tushanshu_logs | We built this city, but not on rock 'n' roll. Probably.

Entry tags:

We built this city, but not on rock 'n' roll. Probably.

Characters: Nita Prentiss and open
Date: Mid-May (or thereabouts; nothing's time-sensitive)
Location: Around Keeliai
Situation: Rebuilding
Warnings/Rating: None, will edit if necessary

Note: Prose or action is fine. I have no strong preference.

There were probably people who didn't have their city destroyed out from under them on a regular basis, but Nita didn't know any of those people. Of course, this would have been less of a problem if she'd ever chosen to live anywhere besides Atlantis or New York, but who'd do that? Consequently, she was quite familiar with rebuilding, though usually in a less hands-on sense...but this world had no Credit Suisse branch, so her physical heritage was turning out to be rather more useful than her financial one. Someone who could fly while carrying a few hundred pounds of bricks or holding a multi-ton beam in place made a pretty good replacement for a crane--and Nita was even self-operating, too.

After delivering her latest load of supplies a few stories up to the more skilled crafters who could use the tools, she touched down on the street in front of the construction site, bare feet making no sound on the shell, and dusted off her hands against her thighs. It made her legs dirty and her hands not substantially cleaner.

"Oh, hey. Here to help?" she asked with a smile. "We could use it."

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"As much as I can."

It was said with a smile as he landed, flames disappearing before he even sets a foot on the ground. He might not have the strength the Atlantean possessed, but that didn't mean he couldn't help out. His skills could still be useful.

"How can I be of help, Nita?"

"Bet you'd be good at welding." She knew Johnny could do it, so Jim probably could too. "They can't put the next floor up without getting the beams in place, and the less tech they use to do it, the better, y'know?"

Jim might have been artificial, but as far as Nita was concerned, people couldn't possibly count as technology for metaphysical purposes.

Nita might had meant it that way, but Jim still made a face at the comment. He'd had a... complicated relationship with the fact that Malicant was a technopath- it was a fear he didn't quite know how to handle. How much would being a sentient being, and technically organic, protect him from his attack?

Still, they would cross that bridge when he got there. So far all he could do was try to help as much as he could.

"It makes sense. Where should I start?"

Nita always noticed things like that, and frowned in response to Jim's frown. "Jim, you're a person. This whole deal is magic. Your soul means way more than the body it's riding around in."

He should have known it wouldn't be so easy. For someone who had only recently re-learned how to feel his face was kind of an open book- but he guessed that was kind of unavoidable precisely because he was still learning how to feel them.

"It doesn't feel like magic when it's technology M keeps on taking from us. And I might have a soul-" And he'd burn as many ass as he had to to convince anyone who tried to tell him otherwise. "but I'm still... well. Basically machinery in a way. It wouldn't even be the first time."

"We all are. Machinery, I mean. Just built out of different stuff." Nita still had trouble wrapping her head around the stark dichotomy that was being drawn between science and sorcery in this whole Malicant affair. Atlanteans didn't see the two as entirely separate spheres--to her it was like saying you couldn't use physics, but biology was okay. Maddeningly senseless!

He smiled a bit. That was true, and his father would have liked to hear someone but himself talk like that. Still, he'd spent most of his life being told he was, indeed, a robot. And it had been proved again and again how easily he could be 'reprogrammed'

"Maybe so. Maybe I'm worrying about nothing- but machinery or not I am still man-made. We don't really know what part of technology M latches onto."

Jim, have you even heard of telepathy? Maybe someone should have arranged a chat with Professor X about how easily a flesh-and-blood person could be "reprogrammed."

"I guess not, but I still think it's a dumb distinction." Nita wrinkled her nose in disgust but let it go. She didn't have answers, and talking it to death wasn't going to make Jim feel any better.

"Anyway. C'mon, I've seen Johnny do this welding thing before, so I bet you can do it too. And brag about it way less." She liked Johnny Storm just fine, but no one was going to mistake him for a retiring, modest sort.

And Jim had been told up and down how different he was to the younger and actually human Torch, so even though he'd only met the kid twice and once while being brainwashed he couldn't help the little grin.

"I can, actually, but who brags about welding of all things anyway?"

"Johnny Storm would brag about waking up in the morning if he thought anyone would listen." Much like a certain king of their common acquaintance, really, but Nita had a bit of a blind spot where her cousin was concerned.

Jim just grinned to himself, being glad the younger torch had at least people to trust around him. He'd never felt jealous, if anything he'd actually felt protective of him.

"Just lead the way, and I promise you there will be no bragging."

"Honestly I came to see how the reconstruction is coming," Mike replied as he approached, hands in his pockets and eyes scanning all over the area. His gaze settled on her one he had an idea of how the area was doing. It pained him to see this kind of damage and disaster, knowing how many people died, but it's nothing too different from his line of work and somehow it's a little easier when he doesn't know the people who were killed.

"I wouldn't mind helping out for awhile, but I'm more a computer person. No superhuman abilities and not even that strong for a regular guy." He removed a hand from his pocket to offer in greeting all the same. "Mike Weston."

"Namorita Prentiss." Nita started to take Mike's offered hand, then noticed what a mess hers still was, and stopped halfway. "Um."

Mike made up for the distance giving her hand a firm shake. "I don't mind a little grease and dirt."

Once free, he returned the hand to his pocket, the casual stance suiting him just fine. He might be more casual if not for the continuous irritation of the viruses at play. The walk was more to get some fresh air and clear his head than to specifically check up on anything.

His eyes traveled over her appearance, noticing some things different than he was used to, before he then looked back up to the in progress building they were beside. "How's the construction coming?"

"I do." Nita wrinkled her nose. A mess wasn't going to stop her from doing anything, but dirt didn't stick to you underwater, and she regarded the fact that it did on land as one the surface's less appealing characteristics.

"It's going well enough, I guess." She followed Mike's gaze to the frame of the building going up behind her. "The kedan have the blueprints. I'm just doing the heavy lifting."

He gave a smile at her disdain for being dirty. Mike wasn't exactly the type to roll around in dirt or spend unnecessary amounts of time outdoors - he hadn't been camping for awhile - but he didn't feel any particular aversion to filth either. It was part of the job sometimes and he would take being covered in dirt over being covered in blood any day. The thought made him frown a little. Then he realized it and smiled again.

"Are you, uh.. a metahuman? Can I ask?" It was hard to know what he should and shouldn't be asking. In his line of work, people made their skills apparent and there was rarely harm in asking details for what a person could do or what experience or education they had. Here, Dick had already warned him to be careful, about how not all metas liked talking about their abilities or letting people know about them.

"Yep." Nita stuck out one leg and waggled her foot around to draw attention to the small white wings on her ankles.

There were also her pointed ears, strangely high-arched eyebrows, and gills (closed tight on the surface and thus nearly invisible), but those were all perfectly normal Atlantean features and it didn't occur to her that they might mark her as "metahuman."

Mike glanced down to notice the wings with her attention drawn to them. He'd certainly noticed her landing, the ears, and the eyebrows, but he suspected there were many reasons to look different in other universes. Besides, to him, metahuman meant human and was a way to differentiate powers versus an alien race.

"Had any problems with anyone here because of it?"

"Some of the kedan were standoffish in the beginning, but they came around," she said with a shrug. It had been due largely to Nita's remorseless blunt-force friendless rather than any real change in the zeitgeist, but in her experience, practically everyone was nice if you gave them a chance to be.

"Glad to hear it." He gave another smile and then tilted his head in a partial nod, suggesting that they continue walking instead of standing around. "Do you have time to take a walk?"

He took a step to encourage her, though he wouldn't go farther without a confirmation from her. Mike recognized that she was attractive and her seeming unwillingness to be put down for her gender or abilities made him like her all the more. He found himself interested in learning more about her and, in particular, her experiences here. It was nice just talking to people.

"Oh, sure. I'll hear 'em if they start yelling for me." Nita fell into step without hesitation, her long blond ponytail swinging with the movement. Though the idea Mike might have had ungentlemanly intentions didn't even occur to her, Nita was more or less invulnerable to anyone less impressive than a supervillain, and it certainly contributed to her amiability. It was easy to be outgoing when a misjudgment would end with her pinning a creep to the ground and lecturing him about manners.

Of course, no one back home was foolish enough to try, thanks to the publicity her much more famous cousin gave to an Atlantean hybrid's capabilities.

Mike's smile widens in encouragement before he shifts his attention forward to focus primarily on where he's walking. He's oblivious to her strengths and it doesn't occur to them to test her or press his luck. Instead, he's content enjoying a nice jaunt with a pretty lady, hands in his pockets and the occasional glance towards the sky reassuring him that not all is lost.

"You seem like you've been here awhile." It's a deliberate observation, allowing her to choose whether to respond to it as a question or simply dismiss it as a statement.

Mike was talking to Namorita. Reticence was not something to expect.

"Since day one. I washed up with the first batch of Foreigners, but most of us are gone now." Thinking about it made a dent in even Nita's cheerfulness. "Things have gotten a lot worse in two years."

"Two years?" The question is immediate, before he can even think about stopping the words. Mike can sense the downturn in her mood with the thought, but the longest he'd heard tell of was around 18 months. It was also good to know that she was among the first, that some of them remained and that none had come sooner. "That's a long time. There were no foreigners here before then?"

"Yeah, a couple months shy, assuming I haven't lost count." She sighed and quickly latched onto his next question, because her long enforced vacation was a less than happy subject.

"I dunno. There could have been waves before us who all died and the kedan didn't say anything about it, but there sure wasn't anyone left when I got here." Nita wasn't exactly incurious, but detective work that didn't involve just wandering blithely into scary ruins and hitting anything that popped up until it went back down wasn't her forte, and she had never thought to ask around much about Keeliai history.

"Yes, ma'am!"

Bucky gave her a quick, tired smile. He hadn't really stopped helping - either Rapunzel at the clothier's, or just. Everywhere and anywhere. He was good at the final touches of repairs - over a year of painting fences and houses - but he was also decent muscle, for much of the work. Not superpowered. Just strong, and another pair of hands just never got in the way.

"How you doin', Nita?"

"No fires or anybody trying to kill me, so, y'know, good day." Conscious of her messy hands, she stood on tiptoe to give Bucky a kiss on the cheek instead of a hug.

Edited (tense) 2014-05-22 05:25 (UTC)

Yeah, okay, he could do with such a greeting, and his smile was wide as he gave her a peck on the cheek in return.

"Okay, I'll keep in mind that's your standard, then. Though I'm pretty sure you should have one better. Wanna use another pair o' hands around here?"

Light and easy, as much as the time and place allowed.

"Bucky, back home someone's pretty much always trying to kill me or kidnap me." She spread her hands in an expansive shrug. Being a superhero and part of the royal family of a turbulent empire tended to paint a target on you. "It's like they want to get their butts kicked."

By her, or by her much scarier cousin those times she couldn't manage it herself.

"... I can think of much better things people should wanna do around you," and, no, the flirting wasn't even a little subtle, if not full-force serious. Just something he tended to do.

But then he waggled his eyebrows. "Though I suppose asking for the privilege to get their asses kicked by you might have its upsides..."

Yeah, okay, apparently the news that, despite the attack on the food, few people had died from all the explosions and it was all up to healing and rebuilding had brought his spirits up. Or something.

"Oh yeah? I might kill you, and then Namor would kill me. Best not risk it." It was funny because of the idea of Namor killing her, you see. Or really, of the idea of Nita killing anyone, least of all Bucky.

"C'mon, hero, let's go get the frame up. I hope you know something about carpentry, 'cause I sure don't." She could push a nail into a board with her index finger, though. That had to count for something.

"Would Namor avenge me, though? Or just the other me, who prob'ly actually knows him?"

It wasn't bitter, that, but it was a legit question. Then he turned around to pick a hammer and get started with what he did know, returning his attention to her just in time to see that.

"... maybe you don't, but you sure have a unique approach to it." His face softened a little, even as he picked a handful of nails and got to his own corner of things to do. The way she'd done it made him think of all the gals back home who'd talk about chipping nails, and how that was totally not Nita's thing at all, and how 'elle hadn't ever talked about it, either - she'd just been always perfect...

"What do you figure Favrielle would've said, about how things were on the turtle, anymore?"

He'd known that Nita and Favrielle had been suite-mates. And he was pretty sure that Elle was nowhere near forgettable enough for Nita to wonder whom Bucky meant.

"I wrecked a support beam--and a hammer--by hitting it too hard, so I'm not allowed to use a hammer anymore." Oops. It wasn't her fault wood splintered so easily.

"Fav?" Nita still thought about her a lot, even months later. It felt wrong to grieve, since as far as anyone knew, it meant she'd gone home, but Nita still missed her friend. "She's as tough as--" Nita looked down at their carpentry work "--nails. She'd roll up her sleeves and do what she had to."

"I can believe that," Bucky snorted at her 'excuse.' "At least now you know where your strength lies, when it comes to these." He rolled the hammer in his hand, to indicate what he meant, and applied himself to the work.

It helped avoid looking at the blonde. Seeing the sadness that was echoing one inside him, too. "That she would. Also it would be so darn beautiful, too. Whatever she did."

Carpentry hadn't been the d'Angeline's craft, but he was sure that she'd have managed to make something stunning out of nails and a simple log, or something like that.

"Guess we'll just make do, anyhow. Make her proud."

"I keep thinking about how, when we all go home--" Not if. She refused to concede that being stuck here or being killed here was a possibility. "--maybe I can get Doctor Richards to open a portal between people's universes long enough to at least find out if everyone's all right, even if we can't visit or anything.

"...Or if they don't remember." She was used to people dying on her, and that hurt, of course it hurt, but here there had been so many familiar faces that had been filled with polite or not-so-polite confusion when she'd expected at least a smile...she didn't want to be forgotten.

For a few moments, the only noise between them was a rather rhythmic fall of Bucky's hammer. Maybe with a bit more force than he should have been using.

"Not everyone's all right. But I think Elle isn't among those who aren't." He shook his head. "I guess not remembering is the most likely one, though. Steve - my Steve - has showed up here three times, and the latter two... he had no idea about the previous stay."

He only had himself to blame for the conversation turning really... bad ways.

"Well, I don't know what I can do that you don't have covered," Iroh said. He was in good shape for his age, but most people don't seem to expect much from men in their sixties.

On the other hand, few men in their sixties could control fire and lightning.

"Hey, I'm just the pack mule." Not that she'd ever seen a mule, but she was given to understand they were similar to horses.

"I'm Namorita Prentiss." She started to extend her hand before she remembered it was covered in grime, and pulled it back quickly to wipe it ineffectually against her leg again. "...Uh, hi," she tried instead.

Edited (i accidentally a word) 2014-05-22 05:54 (UTC)

Iroh hadn't seen a mule either (nor a horse or donkey) but the 'pack' clue carried it well enough.

Iroh gave her a brief bow. "Hello. My name is Iroh."

"Nice to meet you. Are you new? I haven't been getting out much with--" she waved a hand in an exasperated gesture "--everything."

As if Little Miss Bar Crawl would have frequented the same places as Iroh, anyway.

"Not so much. I've been here since winter," Iroh said. "But I suspect young people don't go to the same places an old man like me does."

"Huh. Used to be I knew all the Foreigners." Nita sounded almost sad, thinking of vanished friends...though she felt selfish for wishing they were trapped here with her rather than back at home. "I guess stuff is just too serious now for that kind of parties and hanging out we used to do."

Edited (i swear i can english) 2014-05-23 01:48 (UTC)

"Or there are a lot more of us than we think," Iroh suggested.

"People could be keeping to themselves, I guess," she admitted, as baffling an idea as she found introversion or even caution to be. "But it seems like that could get you in trouble when things get ugly and you don't have any friends to call for help."

"Yes, but some people are shy, and some have trouble making friends," Iroh said. "It's never been a problem for me, but I've known other people like that."

His nephew comes to mind.

"Yeah, me too. A lot of them seem happy enough, though." Zuko and her cousin would get along brilliantly. By which I mean try to kill each other.

"It does take all sorts in this world," Iroh agreed.

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We built this city, but not on rock 'n' roll. Probably.

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