Booker DeWitt just wants things to make sense. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
just_dewitt) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ten_fwd2015-08-31 08:15 am
just_dewitt) wrote in ten_fwd2015-08-31 08:15 am
Entry tags:
Multipart Post; Backdated to the beginning of the Klingon Invasion
Part One: OTA - In the Midst of Battle...
Booker was disgruntled. There he’d been, having a beer, minding his own business, and meeting someone new, when things had taken a turn for the odd, and he had ended up getting involved in some mayhem. Now, mind you, it wasn’t the mayhem he was bothered by! It was the being interrupted while he was drinking that annoyed him.
As a result, Booker, with beer on his shirt, was stalking around a corridor bend, the overly-heavy frame of a the weird bladed weapon the Klingons had been carrying in his left hand, a Klingon gun strapped to his belt, even as his right hand sparked and spat Shock Jockey. The shattered remnants of a guitar was strapped to the other side of his belt by some cord he'd taken from a Klingon and he shook his head as he stalked along.
There was a look of mixed annoyance and fierce amusement on his face. Spilled beer or not, war was what he was good at, and it was a lesson some Klingons had already learned to their sorrow. Well, maybe. Booker had no fucking clue if they felt sorrow or not. He was pretty sure they felt nothing at all anymore. Oh well.
He was making his way slowly toward his quarters to check in on Elizabeth, but keeping a wary eye out for more of the Klingons on the way.
***
Part Two: Locked to Elizabeth DeWitt - Back at the ranch...
Once he had managed to take down a few of the invaders, Booker managed to make his way back to the quarters he shared with his daughter and granddaughter. He stepped in and looked around warily, looking battered, limping, some of his clothing torn and with more than a few cuts and bruises, but being Booker, still quite well.
One hand clutched a Klingon pistol even as the other stuffed a large replicated sandwich into his mouth. He knew from experience that this would heal him quickly, more quickly than the Sickbay could. And it was a quick way to recharge in the middle of what might be a very long few days. War tended to be messy and prolonged.
Peering around, he listened and looked for his daughter.
Booker was disgruntled. There he’d been, having a beer, minding his own business, and meeting someone new, when things had taken a turn for the odd, and he had ended up getting involved in some mayhem. Now, mind you, it wasn’t the mayhem he was bothered by! It was the being interrupted while he was drinking that annoyed him.
As a result, Booker, with beer on his shirt, was stalking around a corridor bend, the overly-heavy frame of a the weird bladed weapon the Klingons had been carrying in his left hand, a Klingon gun strapped to his belt, even as his right hand sparked and spat Shock Jockey. The shattered remnants of a guitar was strapped to the other side of his belt by some cord he'd taken from a Klingon and he shook his head as he stalked along.
There was a look of mixed annoyance and fierce amusement on his face. Spilled beer or not, war was what he was good at, and it was a lesson some Klingons had already learned to their sorrow. Well, maybe. Booker had no fucking clue if they felt sorrow or not. He was pretty sure they felt nothing at all anymore. Oh well.
He was making his way slowly toward his quarters to check in on Elizabeth, but keeping a wary eye out for more of the Klingons on the way.
***
Part Two: Locked to Elizabeth DeWitt - Back at the ranch...
Once he had managed to take down a few of the invaders, Booker managed to make his way back to the quarters he shared with his daughter and granddaughter. He stepped in and looked around warily, looking battered, limping, some of his clothing torn and with more than a few cuts and bruises, but being Booker, still quite well.
One hand clutched a Klingon pistol even as the other stuffed a large replicated sandwich into his mouth. He knew from experience that this would heal him quickly, more quickly than the Sickbay could. And it was a quick way to recharge in the middle of what might be a very long few days. War tended to be messy and prolonged.
Peering around, he listened and looked for his daughter.
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She blinked when she heard her name, then closed her eyes and tried to trace the signal back. Who the hell are you?
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My name is Booker DeWitt, and I knew a version of you, in another world, at least I think it was you, an Emma Frost who was a telepath... I am calling because...
He paused, took a breath, peering down at Elizabeth, then concentrated again. This might be easier to explain if you looked in my head.
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"I asked some help to come by, so hopefully we'll soon have even more of a secure position."
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"I'm okay, I promise."
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"Here we go."
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He calmed himself visibly, and nodded to her. "It is. We'll make it so."
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Elizabeth startled when he reacted so harshly, but she managed to keep her calm. Booker didn't really frighten her. She knew he would never hurt her.
"Things are so strange, Booker. I wish we could leave. This place makes me so nervous and edgy."
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"I wonder what 24th Century Paris is like."
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Faith was having so much fun that she didn't notice a short table in the middle of the room until she ran into it, bonking her head. By the time she started crying Emma had caught up, and she hauled Faith onto her hip. "I'm sorry, she's wound up by the invasion. It's nice to meet you both, I'm Emma Summers."
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