calling_logs | "Come, come," I hear it calling me

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"Come, come," I hear it calling me

WHO: Kurloz Makara and OPEN
WHAT: Kurloz sees the light.
WHEN: Midday.
WHERE: around the City of Tomorrow
NOTES/WARNINGS: Cursing, drug reference

He was a terrible friend. This had likely belonged to Mituna. He'd realized this with some guilt as he'd looked over it all the same, curious, uncertain, but knowing he'd never owned technology like this. He had his husktop. That was the most he'd really needed.

It came to life, showing a network, a place beckoning his voice to sound over the masses. Yet he did not begin there, he couldn't not while there will still pieces he didn't understand. Like a transport button. Could such a thing be possible? He supposed. The world was full of miracles. And so, that was how he found himself seeking out something he didn't think he would miss. Scripture? Absolutely not. A shoe? No. Sopor? Who was he kidding it was hard enough for him to sleep as it was without losing that. An empty elixir bottle then, that would do well.

And so it was with that he'd pointed the device at the bottle, hit the transport bottle, and then--

"HONK!" The world is bright, burningly so where before it was the dark confines of his hive. He scrambles, panic rising in his chest, in his throat. Blindly, he runs until he feels a door. He barrels through it and at last allows his eyes to open. The light is still fairly bright but it's all an artificial sort, not the sun.

There's bustle about. He feels the presence of others just faintly, and turns. The creatures before him aren't trolls.

Later

The sun doesn't burn. It hurts to look up at, but he doesn't go blind, he doesn't bleed. It doesn't hurt enough to stop him from looking at the way the light gleams off everything, deadly, horrifying, but beautiful without question. Ships of some sort fly over head. He's never seen anything like this in his life. He has no idea where he is even if he might have a name to it. Right now, he doesn't much mind.

Eyes of yellow and grey take all the world in and transform it to wonder. He's not dreaming, he knows that. He doesn't dream, he only has daymares and anyway, there's a realness to this all even in his disbelief. He wanders the city dressed in dark leggings without shoes, an oversized skull sweater, and undone hair-- shameful, but he hadn't expected to leave his hive that day. He reaches out to touch the art displayed and finds it solid. Messiahs were magical true enough but surely this would not have slipped from the prophecies. There can only be one explanation and he voices it to himself then.

"Never in all Messiah's vast viewing ogle orbs has such dank nip been ever mother fuckin reveled in by a homie cognizant."

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Ships aren't the only thing flying up above. Sam's staying out of traffic - more or less - but he can't resist the urge to get out and stretch his wings. It's a unique experience, flying in a city like this when no one's shooting at him. His "for training" flying had mostly been back at the Avengers facility or in the desert, and now it tended to be out in the jungle.

He keeps an eye on the ground as he flies, and for the most part, people either go about their business like it's absolutely a normal thing to do, or stop to watch him a little. And he's not above admitting that those are the times that he pulls some fancy flying, showing off a little.

But the alien guy that Sam spots on the ground, looking at everything with wide eyes, he's a little different. It doesn't take a huge stretch of the imagination to figure he's probably someone who just got their CALL device, and Sam swoops down towards him.

He lands just in time to catch what the guy says, and he can't help but chuckle a little as he grins at him, wings still outstretched. "Yeah, that's one way of putting it."

The shadow of wings are thrown over him well before he hears a reply. In all his wonder, he failed to pay attention. He should've known. What would live in the light but a demon of light?

For the second time that day, he shrieks. "HONK!" Or honks rather.

He stumbles back a foot, thankfully not falling off his. He takes in the sight. "Hath reckoning struck me thus, an angel before me?" Those wings are made of metal. Angels were meant to be of feather. But then... it's not as if he's actually seen one before.

At least, not outside of daymares.

He drops to his knees, hands folded above his head. "Oh high angel, spare me, my flesh, my spirit, for I am belonging to the Messiahs two."

That's... not exactly the reaction that Sam'd been expecting. Back home, before he became a fugitive, people had more or less adjusted to him being a superhero. And yeah, before that, back when he was in the EXO-7 project and he'd had to rescue soldiers in varying states of consciousness - or take out enemies - he'd gotten some angel comments. But he'd kind of assumed with this guy being an alien, that'd get lost in translation somewhere along the way.

He's torn between a little amusement at the idea - hell, if only his dad could see this - and apologetic for freaking the guy out. Apologetic wins, if only because the guy kneeling in front of him is pretty damn uncomfortable.

"Relax, brother, I ain't gonna hurt you. I'm still figuring my way around here, same as you. You don't gotta kneel or anything like that." He leans over slightly, reaching out to offer him a hand up.

Well there's certainly some manner of translation being lost here. He's got his eyes squeezed shut but the problem with that is it amplifies any fear anyone around is feeling and that's almost never comfortable. It also doesn't make the angel go away.

He hears the angel speaking. Kind words flow on out. A humbling. Kurloz looks up at him, round-eyed. In another life he would've flinched at that hand without a doubt. He stares, he's uncertain, but he takes, even if tentatively.

The hand is warm. Like Meulin, Mituna. Warmer even. Far warmer than his own.

He's brought up to his feet. "...Bitchin," He says decisively and belatedly in response to the angel.

Edited 2016-07-30 04:49 (UTC)

It doesn't occur to Sam that he hasn't technically denied being an angel yet. He mostly assumed that actually speaking would have solved that, or helping to haul the guy up - but partly it just didn't occur to him to actually have to say 'no, I'm not an angel.'

He clasps the guy's hand for a moment after he gets to his feet, grip firm and friendly, before he lets go.

"Yeah, I'd say bitching is one word for it." He rolls his shoulders, folding his wings in. "Did you just hit the transport button?"

The wings fold away just like that. He watches, somewhat... no, quite wholly breathless. His heart is still facing a bit. Were he even the slight bit stronger, his voodoo might leak out to fear, but he's got it well contained. It's the only thing he's got for the now, staring up in awe.

He shakes himself belatedly. "But a short time ago did I!" He exclaims. Confusion strikes. "In hand most mighty has a button befallen of thee likewise? From what realms do you heed? Is this unharming sun of thine will? Are flightbits of thy species a solid sort? You--" He cuts himself off. That's far too much talking.

He bows low, careful of his horns. "I am Kurloz Makara, servant to the dualities divine, The Messiahs two. I had thought this a parting piece of my brother and dear moirail. This is far greater than I have ever known."

Sam can't help but keep right on grinning, expression somewhere between amused and just a little bit fond, as he watches the guy let out a burst of questions before backtracking.

"It's okay, brother, I'm pretty sure that kind of rambling is completely an appropriate reaction to all this."

He claps the guy - Kurloz - on the shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze before he lets go. "I'm Sam Wilson. Used to be I went by Falcon, back when I was big into saving the world, but then the world decided it didn't like our kind of saving. Well. Some of the world, anyway."

Sam resists the urge to make a face at himself, but only just. It’s the first time he’s tried joking about the Accords and how just went down there, but apparently it’s a little too fresh for him to get it right. Better give it a little more time.

“You’re in the City of Tomorrow, and hell yeah, it’s greater than a lot of people have known, I think. We’re in another dimension, near as I can tell.”

"You are an angel savior," He breathes, speaking more to himself even as he regards Sam with the mix of reverential awe and fear. An angel savior that asks he keep casual. He can kick it like that. Totally. It'll be easy. Easy mother fuckin peasy.

The angel clasps his shoulder like the way his church brethren do. Oh mirth.

"Brother Falcon," He says, repeating the name as though greeting anew. He resolves himself. "The righteous path proves a difficult one! Many temptations await set to stray! Many motherfuckers prove mother fuckin blind to the holy! But such is our duty to show them the dark ways." He folds his hand over his heart with a smile, then reaches out, pauses, and completes the act of patting Sam's arm back in effort to comfort. However tentative.

He gives a glance around. Speaking of the dark. "The morrow proves... incandescent," He says with slight squint. "No less mother fuckin miraculous for it!" But. Blinding. "I have no recollection of this within the gospelevity..."

There's a little laugh as Sam flashes another grin. "I've been called that before, yeah. But I'm taking a little break."

If Steve Rogers - two Steve Rogers, even - can manage to more or less take a vacation, then Sam sure as hell is going to take one for himself, too. Of course, the fact that no time is passing back home kind of makes it cheating, but Sam's not focusing on that right now.

His brows raise slightly as Kurloz starts into what sounds almost like a sermon. It's not one he's ever heard before, but he can't help the way it makes his expression soften, going almost nostalgic. Reminds him of his dad, just a little - but there's not anywhere Sam wants to go, so he focuses on the last part of that.

"Far as I can tell, no one's got mention of anything like this back where they're from. But I didn't get here all that long ago myself, either." He gives a one shouldered shrug. "You talk to anyone else around here, yet? I can try to give you the gist of things, if no one else has."

"A break?" He repeats, surprised, confused, not quite understanding. Angels take breaks? From what? His mind supplies a number of gruesome images as spurned of daymares past. He shivers just slightly. This one promised not to hurt him.

He glances about at last at all the other creatures. "I have failed to converse with beings other," He admits. Hesitantly, "Are... are they angels as well...? I see not their flightbits..."

Somehow, it would make some sense that he of all people would be warped into a world of angels by sheer accident. It had not been within fortellings that he would perish so but he should like to protect those he can while he can.

"Gists would be most legit, brother Sam," He concedes.

"Yeah. Hell if I know what I'm gonna do with it, but-" He shrugs, stopping himself from going down that road. Now's not the time to dwell on whether or not he's still capable of taking any kind of vacation, and what that says about him.

Still, he grins a little at that question. "Nah, it's just me. Haven't seen anyone else flying around here, anyway. But I haven't left the City of Tomorrow, who knows about the others?"

Sam gestures in a vague motion meant to encompass the whole of where they are.

"Near as I can tell, we're in some kind of gateway space, that connects a whole lot of different worlds." He nods at the CALL devices. "No idea why or how we got those, but anyone who has one can get here. While we're here - it's almost like we're in some kind of status, or time out. When we go back home, it'll be like no time has passed."

That moment dwelling, that faint fear he senses... "May it be so, I can give service to thee on such a mother fuckin matter." He knows the mirthful teachings well. He could surely show this angel some fun, teach even the horrific the natures of mirth.

He is quite visibly relieved when Sam tells there are no more of his kinda around, alike in appearances the rest of these creatures may be. Sam claims kindness, but he could not imagine that applying to all the rest of the angels.

Whether it's safe beyond is another question.

"In turn, I shall propose a most platonic mediation. If there prove angels other, I must see my homies spared. You must convince them not to crash upon our mother fuckin crib. It is not yet time their souls did part." And then, maybe, he could find more wonder in this place also. This was a place full of mystery. Riddles. He wishes to delve.

Edited 2016-08-30 04:24 (UTC)

Sam's eyebrows raise a little, but he still grins. "All right, yeah, I'm curious. Sometimes it feels like I barely remember what it's like not to be focused on the job."

Kurloz can't know how much it takes to admit that, from the guy who spent years relearning how to be a person - but that makes it easier to let it roll off his tongue, nice and casual.

But then he shakes his head a little.

"You don't gotta worry about that. No one from here can go to where you're from unless you take them with you whenjoy you go back. But if anyone tried to force you - hell yeah, I'd stop them."

There's a pause as Sam considers. This is likely a terrible idea; he doesn't know anything about the kid except that he's an alien, that he’s a little weird, that he keeps calling Sam 'angel' - that he's protective of his friends and eager to share in how to have fun, but none of that makes what he's about to do a great idea.

But anyone who says Sam doesn't impulsively act on instinct sometimes doesn't know him all that well.

"You need a place to stay while you're here, little brother?"

A great big frown falls upon his face. Work all the motherfucking constant? That ain't do. That ain't motherfucking do up at all. (Even if he knows well the feeling of being sucked up into a task but that ain't the point!)

When Sam shakes his head he thinks for a moment that Sam might change his mind, bringing near a protest from him. But it's about the angels getting through and he realises he's gotten away from himself.

"I believe my world plays host to the angelic already. The seraphim speak from within the void their songs of inevitable carnage..." He smiles up at him bright and sudden, as though he did not just prophesize a great demise. "Your service is great all the same, my brother. May the stars be dusted special for you!"

He smiles more as Sam ponders, waiting with owlish eyes. He starts, blinking, over what he hears though. He gives a glance around the place, huge, alien, unknown. "I suppose I would need not notify the officer if they've not the mother fuckin knowing of mine absence..." What about his cull guardian though? But what about about him?

He grins slow. "Is this a cahoots you seek to build, for I am the willing."

Hey, now, Sam said sometimes. Sometimes he can remember real damn well what it's like to have fun, and even have some of it. ...of course just about all of it is during the moments he could steal between being a soldier or a counselor or a superhero, so maybe that frown is deserved.

And then it's Sam's turn to give a little frown of his own, when Kurloz says the people he's worried about are already back in his world, that they might one day go after his friends. He thinks about offering to go back with Kurloz if he ever wanted, try to take them out - but that's maybe a little much, considering he just met the kid.

Besides, he's here to curb his tendancy to jump in to shit, and he's already offering Kurloz a place to stay.

So for now, he just grins back. "Hell yeah, man. Come on, let's grab something to eat and you can tell me more about it."

He might've conceded that maybe all that isn't so bad if it's balanced. He might've jumped joyous at the idea of bringing and angel back to his people-- specifically one that wasn't going to hurt him. But none of those things are said, and being non the wiser, all his focus is on that of the final note of this serendipitous expatiation.

Mother fucker says yes. He on the other hand gives two successive whoops of joy with a honk to follow.

"Seeking keep among the angelic! Never shall such righteous preach be believed by mine compatriots Beforan!" Not that they really ever believed him anyway, no matter how he implored his visions were true and real. The life of a Prophet he supposed. At least he had Mituna and Meulin. They believed him. Maybe they would believe all this too.

He's already starting ahead, walking and talking, spinning to walk backwards at times as he does so for the conversation and excitement guide him so. "What libations may we partake! What wicked delicious mother fuckin delicacies! Holy disquisition is due to thee, post haste, but of what? There is so much that ought be told, I do tell! Much that we must see--"

He doesn't stop there.

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"Come, come," I hear it calling me

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