdriver to see if she could get deeper into these 'circuits'. She really wanted to know how that screen worked! "Ah do. Engines, the rotors, the hydraulic systems. Everythin' works on hydraulics mostly. An' gears." “Are the propulsion systems hydraulic?” Graham probably wouldn’t understand the explanation, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. There was a chance that some of it would make sense. A very small chance. “No, they’re...” she frowned. It was..there. In her head. How the engines worked but she couldn’t remember quite what it was. “Gawd ah forgot!” Or Bethany hadn’t yet read to the part that explained it! “It’s alright,” Graham reassured. His grin was lopsided, more a cheeky smirk as he leaned in and dropped his voice to conspiratorial levels. “I probably wouldn’t have known what you were talking about, anyhow.” |