[The comm flips on to this gorgeous hunk of manhood. There's no introduction, no preamble, he just opens up with:]

Yo, do any of you people know your way around a set of clippers? I need a trim pretty bad.

And I want a pack of playin' cards. I'll trade you somethin' for 'em.

[That's it! Peace out, Tranquility. Have a cheeky salute as he signs off.]

[ Things escalated quickly, as any meeting between similar kinds of their nature would. He supposed... but he wasn't supposing much at the moment because he's busy being in the corner of some room. His counterpart put him on his ass very fast and very thoroughly, let's just say. This was not like him. Not like him at all, but panic, and panic, and a side helping of - temporary - hopelessness. He did not care who heard. It would be forgotten, he hoped, in the wave of people and in a few days he would have himself picked up and all would be well again.

He'd have a plan. Until then...

When it sounds like a voice message is about to be spoke, there's some silence first. The device is on the floor. He knew he'd lost and he knew what was going to happen now. He, himself, just had too much pride.

Damn it. He had plans, too. Get yourself together, get yourself together, just. Get yourself together. It was the bifrost all over again. He didn't know what to do.

There is a slow inhale to be heard and then a quiet, numbed: ]

I'm sorry.


[ No, screw you. Two can play at this game -- close to heart as it is.

ooc: confused? good times ]

This place is nuts, you know that, and I fought Nazis, I know nuts. This breaks all kinds of rules. Hasn't anyone heard of relativity? This doesn't just go off the brain of some pulp writer, these things have to have foundations and-

[Pause, and a breath]

All right, I get it. Shut up, Stark, right? Some of the fellas back home would be having a day at the zoo with this, going into space, saving dames, all that. Me, I'm a simple sort of guy. Tell me there's a place with blueprints for this boat, and I'll be happy. Anyone? How about the variables for the jump? I've been here five minutes and I already want to know this stuff, I don't believe that anyone who's been here more than that hasn't tried to figure it out yet.

[But he'll forgive you if you haven't. Not everyone can be Howard Stark.]

[The comm’s broadcasting voice, because it’s simplest. It looks like a fancy walkie-talkie, why wouldn’t it work like one? Bucky sounds -- well, a little tired, and a little confused, but being alive is good enough for him right now.]

This is Sergeant James Barnes, 107th infantry. Does anyone wanna tell me why I’m on a spaceship, or am I just hallucinating I’m Flash Gordon or Buck Rogers?

[A little bit of a pause.] A year would be good, too. Since I’m pretty damn sure this isn’t 1945, and I’m going to assume that since the controls aren’t in German, we won. We did, right? [Howard's told him a few things, but -- not everything. There's a lot to catch up on, after all.]

….Anybody out there? Help a fella out.

Heyyyyyy, this is Ned.

[ Heyyyyyy, that's not Ned. That's a golden retriever panting into the screen. The Pie Maker eventually leans into view while the dog moves aside. Definitely a dog with manners. ]

How many of us on board have... pets? [ —Can't quite pinpoint the right word. He really means Digby as a friend rather than a pet. "Pet" doesn't sit well on his tongue, a taste he would easily spit and replace with... "a best friend." The lightened mood in his expression is evident, reunited and doomed together in space, but it's just a little odd how carefully distanced he is from the dog, clasping his hands together. An allergy seems to be the logical excuse. ]

I'm sure Digby would enjoy the company. He does at home, but you know, that's not really the case anymore. [ A pause. Something he had forgotten: ] Yeah, to the newcomers... Ned. Digby. [ A bark. ] Hi.

[At first there's just a soft, momentary shuffling of a rusty orange messenger-bag as its set aside, an old pair of in-line skates tied to one of the grommets. There's the corner of what might be a small white-board at the bottom right of the screen, with a pen sitting next to it. The camera shifts.

Then, finally, a youthful, almost feminine looking boy. His lightly kinked and roughly dirty strawberry blonde/ginger hair partially falls over a pair of hazel eyes, gaze steady (maybe frustrated), however there's a near-obvious gleam of uncertainty that settles within the way he focuses on the screen. An unusual display of such an emotion, perhaps, as he tends to prefer to keep those feelings to himself.

That same gaze then shifts a little, brows knitting as he types.]

So. This is space, huh? Like the movies?

[There's a slight quirk to the corner of his lips. ("Man, this is nuts. . .", is all he can think) It reads only partially of entertainment, however. He's far more spooked than he's letting on. —Still far more disturbed by what he had just experienced, with the gravity couch and that tube down his throat, and every little moment that understandably comes along with such a situation. Mikelo chews at his lower lip as he begins typing again.]

How about someone talk to me? Clearly there are others out there and can see this, so. . . let me know you're there, yeah? And since I might as well —

[He juts a thumb in towards his chest, then waves as a greeting. A more pronounced and purposeful grin dances across his youthful face before he adds: ]

My name is Mikelo. Nice to meet you guys, I suppose. Also, I have read that guide that's floating around, but if there's any other info out there, that any of you think a newcomer like me should know, I'd definitely appreciate it. ☼

[A beat or so passes before he remembers something. He wags a finger at the camera, then taps at his throat with a shake of his head.]

Before anyone asks, I'm mute. Got it? [brow-lift —then, a thumbs up] Good.

[At that, he ends the feed.]