Parker (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nostabbing) wrote2013-03-04 12:55 pm
nostabbing) wrote2013-03-04 12:55 pm
Entry tags:
- alice can has friends plzkthx,
- basically the worst rocket ever,
- bitey mcbiterson,
- can't grift for shit,
- i need more allowance,
- literally the most generic intro ever,
- must be thiefmas,
- no stabbing parker,
- shenanigans forever,
- surprisingly unfazed,
- there's something wrong with her,
- this seems totally legit,
- what is even happening right now,
- ▶ goldenrod city
001 | Goldenrod City | Video;
It'd been several hours since Parker opened the door to her storage unit and stepped through into a dorm room that definitely did not belong to her.
She doesn't like it when things aren't the way she leaves them, and this was no exception. Particularly considering her storage unit is the home of a fair number of her important worldly possessions (bed, planning board, tools, harnesses, shelf full of cereal boxes, favorite stuffed rabbit), and messing with her stuff is an offense approaching but not quite reaching not paying her for a job — which, of course, is something she takes very personally, and warrants retribution. That's not to say she wouldn't put it past Hardison and Eliot to do it, if they figured out how to get in. There's not a lot of stuff to move, and rearranging her unit to make it look like this new tiny room, well, that's a con that any of them could do in their sleep, and probably with one hand tied behind their back while they were at it.
...Okay, well, maybe not Hardison. He always complains so much about the smallest nuisances. It's not like he's the one getting saddled with crawling through the air vents or narrowly avoiding decapitation in the elevator shafts.
(Of course, she likes air vents and elevator shafts. They're so peaceful, albeit sometimes dusty.)
Anyway, not the point. The point is, she walked into her home and stepped out into what was decidedly not her home, which meant one of a possible three things: either someone was messing with her, she'd been captured and drugged, or a wormhole had opened up between dimensions and deposited her with no warning in another universe. All equally plausible, really.
Step one had been reconaissance. Check for cameras, motion detectors, microphones; she'd swept the room and found it clean. She'd also found that unless there'd been some magnificent effort on the part of the boys, she could rule out the possibility that this was still her storage unit; the dimensions were completely wrong, and the materials used sounded different than they were supposed to. Also, there was a hidden speaker somewhere to pipe in the ambient music, but she couldn't find it — pretty suspicious in and of itself.
Step two had been to ransack the room. No identifying signs of anyone who'd previously lived here, no marks of personality; the backpack had some neat odds and ends in it, but nothing that seemed altogether helpful. The phone wouldn't turn on and it was no make or model she'd ever seen before. ID card, snacks, bottles and towels and a change of clothes with a big gaudy "R" on the front.
But then she'd found the red-and-white ball next to the Team Rocket Guide, and suddenly things started falling into place. Crazy place. Really crazy place.
Step three had covered the next few hours — stuffing the relevant useful items into her pockets, securing the money, making the room look like she'd never touched it, and then sneaking out into the corridors to find the nearest air vent and have a look around the place. The important thing was to get the lay of the land, either through firsthand experience or by finding a computer she could access for information. The place had a really nice ventilation system, too; bad for them, good for her. The security system wasn't much to sneeze at, either. Again, not that she really minded, but you'd think they could at least try to make the place seem secure. Well, maybe there'd be a safe with something capable of slowing her down longer than twenty seconds. She could hope.
Finally, back in her room after several hours of sneaking and spying, she'd sat down to assess what she'd learned, overheard, hacked, and confirmed. So she was in the Rocket Base in a place called Goldenrod City, the largest and most developed in the nation. That explained the "R" on the clothes; that was the uniform of all the grunt henchmen, which meant that they'd decided she was one of them. (They were probably in for a surprise, but hey.) The size of the base spoke of a massive operation, with a science wing, a set of training grounds, and executive facilities she hadn't been able to get near without the appropriate keycard — she'd have to figure out who one of the execs was and lift or clone their card if she wanted to get in there. They were very secretive of a couple of rooms but not particularly protective of the ones containing useful things, and as a result she now had a standard-quality harness to go with her rope, and a nice little nest egg of money that they probably wouldn't notice had gone missing for quite some time. Tools were going to be a little harder to come by, but the supply room had paper clips and super glue, so she'd make do.
Oh, right, and there was one other thing she kept encountering over and over again: Pokemon.
(Hardison was going to be so jealous.)
Speaking of Hardison, she'd racked her brain trying to remember everything she might've overheard him say in passing on the subject — something about being a master and walking around in the tall grass and your jackass rival popping up when you're five steps from a Center with five members KO'd and ten HP left on the sixth. Not particularly helpful, but hey, it was something. One of the balls would have her Pokeyman in it, then. Which meant all that was left was the cell phone.
Tucked comfortably into a corner of what was now apparently her room, she'd fiddled with it awhile — ultimately discovering that she needed to swipe her ID card to activate it, and then tooling around with the various functions to see what all she had access to with it. There were lots of new blog posts made with recent timestamps; she'd read over a few of them, and they all seemed to say pretty much the exact same thing: help, I'm new, where am I, where are my friends, how do I get home again, I was in the middle of something really important, what's this little animal with me doing.
That's what she's wrapping up right now, and as she snaps the device shut, her lips are pursed in blatant distaste. Apparently that's what all the newcomers do when they're here, and when they do, people turn up and answer their questions. And now that her ID is registered to the network (and there's no Hardison around to provide cover for her), someone might look back at the data records and note a discrepancy in her account, if she's registered but has never used the posting function. Discrepancies mean attention. And the last thing she wants was to draw attention to herself.
Her expression deepens into a scowl. That means she's going to have to blog. And that means she's going to have to grift.
(She hates grifting. Why isn't Sophie here? Sophie's supposed to do stuff like this.)
But then, a moment later she reminds herself (in Nate's voice in her mind) that it's not going to be forever. She has a team now. Her team will find her. Even if she just walked through a wormhole into Pokeymans Land or ended up trapped in a video game or whatever this all is, her team will get her out. They beat a Steranko; there's nothing they can't beat. She just has to hold on until they do.
She flicks a glance toward the red-and-white balls on the pillow, then regards the device in her hand. Okay. Two things to get done. All the people in the other blogs had "starters", so she's going to need one, too. And while she's at it, she can figure out a story, and hopefully people won't ask too many questions. She can do this. She can get it. It's going to be okay. And Hardison's going to be so jealous.
She pushes herself up and reaches for the first ball. Time to see what Wormhole World has in store for her.
~
[Sometime in the middle of the afternoon, a video appears on the Gear network, featuring one rather pretty blonde framed in standard webcam style — shot against a plain gray backdrop with her head and part of her torso visible, facing the camera straight-on and smiling just a little too perkily to be entirely unforced. Her hair is half-loose with the rest pulled into a ratty braid that hangs over one shoulder, and there's something about the way she speaks; all things considered, this is probably the third or fourth time she's attempted to film this video.]
Hi!
[Her smile is broad, and possibly a little manic. A beat passes.]
I'm Alice. This is my blog! It sure was strange when I woke up this morning, because I used to be at home but now I'm here in this really strange place! Where is that music coming from? I could really use some help. Does anyone know where the people I know are? If they see this, I hope they call me.
[There's another pause, in which her gaze drifts, as though she's going down a mental checklist and trying to make sure she's hit all the points.]
Oh, right. I can't wait to make— [Her eye twitches very slightly.] —a ton of new friends! I made one already. He was in my room when I got here!
[She leans down, out of the camera's angle, and when she returns there is a holy shit that is a nine-foot-long Seviper draped across her shoulders like a massive scaly fashion accessory. And for the first time in the entire video, "Alice" looks genuinely excited.]
This is Bitey. Isn't he great? I thought we were supposed to get a Bulbasaurus or a Squirter or a Charmyder or a Pikachu, but I guess I'm just reeeeeally lucky!
[She holds that big excited grin a moment...that turns into two moments...and then ten moments...]
...Okay so someone should tell me what's going on now or something bye.
[And the feed goes black.]
She doesn't like it when things aren't the way she leaves them, and this was no exception. Particularly considering her storage unit is the home of a fair number of her important worldly possessions (bed, planning board, tools, harnesses, shelf full of cereal boxes, favorite stuffed rabbit), and messing with her stuff is an offense approaching but not quite reaching not paying her for a job — which, of course, is something she takes very personally, and warrants retribution. That's not to say she wouldn't put it past Hardison and Eliot to do it, if they figured out how to get in. There's not a lot of stuff to move, and rearranging her unit to make it look like this new tiny room, well, that's a con that any of them could do in their sleep, and probably with one hand tied behind their back while they were at it.
...Okay, well, maybe not Hardison. He always complains so much about the smallest nuisances. It's not like he's the one getting saddled with crawling through the air vents or narrowly avoiding decapitation in the elevator shafts.
(Of course, she likes air vents and elevator shafts. They're so peaceful, albeit sometimes dusty.)
Anyway, not the point. The point is, she walked into her home and stepped out into what was decidedly not her home, which meant one of a possible three things: either someone was messing with her, she'd been captured and drugged, or a wormhole had opened up between dimensions and deposited her with no warning in another universe. All equally plausible, really.
Step one had been reconaissance. Check for cameras, motion detectors, microphones; she'd swept the room and found it clean. She'd also found that unless there'd been some magnificent effort on the part of the boys, she could rule out the possibility that this was still her storage unit; the dimensions were completely wrong, and the materials used sounded different than they were supposed to. Also, there was a hidden speaker somewhere to pipe in the ambient music, but she couldn't find it — pretty suspicious in and of itself.
Step two had been to ransack the room. No identifying signs of anyone who'd previously lived here, no marks of personality; the backpack had some neat odds and ends in it, but nothing that seemed altogether helpful. The phone wouldn't turn on and it was no make or model she'd ever seen before. ID card, snacks, bottles and towels and a change of clothes with a big gaudy "R" on the front.
But then she'd found the red-and-white ball next to the Team Rocket Guide, and suddenly things started falling into place. Crazy place. Really crazy place.
Step three had covered the next few hours — stuffing the relevant useful items into her pockets, securing the money, making the room look like she'd never touched it, and then sneaking out into the corridors to find the nearest air vent and have a look around the place. The important thing was to get the lay of the land, either through firsthand experience or by finding a computer she could access for information. The place had a really nice ventilation system, too; bad for them, good for her. The security system wasn't much to sneeze at, either. Again, not that she really minded, but you'd think they could at least try to make the place seem secure. Well, maybe there'd be a safe with something capable of slowing her down longer than twenty seconds. She could hope.
Finally, back in her room after several hours of sneaking and spying, she'd sat down to assess what she'd learned, overheard, hacked, and confirmed. So she was in the Rocket Base in a place called Goldenrod City, the largest and most developed in the nation. That explained the "R" on the clothes; that was the uniform of all the grunt henchmen, which meant that they'd decided she was one of them. (They were probably in for a surprise, but hey.) The size of the base spoke of a massive operation, with a science wing, a set of training grounds, and executive facilities she hadn't been able to get near without the appropriate keycard — she'd have to figure out who one of the execs was and lift or clone their card if she wanted to get in there. They were very secretive of a couple of rooms but not particularly protective of the ones containing useful things, and as a result she now had a standard-quality harness to go with her rope, and a nice little nest egg of money that they probably wouldn't notice had gone missing for quite some time. Tools were going to be a little harder to come by, but the supply room had paper clips and super glue, so she'd make do.
Oh, right, and there was one other thing she kept encountering over and over again: Pokemon.
(Hardison was going to be so jealous.)
Speaking of Hardison, she'd racked her brain trying to remember everything she might've overheard him say in passing on the subject — something about being a master and walking around in the tall grass and your jackass rival popping up when you're five steps from a Center with five members KO'd and ten HP left on the sixth. Not particularly helpful, but hey, it was something. One of the balls would have her Pokeyman in it, then. Which meant all that was left was the cell phone.
Tucked comfortably into a corner of what was now apparently her room, she'd fiddled with it awhile — ultimately discovering that she needed to swipe her ID card to activate it, and then tooling around with the various functions to see what all she had access to with it. There were lots of new blog posts made with recent timestamps; she'd read over a few of them, and they all seemed to say pretty much the exact same thing: help, I'm new, where am I, where are my friends, how do I get home again, I was in the middle of something really important, what's this little animal with me doing.
That's what she's wrapping up right now, and as she snaps the device shut, her lips are pursed in blatant distaste. Apparently that's what all the newcomers do when they're here, and when they do, people turn up and answer their questions. And now that her ID is registered to the network (and there's no Hardison around to provide cover for her), someone might look back at the data records and note a discrepancy in her account, if she's registered but has never used the posting function. Discrepancies mean attention. And the last thing she wants was to draw attention to herself.
Her expression deepens into a scowl. That means she's going to have to blog. And that means she's going to have to grift.
(She hates grifting. Why isn't Sophie here? Sophie's supposed to do stuff like this.)
But then, a moment later she reminds herself (in Nate's voice in her mind) that it's not going to be forever. She has a team now. Her team will find her. Even if she just walked through a wormhole into Pokeymans Land or ended up trapped in a video game or whatever this all is, her team will get her out. They beat a Steranko; there's nothing they can't beat. She just has to hold on until they do.
She flicks a glance toward the red-and-white balls on the pillow, then regards the device in her hand. Okay. Two things to get done. All the people in the other blogs had "starters", so she's going to need one, too. And while she's at it, she can figure out a story, and hopefully people won't ask too many questions. She can do this. She can get it. It's going to be okay. And Hardison's going to be so jealous.
She pushes herself up and reaches for the first ball. Time to see what Wormhole World has in store for her.
[Sometime in the middle of the afternoon, a video appears on the Gear network, featuring one rather pretty blonde framed in standard webcam style — shot against a plain gray backdrop with her head and part of her torso visible, facing the camera straight-on and smiling just a little too perkily to be entirely unforced. Her hair is half-loose with the rest pulled into a ratty braid that hangs over one shoulder, and there's something about the way she speaks; all things considered, this is probably the third or fourth time she's attempted to film this video.]
Hi!
[Her smile is broad, and possibly a little manic. A beat passes.]
I'm Alice. This is my blog! It sure was strange when I woke up this morning, because I used to be at home but now I'm here in this really strange place! Where is that music coming from? I could really use some help. Does anyone know where the people I know are? If they see this, I hope they call me.
[There's another pause, in which her gaze drifts, as though she's going down a mental checklist and trying to make sure she's hit all the points.]
Oh, right. I can't wait to make— [Her eye twitches very slightly.] —a ton of new friends! I made one already. He was in my room when I got here!
[She leans down, out of the camera's angle, and when she returns there is a holy shit that is a nine-foot-long Seviper draped across her shoulders like a massive scaly fashion accessory. And for the first time in the entire video, "Alice" looks genuinely excited.]
This is Bitey. Isn't he great? I thought we were supposed to get a Bulbasaurus or a Squirter or a Charmyder or a Pikachu, but I guess I'm just reeeeeally lucky!
[She holds that big excited grin a moment...that turns into two moments...and then ten moments...]
...Okay so someone should tell me what's going on now or something bye.
[And the feed goes black.]
Voice
I... dunno, I mean, it's your Pokemon. Maybe it's saying you're really cunning, like you'd be sorted into Slytherin or maybe it's because you don't belong on airplanes.
I'm Imogen! What do you think the snake says about you? You know you better than I know you.
Voice
[OH SHIT OH SHIT SCENARIO WHERE SHE HAS TO SOUND NATURAL MAKING UP LIES ON THE SPOT OH SHIT RED ALERT SOPHIEEEEEEEE.]
I think it says...ummm...that. I. Have really dry skin! And like to crawl around on my stomach.
[YEAH.]
Voice
...Your skin didn't look that bad in your video! Did you find moisturizer already? I'm not too fond of crawling around on my stomach, it's bad for my outfits.
*Imogen is smiling, she doesn't believe you at all, but she's smiling and she's better at faking than you are. You can hear her smile as she talks, Imogen is very good at faking happy and upbeat.*
Well, whatever reason, Bitey is your partner to help you fight off anything else you run across here. I hope you two get along well!
Voice
[Look, at least it'll shut down that part of conversation fast. Never mind the fact that Alice White is supposedly a bookkeeper...god, her cover identity is so stupid. WHO DECIDED SHE SHOULD HAVE TO BE A GRIFTER, JESUS.]
...What do I have to fight off? I don't think he's going to be very good at it. I mean, he's pretty fast but he doesn't have hands or anything.
Voice
*Books are funsies, now Imogen knows to not trust you!*
Other Pokemon, wild Pokemon like to attack for some reason or another. But... he's a poisonous snake, he should be pretty good with just the fangs and tail he's got there.
Voice
Voice
And he's a poison type Pokemon, so he is poisony.
Voice
Voice
Voice
Voice
It's not really something that comes up at home.
Voice