Getting to know each other better. (Tag Sasha)

[Morph]

Being stuck on this world, isn't really that bad.
Seriously.
I've been stuck in worse places.
I was born in a worse place, come to think about it.
I haven't seen too much of this world yet, but some discussion with Teresa has shown that this is a more mild time-line without Apocalypse ruling it... Or Magneto... Or the Phoenix... Or the Brood... this list goes on too long, all the 'powers that be' screwing up timeliness.
Oh wait... If that Mojo guy was behind it, how much of that was real?
It's an odd feeling, not knowing if where you've been was really where you were.
And if anything you did made any difference.
I'm sure we screwed up and upset more than we actually 'fixed'.
But I can't really concentrate on the past.
We're not time hopping and reality skipping.
We're all stuck here.
And none of knows the history or state of this world.
Since I've never really stayed in a reality long enough to get the real story involved, I've learned that if the world has television, allot of culture can be force fed to the brain at once.
And this place is set up with one heck of an entertainment system!
I mean, I know it's a castle and all, but looking at it from the outside doesn't make you think of technological things all hooked up inside.
It even has adapted to indoor plumbing, Bonus!
But anyhow, the large wide-screen TV hangs on the wall, taking up most of it, with a comfy couch and small coffee table in front.
I set down some potato chip bags and sodas, and lean back with the remote, powering it up.
First thing that comes on, is local weather and news.
I turn into the stuffy looking weather man, mimicking his voice easily,

"80% precipitation on a low front, don't forget your umbrellas!"

I pop an umbrella from the palm of my hand as I flip the Chanel.
A cartoon comes on, some Sponge picking on sea creatures.
I flip through without changing myself, but still mimic his voice,

"Tooooooo easy!"

The next Chanel is a music video,
And I grow long hair head-banging to the music a moment, the lyrics about love.
I change the Chanel yet again, and at first I think it's a movie. Some giant chick stomping on some little town. But as I change into the newscaster to mimic her, I see it for what it really is,

"Two mutants thrash San Fransisco, news at 11"

Hm. Just judging from this one cast, it seems this world isn't as far along in the mutants as a superior race issue.
The way the news discusses the 'mutant issue' is very... out of date for me.
Interesting.

[Sasha]

One of the earliest training you are put through as an officer is how to deal with imprisonment and torture. Information shapes the flow of entire campaigns, and hundreds or thousands of lives can be saved or wasted because one staff sergeant didn’t have the stones to keep quiet. There are mental exercise, ways to help ignore pain and hunger, and even suggestions for suicide if you feel your resolve beginning to break. But not much of that is any use here, since I don’t even know if you can qualify this as being imprisoned.

At a cursory glance, it might seem apparent that I’m a captive, but it was made clear that I am free to leave. There is no such thing, after all, as a prison where you can just walk away. I could walk out the front door and never turn back, walk all accosts the globe, and it still wouldn’t matter. I’d still feel like I was in a prison. If the one place I’d like to go to is beyond my reach, then isn’t that at least a kind of prison?

Despite any misgivings I have, Its become quite clear that my best option is to stay in this fortress for the time being. Food and water is provided, as are amenities for hygiene. I would be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate the first hot shower I’d had in months. But it’s a guilty pleasure. My soldiers are still freezing in the winter, or already buried under a snowdrift. They said that there was going to be a major offensive on the day that I was taken from my home. I trained them as best I could, made boys into soldiers. I just wish I had some answers.

I walk the halls of the castle, a pastime which has grown increasingly frustrating as the layout has become more and more ingrained into my head. Its hard, going from managing the running of an entire campsite, to suddenly having nothing to do. It goes right back to the training I had, trying to deal with cabin fever. Somehow I don’t think the mechanisms we’re designed to cope with these circumstances.

One thing that has helped is the television. Indeed, its something that I doubted existed. The principle of it, once explained, was straightforward enough to grasp without difficulty, even if I was still very much illiterate when it came to actually controlling the screen. I also have trouble watching for long periods of time, the mental strain of translation inevitably making it impossible to keep in time with the dialog, and at that point it’s time for a break.

As my wanderings bring me into the television chamber, I see a woman, well dressed, watching the screen where…she was also on the television. A moment later, the screen switches and the visitor matches. Another disguise of the shape changer, Morph. I hang back in the doorway, content to watch at a distance for the time being. In some ways, getting these snips is a good workout, since I have to quickly construct sentences without any context. In every other regard, its just a tad bothersome. Like randomly flipping through radio frequencies and attempting to gather usable information from it.

The channel changes, some kind of news program. My attention is immediately grabbed by the fact that the speaker is using my native language, and by god its good to hear something other than the endless chatter of English, better so that its something I don’t have to do backflips in my head to make any sense off.

“Please to be vaitink moment”

I ask, moving forward to listen. Unfortunately, after a moment, another voice covers over the original speaker, once again in English. Though I can make out some of it, the Russian is to heavily covered to be heard. Back to English, I have to try and piece together the info, but It’s not making much sense. United nations comes up once or twice, and sending aid to help out in Afghanistan. Not exactly the glowing insight into the condition of my homeland that I had been hoping for. A tad disappointed, I take a seat on one of the empty chairs.

“Never to be mind, you may change if you like. Is not vhat I vas lookink to be see”

This place is not a prison. I can leave whenever I want. But I cannot get back to my home.

[Morph]

I change the channel again, yet another news cast, and I turn into the large man telling the story, as Sasha comes in, asking me to hold it, paying close attention to the screen.
I drop the form to my regular self, dressed casually for watching TV in shorts and a button up shirt, flip flops.

"Sure."

She seems intent on something, and not the actual newscaster himself, more what's on the screen behind him. I can't understand what's being said in the picture behind the news caster. It's all in Russian. What ever has her attention is something I have no translation for.
As things move along in the cast, she gets disappointed, and tells me I can change it, it wasn't what she was looking for, her accent making every word, even in the disappointed tone, fun to listen to.
She slumps down in a chair, and I flip the channel yet again, but restrain my urge to turn into the next thing that appears, trying to just pay attention to a commerical for a new Lexxus...
Cars. I've seen a few in my travels now, but they didn't really have them in my world. Scraps of them maybe...
No one would repave the roads to drive such things, they became useless with methods like flight and teleportation in our grasp.
I point to the screen, speaking evenly, and more to the point, so she can understand me better.

"They still use cars in this world.
On real paved roads!"

I shake my head,

"You'd be amazed at what you can learn about a world, just watching TV.
You sure there's nothing you want to watch?"

I hit a menu button, words popping up on the screen to show what's on right now on a list.
After flipping through the list for awhile I come across some movie that claims to be in Russian, Subtitled in English.
You know, her language barrier might have her feeling even more homesick than the rest of the team that's stuck around this place just trying to get used to being stranded here, and I'm not really watching anything as much as channel surfing for culture...
It doesn't get more cultural than subtitles.
I hit the button, and listen to the language, as I try to keep up with the subtitles themselves.
Hard to see every bit of the action in a subtitled movie, but I manage to pick up enough to figure out their idea of 'cold war' is some mutant freezing the entire village, claiming to be the Abominable Snowman.
I reach to the table, grabbing one of the bags of chips I'd tossed there earlier, opening it up to eat some.
After a moment, I offer the bag to Sasha, unable to take my eyes off the subtitles without missing something.

"There's an extra Soda there if you want it."

[Sasha]

Morph returns to his channel surfing, the next screen depicting what I hesitating call a vehicle. It has four wheels, an engine, and a driving shaft, but beyond that, very little which actually seems to serve a function. The body is set to low for off road maneuvering, and the chasse looks more like plastic than armor. Morph seems honestly excited that this earth has cars at all, and even roads. I am not entirely a stranger to automotives. There are not many, but enough still exists that I’ve gotten several chances to ride in them, though I’ve never learned how to drive one myself. Strange that the commander of the team seems so surprised by cars, when I’ve seen no indication that any of the multitude of technologies on this planet are at all unfamiliar.

The commercial does seem to put a good effort into ignoring the flaws in the vehicles design, instead putting emphasis on what aptitudes it possess. As it fades to black, Morph points out how much information can be learned simply by viewing the transmissions on a given world, nodding to indicate my approval. He asks if there is anything I’d care to watch, and to be honest, there is little that interests me, or rather, little that stands out. All of it is very new, and picking one broadcasting frequency over another is essentially a tossup.

“No, I do not vish to enterjekt; you may be vatch vhatever you will like.”

He responds by pulling up a command line on the screen, fanning through a few layers of sub prompts. The image changes, showing an ice coated shanty town of wooden huts, the people shouting back and forth. I’d place the location as Murmansk or thereabouts, given the dialect. The source of the commotion is an angry looking man who conjures forth ice from his hands, a layer of frost covering most of his body. My first thoughts are strategic, wondering why the militia hasn’t scrambled yet. But several oddities catch my notice. Murmansk is located near the coast, yet the surroundings are quite heavily forested. Though the lay of the land is different on my home world, most of the topography is identical, so the fact that the ocean is entirely absent is striking. The second fact is the way the camera keeps jumping accost the scene, and how steady the shots are, not at all like they would be in a battle. This is not a live broadcast, but rather it’s more akin to a theatrical performance. A recording of a play. Morph says they are called movies or films.

With the knowledge that the screen is only showing a work of fiction, I can try and enjoy it rather than worry about any danger to my kinsmen. I’m struck momentarily by how odd a thought that must be. I am from a different world, yet I still hold the people of this parallel version of my homeland to be my brothers and sisters. With the peace present here, its unlikely to be anything like my own world. Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking then, wanting something familiar to hold onto.

Morph offers me a beverage, gesturing to an extra on the table. Not wanting to seem rude, I accept the offer, taking the cool can and examining it. A few glances at the open container in morphs had shows that the tab on the front is angled upwards. Twisting my own top piece to match proves to break the seal. Well, that was eas-

The can seems to explode, a brown foam spraying outwards, getting all over my face and eyes. A trap! Reflex takes over as I fling the canister away, still releasing its charge. The sticky contents are all over me. It doesn’t burn like acid, or hurt my eyes like mustard gas, though its smell is quite strange. My clothing is splattered with most of it. I turn towards morph, expecting hostility, since he’d planted the charge. One look at his face tells me that this wasn’t his doing; he’s just as startled as I am. Nor does he seem especially concerned, which suggests that whatever has just happened, it poses no threat beyond inconvinence.

“I do not like this sodah.”