"So, I understand big and grumpy there in the corner, and the paparazzi over there is even easier to figure out. Mr. Russia is a bit of a mystery but you," Agnes said as she took a seat next to Vordis right after they had boarded the train in Oslo. "You I don't understand at all. Why would someone like you end up in a trip like this?"
Agnes didn't look like someone boarding a train to expedition either. She was wearing a pair of cargo shorts, a loose tanktop with a cogwheel print in the front and a pair of slippers. She looked like she was about to embark on a beach trip. But it was hot and she had more sensible clothes in her backpack, including sturdy boots that were hanging by the laces in the bottom. Her arms were bare but an intricate tattoo ran up along one of her arms, more cogwheels weaved together with what looked like runes and symbols.
She sprawled on the seat and fanned herself with her tablet case while waiting for a response, pair of winged brows arching in question.
Agnes >> anyone, day 4, Gulf of Bothnia
The boat was a piece of shit, but Agnes had fondness for old boats that ran with holy spirit and steel wire. They had stopped for the night because it was hard to see anything and the area was littered with small islands that were not in any map they had in their possession. The engines were still hot when she climbed into the back to have a gander at what they were working with.
She was laying on her back with her tool kit open on the ground by her feet, right under the heavy engine, half inside the casing.
"Hand me the wrench, alright?" she said to whoever happened to be nearby and gestured towards the toolbox, her palm open invitingly. "The biggest one you can find."
"I'd assume everyone else is in it for the money," she replies, putting her book down. Packing light and definitely not dressed for any sort of expedition, Vordìs looks more like she's going on a business trip to Amsterdam than anything else.
She gives Agnes a once-over and decides if she wants to tell her the truth or brush it off with a quick reply; she figures that they'll be spending the next few months in close quarters, she might as well. "If you really want to know, it's because everyone is getting complacent. People just live in their own little bubble and refuse to leave their city," she says. "Missions like this are underfunded, underutilized. It's important that people know just how necessary they are to our continued survival."
She puts her book away, back into her bag. "Are you hot? We can turn the air conditioning up higher," she suggests, tying up her own hair into a small bun at the back of her head.
"There are easier ways to make money," Agnes replies with a small snort. "But sure, if you're really desperate, I guess there is that."
She listens to Vordis quietly even if her eyes dart away every now and then, glancing outside, and then back at her. It's not so much a nervous tick but the way she is, always multitasking.
"Yeah, people are like that, aren't they?" she says calmly. "Always ready to just settle down and wait for the executioner. It's easier that way, you know?" Revolutionary minds are rare, mob mentality isn't. "So, you seem like the rational one of the crew then." Maybe the intelligent one as well. It remains to be seen.
"Nah, let it be. It'll settle in a minute. No point cranking it up now and then down later." She grins and fans herself some more. "Should enjoy the summer when it happens, yeah?" She grew up in the north were it's rarely warm.
"All three days of it, sure," she replies with a smile.
"So, how is your information-gathering about the crew?" she asks. "Successful?" She almost wonders why Agnes is so interested in knowing about them, being able to categorize them. Vordis, meanwhile, prefers to care about the nervous motion in Agnes' eyes, the way they flicker like the buzz of machinery. Long-limbed and pale-featured, there's something hearkening in the idea of her being covered in dark, slick engine grease. She thinks she'd like to paint that.
"Tell me about them," she requests, crossing her arms over her lap.
"Sure," Agnes says with a quick glance at Vordis. It doesn't take a genius to figure out most people. Just open eyes and a little bit of awareness. She's interested mostly because she's going to be spending quite a bit of time in cramped space with these people. If they turn out to be assholes, she would rather know before it comes as a surprise in a difficult situation.
"Well, silent and strong type in the corner there," she says and points at Grey, "is some kind of a nature loving shaman type. He seems like the real deal, too. Probably useful on a trip like this. His butt buddy, the paparazzi on the other hand I'm not so sure about. He seems like a loose cannon but a smart cookie nonetheless. Brother Russia has some language challenges, which will make things difficult, but I'm hoping his skill set will make up for it."
She gave Vordis a questioning look, probably wondering if she wanted to hear more.
Vordís wants to hear all that Agnes has to share, so of course she pauses as if waiting for her to continue. "I think that one has probably seen things we don't want to know about," she says. "Though I'm not sure how he became friends with Paparazzi. They don't seem like the type to get along. Maybe they went to school together," she muses.
"Russia over there looks lost. I think he might have signed up on the wrong trip; maybe his Finnish isn't too good." He really, really does look like a lost puppy most of the time, and Vordís did notice he had gotten two sandwiches and was looking around for someone to give the extra one to, settling finally on Grey. So maybe he was also doing reconnaissance, trying to figure out the quiet ones first.
Rune has been trying to make himself useful all day long, but mostly getting accustomed to the boat. He's a decent navigator, but they already have one. And he's pretty good at tying knots, but they don't need any of that right now. He tried making himself breakfast and ate burnt, rubbery eggs. He let someone else make lunch.
Finding himself in the last place he hasn't visited, he isn't expecting Agnes to actually talk to him. But he rifles through and plucks out the largest wrench in the box, and hands it over to her. "You the ship mechanic?" he asks. "I'm Rune. Late addition to the crew."
Hopefully, if he introduces himself, none of them will ask further questions.
"I'm a mechanic, yes," Agnes replies as she grabs the wrench and then uses it like a hammer to bang the side of a carburettor to loosen some caked up rust in it. "Not for this ship in particular but that's my role on this little pleasure cruise."
She glances up at him quickly and there's a little bit of a cheshire grin curving at the corners of her mouth.
"You're the stowaway, aren't you? I heard the paparazzi is a bit of a player and can't keep it in his pants." She shakes her head before diving back under the engine. "Don't worry, I'm not going to judge. If you need the dick, you need the dick." Sex isn't all that complicated, is it? "I just hope you're ready for what's at the other side of this gulf."
And he thought he was so smooth, too. Rune freezes and crosses his hands over his chest, despite Agnes telling him she's not judging. After all, it's not like that. Well, okay, it was like that, but it's one thing to have a one night stand and another thing to be spirited off to maybe another country en route to some suicidal mission you didn't sign up for because of one.
"I'm pretty sure I'm not leaving the ship, so that's fine," he says. He's definitely leaving the ship once he realizes the alternative is him being left behind to stand guard as literally all the other highly-trained and powered people are going to go off traipsing into the wilderness instead.
He has no idea how his life got so complicated overnight.
"Oh, you're going to stay in the ship alone?" Agnes asks, glancing at Rune with a quizzical look. "You have some balls on you." She seems to approve.
She uses the wrench the open up the lid of the carburettor, moving it aside as she peers inside. "Hand me the flashlight, pet," she says easily, her hand shooting out from under the engine, her fingers curling in an inviting gesture.
"I'm Agnes. And what do we call you?" She doesn't seem that troubled by the idea that he's been pretty much spirited away from his safe Stockholm. Life tends to have strange things in store for everyone. She's used to that.
He's confused as to what she means by that but doesn't ask to elaborate. Staying on the ship is unsafe? But surely it's where the artillery is and it's where they'll return to at base, right? They won't just. Leave him there all trip, right? And they'll have supplies, he can just stay inside and eat and charge his phone and listen to the five thousand audiobooks that he keeps downloading and not listening to.
Right??
"Um, I'm Rune," he responds, digging through for the flashlight and handing it to her. "What are you trying to fix?" he asks instead, because it's sort of difficult to have a conversation with the lower half of someone's body.
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ainomieli2018-07-30 04:22 am
no subject
"So, I understand big and grumpy there in the corner, and the paparazzi over there is even easier to figure out. Mr. Russia is a bit of a mystery but you," Agnes said as she took a seat next to Vordis right after they had boarded the train in Oslo. "You I don't understand at all. Why would someone like you end up in a trip like this?"
Agnes didn't look like someone boarding a train to expedition either. She was wearing a pair of cargo shorts, a loose tanktop with a cogwheel print in the front and a pair of slippers. She looked like she was about to embark on a beach trip. But it was hot and she had more sensible clothes in her backpack, including sturdy boots that were hanging by the laces in the bottom. Her arms were bare but an intricate tattoo ran up along one of her arms, more cogwheels weaved together with what looked like runes and symbols.
She sprawled on the seat and fanned herself with her tablet case while waiting for a response, pair of winged brows arching in question.
Agnes >> anyone, day 4, Gulf of Bothnia
The boat was a piece of shit, but Agnes had fondness for old boats that ran with holy spirit and steel wire. They had stopped for the night because it was hard to see anything and the area was littered with small islands that were not in any map they had in their possession. The engines were still hot when she climbed into the back to have a gander at what they were working with.
She was laying on her back with her tool kit open on the ground by her feet, right under the heavy engine, half inside the casing.
"Hand me the wrench, alright?" she said to whoever happened to be nearby and gestured towards the toolbox, her palm open invitingly. "The biggest one you can find."
no subject
She gives Agnes a once-over and decides if she wants to tell her the truth or brush it off with a quick reply; she figures that they'll be spending the next few months in close quarters, she might as well. "If you really want to know, it's because everyone is getting complacent. People just live in their own little bubble and refuse to leave their city," she says. "Missions like this are underfunded, underutilized. It's important that people know just how necessary they are to our continued survival."
She puts her book away, back into her bag. "Are you hot? We can turn the air conditioning up higher," she suggests, tying up her own hair into a small bun at the back of her head.
no subject
She listens to Vordis quietly even if her eyes dart away every now and then, glancing outside, and then back at her. It's not so much a nervous tick but the way she is, always multitasking.
"Yeah, people are like that, aren't they?" she says calmly. "Always ready to just settle down and wait for the executioner. It's easier that way, you know?" Revolutionary minds are rare, mob mentality isn't. "So, you seem like the rational one of the crew then." Maybe the intelligent one as well. It remains to be seen.
"Nah, let it be. It'll settle in a minute. No point cranking it up now and then down later." She grins and fans herself some more. "Should enjoy the summer when it happens, yeah?" She grew up in the north were it's rarely warm.
no subject
"So, how is your information-gathering about the crew?" she asks. "Successful?" She almost wonders why Agnes is so interested in knowing about them, being able to categorize them. Vordis, meanwhile, prefers to care about the nervous motion in Agnes' eyes, the way they flicker like the buzz of machinery. Long-limbed and pale-featured, there's something hearkening in the idea of her being covered in dark, slick engine grease. She thinks she'd like to paint that.
"Tell me about them," she requests, crossing her arms over her lap.
no subject
"Well, silent and strong type in the corner there," she says and points at Grey, "is some kind of a nature loving shaman type. He seems like the real deal, too. Probably useful on a trip like this. His butt buddy, the paparazzi on the other hand I'm not so sure about. He seems like a loose cannon but a smart cookie nonetheless. Brother Russia has some language challenges, which will make things difficult, but I'm hoping his skill set will make up for it."
She gave Vordis a questioning look, probably wondering if she wanted to hear more.
no subject
"Russia over there looks lost. I think he might have signed up on the wrong trip; maybe his Finnish isn't too good." He really, really does look like a lost puppy most of the time, and Vordís did notice he had gotten two sandwiches and was looking around for someone to give the extra one to, settling finally on Grey. So maybe he was also doing reconnaissance, trying to figure out the quiet ones first.
no subject
Finding himself in the last place he hasn't visited, he isn't expecting Agnes to actually talk to him. But he rifles through and plucks out the largest wrench in the box, and hands it over to her. "You the ship mechanic?" he asks. "I'm Rune. Late addition to the crew."
Hopefully, if he introduces himself, none of them will ask further questions.
no subject
She glances up at him quickly and there's a little bit of a cheshire grin curving at the corners of her mouth.
"You're the stowaway, aren't you? I heard the paparazzi is a bit of a player and can't keep it in his pants." She shakes her head before diving back under the engine. "Don't worry, I'm not going to judge. If you need the dick, you need the dick." Sex isn't all that complicated, is it? "I just hope you're ready for what's at the other side of this gulf."
no subject
"I'm pretty sure I'm not leaving the ship, so that's fine," he says. He's definitely leaving the ship once he realizes the alternative is him being left behind to stand guard as literally all the other highly-trained and powered people are going to go off traipsing into the wilderness instead.
He has no idea how his life got so complicated overnight.
"I don't think I got your name..."
no subject
She uses the wrench the open up the lid of the carburettor, moving it aside as she peers inside. "Hand me the flashlight, pet," she says easily, her hand shooting out from under the engine, her fingers curling in an inviting gesture.
"I'm Agnes. And what do we call you?" She doesn't seem that troubled by the idea that he's been pretty much spirited away from his safe Stockholm. Life tends to have strange things in store for everyone. She's used to that.
no subject
Right??
"Um, I'm Rune," he responds, digging through for the flashlight and handing it to her. "What are you trying to fix?" he asks instead, because it's sort of difficult to have a conversation with the lower half of someone's body.