First Entrance

[ikissdhimbck]

It's hot this time of year out in Texas. Late summer, when the air turns so thick with moisture you can cut it with a butter knife. Kate's biding her time in Galveston, waiting for the hubbub to die down after her last big heist, but not even the ocean breezes coming off the coast can put a dent in the heat. That may be the greatest shock when she expects to set her boot down on weathered wood and gets the shiny floors of Ten Forward instead, sun gone and replaced with bright, cool light. She lifts her chin to see out from under the brim of her stetson (it used to be white, but dust and clay have turned it tawny), blinking hard at the sight she sees. She sets her hand to her hip, fingers brushing the rosewood grip of her Colt. This ain't the first time she's been pulled away from home — in fact, she's even used to the idea of strange rooms and odd future technology — but this ain't like any place she's been before. And just how did she get here?

She swallows down a yelp, taking stock of the room. People are dressed all strange, and outside the windows all she can see are stars. This ain't right. She's not gonna let herself panic, but this ain't right. Hell, she's done this once before, ended up somewhere she didn't plan on, so she looks around for people she might know.

"Tommy?" she calls, disappointed when she hears desperation in her voice. "Marian? Jim? John?"

She's working down her list of folk she trusts, folk who could take charge of the situation, folk she wouldn't leave home without. She's looking for answers, and a safe harbor.

"Tom?" she calls again, voice softer this time.


[ooc: Kissin' Kate Barlow is a former schoolteacher, about midway through her canon and a few years into being the meanest outlaw Texas has ever seen. At least, that's her reputation. She's as harmless as a pussycat so long as you don't threaten her, and searching for some answers. Kate's been in a game before, so she knows about things like airplanes and space travel, but she's pretty much your typical 19th century woman, and if you're confused about anything at all please contact me! I'm friendly, and happy to thread with anybody!]

Down in the common area

[scarred_grin]

[previously: A little family business.]

So here's a scruffy redhead, slouched just short of horizontal in one of the chairs, reading the SkyMall catalog while a fox cub sleeps on his chest; and a woman who looks like she's from a completely different time standing near him, wielding a drop spindle like the expert she is. They've had a few days alone together in their room, but it's important to stay busy.

"Ooh, I want one of these," he says, holding the catalog up and pointing. "It looks so comfortable."

"It says it's for pregnant women."

"Well, I could change."

"There's easier ways of getting me to give you a backrub, you know."

"Oh, I know--" He stops. And stares. "They sell the Ark of the Covenant."

"...what would you do with the Ark of the Covenant? And don't say 'melt Nazis.'"

"What wouldn't I do with it? It comes in three different sizes. One for every purpose, I'm sure."

[It really does, too. Tag either or both! Especially if you have a theory on what the hell, SkyMall.]