File #001 audio;

[rightfootforward]

[She's been in Luceti for a day now. A day was more than enough time for the wings to stop hurting, the shock to wear off, and for her to find her old uniform and dress a little less like a girl on her way to primary school in the summer. A day was long enough to learn that this place wasn't entirely hostile and that it was extensive, reaching from the beach to the mountains and out until she hit an invisible wall that seemed to cut her off from whatever lay beyond it.

A day was also long enough to realize she was stuck and that the book was a method of communicating with others. People seemed to talk freely over it and she wasn't the only one arriving either. Captain Nathan Spencer, Peter Parker, Eugene, Sue Richards, Noel Vermillion - names that meant nothing to her, but it indicated that people came and went here according to someone else's agenda.

It hadn't taken her long to find the Guide, either, and after skimming through it, she felt a bit more...well, level was probably the best way to describe it. She's taken to hiding out in the woods for now, waiting to assess the situation before she moved into town. Now there was just one problem that remained: revealing herself to the enclosure and to possibly hostile elements. ]

As I'm not the only person to recently arrive to this place and I'm sure you are all quite tired of repeating the same welcome speeches, let me introduce myself and be brief about it.

Agent Carter, British Royal Military.

Any information not to be found in the guide already so helpfully provided would be appreciated.

Comments

[rightfootforward]

[SURPRISE. /flips his world upside down]

You aren't the first to be surprised, nor shall you be the last. Agent is just fine, Major Sharpe.

[greenjacketed]

I'm afraid I'm more used to seeing intelligence officers who're angry Scots. Angry Scots who don't proclaim their association so openly.

[rightfootforward]

The world has come quite a long way from "angry Scots" being the a qualification for this service. [She says it good-naturedly with a smile] Not that they still aren't angry.

[greenjacketed]

And just how far has the world come, aye?

[ because he's heard this song and dance before. ]

[rightfootforward]

Only if you wish to hear it, Major. Sometimes better not to ask.

[greenjacketed]

I'm afraid I've been in this [ pisshole of a ] town since March, ma'am. I'm startin' to wonder if there's anything left to surprse me.

[rightfootforward]

[March. And now it seems to be closer to the fall. How strange that time flows so differently here from home.]

1949 then.

[greenjacketed]

...1813. Quite a distance, then.

[rightfootforward]

[...Quite the distance. Someone from 1813. A man raised from the dead. What else can this place do? Who else might she find here...?]

I take it this happens often. The distance.

[greenjacketed]

Aye. And it goes both ways, ma'am. Other times, it's a whole 'nother...world?

[ he says it as though he's unsure. wary, even. ]

[rightfootforward]

Seems a bit daft, doesn't it? Worlds, times, people who aren't even human.

[greenjacketed]

Daft as pudding, ma'am. [ he spares a smile. ] And so I'm sorry you're to be stuck with us, too. You won't find any sensible chain of command.

[ and -- really? that suits sharpe just fine. ]

[rightfootforward]

Not unlike anything else, to be fair.

Nothing to apologise for, Major. It isn't as if you were the one pulling the lever to bring me here.

[greenjacketed]

You have my sympathy all the same.

[rightfootforward]

Much appreciated. [She almost laughs. Almost.]

Tell me, Major. Is there anywhere one might procure weapons here? Firearms, to be exact.

[greenjacketed]

There's a little shop for weapons. Shop's a bit of a misnomer -- more like a bullock train or a supply depot, for you shan't pay a penny for what they got. And they got all kinds. Blades to guns and more.

There's the smithy, as well. Though I ain't certain how fond they are of making firearms. Careful with what you pick up -- ammunition's scarce. It turns out that older models do better, for their cartridges are easier to make on your own.

[rightfootforward]

A smithy and a depot, but no ammunitions. [sigh. seriously, captors, help a girl out here]

By older models, you refer to?

[greenjacketed]

Those what take cartridge shot -- ball and powder wrapped in paper? [ he tests the water. even soldiers fewer than fifty years ahead of him had moved on to other bullets. ]

I roll my own. Got a pretty little stockpile.

[rightfootforward]

[Goodness, but that's a long time ago. Not so great for accuracy either, but certainly good in a pinch when it comes to getting ammunition. She thinks for a moment.]

Ah. I'm afraid I'm not quite as familiar with those types. I'm more of a Walther PPK person myself.

[greenjacketed]

Well -- ma'am -- if you ever need a dab hand to guide you 'round a flintlock...

[ jesus. not even sharpe knows whether he's hitting on the intelligence officer or not. ]

[rightfootforward]

So long as it's only about the flintlock, certainly.

[greenjacketed]

[ is that a chuckle? that might be a chuckle. ]

A'course, Agent Carter. All above board. Rifleman's honour. [ whatever that's worth. ]

[rightfootforward]

Then I would be honoured to learn from the 95th. Perhaps I can help you with the more modern types, should you be interested?

[greenjacketed]

...Aye, that'd do very well. Can't say I'm not curious.

[ ... ] But I suppose I should let you get settled, first. The first few days are queer ones.

[rightfootforward]

It does seem to be so far. I've yet to find permanent lodgings, but it seems most of the flats are open.