Felicity Smoak (
three_two_one) wrote in
all_inclusive2014-05-21 08:04 pm
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Felicity walked to the plane with her question about how Oliver had learned to fly still on floating in the air like some kind of twisted comic book speech bubble. She still wasn't sure why she'd asked because sure as anything, she wasn't going to get an answer.
She never got answers. Or maybe she was just twitchy because she didn't get the ones she wanted, just another blank stare filled with Oliver's secrets. It was enough, though. She could tell herself it was enough, because the memory of what had happened in the Queen mansion...yeah, she wasn't going to forget that ever. She'd bury it to make living and breathing actually happen, but forgetting it?
No chance.
She opened the door to the seaplane and stepped up...and then promptly fell on her ass in the middle of a hallway. A very familiar hallway.
"Okay. So. It wasn't a really bad dream."
Felicity is back at The Nexus. For her, it's been months back in her own canon, having all sorts of badass moments. For the hotel, she's only been gone a few days. FYI, she's got a healing headwound at her hairline that wasn't there the last time she was seen in the hotel.
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He very nearly trips over Miss Smoak and even though he is out of sorts himself, he kneels down beside her. "Miss Smoak, have I injured you? I am quite sorry that I was such a boor and knocked you down."
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Felicity didn't make any move to get up because she hadn't been kidding. Being back here after so long, if she stood she was very likely to go right back over again. "It's really. Well. Weird to be back. Still not sure if its good weird or bad weird or just weird weird."
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It worries him, honestly, because he feels a kinship with her since they came through the first door together and feels responsible for her well-being in some manner.
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"My butt's okay. I really didn't land all that hard on it." Felicity took his hand and got to her feet, thankful that the wooziness had pretty much stopped happening. She didn't like the world spinning around without benefit of having the rest of the carnival around her. "And the head thing happened a few days ago, or a few days ago when I was back home. Bad night," she said, "which is a really extreme understatement."
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Ichabod frowns a bit deeper. "You should rest. Perhaps we can share stories over a cup of tea? It would give you a moment to get off your feet."
He does not mention that she had plenty of time off her feet considering he'd found her sprawled in the floor because such a quip had a time and place and this did not appear to be it. Ichabod is nothing if not polite to a fault when the well-being of a young woman is being discussed.
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And she really wasn't sure what it would be like being around Oliver now, especially considering that as far as she'd been able to guess from Mr. Closed Mouth, he had no memories of Starling City beyond the Undertaking.
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"I think somehow whiskey could adulterate our tea," Ichabod assures her. He offers his arm to escort her more out of habit than necessity; Felicity is well capable of taking care of herself but he feels the need to offer her the courtesies all the same.
"I could use a stiff drink myself."
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"We could," Ichabod agrees. "But I would like it noted that I offered you tea first as a gentleman should."
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"It seems that not only am I a father, my son is the second horseman and, last I was in Sleepy Hollow, was hellbent on killing me and my wife," Ichabod says, face grave even if the story on the face of things seems absolutely absurd.
"Somehow I escaped to this place, though I do not know how."
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"Oh yes," Ichabod says, confirming her suspicions. "I think if I crawled into a bottle it might possibly not be enough whiskey but I have always felt temperance is a better path than overindulgence. Perhaps I can be drunk in moderation, yes?"
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"Well then, ladies first?" Ichabod says, grinning at her. He feels a kinship with Miss Smoak even if she is not from Sleepy Hollow or a part of his quest because she is on a quest of her own, parallel even if it shall never intersect his.
"I am nothing if not a gentleman."
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Sara had spent time teaching her to fight, which had been welcome even though she'd had to hide, or try to hide, that she'd been mostly pretending the targets she hit were Sara herself because she was sleeping with Oliver.
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"Oh? What have you learned of combat, then?" This is a far more interesting prospect than dwelling over the fact that he'd led Katrina and Lieutenant Mills into danger by being blinded by Henry Parrish.
"Perhaps it is something I can learn at your hand."
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"You're brave," Ichabod remarks. "And bravery often results in being thrust into difficult situations. That is a far better explanation for your issue than luck."
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She took another sip. "I'm deciding that doesn't count."
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"Not it it was planned as part of a gambit sprung upon your enemy, no," Ichabod agrees. "My guide in the modern era, a Lieutenant Mills, she very rarely waits for anyone to rescue her. If anything, she does all the rescuing and I am the one left to fumble around in the dark. I am much more of an intellectual sort than a fighter."
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"May we always have plenty of books and...what is that thing you do? Interwebs?" Ichabod has been trying to acclimate to the modern culture but it is, as always, a slow process fraught with difficulty. He misses the feel of paper and the smell of books.
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Bitch with WiFi. She heard her own voice in her head and had to give her head a shake to clear away the memories of home, and that night. Especially while she was sitting at a bar with Ichabod Crane.
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"I will never get used to the idea of entire books stored in that thing," Ichabod admits. "While it is useful for a scholar, no doubt, I feel like something is lost without paper between your fingers and the smell of history in your nostrils when delving into some tome about the past. Perhaps that makes me archaic and a relic of the past but I fear I shall always feel that way."
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"No burgeoning career as a librarian, I take it?" Ichabod thinks she would be well suited, excepting the allergy to dust. Miss Smoak has a mind meant for research in his limited experience and he thinks she could be quite successful in any realm of academia if she so chose.
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"There is something to be said for a bit of pyrotechnics," Ichabod says. He cannot help but agree. His life has been anything but quiet since embarking on his quest to destroy the horsemen.
"I am glad you are well, though. I would have worried if you had been injured or otherwise detained."
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"As did I. It was easier for my mind to rationalize the strange occurrences as dreams but very little unusual in my life has such a mundane explanation," Ichabod laments. "More often, the strange things in my life become increasingly more complex. Occam's razor is not a thing that operates to the fullest of its ability in my world."
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"It would be easier if one's opponents actually followed the laws of physics," Ichabod agrees. Too rarely do they, in his experience.
"But good has come of being home again for a while, hasn't it? We should focus on the skills we've gained, I think. It helps keeps things in perspective."
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"I have never been entirely comfortable with this place's tendency to block my home off from me," Ichabod says, mulling it over. "The rhyme and reason of it is something I have not yet sussed out. If only I could determine the pattern of how and why we come here and which doors lead where. That might be something worth exploring."
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But it still wasn't a story he wanted to tell, so he gave Felicity a default smile - he was doing that a lot today - and let her move ahead of him to board the seaplane.
He'd tell them. Eventually.
He wasn't sure how the transition worked, but one moment he had his hand on Felicity's back as she climbed through the door, and the next, she was on the floor and he stumbled over her legs.
Oliver caught himself against the opposite wall before he could go down, and looked around when she spoke. It was like some kind of switch had gone off the second he stepped through, and he remembered things that happened months ago in the hotel that he had no memory of when he was still in Starling.
"You okay?"
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She eyed him closely. "Or do you even know where I just came from? Or where we are now?"
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He frowned, and when that pulled at the cut on his eye, he winced and shook his head as though. "No, I...we were just leaving Lian Yu. I remember being here before, too."
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And she really needed to stop talking now.
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With the room numbers indicating they were on the third floor, Oliver headed toward the elevator a few doors down and hit the call button. "I guess we should check in again."
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She followed after him, her jaw dropping at the idea. "You don't think they did anything with our rooms while we were gone, do you? All that stuff, all my research. My computers." She gasped and clutched his arm. "Not my computers."
The way she spoke, it was like someone might have removed a limb while she wasn't looking.
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"I have a couple drop boxes around the hotel," he admitted, his voice low so it wouldn't carry down the hall. He'd grown into the habit once he'd left Lian Yu (the first time), and still did it, even when he felt safest. Being overly prepared had saved his life more than once. "No laptops, but I stashed some money and a few valuables. I'm sure we can get you up and running again."
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And she did have backups of her backups.
"They're going to get every bit of my bitch with wifi wrath if they pulled my stuff," she promised, because ranting was much easier than addressing the giant purple elephant in the corner. "After all, they pulled me here the first time, they sent me home long enough to almost forget it, and then dragged me back. The least they can do is keep my stuff. I don't even know who 'they' are, but I'll find out."
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"I learned my lesson with the monkeys," Felicity vowed, then frowned and tried to look over her shoulder. She bent her arm and slipped it under the back of the tank top. "Okay. That's weird. And I mean weird for us, not weird for normal people."
It wasn't much of a distinction, but one she thought she should make, especially when you considered where they were.
"One of the reasons I was able to convince myself I'd dreamt this place was the lack of monkey scars on my back. No scars, didn't happen, right? This was just some mental construct my subconscious mind created to play out what wasn't ever going to happen anywhere. Not that that happened either, but anyway. It was a dream. But now I'm back, and you're back. And so are the monkey scars."