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.

[fishandclips]

Mahir's frown only deepens, and he shoots a quick look at Shaun--that quickly turns into a grimace and an eyeroll. Of course he can't expect Shaun not to harrass him, even facing death by freezing in the arctic. Still... he feels as if he should know what it means, being on The Terror.

Who names their ship The Terror anyway? Doesn't that feel like asking for trouble? What happened to naming ships things like Hawaiian Paradise?

"Warmer clothes and tea would be very nice, thank you," Mahir says, taking Shaun's lead--for once agreeding with it--and not attempting to make the other man break character yet. If they have to play Good Cop/Bad Cop, Mahir knows his role is not Bad Cop. "My name is Mahir Gowda, and this is Shaun Mason. We're journalists; we run After the End Times. I... am not familiar with The Terror. Could you tell us where we are, aside from--on this ship?"

[lieutenantsteward]

Jopson nodded, leading the way to the galley so he could continue making supper for his Captain and add tea along with the menu. "We are near King William Island," he explained. "In the middle of the arctic." He had never heard of whatever paper they wrote for, but at least he knew what they did. In a way.

Once they reached the galley, he brought them their tea, setting two cups. "And...Mr. Gowda, if you require wine of coca, I'm sure there is plenty in the sick bay, though I haven't been there for myself." Because that's what he meant by coke, right? A cooler was a different word, but surely it was cool enough here.

[adaptiveimmunities]

"Mason," Shaun corrects. "But you can just call me Shaun." He eyes the tea with mild dismay. It's caffeine, and it's warm, so he'll take it, but when it comes to hot drinks, he's much more of a coffee man. And what the hell is wine of coca?

"Arctic, huh? My guess was for the other side of the planet. I guess I should have noticed the lack of penguins."

Because they spent so much time observing the wildlife while freezing their asses off outside. No wonder it's so cold.

[fishandclips]

Mahir takes his tea and sits, partly because he's mildly concerned that his legs might just give out under him. This is... a distressing level of commitment to role playing, or historical reenactment, or whatever they've just stumbled their way into. He sips at the (thankfully) hot tea, and pinches the bridge of his nose, before dropping his hand.

"I'm afraid I'm not overly familiar with the arctic. And I don't understand how we came to be here. I fell asleep at my desk in my flat in London, and Shaun was last in California. Is it at all possible for you to stop acting and step back into the twenty-first century with us for a moment?"

[lieutenantsteward]

Again, Jopson was looking between the two. Apparently he was losing his touch, or he was more overwhelmed with their strangeness than he thought. Either way, he needed to pay more attention, or perhaps get some sleep.

Though there was no way in hell that he was addressing either of these men by their first names.

"Penguins?" he muttered, shaking his head. "No, sir. There is no game here." To the other, he was completely bewildered. "I don't understand how you came to be here, either. I arrived here the same way, with no knowledge of what had happened." His circumstances were quite a bit more traumatic, though. "This is not an act. It is you who is strange here, not me."

[adaptiveimmunities]

Shaun is starting to get a little frustrated. The commitment to the role is incredible, but he just wants to get back to Oakland. He's ready to argue more, but... some things aren't really adding up. This ship is great. He has no doubt it looks just like one from the 1800s. Which means that a lot of the security measures he would expect to see just aren't there. No blood testing panels. No airlocks keeping corridors from becoming death traps. No one would agree to work in conditions like that, no matter how good the pay was. Even he wouldn't have done it on his best days.

[I was wondering when you'd notice.]

"I never was the smart one." He turns toward their host. "What year is it?"

[fishandclips]

Mahir gives Shaun another quick, sharp look, but... He has a sinking feeling, and the more he surveys their surroundings, the more anxious he begins to feel. The same things that Shaun has noticed are beginning to come to Mahir's attention, as well. There is dedication to historical accuracy, and then there's flat out stupidity. Even the best historical movie sets have basic safety measures in place.

Even the wood paneling seems old. And almost more alarming... Mahir can't smell any bleach. Not even a faint whiff of it. The smell of bleach is so commonplace that he hadn't noticed it at first, except as yet another bit of strangeness in their situation.

He looks back to their tea-making friend, and waits for his answer.

[lieutenantsteward]

Jopson nodded. "It's 1847, by my best accounts. It was 1847 when we abandoned this ship, at least. And I don't believe we were in the wilds for an entire year." He paused. "No. It was still summer. You could still see the sun." The sun had been in his eyes when he died. He was certain of that.

[adaptiveimmunities]

Shaun glances at Mahir. "I guess you get to call me out in my lie. It's not 1869." He takes a sip of the tea and grimaces. Boiled leaves.

[fishandclips]

"...I have a headache," Mahir grumbles, reaching up to rub at a temple. He lets out a slow exhale. "1847," he repeats. "Sir... If I may ask. Have you heard of Kellis-Amberlee?"

He has to ask. He has no idea what he'll do if the answer is no.

[lieutenantsteward]

"I can't say that I have," he told him honestly. "Why do you ask?"

[adaptiveimmunities]

Of course he hasn't. He's either going so hard on reenactment that he's crossed the bounds of sanity, or he means it. Cool.

"Because unless you're really good at acting, something is really wrong."