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Tweak says, "It really is you."

stephen hart secretly listens to the spice girls. (bleedinghart) wrote in vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-10-09 23:12:00

Entry tags:

!active, daniel "oz" osbourne, day 26, location: forest, remy lebeau, spencer reid, stephen hart

Day 26 - New arrivals!
Who: Stephen, Spencer, and Oz. [And maybe any locals that happen upon them.]
What: The latest victims wake up in Vas.
Where: Edge of the forest near the clock tower.
When: Day 26 - 7:15am.
Rating: PG.
Status: Active.

It was the prickle of grass against his skin, tickling his nose, that woke Stephen up. The feeling was by no means uncommon, but it was off. He had just been at the beach; grass was not what he should be feeling. Beach... the scorpion... Helen's hushed voice... they were dead...

His thoughts brought consciousness swiftly and Stephen sat up abruptly, eyes flying open. But instead of falling on gently crashing waves or sand or that damned giant scorpion thrashing at the end of its tether he was faced with a treeline, and an unfamiliar one at that. What happened? Had an anomaly just... appeared right in front of him? The last thing he remembered was striding across the sand to his vehicle with Helen's words echoing in his head. The team was dead. Nick was dead. But Helen was alive and needed him to play hero and rescue her.

A hard shake of his head, one hand briefly pressing to a temple and then running back through his hair as he tried to feel if he had been knocked out with something, and then he was getting to his feet. Blue eyes narrowed slightly at the trees, likely the edge of a forest of some size. Something was off. It didn't look right, or feel right. He just couldn't quite put his finger on it at the moment. A noise had him turning sharply to one side, left hand reaching for a gun that wasn't there, and a confused look came to his face when he saw someone else lying in the grass. Actually, two someones. Two men he didn't recognize, at all.

He took a quick look around him, weary of a threat appearing out of nowhere, only to have his sense of confusion increase as he saw buildings somewhat nearby. So. An anomaly appeared out of nowhere that went to... the future? Somewhere not so far in the past? Unlikely. And that wouldn't explain the two others. Or why there was no shining anomaly nearby. Stephen rubbed a hand over his face, the other resting on his hip as he sighed heavily. This couldn't be happening... whatever the hell was happening. He needed to get to Helen. He needed to find the team, even if they were dead. No matter what she said, he wouldn't believe it unless he saw it for himself. It was too unfathomable to think that they were really dead. That Nick and Connor and Abby were gone.

Briefly lost in his thoughts and the grief that wanted to creep up on him, Stephen didn't immediately catch on that the other two men were stirring.

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got_bit
2009-10-10 04:37 am UTC (link)

It was really bright for the nitetime that Oz had just left. He had been patrolling with Willow, he remembered, covering for Buffy while she did her walkabout. Walkabouts were interesting things, originating from the Aboriginies in Australia as a way to come into manhood. Or womanhood, as was Buffy's case. Speaking of Australia, there was supposed to be a Dingoes rehersal tomorrow. Well, today since it was the next mornin apparently.Oz sat up, rubbing the back of his neck briefly while regaining his bearings. And took a sniff of the air.

This was not Sunnydale. It wasn't Kansas either. He vaguely wondered which of them had the ruby slippers.

Eyebrows knit together as he looked over to the company he was keeping. Silent assessment was taken. Not vampires, since they were still people and not piles of dust ready to hoovered up. That was a good thing. Once he decided that danger wasn't imminent, Oz quirked his eyebrows up at the older man who was already up. "Let me guess." He drawled in that laidback speech, "The tinman?" Oz was thinking that he'd be Toto.

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awkwardgenius
2009-10-10 07:47 am UTC (link)

On the ground a few feet away from the two of them, Spencer Reid's eyebrows knitted together beneath his bangs as he began to stir. His lanky body was twisted awkwardly, laying half on his stomach and half on his side on the cold ground, one arm sprawled out beneath his head to cushion his face. A low groaning noise pitched out from the back of his throat and he lifted his head an inch or two, eyes blinking blearily at the dirt in front of them in confusion.

Wha...?

He could've sworn he remembered falling asleep in the car on the way back from the airport. He'd flown with his mother back to Vegas, and promptly spent the several hour plane ride home chewing on his nails one at a time, lost in his own thoughts. Morgan had been waiting for him at the airport, and, as uncharacteristic as it was for him, had barely said anything as he drove Spencer back to his apartment. Maybe the air was too awkward, he didn't know. But something had kept Morgan quiet, quiet enough that Spencer had had no problem finally catching up on the sleep his body had been deprived of for the duration of the case beforehand.

Dreams of burn victims in shining armour weilding jewel-encrusted swords plagued his sleep, before plunging him deep into the inky black nothingness, which was now parting to make way for the strange scenery around him. His head felt heavy as he lifted it, leaves and dirt clinging to his hair as he did so, pushing himself up with his hands.

"Ngh... Morgan?"

His heart skipped a beat. His first thought was that they had crashed the car, though this didn't look like Quantico, unless Morgan had taken a really long short cut. His thoughts slowly began to gather, fighting for a logical explanation as to why he would be sprawled unconscious in the middle of a forest.

With all that had happened over the past few days, paranoia set in, and he snapped awake. His hand scrabbled at his hip, which had been stripped of his gun and its holster, and he suddenly felt naked and vulnerable in the middle of the wilderness. His mouth grew dry and he scraped his knees underneath him, looking around anxiously, hand trying desperately to find his cellphone and coming back empty.

Oh God, Morgan... where are you?!

There were two men beside him, also on the ground, but awake. Spencer looked between the two of them, not entirely sure what either of them were doing there... or where Morgan was. His teeth scraped his lip and he continued to look between them, hairs on the back of his neck standing up as the adrenaline began to pump.

"What... what's going on?" he asked eventually, having to clear his throat halfway through the sentence as his voice was dry and incoherent. "Who... uh... where is this?"

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bleedinghart
2009-10-10 08:18 am UTC (link)

Stephen didn't start at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. At least, not exactly.

He did drop his hand and jerk his head to look the direction it came from, eyes narrowing slightly. "Excuse me?" His voice held a subtle English accent and his tone easily displayed aggravation, in case his expression wasn't enough to get that across. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with any sort of humor. Or really deal with anyone that wasn't someone he knew, actually.

But then Stephen heard a groan and shifted his gaze to see the other man stirring as well. They both looked so... young. His mind flashed on the memory of Connor running up to him and Cutter on campus that fateful afternoon, a frown darkening his face as he realized such a memory could fast become bittersweet. There was no time for that. He needed to focus. Figure out where he was, how he got to this place, and how to get back to where he belonged.

"Let me guess, neither of you are familiar with this place?" His gaze shifted from one to the other, and he was shaking his head before either had a chance to say anything. "Stupid question." Stephen turned his attention to their surroundings. Maybe nature could tell him what he wanted to know. He barely moved to take a step toward the nearest tree when his foot connected with something firm, metal by the sound of it, and Stephen stopped, immediately looking down. Had that small box been there before? He wasn't sure, but he was bending down to examine it anyway.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-10-10 03:31 pm UTC (link)

As if Remy, who had decided that he was the new greeter for everyone who showed up in this awful place (save the previous three days, where the sun had refused to come up and he'd [mostly] refused to leave the comfort of his church home) would miss the arrival of three men. Each morning for the last week and a half, Gambit had strolled along the edge of the town, listening for sounds in the forest, for voices that would travel well. He'd only had to walk around for about ten minutes this morning before he stumbled across those voices.

"Oui, kin'a stupi'." The thick Cajun accent was the first signal to someone else's arrival in their little forest-covered tea party. He hadn't made any noise as he'd approached, no crunching leaves, no twigs breaking, he'd been careful. After being attacked two days ago by the Doctor, he'd been a little more conscious of himself and how much noise he made. He didn't want that to happen again. Not ever again.

"You in Vas Cap'io, 'de glass prison." He made a sweeping motion with one partially gloved hand-- all fingers, save his pointer and pinky on each hand were covered. He was likewise in a long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans. But today, it wasn't his normal duty boots that covered his feet, they were sitting out and drying, he'd washed them.

Don't ask. The cat-clean Cajun had been tired of smelling and he'd spent most of yesterday washing his clothes in that make-shift soap-water he'd created. And no, he wasn't giving up his self-made washboard quite yet either. Tonks, the Doctor, and he himself had been the only ones to enjoy clean clothes for a while now.

"Accueillir," He chimed in, in French. Welcome, he'd said. Yes. Welcome to prison. "I'm Gambit, an' I'm gonna be 'de one gonna show you int' 'de town. M' uh pris'ner here, too. 'Dere 'bou' for'y uh us. Make sure y' grab 'de boxes a' y' fee', gonna wan' 'dem. 'Specially 'de wa'er an' 'de no'ebook. 'Das impor'an'." Well, he looked nice enough, didn't he? With that shoulder-length red hair and the oh-so-charming smile on his face. Just don't look too closely in the dark of the forest. Those red-on-black eyes would be off-putting for anyone. Most people thought he was a demon of some sort. That was always entertaining. He was going to start claiming he was an alien so he didn't have to explain.

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got_bit
2009-10-10 04:04 pm UTC (link)

English. So his sensibilities were probably more Giles-like in nature. The English were a strange bunch, kind of kooky. Because behimd those stuffy exteriors were kings and queens of dry wit and sardonic responses. Oz could appreciate that. He shook his head at the question that was deemed stupid and looked over to the other guy.

Was he a student at Sunnydale? Or maybe one of the college kids. But the California city was relatively small and Oz had a tendency to remember faces that he saw at school or the Bronze. "Huh." Repeated, though it was mostly to himself. Why were they all there? His mouth set into a quizzical line as he pondered this. Maybe it was some sort of spell, or warp in the time space continuum. But there was a newer smell, which had Oz looking over only the briefest of seconds before the apparent Cajun started talking. The redhead listened, unfettered mostly by the news.

He looked around him then, looking for the box that English ran into and Cajun mentuioned. Gathering it up, he studied it thoughtfully. Matches, which were damp..a water bottle..Tictacs? "I like the orange ones."

Vas Captio. Glass Box. Or Encagement. "Who wants to cast the first stone?" Okay, maybe he was mixing up platitudes..glass houses and people without sin..but they were both applicable.

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awkwardgenius
2009-10-11 12:13 am UTC (link)

Spencer lifted his head as the English man stood, recognizing the accent and placing it immediately. As the man took a step, his shoe smacking loudly against the kit, he jerked a little and snapped into a more upright position. He was jumpy, his nerves on edge. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out shakily, running one hand through his hair.

There were parks and forests in Virginia... the idea of being any further away from home than that terrified him. Not that he was happy being somewhere in Virginia. Somewhere wasn't a good enough answer.

He opened his mouth to ask another question, but the Cajun accent cut him off, and Spencer half-jumped half-fell onto his feet, stumbling back a few steps. He was ridiculously paranoid and jumpy, but given the fact they had just been dealing with an unsub who, not only knew intricate details about all of the teams' personal lives, but knew his mother well and idealized Spencer as some kind of heroic knight, he was more than entitled to be.

He recognized the French, and stared at the man with some confusion and disbelief as he spoke. His mind was completely awake now, alert and sharp, the cogs working quickly to process all of the information he was receiving.

"W-wa-wait a minute, prisoner? You're a prisoner?" Spencer sounded like he didn't quite believe what he was hearing, because from what he was getting from it, it sounded like he'd ended up in some kind of large prison or holding ground. Vas Captio, Latin, and the Cajun's translation had been for the most part pretty accurate. He took a step forward, one hand outstretched a little, leaves and dirt still clinging to his vest and shirt, sleeves rolled up messily to his elbows. "You, you said prison, this is a glass... prison?"

His foot clanged against something and he almost tripped. He knelt to examine it, noting it as one of the same kits as the younger and English men had previously looked at. He glanced up from his position on the floor, looking between them, waiting for the Cajun to give them any further information.

[OOC; Anyone who's ever seen Criminal Minds will know that Spencer's brain is like a freakin' encyclopedia... so my disclaimer is that Google and Wiki can only do so much! ;D]

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bleedinghart
2009-10-11 06:29 am UTC (link)

At the sound of a new voice Stephen looked up and in its direction, the line of his mouth setting in a frown. Where had that man come from? It was strangely quiet in this place; no birdsong to currently be heard, practically no sound of insects or any sort of rustling foliage in the breeze. He should have caught that approach. Humans have gotten lazy, reactions dulled. Helen's voice came unbidden and only made Stephen frown harder.

Something about the newcomer had him tense and Stephen watched him closely as he straightened to stand again, one hand picking up the box. He'd look inside in a moment. He couldn't place the man's accent and as bothersome as that might have been it did at least rule out a fair share of locations. "This is a prison. And you're some sort of tour guide." Both statements were made with a raised brow as Stephen eyed the man. Sure, he dealt with some pretty crazy stuff on a regular basis but that? Sounded like the mental kind of crazy.

A step or two towards the man who called himself Gambit -- and really, what kind of a name was that? -- and his sharp eyes were picking up on those irregularly colored eyes of the other man. They didn't make him think 'demon,' but they didn't sit well with Stephen. "Where is this place?" He almost asked what era but he doubted he would get an answer that would satisfy him. His mind was leaning back toward a future time, given the man's appearance. Perhaps the strange eye color was some sort of evolutionary adaptation? To what, he had no idea, but he already had enough questions to sort through at the moment.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-10-11 04:47 pm UTC (link)

"No stone t'rowin'." Gambit returned to the other red-head with a smooth grin, though he was letting his eyes fall to half-lidded as he looked him over, focusing first on his face, then trailing down over his body. It almost looked like appraisal.. but if poor Oz was paranoid at all, perhaps he'd pick up on the fact that those black and red eyes lingered a bit too long on his face. He was deciding something. And a Cheshire cart smile curled his lips shortly after. That other red-head gave off the same sort of vibe that the little boy did. And in his book, he was lumping them together. Selene gave off a similar vibe, one that told you to run away.. but she was an attractive woman, so he'd ignored it. So this guy was either a vampire (and he just wasn't sexy enough to be a vampire) or he was a wolf. Nevermind that he could have been a million other things, Gambit was assuming.

Then he was looking back at the other man with the long hair. "Oui, 'dis uh prison an' we all prisoners here. Jus' c'mon ou' t' see 'de lo' o' you, an' make sure y' ge' int' 'de town nice an' safe. Don' wan' none ya gettin' los' on y' firs' day." He pushed away from that tree he was near and made a gesture with one gloved hand. "G'wan an' take 'de boxes, an' le's ge' goin'. Answer wha' I can f' you while we walkin'. Firs'.." He was turning to put his back to them, heading back out of the forest much too quietly. He didn't make nearly the noise he should have as he snuck his way through leaves and sticks. "Dunno where we are, do know 'dat 'deres gonna be uh full moon soon.." He lingered on those words, glancing back once towards the other red-head, but then he was looking forward once again. "Coul' be eart', bu' ain' likely. Coul' be uh plane', uh new dimension, dunno. Bu' we know 'dat we go' humans here, an' aliens, an' mu'an's. An' we ha' 'dis zombie, she dea' now. 'Das anot'er t'in'.. 'dis place ain' jus' uh prison, we bein' experimen'e' on. 'Dey tor'ure us.. fun stuff like 'dat. Jus 'de ot'er day we all go' sen' back t' years back an' ha' t' relive really ba' t'in's. We ha' uh eart'quake.. people tryin'a drown us.. 'dis weir' gas make people crazy.. an' one time, half 'de people here go' turn int' chil'ren. Oh, an' 'de killer bir's an' 'de zombies. 'Dat was recen'." As he moved out of the forest and stepped onto the freshly paved roads, he turned to smile at the lot of them again and open out his arms, displaying the clock tower behind him and the larger town beyond that. "Welcome home. Mos' people stay in 'de gym, 'de museum, or 'de thea'ter. Sugges' y' stick wit' people. An' you," he pointed at Oz, past the other two. "Go' someone you gonna wanna mee'. Name's Remus, lil' boy." But he wouldn't go into detail.

"Ques'ions?" He'd answer them now, gentlemen.

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got_bit
2009-10-12 01:09 am UTC (link)

Being a musician, you got used to being sized up by boys and girls. Being possible food for fun little demons and vampires, you got used to being sized up in general. Being Oz, you didn't care much either way. From watching Cajun Style Eyes..Cajun food. He wasn't a fan of Cajun food too much. Too well done..whom he was currently debating what sort of demon he was. He seemed to be helpful, but that could happen. What was it? Step into my parlour, said the spider.

He looked over at English and then the guy with a library in his brain, and Oz stayed amicably quiet while they spoke. He had a tendency of simply soaking up whatever knowledge others pulled out of whatever source. Like the fact that English asked immediately where they were and seemed to be less freaking out about the possibility that the Weird Stuff was happening. He looked up at Gambit again, a single eyebrow moving up at the mention of zombies, experiments and children. There was the mention of the full moon, which sucked. He just dealt with that a week ago. They must be on a different dimension, then. Hell dimensions, he remembered reading, had different timings for things. Mental note was made to find a secure place. "Sounds like Sunday." In other words, sounded like Sunnydale.

He was starting to follow the group and cocked his head slightly. "Oh yeah? Think he can play an instrument? I'm thinking that maybe if we get instruments at the right pitch, we'd be pretty rocking." And could break the glass using sound waves. Bonus.

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awkwardnerd
2009-10-12 04:40 am UTC (link)

It was incredible, how this man had just accepted the fact that he was a prisoner of whatever this Vas Captio glass jail or vessel of imprisonment was. It didn't really give him much hope to speak of, and he did another quick search for his cell phone, hoping to find it so he could at least attempt to contact the team. When his hands came up empty again, he gave up and just looked back over at the Cajun.

When he started walking, Spencer bent down and grabbed the survival kit, slipping the strap around his thin frame and stumbling across the forest floor as he followed the man. He looked around nervously at the other men he was with. They seemed just as confused as him. What were the chances of someone having some kind of... prison they used to store people they kidnapped, out in the middle of the forest, somewhere they couldn't escape and couldn't signal for help? Probably high, given everything he had seen in the past. It was certainly possible. He ran his fingers through his bangs, tucking them back behind his ears. Something the Cajun said, however, made him sputter out another question.

"Wa-wait, they torture you? Experiment on you?" He sounded both horrified and uncertain. If they were dealing with some kind of psychopath who wanted to play God, he really really needed to make Hotch, Gideon, and the rest of the team aware as soon as possible.

He stared at the large town sprawled out before them. It looked dilapidated, and he swallowed, looking toward the other two he'd woken up with. Eventually, he spoke up, his voice shaking despite how he attempted to inject confidence into it.

"Um, we-well... my name's Reid, Doctor Spencer Reid, and I'm with the F.B.I., the um, Behavioural Analysis Unit, I'm a profiler..." He looked around again, awkwardly. "My team, they're probably looking for me, and they'll bring help..."

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bleedinghart
2009-10-12 07:13 am UTC (link)

Stephen listened to the man with the strange eyes who apparently lived in this place, the frown seemingly set in his face. But the wheels inside were turning and no matter his doubt he was soaking up every word. Well, what he could decipher at least.

Mention of the place being another planet... actually didn't sound all that strange. Or perhaps not as strange as it should, probably would have before the anomalies showed up in his life. They went to the past and the future, so who was to say they couldn't travel through space as well? People debated time travel and space travel could be combined to make traveling through the galaxy possible. It wasn't anything Stephen particularly listened to, but something he could ask Connor about. No, you can't. He's dead. They're all dead.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Stephen huffed out a breath, reluctantly following after the others. He was weary to leave the spot, in case an anomaly was soon to appear again so he could find his way back to his own time, and weary to leave the wildlife that could actually tell him what he wanted to know with the certainty that it wasn't lying to him. Though, if it was another planet...

"Wait. Let me see if I get this straight." He paused near Gambit, still with a mildly skeptical look on his face. "This place is a prison of sorts, yet more like a giant petri dish where people are brought against their will and have experiments done on them. Creatures from myth appear from time to time, like zombies. And you're perfectly calm about this?" It sounded insane. Yet... was something like zombies being real and walking around terrorizing people any stranger than chasing down creatures from the Cretaceous Era?

As Stephen stood there he glanced at the two he had woken up with. The youngest-looking one seemed to be taking everything in stride, which to be perfectly honest reminded him far too much of Connor, and so he shifted his attention to the more nervous-looking one. Not that he could blame him for being nervous or uncomfortable. This didn't exactly sound like the greatest of times to Stephen either. He did however shoot him a curious look when he sort of babbled out an introduction. "Call it a hunch, but if the crazy this guy is saying is true I don't think your team is going to come running. Nice thought though." And he wasn't trying to dash the kid's hopes, even if it came out that way. But if there had been people stuck in this place for a time, well, surely they had people looking for them too, yet they were all still here. Maybe they weren't government and thus important but everyone had at least one person that cared about them and would notice if they went missing. At least that was how Stephen was looking at it.

And hell, was he actually starting to believe this apparent local? His threshold for crazy must have been raised even higher than he realized.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-10-12 04:15 pm UTC (link)

"Kin'a nice ki', dunno much 'bou' him, 'dough." He rolled back his shoulders, a smooth, graceful movement. Really, that Cajun was quite an attractive young man-- young, because he couldn't have been any older than twenty-two. And with the way he moved his body? Well, he drew attention from women wherever he went.. that was, until he got to know them. Rose Tyler was a perfect example. He'd really screwed that one up.

And with a shift of his body to the side, putting all of his weight on one leg, he flashed a charming smile to the other long-haired young man. Reid. Doctor Reid. Funny, that.

"You gonna be our secon' Doct'r Rei', go' one alrea'y. Ellio' Rei'. Blon'e girl, real nice. Kin'a di'zy bu' she go' uh nice rack." Welcome to Vas Captio, boys. All the people here were crazy, your tour guide was no exception. "Bu' she's 'de me'ical kin'a doct'r.." He paused then to think about it for a second, red eyes rolling towards the sky. Huh. Oh, yeah.

"An' 'de sun ain' se' here f' two days now.. wen' four days wit'ou' i' risin', too. So check 'de wa'ches on y' wris's when y' wanna know wha' time i' is." He was pointing with a single ungloved finger to the watch on his own wrist.

"Ain' perfec'ly calm 'bou' i'.. jus' accept'e' i'. Lon' as we here, gonna be experimen'e' on an' tor'ure'.. ha' m' arm disloca'e' 'de secon' day I was here-- been here.. uh.. 'bou' twen'y days now? Seems lon'er." He mused with a shift of red eyes over the group.. then he was breaking out into that easy, laid back smile once again. "Some us been here uh mont', or nearly 'dere. An' sometime 'dey kill people an' leave 'dem layin' roun' t' be 'foun.. ain' happene' la'ely, 'dough." And then Gambit was pausing once again, to try and think back to anything he might be missing.. torture, executions, experiments, earthquakes.. zombies.. Oh!

"An' everyone here kin'a from differen' places an' times. Like I sai', 'dere's leas' one alien, bu' we go people from ot'er worl's.. like me, I'm from Eart', bu' no' 'de same Eart' ot'er people from. Like uh differen' dimension. An' I'm from 'de year nine'een nine'y t'ree.. go' people here from two-t'ousan' nine, an' 'de fif'y firs' cen'ury. All kin'sa t'in's." Well, boys, there you had it. And then Gambit was pointing at the other red head, and the other dark-haired man. "Didn' ge' y' names, ain' jus' gonna go 'roun' callin' y' 'Homme'." He said with a lift of his eyebrows.

"Oh." He recalled something else after a moment. "An' 'de books, 'dey work like.. cell phones, kin'a. You wri'e in 'dem, an' everyone can see. Y' can make t'in's priva'e, bu' 'de people runnin' 'dis place can still see 'dem.. so you wanna keep somet'in' really priva'e, y' talk in person, an' y' talk low."

Creeped out yet, guys?

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got_bit
2009-10-13 06:07 pm UTC (link)

"It makes as much sense as us being transported here." This said with a shrug of his shoulders. Oz looked at the watch then. It was actually rather nice..a brown leather strap wrapped around his wrist twice with a simple face. Very cool. Then looked up at the clocktower not too far in the distance, squinting briefly. Times were synched, at least.

At the mention of the journals, he looked through said books. "Very post-modern ironic of them. Revealing of how they both mock technology yet acknowledge that a modern means of communication is needed." Huh. He gave a little up-nod to no one in particular. Touche, Invisible Captors. Touche.

The part about killing people was met with less laidbackness and more of a non-readable sort of stoicness. White Hat tendencies had Oz thinking about how to make sure to keep people safe. But he was shaken out of that reverie and lifted his eyebrows. "I'm Oz."

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awkwardgenius
2009-10-16 04:52 am UTC (link)

Reid seemed content to just let the Cajun man babble at him, that and the charming smile was pretty hypnotizing. He has charisma, that was for sure, and Reid often felt awkward around those who did. His mind was beginning to wake up now, sharp and alert as usual, and he was beginning to piece the tidbits of information together and formulate a mental image of the place he had been... brought. He wasn't about to use the 't' word like the younger man had done.

He was going to imagine for a moment that this was a normal case, and that their captors were most definitely normal human beings, and see what he could draw from this, whether he was deduct anything useful. If what the men were saying was true, then the team wouldn't be arriving within a few hours with their guns and vests and smoke bombs and SWAT units. At least if they... if they were being tortured here, if people were in fact being subjected to cruel experiments, he could perhaps use what he figured out to keep himself sane. And alive.

So, they were being kept in a 'glass prison' or a 'vessel of imprisonment', according to the literal translation of the name of the place. Their captors were probably narcisistic, cruel, and most likely atheist, if they were attempting to play God like this. Atheist, or with a strong hatred of religion, most likely linked to childhood trauma or abuse surrounding the subject. They were probably controlling, possibly even OCD. And they were sadistic, if what the Cajun was saying about torture was true.

As for the sun not setting and the 'other worlds' thing, well. Reid hadn't gotten that far yet. Let him deal with the fact he was in a place filled with people who were teased, tortured, and eventually killed and left to be found by their fellow captives. That was enough for now.

He was now stood toward the back of the group, going through the survival kit and only partially paying attention to what was being said.

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bleedinghart
2009-10-16 10:23 pm UTC (link)

This place sounded like a menagerie of strange and weird and he really couldn't help thinking how helpful it would have been to have Cutter there to help make sense of it all. Or at least for them to bounce theories off each other. Well, if they were talking to each other. And he was alive.

Stephen fought against a headache he could sense coming on, though he didn't have to fake being interested in the talk of people coming from different times. Well, that if nothing else certainly sounded like the anomalies. Though if an anomaly was the cause, why weren't people escaping back through it when one appeared? Fear? Were they unaware? Too many questions and not enough answers for him, and no friends he could turn to for help figuring them out.

He hesitated briefly before offering his name, in the end deciding names were harmless, and no doubt better than any sort of nickname the curious man with red eyes could think up. "Stephen. You said the sun hasn't set for two days?" The scientist in him was already thinking how that could effect the animal and plant life, if it was a normal sort of occurrence.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-10-17 01:23 am UTC (link)

"Oz, S'even." Sorry, Stephen, he couldn't pronounce that T just right, you'd just have to remain a bastard version of your name. Lucky Oz, who didn't have that problem, and Reid, who was simply 'Ree'. Oh well, it was close, right? Don't get too upset about it, boys. It was just that accent.

"Non, no nigh' f' two days.. kin'a ea's 'way a' you. Worse when i's 'de nigh' all 'de time.. can block ou' 'de sun, bu' you can' make i' rise." At least the Cajun had begun eating again when the sun had come up, and he had no trouble sleeping during the day, as he'd done it often. No sleep depervation here, Management. Sorry about that.

"C'mon, show y' t' 'de gym, can' have uh look roun' 'dere, maybe y' stay, maybe y' move on. Anywhere y' feel 'de mos' comfy." With that, he was turning his back and stepping out onto the asphalt, leading the way down the road (a real road!) to the large, looming building not far off.

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