AU, so AU Freakangels get transported to the TU circa 1926

[aeons_crackshot]

It's been a hell of a few days, that's for sure. The FreakAngels weren't sure what would happen when they tried to punch a hole in the world, but ending up in another universe entirely wasn't it.

Their...hosts, for lack of a better term, seem entirely nonplussed at their slowly recovering psychic abilities.

They considered trying to escape, of course, but where are they going to go when they're stuck in the middle of the freaking Amazon?

That, and there are monsters lurking in the jungle that their hosts are still cleaning up. They saw the girl their age, Annabelle, kill three of them just yesterday.

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[leadinghome]

He stares at Annabelle a long while, and something... snaps.

To someone outside, the only visible thing is the way Connor's eyes light up; for Annabelle, they are standing on the eye of a hurricane of memories.

His memories.

The package; growing up as a freak, always outside, always knowing when people are lying or hiding things, trying to sleep but feeling the dark emotions people let loose in their dreams, near-madness until he learned to block it out.

Until he met the others.

The short few days until the government came after them. Deciding they were dangerous, and had to be controlled or eliminated.

The flight, always restless, always worried, trying to formulate a plan, resentment and anger growing up until the fateful night when Mark made the call, but just because of his temperament: they wanted to do it, to fight and to warn off those trying to kill or enslave them.

[aeons_crackshot]

Annabelle is no stranger to psychic phenomena, and we must admit her first response is of the fight or flight variety. She's had people mess with her head before, and it wasn't an experience she enjoyed.

Once she realized he's not actually trying to hurt her, she relaxes a bit.

She can't quite throw him off, but she can maintain her "self" in the flood of memories.

Well, shit. All of you had one hell of a row to hoe. Sympathy and sorrow and righteous wrath.

There is no judgment, no condemnation, no fear in her.

This is also a chance to, perhaps, earn a bit of trust. Annabelle allows her own memories to come forward.

Knowing that her skill with weapons is too good, too much. Nervous whispers, mentions of witchcraft, feeling more and more isolated from the rest of humanity.

The terrible relief of finding people who understood, who were like her.

Rescuing a young boy who'd been put in a sanitarium because he heard voices that turned out to be thoughts.

Standing in front of a mob protecting a frightened girl who'd accidentally called fire to protect herself from bullies.

What happened to you will not happen here, not while any of us draw breath. I swear it.

[leadinghome]

How much he 'listens' to is a matter of guesswork, until later when Anabelle can ask.

But Connor knows everything about the looks and whispers and the people who think you are crazy or dangerous because you are different.

Everything.

Then, without warning, the 'storm' fades, and the once-again-drained young man falls unceremoniously flat on his face.

[aeons_crackshot]

Annabelle rolls her eyes heavenward. "Men!" she grumbles. She's cheerfully ignoring that she's done more than her fair share of stupid things.

She's going to carefully haul Connor off the ground and off his face.

[md_donighal]

She'll not have to work at it alone, judging by the red-haired man who just arrived. Contrary to all his available icons, he's conceded to the climate and is in shirt-sleeves — short sleeves, in fact, albeit still shirt-sleeves — and thin khaki trousers at the moment. "Miss Newfield," Dr. Primoris greets the Æon Society's youngest founder member. "We seem to have driven the creatures off, at least for now. What's happened to our Lost Boy?"

[aeons_crackshot]

So he does have some sense, that's a relief.

"Did you run into any of the ones that spit acid? Nasty little beasts."

"He's pushed himself too hard, I think," Annabelle replies with a shake of her head. "He was explaining things and then he just fell over." Admittedly, he was explaining things using his psychic abilities, but whatever.

Annabelle has an entire lexicon of cranky faces. The one she's wearing now is Cranky Face There are People Who Desperately Deserve a Knee Somewhere Painful and There is No Chance of Me Getting to Deliver It.

[md_donighal]

He's immune to the elements, not to nature's other annoyances. Speaking of nature's annoyances: "I seem to have been spared that experience so far, but I appreciate the warning. I'll have to see what Dixon's doing to counter them; unless, of course, he's not met them yet, in which case I shall have to let him know about them.

"What was he explaining? More about how they came to be here? It can't have been particularly good, judging by the expression on your face."

[aeons_crackshot]

Annabelle nods. "They were being hunted by their own government," Annabelle growls. "They were trying to kill them just for existing."

She sighs. "No wonder they were so nervous when they first saw us."

[md_donighal]

"...no wonder indeed," Primoris grates through thinned lips. The government of a civilized country hunting Inspired as if they were mad dogs? Either their world isn't the future that awaits Æon, or Max's dreams of a utopian future are just that: dreams from which he'll have to awaken one of these first days. "Perhaps we need to show them that they're among peers now."

[aeons_crackshot]

"Perhaps," Annabelle says with a nod. "Although it seems they were born with their abilities rather than acquiring them as we did."

Her lips quirk in something that's almost a grin. "He didn't take my profession that we understood what it's like to be different terribly well," she admits. "Although that may have been merely the straw that broke the camel's back."

That much stress and anger is going to find a way out, eventually.

[md_donighal]

Primoris sighs slightly. "I suppose it would be easier to demonstrate that they're not alone if some of our showier colleagues were present. Enoch Frost, for instance, or Gené LeClair.* As it stands, all we can do is show our good faith through our works."

At the back of his mind, he's turning over the implications of the visitors having been born Inspired. Even some who've attained Inspiration as adults are, as Max delicately phrased it, "not exactly responsible examples of humanity". Sometimes, in order to tolerate the failings of the un-Inspired, Primoris himself has to draw on his memories off what being an ordinary human was like. What must it be like to have been born with powers? The prospect frightens him. And at the same time fascinates him, though he'd never admit it except possibly to himself.

* The actual mesmerists (cryo- and electro-kinetic, respectively) whom Warren Ellis referred to by the pseudonyms "Elijah Snow" and "Jenny Sparks" ("Gené" being short for Geneviève and pronounced rather like "Jenny").

[aeons_crackshot]

"Probably," Annabelle admits. "Although some of your tricks might qualify for showy, Doc," Annabelle replies with a grin.

She pats him on the shoulder. "You're not working from the same playbook as most humans, you know. Or have you forgotten the time you knocked a steam engine over with your fist in Boise?" she teases.

" 'Course, I'm not either. But since all of my tricks involve weapons of one kind or another...."

He's more right to worry than he knows, if what might have been in their original world holds true in this one.