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Weary autumn drags into New York in claps of thunder and thick cloud cover choking the western horizon, a steady breeze billowing in lively gusts. Driving the grey mares of the storm over the Atlantic, the turbulent weather provides excellent reason to stay indoors with a good book. Already headed to sundown, New York's outer fringes begin to settle in for the night.
Curtains are shut on warm, cozy bungalows nestled along the shore of Long Island, while the fancier households of the Gatsby area sprawl in jeweled glory upon a green patchwork landscape. Streetlights shine along main streets of villages dimmed to the nadir of activity, and the salt marshes on the outer fringes to the east make a knowing brown line.
It's somewhere nearby between the abandoned beaches and the elegant houses that a solitary figure descends. Her fluttering hunter green cloak, trimmed in white, alone hints to the freezing temperatures she experienced in the high stratosphere where oxygen exists in too thin an amount for the average person to survive. Water drips where crystals melt away in the warmer air at sea level.
Flattened grass under her boots gives proof to a terrestrial landing, and several alarmed seabirds take flight into the cloud streaked sky. Rain has passed and will come again, but for this moment, she is fairly dry and alone, a feminine silhouette peering out to the far, far northeast. And her mouth is set in a frown.
*
"Humans can't fly." is the first thing Noh-Varr says when he makes himself known, walking up a good ten feet behind her. He's dressed fairly normally in his black denim jacket and blue jeans, but his strange nearly-black green boots and gloves don't seem to match the rest of his outfit. "So I can only assume that you are likely also from another world. Have you tried cow yet? I've had cow."
*
Humans cannot fly — not entirely true. They can with human-created technology, ranging from delicate canvas and balsa structures up to the attack planes of US Navy and Air Force. Unassisted flight of the sort practiced by the redhead, her slim braids wound and twisted into patterns odd to a modern eye, is not natural in the least. Fingertips brush her temples and she pulls back her hood, giving a brief glimpse of her face in profile. Closing her eyes, Scarlett scrubs her palm down over her face, swaying somewhat. A glance headed towards the inbound man, quizzical brows arched, and then she asks, "Pardon? I think you are a mite confused." Her accent is solidly New York if she were an Englishwoman or a southerner in the city, blending the two of them.
*
"You were definitely flying. I followed you here. I had the training to spot someone stealth flying before most humans could walk." Noh-Varr boasts as he continues to keep his distance, keeping his hands at his sides. "If you're on this planet, then I can only assume that you have a way off of it? Some kind of ship? Mine is a wreck, impossible to repair with the current technology available in this period."
*
"You are quite mistaken on the matter of otherworldly." Her words balance mild intensity and minute hints of pique, restrained for a stranger unknown in quantity. Dark lashes shielding her piercing emerald green eyes, a shade somewhat surreal rather than pale and retiring. A hue that would almost standout, forcing someone to judge their regard of the young woman. Her toes dig into the grass, working out a divot against the greenery crisped by salt and seared by sun to a bitter nest. "You, then, are the foreigner here. How are you? You came by ship, from elsewhere, and what brought you here?" A question lingers upon her lips, hovering in the air.
*
"If you aren't from another world, then how are you flying?" Noh-Varr asks, raising an eyebrow and speaking with a tone that suggests he thinks her denial is ridiculous. "We crashed. Everyone else died, I survived. I'm from another world -and- dimension, so I have no one to call for help, even if I could call anyone for help with this primitive technology. I have no purpose here." He pauses, catching the sight of her eyes. "You are very beautiful."
*
The question is something she meets with the delicate lift of her hands to collarbone height, executing a simple measure of amusement mingled with an edge of caution structured throughout. Her fingers lace against her clavicle, and then Scarlett replies, "I always have." Answer enough, genuine for someone who knows what to hear. "You all crashed, and everyone else failed to make it. What transpired that it should happen? I am terribly sorry to hear for your loss. How far away? You are certain naught can be done for them?"
*
"They are all irradiated, I am -incredibly- sure that nothing can be done." Noh-Varr answers with at least an accepting tone, then raises a hand to lightly rub his chin in thought. "I'm not entirely sure what happened. As far as how far away, the distance is impossible to measure, we came from many universes away from this one. We were already lost before we crashed, trying to find our way home."
He finally approaches her, then offers his gloved hand. "My name is Noh-Varr, of the 18th Kree Diplomatic Gestalt, Universe-200080."
*
This news might be absorbed quietly, save that the bohemian takes in the details momentarily. Lines radiate between her brows, gently impacting her youthful brow. "I see. This is most certainly not your home, then. We do not travel off-planet to any capacity, and admitting you come from another dimension is a fine way to cause a riot or be locked up for observation at a hospital." Words of the wise to the offworlder come rather calmly, and if she should have a ruffle of uncertainty in her nature, it doesn't show. Scarlett reaches out her hand: gloved, bound in a golden mesh up the back, solid leather in forest green. It might seem antiquated but for the quality of the metal, breathtakingly light and resilient, flexible to the movements of her wrist. Her grip is light if firm.
"I am called Scarlett. Be welcome to Earth, in the Sagittarius Arm of the Milky Way galaxy. I apologize that I could not give you a name to our universe; we like to think it's really the only one."
*
"I'm well-aware of the apparent insanity built into the very core of human nature. I only revealed myself to you because I had every reason to believe you were also an off-worlder." Noh-Varr tries to raise her hand to stare down at the work of her glove, apparently interested in it. "I'm from the Kree Empire, which is located in what humans call the Greater Magellanic Cloud, in the Pama System."
"So far you're the most interesting person on this planet that I've met." He smiles, reaching out to lightly shift her hair away from her face. "Perhaps it will not be so bad."
*
The high opinion held of himself, and the low view of humanity, warrants a faint smirk from Scarlett. With the glitter in her eldritch gaze that he complimented — and she overlooked, to be sure — and the lengthening cant of her lips, her expression transforms a fraction with mischief proper. "Delightful, we are all mad? From an external perspective, I suppose it would seem so, looking down to see a race so divided internally by seemingly nonsensical conflicts instead of putting their great resources and ingenuity towards a unified purpose. We are riveted by violence and meaningless complaints on ideology, shedding blood and wasting our energy rather than exploring the stars and neutralizing our weaknesses."
Her shoulders roll, and the bohemian tips her head. "You would not be the first to say it, nor the last. A good many of us tend to agree with the sentiment, and we actually live here." Then blossoms the radiant force of her smile, crashing out of the blue, illuminating the sound of her voice to a rolling, gracious lilt. Her glove is strange, foreign in design; if he knows Asgardian make, it fits some of the similarities. A puzzle within a puzzle. "May I offer you a recommendation, Noh-Varr of the Kree Empire in the GMC? You may wish to say you are a foreigner, and leave a trace of mystery about it, when people inquire. Not that you should lie. I would never suggest that to a diplomat, though you may learn we have a multitude of opinions here. Mine may be a little more restrained. I have an idea of someone you might wish to meet, if you intend to stay for any length of time. He's something of an expert on matters and may know more of your empire than I."
Oh poor Doctor. A smile touches her lips still. "Thank you for a kind measure. I hope you shall find many welcome here. How long have you walked these shores?"
*
"From what I've observed, humanity is ruled by an apparent system of organized crime, and are psychologically vulnerable to propaganda in ways that I would call somewhat comical. But yes, all of these other things you've stated are true. What kind of planet divides its resources when you're all the same species?" Noh-Varr shakes his head, seeming absolutely astounded the more he talks about it. "I will attempt this 'air of mystery'. I've only been here for less than a week, so I'm still learning the details of blending into this species. It helps that your species is prone to eccentricity among your kind."
He releases her hand, filing away the design of her glove for later consideration. "I'd be interested in meeting this person."
*
"From what you've observed, you have not lived, sir. We possess our weaknesses, but so too we hold an ingenuity and a sense of hope that you might not understand being at a remove," explains the young woman quietly, her words measured in the tone of someone thinking rather deeply about the matter at hand. "Standing apart, you have a different lens upon our culture but we live within it. As much as I could gauge your civilisation, it is not the same view as someone raised to it, familiar with its nuances. I might not understand the nature of certain customs or find ritualised violence, for example, barbaric whereas you deem it honourable and a cultural continuation of a tradition stretching back three thousand years. Is it right? How can we comprehend one another without setting aside some of our preconceived notions and biases?"
The facts laid out, her hand is withdrawn even as she remains where she is, light upon her feet. "How are you able to understand our language? I presume that you have either accelerated learning, learn by osmosis, or have some kind of rapport with me."
*
"Before my living computer, the Plex, was destroyed, it, hmm… what is a good word for this…" Noh-Varr crosses his arms, trying to think of the correct description. "The Plex waved its magic technology wand and tapped my head with it, and then suddenly I knew all currently active human languages."
With that bizarre explanation out of the way, he does nod his head in agreement. "It is true that people from different cultures have different perspectives, but as a Kree, I am far more objective than most. For example, we have the best hair in the universe." He runs a hand back over his head. "Objectively."
*
The fact brings her a look of… not surprise. The fact is swallowed up as though a stone were cast into a pond, drowned beneath the effervescent hue of her gaze. "You might even save some of them from extinction, then, were you to write down a dictionary. See, there could be a profession to keep you entertained until you are free to plot your next destination or choose to stay. That said, perchance, the diplomat which I would introduce you to may have a better idea of how you might manage matters than I do."
That might be saying something. Scarlett flicks a look towards the man with such hair, and she eyes the frost-fairness of it. Then him again. "Without being a hairdresser, I would not know. I have seen someone with marvelous hair that could probably braid itself, and she might be inclined to say hers has a finer texture or styling ability. It's rather subjective, rather than objective."
*
"I can make my hair grow." Noh-Varr competitively brags. "But I don't feel like cutting it. However, I will indeed meet with this person you have in mind. Though right now, we have other matters to attend to…" That's when he begins to do a bit of a dance, as if he's Elvis or something, twisting his hips and locking eye contact. He seems determined, as if he's trying to get something done.
*
Other meetings, other business. Scarlett nods. "How should I tell this person where you are, and what you seek?" Must be polite, after all. "If you don't mind providing a way to contact you, I would be happy to pass that along." The corner of her mouth lifts upwards and she renders a smile, one as easy as the last.
*
"I listen to radio frequencies. I'll write down a frequency, tell them to tune into that frequency and say the numbers 200080. I'll be listening." Noh-Varr pulls out a paper and pin, writing down the relevant information and offering it over to her. He does, however, continue dancing, moving back into a groove. "Well, is it working?"
*
That information is welcome, and Scarlett reaches out to take the paper. "Thank you, I shall. This ought to be useful, and the Doctor should be able to provide the broadcast. Perhaps not on short notice, but in that case, you might well be settling in and doing whatever you seek to do." Where can she possibly tuck it, without pockets? Fortunately that elaborate outfit — and truly it is, shockingly so, leather and metal leaves, a pair of leggings and boots giving far more of an idea of what's under her cloak than any conservative adult would care for. She tucks the scrap of paper into the top of her sleeve. Where else can she hope to put it?
The hipshaking herky-jerky dance is something somewhat lost upon her, for a moment. She raises her chin a fraction, and then measures the stride, then shakes her head. "The way you move your hips is disconnected entirely from your knees and your thighs. Blend them together; they are not a gesture separated from one another. Like so, put your feet slightly wider apart, and keep the joints soft rather than stiff as you have."
*
"I'm not asking for your critique. I'm doing a traditional human mating ritual to invoke a sense of burning passion within you." Noh-Varr explains, though he actually -does- adjust his dancing to match her critique, immediately improving!
*
The regard of the green-eyed young woman doesn't veer away in the least. She raises her hand to her mouth, and inhales behind the leather gauntlet and metallic vambrace, settling whatever sound might pour out. "You are entirely mistaken. Human emotions can be a great deal more complex than that, and I am somewhat inured to the effect of dancing more than most. I live surrounded by dance halls and clubs, places where we do such things regularly, so perhaps this prevents me from fully feeling the arousing effect you intend."
She says it with a straight face.
*
"I suppose human behavior has more layers of complexity that I've yet to discover. Or perhaps this is some sort of abnormality, like your ability to fly. We'll see." Noh-Varr stops dancing, cracking his neck a few times. "Where do you live? I may want to find you again. It will be nice to associate with a human who will not stab me with a pitchfork."
*
Yes, this is probably true. A grave nod intimates Scarlett's agreement, or at least her consent, for she has clearly not fallen into a breathless swoon, nor is she fanning herself with her hands rapidly. No flying upon a bed of air or sprawling in the salt-rimed grass, nor has she nursed her rapid heartbeat with the inability to hold herself upright. Alas! He shall have to avail himself of stronger tonics to overwhelm her clearly supernatural composure.
Or it may be all women are of this nature.
Giving Noh-Varr a low chuckle, she replies, "Do you suspect pitchforks are a common concern, or is that something which you were told by the Plex? We save those only for harvest time and remote parts of continents where burning brands are less common." No talk of feathers, though; too sensitive a topic. "I am commonly found around the center and eastern parts of Manhattan. East Village and such."
*
"I saw something called a movie once. People chased a monster with pitch forks." Noh-Varr explains, then he starts to back up, sliding his hands into his jacket. "I'll look for you in those locations. For now I have to continue working on a more stable housing environment."
*
This so desperately needs more help than can be availed of. "Oh, where even am I to begin? All the languages of the world in your head, and that computer of yours failed to explain what a hamburger was, didn't it? I should imagine that you require more than that. A word to the wise, look for something affordable and quiet. Not in Hell's Kitchen. Stay in Brooklyn, which is due east over the river on the island. Pretty, plenty of immigrants, and it is inexpensive. You will stand out less, and you can find it inexpensively," Scarlett decides out of the blue on facts that no doubt are the worry of her entire age group, the young souls who are trying to make their way in life. "You have no idea about money, do you? Currency?"
*
"I know what it -is-, though I currently have none. However, I believe that I can make a deal with a home owner, perhaps to fix things in exchange for housing. Human technology isn't anything particularly complicated, most of your machines don't even have computational technology inside of them." Noh-Varr explains, sounding quite confident in this plan. "I don't know 'hamburger', but I'll figure it out."
*
Little does he know that the wiring in most New York places would confound a Watcher or make Galactus so annoyed, he'd need three planets before noon. IKEA's instructional artists got their break attempting to draw out the electrical designs of the average walkup.
Scarlett laughs softly. "Hamburger is food. Ask for it, instead of cow. You may find a number of people delighted to show you where to find it," she points out merrily. "A pleasure, and may your path be smoother