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Where the universe is concerned, Olaf doesn't generally question its choices. Bad things happen. Good things happen. Strange things happen, but usually it all fits together in the larger pieces of the puzzle. It's why he doesn't really do so much more than shrug when instead of walking into Mike's bar, he walks into a party in full swing where he doesn't recognize a single guest.

It's not like this is the first time it's happened to Olaf. Generally, him recognizing someone in a crowd full of people is usually a start. Still, he has learned to go with the stranger events in the universe and no one's died as a result of this little left turn, so he grabs the joint he'd tucked away behind his ear and drifts into the throng of people, observing the summer-like nature of the party from the vibrant drinks to the decorations to the clothes everyone's wearing. Really, this could very well still be Auckland for all he knows and whatever he took earlier had been laced stronger than usual, but Olaf's sort of getting the feeling there's more to it than that.

With no shoes and a Hawaiian shirt fit for a king, Olaf feels like he fits right into the breezy, summer theme of the party around him. He might not know how he got here, but Olaf's never turned down a good party. This one holds a great deal of promise.

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"I'm sixteen, so probably not," April replied, smiling despite herself. Replace 'drinks' with 'pizza' and he could have been an older, human Mikey.

"I know a guy who lives in a giant glass canister because he was turned into a pile of translucent goo?" she offered, since they were apparently sharing weird stories. That was really just the tip of the crazy mutagen iceberg, but it seemed like an auspicious place to start.

"Where was your mate's house? There's a big difference in that story if you started out in, like, Canada than if you started in Australia."

Edited 2013-06-30 23:42 (UTC)

Olaf wisely (for him, at least) says nothing about how sixteen is a plenty good age to be drinking. In fact, in the Johnson family, it's practically starting late. "I started off in Norsewood, at the time. It's in the middle of the northern island of New Zealand," he offers. "Not exactly the worldwide hop, but not what I was expecting."

He shuffles his drink, makes sure his joint is securely tucked away, and extends a hand out to the girl. "I'm Olaf," he greets her warmly. "Now, this pile of translucent goo," he says, using both hands to frame the question. "Very important. Is he still coherent? I mean, is he aware he's a pile of translucent goo? Because that's a new standard for bad luck."

"April," she replied, giving the offered hand a solid shake. "And yeah, he was. Is. Kind of? He seems to be more emotionally-driven than capable of coherent thought processes now. I don't think he'll be writing the great American novel anytime soon, but he's not exactly happy to be stuck in a can. He seems pretty sad."

She probably should have felt worse for poor Timothy, but it wasn't as if he hadn't been warned. Repeatedly.

"Conflicting tenses," Olaf says knowingly, nodding his head. "It's cool. I understand," he says, because there's been a lot of instances in the past where he's needed those. "I, for example, am a continuous past and present tense," he says, as if he's explaining his star-sign. "As far as the can goes, you should give him a drink sometime. Alcohol always helps," he advises.

"I don't know if he still has a stomach," April slowly replied, arching an eyebrow. "Which is weird, because he's still got a brain. You can see it, just sort of… floating in there."

Whether or not Timothy could eat or drink wasn't something she'd ever thought about, before, but now she was wondering. Mentally, she added to her to-do list: Ask Donnie if he has to feed the Pulverizer. Like a goldfish.

"So, I'm getting that you're a big advocate for self-medicating," she said. "By continuous past and present tense, are we talking about drugs?"

"You don't need a stomach to get drunk. Now, if I had been pulverized into a fleshy, goopy pile in a can, I'd definitely want to get drunk," he says knowingly, seeing as it'd be a miserable existence -- not unlike being sober. "Drugs, to a degree. For the sake of this conversation, mostly pot."

April opened her mouth to say that she didn't think she could get pot any easier than she could alcohol, but then faltered and reconsidered. How weird was it that it actually would be way easier to get her hands on some pot than it would a beer? But it wasn't like she could send Splinter out to the corner store for a six pack—

Why was she even thinking about this?

"Um. My friend's trying to fix him," she offered, which seemed pretty flimsy against Olaf's argument. "He's a genius. We're hopeful."

Olaf's eyes widen at the explanation. "You're one up on me. I don't know a single genius," he says, even though that's probably not true. Agnetha had likely been playing with a full IQ and Loki's pretty brained-up and Anders, when not having sex, could have a decent idea or two. It's not brains that the Johnson boys have in spades, though. "So what do you do, then? School? Feed the brain-goop?"

"School," April replied with a quick nod. "Although I'm kind of on a break right now," she added, figuring it was a safe enough bit of information to reveal. "Personal stuff."

Technically, it wasn't a lie. The fact that both alien robots and ninjas were hunting her was very personal to her.

"What about you? What do you do when you're not going to Australia without your knowledge?"

"The best term you could give me is...well, professional surfer without the professional title," he clarifies. "What you could say is that I'm an all-around sort of consultant in the ways of personal enjoyment." It's a nice way to say that he sits around Mike's bar, sleeps there when he can, and enjoys other people's cooking, homes, and their alcohol as much as he can get away with.

True, he's a full-time oracle, but that's not something you put on a business card. "I barely remember school," Olaf confesses. "I don't think I paid much attention."

"I wish I could barely remember school," April replied with an awkward little laugh. In truth, her continued absence distressed her a lot more than she'd ever admit to anymore. She didn't miss school, but it had become one of the scant few truly normal things in her life. Not to mention that if she got too far behind, she could just go ahead and kiss college goodbye, ninja or no ninja.

"So, are you rich or something?"

Olaf laughs warmly at the idea of him being rich. Truthfully, he could probably be rich, but he never invested his money in the right places; plus, that presumes that Olaf's ever had money. "No," he says. "I've got cousins," he says, like that's an equivalent. "With apartments and homes and bars," he says. "And, most of the time, food."

"Must be nice," April replied, although she had to wonder what those cousins thought about it. Maybe they did things differently in New Zealand, but in New York City, nobody liked a moocher.

"This place is practically tailor-made for you, then," she added, casting a glance back to the entrance of the formidable building. "Free room and board for as long as you want. It's pretty sweet if nobody's missing you back home."

"They won't notice me until they need something and then they'll call." Which might be difficult given he has no cell phone on him, but generally if there's something in the god-sphere, he winds up knowing through a message or a vision or knowledge being shot straight to his skull. "If there's free alcohol, then I'm set for life. Otherwise, I might have to head back to Mike's bar; not that he willingly lets me drink for free, but he's distracted lately. Girlfriend," he confides knowingly.

"Ah," April replied with a slow, knowing nod. "Gotcha. Has he done anything really stupid yet?"

While April had virtually no experience with this sort of thing, she liked to think that girls of her age had a sort of innate knowledge of the mechanics of romance. She was completely wrong, of course, but she liked to think it anyway.

"Forgotten that, at one point not that long ago, she was actively okay with him dying," Olaf says, but it's not really accusatory so much as it's a statement of fact. He likes Michele. She's incredibly hot and if she'd let him root her, he feels like their working relationship could really improve. Though, he doesn't think Ingrid would like that very much and Michele is terrifying, so maybe he'll leave that to Mike. "Our family are idiots," he says wisely. "Especially when there's romance involved. Doubly so when it's sex."

"That sounds familiar," April muttered, and frowned, thinking of Leo and his obsession with Karai. She'd warned him, had gone so far as to try to slap some sense into him, but had it helped? No. And April had been the one to catch the worst of the fallout.

"No offense, but men are idiots," she replied. "It's like they see a pretty face and lose all common sense."

Olaf's well and truly in agreement, given that he's one of the biggest idiots he knows. "You show us a pretty face and we're bound to fall," he admits with a hapless shrug, not bothering to deny it for a second. "We're also suckers for an ego boost."

"Oh, don't I know it," April emphatically replied. "My four best friends are 15 year-old guys. Anybody who claims that women are crazy obviously hasn't shared a bathroom with four teenage boys."

It really was bizarre how much time they spent in there when they didn't even have hair.

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