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fandomtownies2013-06-26 10:49 pm
gunslingerpose) wrote in fandomtownies2013-06-26 10:49 pm
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From BWI Airport to the Causeway, Wednesday Afternoon
You know, most people suffered this thing called jet-lag. It happened after spending eleven hours on an airplane, just a handful of days after getting a blood transfusion from some creepy old woman in Greece. People breathed recycled air for hours, they got tired, they felt like hell once they got back on the ground and they slept for practically days, that was how it worked.
Apparently not Nikolai. Sure, he'd slept most of the flight. Kept his head down and his mouth shut, and when it was time to get off the plane, time to hobble through customs on the leg that he'd banged up a little too thoroughly during that rock climbing incident in Kalymnos, the guy checking his passport just kind of... zoned out. Stared at him long and hard the moment they'd made eye contact. And then, with a sound like a kicked puppy, fell to the floor in a heap, leaving Nick standing there, concerned and bewildered. He'd blamed the high he'd felt after the incident on adrenaline or something. A guy falls into a coma right in front of you, that tends to leave you a little shaken.
When the medical team arrived to pick the border guard up and the guy who came to talk to him about what had happened got the same damn look in his eye before sinking to his knees, eyes locked on Nick's the whole while, Nick started to figure that maybe it wasn't the summer heat that was getting to these people. Not unless adrenaline kicks stacked up on one another. Not unless they made people hallucinate that same deer-in-headlights look of terror, every time someone made eye-contact.
Airport security was starting to close in right around then, looking suspiciously between Nikolai and the man on the floor, whispering between themselves.
'They're going to grab me,' Nikolai found himself thinking. 'They're going to try to grab me, and they'll end up on the floor, too. Fuck. Fuck no.'
And in that instant, Nikolai started to run. Not just hobble his way on his injured leg toward the door. He started to run, to really haul ass for the exit. To hell with his luggage. To hell with his carry-on and whatever the hell else was still in the airport. People were dropping like flies when they looked him in the eye, left and right as he tried to push his way through the throng of travelers who just wanted to pick up their bags. He needed to get away from crowds, needed to get away from these guys who were tailing him, struggling to keep up. He needed to--
To breeze past the men forming a barricade at the door, knocking them on their asses with a glance and practically no effort at all. To take off at a run that left cars leaving the airport in his dust.
What the fuck was going on?
What the hell was it that the old Greek woman with the blindfold had said as she pointed at his eyes? Nikolai was skipping over rooftops now like he was some kid playing a game of hopscotch. Up ahead, he could make out an island just past the water. There was a land bridge there, and he hit it at a run, leaving Baltimore behind him, not even breaking a sweat. What had the woman said? She'd pointed at his eyes, and then her own. Made a gesture to the spot on her arm that she'd taken blood from while he'd been unconscious after his fall. And now, all of this.
Nikolai was finally starting to tire as he came to a stop on the other end of the Causeway, barely gasping for breath as he looked, bewildered, at the little town that he'd apparently booked it to from the airport in, shit, it couldn't have taken him more then twenty minutes. Half an hour, tops.
Gorgon, she had said, grabbing his face in her hands, trying to get some kind of acknowledgment that he knew what she was telling him. She had called him Gorgon.
"Well," Nikolai muttered, looking around before sighing and making his way into the town. "Shit."
[OOC: And Nikolai is on the island! Hi, island! Open if anyone wants to poke at the bewildered new guy who isn't going to make eye-contact with you come hell or high water. Otherwise, just establishy.]
Apparently not Nikolai. Sure, he'd slept most of the flight. Kept his head down and his mouth shut, and when it was time to get off the plane, time to hobble through customs on the leg that he'd banged up a little too thoroughly during that rock climbing incident in Kalymnos, the guy checking his passport just kind of... zoned out. Stared at him long and hard the moment they'd made eye contact. And then, with a sound like a kicked puppy, fell to the floor in a heap, leaving Nick standing there, concerned and bewildered. He'd blamed the high he'd felt after the incident on adrenaline or something. A guy falls into a coma right in front of you, that tends to leave you a little shaken.
When the medical team arrived to pick the border guard up and the guy who came to talk to him about what had happened got the same damn look in his eye before sinking to his knees, eyes locked on Nick's the whole while, Nick started to figure that maybe it wasn't the summer heat that was getting to these people. Not unless adrenaline kicks stacked up on one another. Not unless they made people hallucinate that same deer-in-headlights look of terror, every time someone made eye-contact.
Airport security was starting to close in right around then, looking suspiciously between Nikolai and the man on the floor, whispering between themselves.
'They're going to grab me,' Nikolai found himself thinking. 'They're going to try to grab me, and they'll end up on the floor, too. Fuck. Fuck no.'
And in that instant, Nikolai started to run. Not just hobble his way on his injured leg toward the door. He started to run, to really haul ass for the exit. To hell with his luggage. To hell with his carry-on and whatever the hell else was still in the airport. People were dropping like flies when they looked him in the eye, left and right as he tried to push his way through the throng of travelers who just wanted to pick up their bags. He needed to get away from crowds, needed to get away from these guys who were tailing him, struggling to keep up. He needed to--
To breeze past the men forming a barricade at the door, knocking them on their asses with a glance and practically no effort at all. To take off at a run that left cars leaving the airport in his dust.
What the fuck was going on?
What the hell was it that the old Greek woman with the blindfold had said as she pointed at his eyes? Nikolai was skipping over rooftops now like he was some kid playing a game of hopscotch. Up ahead, he could make out an island just past the water. There was a land bridge there, and he hit it at a run, leaving Baltimore behind him, not even breaking a sweat. What had the woman said? She'd pointed at his eyes, and then her own. Made a gesture to the spot on her arm that she'd taken blood from while he'd been unconscious after his fall. And now, all of this.
Nikolai was finally starting to tire as he came to a stop on the other end of the Causeway, barely gasping for breath as he looked, bewildered, at the little town that he'd apparently booked it to from the airport in, shit, it couldn't have taken him more then twenty minutes. Half an hour, tops.
Gorgon, she had said, grabbing his face in her hands, trying to get some kind of acknowledgment that he knew what she was telling him. She had called him Gorgon.
"Well," Nikolai muttered, looking around before sighing and making his way into the town. "Shit."
[OOC: And Nikolai is on the island! Hi, island! Open if anyone wants to poke at the bewildered new guy who isn't going to make eye-contact with you come hell or high water. Otherwise, just establishy.]
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The kick, whatever the hell it had been, from the people who had caught sight of his eyes in the airport was good and gone now, leaving him feeling more tired than any one person had any right to feel.
Yeah. There was the jet lag, there.
"I haven't decided yet," he admitted, looking up at the sky. "Pretty sure I've been better."
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Yeah, Dean. Nikolai could tell stories about Hollywood.
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Not really, but he did meet a wax figure possessed by a pagan god that looked like her.
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Not that Nikolai was bragging or anything. Getting celebrities drunk was part of what he did for a living.
"You figure this place can top that?"
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"I've seen movies about both of those things," he replied, eyebrows raised. "Can't say I have much experience with either, besides. Woke up with a blindfold on in a weird old crazy lady's hut a few days back. Wasn't really a big fan of that experience."
... Even if the blood transfusion she'd given him there had saved his life, and all.
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Movie references. Movie references, Nikolai understood.
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For all of this hypothetical escaping that he was bound to be doing.
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"Nice. Got to drive one once for a client of mine, back in LA. I remember I was supposed to just drive the car down the street and drop it off. I was the asshole that took her for a joyride."
Because you did not just ignore finding yourself behind the wheel of a classic car. That just wasn't how it was done.
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"If you're not the kind of person who has four more of the same make in your fifty-car garage, I'm not too likely to," Nick replied. "But hand me the keys and tell me to drive, and I can promise you'll get her back, but I can't promise it'll happen within the hour."
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After one blatant miss before hazarding a look that was directed very firmly at Dean's hand with his head ducked a little too low, Nick managed to grab Dean's hand and shake it. A nice, firm, confident handshake, averted-eyes-hilarity aside.
"Thanks, I guess. Funny how I've never heard of a 'Fandom Island' before tripping along into it, though. You'd think an island off the coast of Baltimore with a big castle in the middle would attract more attention."
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Liiiies.
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"...Stays hidden, hm?" Nick's brow furrowed a little at the grip. He tightened his own in turn. Because masculinity, thanks. "Funny, I found the place with no trouble at all."