wilderlogs | Of travel I've had my share, man.

Entry tags:

Of travel I've had my share, man.

Who: Hercules

theincredibleherc and YOU!
What: Hercules arrives
Where: All Over Philly
When: During the Philly camp period.
Warnings/Notes: Possible language, not anticipating anything too serious.

Falling for what seemed like hours and hours is an unfortunate thing, but it's a damn sight better than being stuck in a completely empty mockery of a reality that Hera had created. And hearing voices in his head whispering about saving some place he'd never heard of? That's damn weird, but par for the course when dealing with faeries, just like waking up in a place you definitely didn't fall asleep. Never one to concern himself with the finer details of a request for help...and because anything was better than being stuck in an empty universe...he mentally made up his mind to actually take this at face value. A request for help and a mysterious tugging in some unknown direction was enough to get him up and moving.

And so that is how the Lion of Olympus arrived in the ruins of Philadelphia. Striding out of the forest and into the ruined city, his mace casually carried over one shoulder, Herc noted the signs. Stuffing a hand into his belt pouch, he pulled out his Starkphone and checked for signal, just to be sure. Finding none, he shrugged and casually flicked over to a music all, beginning to blare Guns and Roses. The noise, he figured, could be a beacon to anyone around...or to any enemies that might be lurking nearby. Either was better than being alone.

The longer he went without sight or sound of anyone, the more noise he decided to make. That mostly entailed singing along with whatever song came up on his playlist, a range of classic rock and hair metal that Amadeus had left on there. And a few odd choices that he figured were gags left by Hank.

Eventually he'll find his way to The Philadelphia Free Library, figuring that maybe he could find an old newspaper or something inside. Pushing his way through the door, he stepped inside and called out, just to be sure.

"Hello? Anyone home?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Dixon harrumphs in both agreement and continued disdain for the city. He figures he probably shouldn't complain about it, given that he's been able to scavenge some supplies from the Wawa and comic books from the library, but it's amazing what a knife wound can do for your outlook on the world. The injury in his back seems to radiate cold, and he draws the blanket tighter.

"If you mean falling forever with voices whispering to me, then yeah. I just came in weeks ago. Maybe a month, I'm not sure." He looks a little unsettled by that thought. It's hard to keep track of time here, what with everyone starting on different days of the week if they go by Roman calendar at all and without the structure of a workweek. Dixon's watch works, which divides up the hours into something manageable, but somehow in this place it's easier to lose days than it is to lose minutes.

"We keep getting attacked by things, so you look like you'll have your work cut out for you." Dixon makes a 'follow me' gesture with his hand. Most of the group is congealed in the nooks and crannies of the library like mud in sidewalk cracks. But he doesn't go particularly fast as he heads in that direction, instead ambling.

Herc is happy enough to amble along after, not bothered with haste. It's strange, an empty city and a complete stranger but it's still better than Hera's realm. At least there's wind. and people. Even the worst person in the universe, or Typhon, would be better than being alone completely.

"Attacked by things, you say? Hydra? Minotaur? Or something worse," he asks, curious but not overly concerned. He sounds downright nonchalant about those things, anyway.

"I ain't ever seen a hydra or a minotaur, so I don't know if they're worse, but all kinds of things. Last we ran into was some Grim Reaper guys and witches. They roughed us up pretty bad."

Dixon jerks his head a bit as if to indicate his back, which, while covered with a jacket and the blanket, is clearly one of the reasons he's moving so slowly and gingerly. "Worst thing is we got a bunch of teenagers traveling with us, and half of them got real fucked up during the fight. I'm glad whoever's in charge of this is at least back to sending adults."

Capable-looking adults, even!

"Hrmm..."

Herc rumbles an acknowledgement of the description, though he has little idea what they fought by that. Not that it matters much, in his estimation. It simply is what it is. And it's not there. The comment about teenagers, however...

"I should point out that teenagers are just as capable as full grown men and women. I would not have defeated the Lernean Hydra without the help of Iolaus, and he was but a lad of fourteen. And we Avengers have many, many teenagers among our ranks."

A gentle correction, but he has seen too much to discount someone based on age.

"Were any of your number slain?"

He gives Hercules a skeptical and somewhat offended look. "They're teenagers. You shouldn't be taking assists off a fourteen year-old. Age of majority's eighteen where I'm from."

There are plenty of lines he'll budge on or forget even exist. The 'if you're too young to drive you're too young to die on a quest to save the world' one isn't one of them. It's not about whether they're capable. As far as Dixon's concerned, the question doesn't even get so far as their abilities; they end their age in -teen, they're out of the running.

"Not one died, but some of us got close." Dixon doesn't consider himself in that number, although he probably would have gotten killed if he'd spent any longer on the battlefield with a bleeding wound and no magic left. He's racking up a mental list of the kids who got fucked up, ones that he's come to consider under his protection for reasons that have little to do with them and a lot with his self-esteem.

"Times were different in Ancient Greece, Dixon. Iolaus was considered a man at thirteen. I was involved in battle at twelve, though my circumstances were somewhat unique."

What with him being the son of Zeus and all. He's also got other reasons, namely the Age of Marvels being filled with teenagers who could flip cars and shoot laser beams. Teaching them was an important part of being an Avenger. But now wasn't really the time to argue, not as he really studies how Dixon's walking.

"You are among the injured, yes." Not a question. "Have your wounds been tended? I have some salves to ease pain."

"And that's fucked up. We've moved on since then. We don't send kids into firefights. We barely even let them go into bars."

He rolls his eyes at Hercules. "Someone stabbed me, that's all. One of the healers here tried her best with it and I got it cleaned and bandaged, but there's some sort of curse on it. Get used to that. Everything here is magic bullshit."

Dixon actually likes the fact that everything's magic; it means more people are in the same "what the hell?" boat as he's in. Nothing requires a logical explanation when it can be chalked up to magic.

He pauses. "But thanks for offering."

"Magic?"

Herc chuffs a laugh, favoring Dixon's back with a weak grin. This was clearly a sore point, but at the same time it was something they could bond over too.

"I've at least got the advantage of being familiar. It'd be a little difficult to avoid magic with my family. I never had any talent for it, though. Except for being on the receiving end, and that is never fun."

"That how you got so buff? Magic Wheaties in the morning?"

They get to the foot of the library and Dixon pauses, trying to gather up the stamina to take stairs with the wound leeching all his energy. And not wanting to make it obvious that that's what he's doing to a seven-foot strapped demigod, he pulls out his lighter.

"You smoke?"

"Son of Zeus, Dixon. And then granted divinity by my Father. It came from that and hard work."

He snorted and shook his head at the question. It didn't bother him, and he had his own vices, but he unconsciously wrinkled his nose a little.

"And no, I don't."

"Your loss." It's not, really. Being a smoker is a huge hindrance out here. It's more Dixon's loss that Hercules doesn't engage, because that means he can't try and bum one from someone who doesn't realize how hard it is to find nicotine out here. He ignores Hercules' distaste, though, and picks a cigarette from his pack.

"Does it look like I studied Greek in school?" The way he rolls his eyes is more amiable this time, like he's settling into a groove instead of just being crabby. "You could be the son of the Queen of England and I wouldn't know better. And given that King Arthur's a girl here, maybe there is a place out there where the Queen of England has a son named Hercules."

He's getting the hang of this multiple universes thing.

"I assumed mythology was common knowledge among Americans."

A shrug, but he grins good naturedly, leaving the rest of the comment unsaid. He's not offended, at least.

"How many are there, here?"

"Common knowledge ain't that common, my momma says." That's not exactly the phrase, but close enough. Dixon doesn't want to dig his heels in about Greek history; his knowledge of it is incredibly limited. They spent a lot more time on the Bible where he went to school.

"Maybe thirty-something. Folks keep popping in and out. Hang on, I got a list." He goes digging through the handbag he's carrying around and pulls out a comic book. On the inside cover, between the margins and the blurb catching the reader up on what happened in previous issues, Dixon's been keeping a running list of everyone in camp. Most of them have (misspelled) names, some have just vague descriptions, and most have a series of check marks beside them. Each night, when Dixon meanders around the camp, he makes a note of who's still around and who's been sucked up into the mirror network. He pulls out a pen and writes Hercules' name in, under "U-Haul" and "Kevin the Vampire".

"Might want to check it over, see if you know anyone."

Edited 2018-06-03 20:54 (UTC)

Herc won't fuss to much either, but he will reach out to take the list, giving it a quick once over. None of the names immediately pop out at him, at least...though one sort of tickles a memory. Robbie.

"Not offhand, unfortunately. That doesn't mean we haven't met though, it just means I may know them under a code name."

Dixon makes a kind of "well fuck" expression with his face. Somehow, it hasn't even occurred to him that people might be here under code name. Even though some of them are superhero. Even though one of them introduced himself as Impulse. He grimaces and takes the comic book back.

"Some of the people here know each other. Mostly the young folks, I don't know that anyone over the age of twenty-five knows each other." He takes a drag. "But the rest of us are all strangers, grabbed up by someone with real bad decision-making skills or real bad aim."

"Entirely possible. But if there is no pattern, then I'll expect to know nobody."

Like on the Argo. He managed that well enough. Even if he did end up running off on his own and being left behind.

"What is it you do, in your world?"

He wasn't expecting that question, and it hits like a punch to the gut.

"Currently unemployed." He tries to wave it off, but he's always been terrible at hiding his emotions, and there's a certain teariness that washes over him. "Don't matter here anyway. Not like we're going to get back in time to put in notice."

He takes another drag off his cigarette; it takes consideration to keep his hand from shaking.

"Fair enough."

Hercules is not someone with much guile, but he can tell it's a sore subject and he's definitely not interested in pressing. He's not that kind of person.

"Can you describe what attacked you, so I'll have a better idea of what to watch for?"

"Which time?" Dixon snorts.

"First time was these monsters that looked like pizza cutters, and a bunch of fairies. Literal fairies. Tiny ones." He makes a gesture with his hand like he's holding a baseball between his fingers. He'd pitched one against a wall; it had splattered like an egg all over the place. Gross as hell.

"Then back on the hill it was witches and Grim Reaper-looking guys and shadowy guys in armor. I figure whoever's in charge here is going to keep us guessing." He gestures with the tip of his cigarette at Hercules' physique. "You'll be fine. You just got to watch out for how sucky at this the rest of us are."

Fairies he is familiar with. Witches too. But Reaper cosplayers? That's not good. It's unfortunate that he wasn't there to see, given that he is familiar with Tolkien. It was hard not to be, given the influence it had on modern culture.

"Then, I shall endeavor to protect those that can't do it themselves," he finally says before taking a step up the stairs. "I perhaps should go introduce myself. Thank you for guiding me, Dixon."

"You're welcome." He's going to stay out here and keep working on that cigarette, getting as much as he possibly can out of it. He used to be the kind of person who'd take four puffs and then chuck it. Going without on this journey has whipped that out of him right quick.

"See you around." He gives Hercules a little wave and lets him go.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Of travel I've had my share, man.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject