bywiseguidance

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[Johto, have an intensely displeased (one might even say pissed off) and rumpled looking woman (is that a piece of ceiling tile caught in her hair...?)--glaring daggers at the door that has just been slammed in her face, because that's what you do.

She hadn't even finished asking her questions. Rude, not!Mom. Very rude. At least the strange-looking creature that had been shoved out the door with her was helpful enough to find in the spilled contents of her backpack and hand her this device that looks a lot like a very odd cell phone. It's already on and everything, not that Ziva's noticed, wound up as she is. Her voice is slightly hysterical when she speaks--and definitely agitated, because dammit she has a lot to be agitated about.]

This is absurd! I would think that this was a dream, that I hit my head in the explosion and for some reason I imagine this place instead of somewhere that would make sense...!

[Yup, too agitated to speak English properly it would seem. At least, that doesn't sound like a complete sentence, more like she trailed off mid-thought.]

I cannot believe this. And you...

[She glances down at the Pokemon by her side--though in confusion and not in anger, that seems to have mostly blown out of her.]

You look like something from one of McGee's computer games. [To herself:] Oh...I hope that he is all right.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[...What is this

can it be

someone who is actually as raegfurious about landing here as he was on his first day

...well then.]

Explosion? What the hell happened to you?

[Because spoilers: you look like crap.]

[She's covered in dust and debris, so yeah, looking like crap is probably an adequate descriptor. She violently yanks that bit of ceiling tile out of her hair and lets it fall--her Mawile picks it up, though. No littering. :|]

My office was the site of a terrorist attack.

[yup she's just as furious as you were. you can be fury buddies.]

[Oh. Well, that's kind of — you know what, forget the welcome wagon for a minute, that makes for a slightly more pressing issue to attend to first.]

Hold the camera up to your face, as steady as you can. You remember anything hitting your head before you got here, debris that might've gotten in your eyes, anything sharp you landed on or heavy that landed on you?

[Because granted, she looks at least reasonably okay in the physical sense — the hysteria is a separate matter — but there's a lot he can't see over a video feed, and it might be pure adrenaline that's keeping her on her feet as opposed to an actual state of wellness.]

[after a brief pause during which she feels faintly incredulous--she's fine dammit :|--she realizes the wisdom of having an outside opinion on that and does as requested. There's no sign of concussion in her eyes, and no blood to be seen--and her hand is very steady.]

I do not.

[Trust the man in the lab coat, Ziva. :|b He'll just be spending the next minute or two firing a list of ~~handwaved~~ questions at her to check out her general state of physical well-being. She might be a rumpled wreck, but from what he's seeing, that's mostly superficial, and she can figure out where to take a bath on her own time. So long as she's not about to keel over from uncaught injuries, he can be content with that.]

Okay. The good news is, it looks like the blast did more damage to your wardrobe than it did to you. Which is really good news on your part, considering the medical facilities in the town you're standing in are archaic enough to make the Dark Ages look like Star Trek. The bad news is, you've just marked yourself as a new arrival on this network thing, and in about two minutes you're going to have to contend with six thousand yappy teenagers turning up to explain this whole new world to you, which probably isn't going to do a whole lot for your already rotten mood.

[Ziva glances down at her Mawile, then back at the screen. The adrenaline's wearing off now, and it's probably going to turn into a headache with her luck today.]

...fantastic. I could hope that they will be convinced that I only need to hear any 'explanation' once, could I not...

[He'd mail her some aspirin, but y'know, by the time it got there the headache probably would've worn off anyway.]

More likely than not, they do it because it makes them feel important. Little kiddles in the know passing on their wise expertise to the disoriented newcomers.

McGee — that a friend of yours?

[That makes sense. Annoying as it is.]

One of my teammates. And yes, a friend.

[Curious choice of descriptor, "teammate". And she said it was an office that got attacked, which probably rules out the athlete angle — though he certainly wouldn't rule out the possibility of her being one. But more to the point, what kind of offices are the most likely to get hit by a terrorist attack?]

Well, I can tell you that if he's already beat you here, there's a good chance he'll turn up to talk to you personally. If you don't hear from him, you're probably the only one swept off to Munchkinland.

[She looks confused about the 'munchkinland' reference for a moment, then snorts in amusement. It seems she's doomed to pop culture overloads she doesn't completely understand.]

And if he arrived at the same time as I, he would be here, yes?

[she catches on quick.]

[Oh, good, someone with a brain in her head. And bonus points for catching on quick while disoriented in an incredibly weird situation, after apparently surviving a terrorist attack in her workplace. Whoever this is, all signs are pointing to nerves of steel. Albert can appreciate that.

He nods, shifting the Gear to his other hand as he pokes at something offscreen.]

Might be. I don't have an explanation for it, but time works funny around here. You could've seen someone five minutes ago back where you came from, and then end up here and find out they've apparently been around for more than a year. So your answer's yes and no — if he came in on the same blast, you might find him around that town you're standing in. Or he might already be one of the residents. But what's safe to say is that if you don't hear from him within a day or so, he's probably not here to check in with you in the first place.

So even were he here, he may not recall the same events as I.

[Ooh this is immensely frustrating.]

Knowing him, it would be sooner rather than later. Most of the others I would be concerned about as well.

[Gibbs is a wee bit technologically challenged. She'd probably have to wait on him. Maybe pigeon-mail.]

Always nice to see a new arrival with brains.

[THANK YOU FOR BEING COMPETENT, ZIVA.]

More teammates, I'm guessing. Where do you work?

[Acknowledging headtilt. THAT'S WHAT SHE DOES.]

NCIS.

[Do you recognize the acronym or does she have to explain again? She's used to that.]

[Well, he'd recognize it if he were from 1992 or later; ALAS, y'all were using a different name back in 1989, so the acronym earns her a curious furrowing of his brow.]

NCIS.

[Okay, he'll hazard a guess.]

Department of the Navy?

[Darn you changing names.]

Correct. Naval Criminal Investigative Service.

[Seriously, y'all have changed it like SIX TIMES, what even.]

Damn, they've gone and changed it again. Guess that's one way of staying undercover — change the name so damn often nobody can keep up with which agency you are.

[There's a bit of humor in her voice. One thing working with Tony ensured is the ability to crack jokes under pressure.]

I assure you, I was not consulted for any previous name changes. And it is common for people to mistake the name anyway.

I'll have to remember to keep the old letterhead. It'll probably be worth something someday.

So that makes you Agent...?

Ziva David.

[She inclines her head in greeting.]

And you are...?

[She's pretty sure you also go by Agent. Just a hunch.]

[At this point, his eyebrows are up and he's not bothering to hide it — between the name, the accent, and the way she was mangling her English earlier, his curiosity is officially piqued. But while he is indeed blunt, he's not so egregiously blockheaded as to storm right into the obvious remark of "nothing about you sounds stereotypically American".]

Albert Rosenfield. FBI. Forensic pathologist.

[That about covers it in a neat little package.]

[Good call on that one, she's definitely not stereotypically American. Did you catch the Star of David necklace she wears while you were zoomed in, too?]

A pleasure. I have worked alongside some very skilled men in the FBI.

[She's also run from the FBI, at least at one point. Oops. At least one person here should be trustworthy. Good to know.]

[Of course he did, because noticing details and drawing conclusions from them is what he does. Voicing his conclusions in a way that doesn't make people want to immediately punch him in the mouth, on the other hand, takes a fair amount more effort.]

Is NCIS the only place you've worked?

[THERE, presumably she can pick up the implication from that.]

It is not.

[She looks impressed, and somewhat amused.]

Am I that obvious?

To ninety-five percent of the idiots you'll encounter around here? No. To the five percent who take the time to look for what's right in front of their face? Maybe.

[He shrugs.]

My conclusion is Middle East, probably Israel. It's up to you whether you want to disclose if I'm right.

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