Another Arrival

[adaptiveimmunities]

Shaun hadn't been dreaming. He prefers it when he doesn't dream, because he doesn't usually get the good dreams anymore, and when he wakes it's in utter shock at the intense cold. He'd fallen asleep on a rooftop in Oakland in April. Sure, he's wearing a jacket, but it's not exactly a heavy winter coat. Shaun has never seen a winter like this. Where the hell is he? Antarctica?

"What the fuck?"

He doesn't expect an answer as he wraps his arms around himself looking for shelter. There's a ship. An olde time sailing ship, which is as bizarre to him as anything else in this insane scene, but it looks warm, which is all he cares about right now. He makes his way toward the open ramp.

[What the hell is going on here?]

"Fuck if I know," he mutters.

[This is what I get for letting you sleep.]

It should be funny, but it's not. This can't be a dream. Dreams don't get this cold. But who would bother kidnapping him to a movie set in the Antarctic?

Comments

[fishandclips]

Mahir fell asleep at his desk again, his traitorous eyes closing against his will as he worked to squash another foolish argument among the Newsies on the site. He jerks awake, moving so abruptly that he wrenches a muscle in his neck... But as soon as he opens his eyes, he forgets that. It's bloody freezing, in a way he has never felt. He's never seen so much white; it hurts his eyes.

He doesn't even bother giving himself the luxury of a moment of decent cursing, because it's so cold. If he stays here, he knows he'll freeze to death. So Mahir pushes himself upright and forces himself to look around, squinting through fogged up glasses until he sees light. How he got here, in the middle of an arctic field, is beyond him, and beside the point until he gets himself out of this cold.

What he finally sees is almost stranger than waking up in a frozen wasteland: an old-fashioned ship, like something from movies and museums. Like the ships in a bottle he used to admire. There's an opening, and light, and there is no other option but to head toward it and hope there are people--and answers--inside.

When he finally stumbles up the ramp into the relative warmth of the ship is about as shocking as everything else he's encountered thus far.

"Shaun? What the fuck?"

[adaptiveimmunities]

Shaun whirls at the sound of the familiar voice and blinks at him in confusion. "What are you doing here? Where are we?"

Because obviously if Mahir is here, he has some idea of what's going on. It's a relief, actually, because maybe it will mean answers to some of his questions.

[fishandclips]

"Fuck if I know," Mahir replies irritably, moving further into the ship and away from the open doorway, rubbing his arms to warm himself up faster. He can't stop shivering. "It sure as fuck isn't London, which is where I just was. What are you doing here?"

[adaptiveimmunities]

"Trying to figure out what happened to Oakland," he mutters. He shakes his head. He glances out into the blinding whiteness again, then turns back toward Mahir. "Which is where I just was." He sighs and moves a little further into the ship, away from the draft. "You were supposed to be able to explain this." He waves his arms around them. "Like why it's suddenly 1869 in here."

[fishandclips]

Mahir groans, and scrubs at his face with both hands, shoving his glasses askew. "Why the fuck would I be able to explain any of this bullshit?" he asks, dropping his hands and turning in a circle to look around them. "...Did you just pull that date out of your ass?"

[adaptiveimmunities]

"I don't know, why wouldn't you be able to? You're smarter than me. I just assume you know what's going on. Isn't that your job?" He smirks a little at him. "Maybe you finally figured out how to get back at me for waking you up at all hours of the night."

"As for this place--" he gestures around them, grinning a little wider. "It's obvious that it's 1869. You can tell because of the amount of rope and wood and... barrels."

In other words--he absolutely pulled the date out of his ass.

[fishandclips]

Mahir gave a long-suffering sigh. "Someone needs to know what's going on," he grumbled. "Believe me, if I could come up with an appropriate revenge for your insane phone calls and your utter inability to comprehend the concept of time zones, I would never be this imaginative. And I certainly wouldn't strand myself in your punishment."

He knows, Shaun. He knows, but all he does is look around a bit more carefully. "...I should have paid more attention in history," he mutters to himself. "Not that it would help."

[adaptiveimmunities]

Shaun, meanwhile, is getting more and more cheerful by the moment. Sure, he may have no idea whatsoever why they're here, how they got here, or even where 'here' is, but he does have someone familiar to irritate, and that always puts him in a good mood.

[That explains a lot.]

He snickers a little, then looks over at Mahir. "Well, if 'someone' knows what's going on, we should probably go find them. We can't be the only ones here."

[lieutenantsteward]

Jopson hadn't been expecting to see anyone else on the ship, but he heard voices as he went to create some sort of dinner for the Captain and himself. Voices that were not at all familiar. And when on an expedition that had lasted for three years with the same men aboard, all voices become commonplace. Jopson knew every voice aboard the Terror and Erebus, and these two were not it. Suddenly wary, wondering if he could find the weapons in time, he stepped into the hallway.

But god, they were strangely dressed and certainly not suited for the arctic. And while Jopson was still operating under the "this is hell" theory, he still could not figure out how they had arrived. "Is there something I can do to help you?" he asked, straightening his back.

[adaptiveimmunities]

Shaun turns at the sound of the new voice. "See?" he says, with a quick glance to Mahir. "Someone who knows what's going on." He'd been confident there would be someone. All joking about the age of the ship around them aside, it's 2041. No one just... turns up on a ship in the middle of frozen nowhere without there being other people around, and a damn good reason for it.

"Yeah, we were wondering where the hell we are, and how we got here. Is this like... a movie set or something? Some weird publicity stunt?"

[fishandclips]

Mahir whirled around when he heard the other man step into the hall with them, and he stared at him, too startled to do more than look at him. Contrary to Shaun's reaction, the other man's arrival alarmed Mahir. He looked... like he belonged here, on this ship, in whatever time period this was supposed to be.

"How did you do that?" he finally mutters quietly at Shaun, shaking his head.

Still. No matter how alarmed or out of sorts he is, even in the strange situation they've found themselves in, Mahir is a journalist, and a Newsie at heart. He straightens and addresses the other man, his tone immediately changing to his 'I'm just a friendly journalist, let me give you a chance to answer before I turn on the hardass journalist' voice. "I'm sorry if we've trespassed, or interrupted... some kind of--historical reenactment? We had to get out of the cold, and this seemed to be the only shelter nearby."

[lieutenantsteward]

Jopson just blinked at them for a moment, then regained his composure. "You are correct. This is the only shelter for at least eight hundred miles," he told them gently. "And you are not trespassing, as I wouldn't expect you to simply wander out." He looked between them, resorting to his steward role to help him determine the next steps. "You are on the Terror. My Captain and I were the only ones here, and it seems we arrived as you did, though...this is our ship." He paused. "You must be freezing in those clothes. Come with me. I can find you something more suitable and make you some tea."

[adaptiveimmunities]

This is... not quite going the way Shaun had expected. The newcomer is obviously surprised to see them, and he isn't breaking character at all. Sure, there are still people who sign up for immersive historical experiences, but those are usually professional reenactors or the kind of Irwin who's stupid enough to say "what if zombies, but without modern weapons??" Shaun is not that into history, and--the day's adventure aside--hasn't been that into being an Irwin for over a year either.

Whoever this guy is, he's being incredibly polite, so he's not quite ready to snap at him over not breaking character. Yet.

"Sure," he says finally. "That would be great. And I think Mahir might just faint at the offer of tea. Got any Coke in a cooler or something?"

Like they need coolers out here.

ONCE THEY ARE ALONE

[fishandclips]

Mahir moved into one of the cabins and sank onto the bed, looking bleakly up at Shaun.

"...I'm loathe to admit it, but I am completely out of my depth here, Shaun."

[adaptiveimmunities]

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "Well, shit. I was hoping you'd have all the answers. Now what am I supposed to do?" He leaned back against the door, folding his arms across his chest.

[fishandclips]

Mahir scrubbed at his face and gave Shaun a wry look. "I'm not an encyclopedia, or Google." At that, he frowns a bit and pats his pockets, making a pleased noise when he pulls his phone out. He gives a relieved sigh... that turns into a groan. "Of course. No signal. Why not."

[adaptiveimmunities]

"You mean we have no signal in the middle of nowhere in the Arctic circle? I am beside myself with shock to hear that." He pulls out his own phone to check, though, and nods when he sees that there's no signal. He's not really surprised.

He looks over at him again. "I don't think I've ever heard of anyone who went this far in on historical accuracy, have you?"

[fishandclips]

Mahir grunts only, and ignores Shaun's sarcasm. He's too tired to even be snarky with him. Instead, he shakes his head in answer to his question, and looks around him, touching the walls and poking at the bed under him.

"...No, I haven't. Not even the living history museums go to this much trouble for accuracy. No one prizes accuracy over safety. Unless we've come across some kind of... I don't know. I really don't, Shaun. But--time travel is not real."

[adaptiveimmunities]

"Okay, but what if it was?"

[Don't be ridiculous.] George's voice is annoyed. [Mahir is right. Time travel doesn't exist. It's a science fiction trope. That's it.]

He makes an irritated noise at the back of his throat. "I'm open to other explanations. That guy we talked to--Mr. Jopson--genuinely has never heard of bleach. Bleach. There are no blood tests, no apparent lockdown capabilities, and there's the little matter of how we got here at all. If you have a better explanation, I'd love to hear it."

She doesn't answer.

[fishandclips]

Mahir watches him with a tired expression and asks, "Was that directed at me, or Georgia?"

[adaptiveimmunities]

"Uh. George."

[Hello, Mahir.]

"She says hey."

[fishandclips]

"Hello, Georgia," he replies wearily. "What does she say about this time travel business?"

[adaptiveimmunities]

"The same as you. That it's bullshit." He sighs and drops his arms. "I think it's bullshit too, but I don't have any better ideas, because this place just isn't fucking right."

[fishandclips]

"You're right," he agrees, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees for support. "And I have absolutely no bloody idea what to do to get us out of here. Even if it isn't insane fictional time travel... We do seem to be in the middle of the arctic. We can't go outside or we'll freeze to death within ten minutes. But... Without blood tests, or bleach..."

He leaves it unsaid. He's not sure he can manage to say what that means.

[adaptiveimmunities]

Shaun finishes it for him. "We're time bombs. You and me. Any time we get a scrape or a scratch, we're putting everyone else at risk of amplifying. Do you think that guy Jopson eve knows what a zombie is? I bet he doesn't."