aeons_crackshot | AU OOM :Test drive 18 year old Annabelle.

AU OOM :Test drive 18 year old Annabelle.

The Annabelle Newfield that stumbles into Milliways is not the Annabelle the patrons are used to. This Annabelle is 18 years old and has just, barely, survived having her brain highjacked by a no good bastard of a psychic in Cuba.

Calling her psyche a mess at this point is an understatement. Metaphysically speaking, she's crisscrossed with open, bleeding wounds. (That tends to happen when you battle mind to mind with a psychic employing brute force to puppeteer your body that doesn't particularly care if you're even alive after they're finished with you.)

But this is not the main problem. The REAL problem is that Milliways does not allow two versions of the same person to exist in the Bar at the same time. Reality shuffles itself like a deck of cards and the 'new' Annabelle gets slammed with a whole different set of 28 years worth of memories as the 'old' Annabelle ceases to exist.

Memories that don't settle properly thanks to the mess her psyche is at the moment. Oh, they're probably in there to be found.....somewhere, eventually.......maybe. Damn it.

Annabelle looks around the Bar, too shocked and disoriented to even swear for the moment.

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Her shock and disorientation is likely NOT helped by the way a long-haired teen comes running in and crashes on her back, possibly sending both tumbling down.

Of course, it's equally possible Annabelle freaks out and snaps twig-gothboy in half, who knows?

Snap him in half no, swear profusely, yes. Especially since Connor does hit her hard enough to send them both tumbling onto the floor.

Depending on how many languages he speaks, Connor may feel insulted on his mother's behalf.

Their tumble ends with him sprawled on top of her. (The other Angels would be making so many cracks about that it's not even funny.) "If anything else decides to ambush me in the next 5 minutes I am going to get VIOLENT," she growls to the universe.

Well, Connor is still disoriented, so the first thing he parses from Anabelle's rant is the I am going to get violent. The second is that he had landed face-first on the woman's cleavage.

!!!

...panic is a beautiful thing to make a scrawny teenager leap back and hit the nearest wall; too bad wall-hitting is not much of a good thing for said scrawny teen. "Ow!"

The panic and scrawniness are also good for slotting you into the "confused bystander" role as opposed to the "someone trying to kill me" role.

Annabelle hears both the thunk and the "Ow!" "It's okay," she says soothingly as she kips up off the floor with an acrobat's ease. "You just startled the crap out of me, is all."

He might be a bit too stunned to actually listen, and just scoots back; clearly still expecting the 'violence' part to happen.

Annabelle's issues, and there are many of them, are forgotten for the moment. You spend 4 years in the saving the world business, and people acting like Connor is right now trip certain responses automatically.

Annabelle sighs and crouches down to be on his level. "It's okay. You're safe here, I promise," she says quietly, in that tone of voice most people associate with soothing frightened animals or children.

Funny how she can almost feel the exhaustion and the fear; its has been a very bad week for the Freakangels, the hunt becoming more and more intense, more police, and special forces, and more guns. Sleep and food were at a premium, while the group just tried to stay alive and outside a test lab.

But still, he can realize no violence is happening right now, and the woman sounds (feels) harmless. Slowly he uncoils a bit and peers at her with those purple eyes. "Safe? Where is 'here'?" Obviously not the abandoned building they were entering.

He has such pretty (familiar) eyes.

Annabelle realizes she doesn't actually know the answer to his second question. She glances around the room, baffled. "I...uh, I don't know."

Annabelle also feels exhausted with an edge of fading, desperate adrenaline. "This is not what was supposed to be on the other side of the door I went through."

He looks around, a sense of worry growing. "What..." And he shuts up; she might seem nice, but he's not going to mention the others just yet.

Being a Freak teaches one to be suspicious. "Looks like a pub..."

"It does," Annabelle agrees. Very slowly, she reaches into a pocket and pulls out something the size of a can of a soda. (Sadly, that's as small as you can make Telluric batteries, as their ability to hold 'charge' is dependent on mass.)

The soda can sized....thing has various dial like pointers coming off of it but nothing that looks dangerous. "Let's see what we can find out about this place."

Annabelle picks up the device and "pushes" it into the air near her head. Then, she lets go and the....thing seems to stick in place. The pointy bits turn around the can shaped center, which is still hanging in mid air, then stop.

Annabelle peers at the various pointers, seemingly getting some sort of information from their position. "Pocket dimension, Earth like....I've never seen that temporal setting before" she mutters, thinking aloud.

Connor just watches the woman, a bit wary still; to him, high-tech gadgets are signs of trouble and nothing else.

It's not so much 'high tech' as 'impossible for normal humans to create tech', but Connor's not likely to realize that.

Annabelle catches the device as it starts to fall, then stows it back in her pockets. "So far as I can tell, we're in a different reality than we came from," she explains. "A pocket universe, if you like. The environment's not likely to kill us and time isn't passing back home. Other than that..." she shrugs helplessly.

Annabelle leans back against a piece of furniture, suddenly showing the exhaustion and the strain she's feeling. "I did not need this on top of everything else that's happened today," she mutters, closing her eyes for a second.

Pocket dimension and so on fly right over hie head, the teenager not being one for sci-fi things. "You're not the only one." He gives a sigh, and rubs temples.

Annabelle's not much for sci-fi either, she just lives in a VERY pulp comic universe. Annabelle gives him a sympathetic look.

"Anything I can help with?" Helping people is what Annabelle DOES. It doesn't matter that they're in a pocket universe and she doesn't even know his name.

He is exhausted and it shows. "I... dont think so. Just need to take a breath." And a lot more, but 'a breath' is a good start.

"A breather is a good place to start, ...." and then she realizes that she doesn't know his name.

Annabelle blushes a little. (She's kind of cute when she does that.) "And I have completely neglected the introductions. Annabelle Newfield." She'll offer a hand for shaking, but she'll understand if he doesn't take it.

"Is there a name you'd like me to call you by? 'Hey you' tends to come across as rather rude."

Indeed, she is.

"Ah, sorry; I'm Connor." And he's blushing too.

"Good to meet you, Connor," Annabelle replies with a bright smile.

Awwww. He's cute when he blushes. She can't make heads or tails of his outfit, which puzzles her. He SOUNDS British, but she's been in Britain often enough that she knows full well how people dress.

Huh. Feels like she got some minor lacerations at some point during the battle, now that the adrenaline is wearing off. Annabelle reaches for her first aid kit. "Are you hurt? I'm no doctor, but I can patch you up a bit if you need it."

"No, not hurt." The boy shakes head. "Just tired."

And hungry.

And tense, focusing energy in keeping his mind-barriers up.

"That's good," Annabelle replies with a relieved smile. The medical kit has alcohol in it, and it burns when it hits the wounds, but it's her best bet at avoiding infection. At least it doesn't look like she's going to have to stitch anything closed.

More rummaging produces a Hershey bar, albeit not in a wrapper Connor's likely to recognize. (Mostly because it's from 1926, according to the labeling.) Annabelle offers him the chocolate bar. "I know it's not much, but it's all I've got on me."

He looks at her curiously, and takes the chocolate... then breaks the bar in half, and hands her one of the pieces. "Thanks."

Chocolate.

Hm, chocolate...

"You're welcome," she replies, taking the smaller piece. She nibbles on it carefully, not sure if it's going to stay down.

It is tasty, tasty chocolate. Perfectly ordinary in every way.

Gods, she wants to get drunk right now. Not remembering that psychopath moving her around like a puppet, shooting her friend, and struggling to get back in control of her own body would be awesome.

She eyes the rest of the "pub" warily. It seems to be deserted, for the moment. There's not even anyone guarding the liquor behind the bar....

Annabelle gets to her feet, wobbling for a moment. Then, she makes her way over to the Bar. She'll just....leave money on the counter. She grabs a bottle of whiskey more or less at random and two glasses. (And the bowl of salted nuts that exists in most every bar everywhere because it makes people thirsty and thirsty people buy more alcohol.)

Connor watches her move, nibbling on his half of the chocolate, raising a brow as she returns with booze.

Hm, that is something KK would do...

Annabelle offers some of the alcohol, because that's what the eyebrow was about right? No? Darn.

Annabelle gives him a slightly bitter smile. "Self medicating a bit. The last hour or so was...." She swallows.

Yeah. Where the hell do you even begin to explain something like that?

"It reminds me of someone." Connor shakes head. "You don't have to talk; I know all about weird hours. Or days."

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