Henry's fingers clack across the keyboard as he types out an email to Abraham, the news softly playing in the background.
He needed some quiet time so he retreated to the old farmhouse in upstate New York for a few weeks. It was coming up upon a difficult anniversary for him even after centuries had passed he found himself missing Edeva and the child that could have been this time of year.
So he retreated he wrote, he thought... but he didn't cut himself completely off, that never did a vampire any good.
There is a bright flash and rocking boom from his partly wooded backyard, that make his eyes fly to the window cutting the email short. He pushes his feet into his sneaker and runs toward the crater.
He looks into the crater and sees the wreckage of a World One Era plane and a young man. He rolls his eyes to the heavens and wonders why these things always happened to him.
Steve isn't really sure what happens. He pulls the trigger, and supposedly there's a blast— he can't tell, can't remember much of anything, just a sudden loud noise and he gets knocked out as his face slams into the controls.
When he comes to, all he hears is white noise. There's barely anything left of the plane, mostly just the front and one of its wings, and little bits and pieces of the rest scattered across the floor. It's a wonder it even managed to land with him still alive and in one piece, though that's not the first thought flitting through his head.
He startles into a sitting position, breathing shallow and rapid as he pats at his own chest in a panic. He can't make sense of it, though. He's... he's alive.
"No," his voice trembles with panic. If he made it, then the gas must have too, right? He scrambles to his feet, stumbling all over himself as he spots the blur of what's left of the plane, and he rushes over to see if there's anything left in there, for the moment unaware that he has company. "No, they can't— they can't..."
Okay yelling in English about gas... Henry watches just for a moment before grabbing the young man to still him. "There is no gas," Henry says loudly trying to get the man to sit back down. "You are probably injured and very much need to still yourself." He goes on, he's good a talking and will keep doing it until the young man comes back to himself a little more.
"There is no threat here right now." Unless you count Henry, but then he's never really been a threat to humans on the just side of things. "Look around no gas." He continues letting go of the blond and holding his hands up.
Steve startles as he turns to look at the man, eyes wide as he focuses on him. His mind and thoughts are scattered still, and he can't really hear most of what he's saying, but at least he's stopped fumbling, focusing in an attempt to understand what he was telling him.
Gas— no gas. He looks around when the man lets go of him, his heart still beating rapidly but his worries at least mildly soothed. Of course that just opens way to more questions, so. "Where am I?"
"New York."Henry says trying to make sure he's in front of the young man when he's speaking, "Couple hours outside the city." He says easily and clearly. "You landed in my yard, we should get you inside." He says nodding toward the largish farm house.
Steve just raises his eyebrows high at that. New York. How the hell did he manage to get all the way over here? Still, he struggles onto his feet, feeling sore and aching, a faint line of blood seeping out of a wound just over his brow. All in all, though, considering he's just been in a plane crash... he could be in a lot worse shape.
"I was across the Atlantic, the last I checked," he points out, vague enough, as he follows, if somewhat cautiously, after the other man.
"Stranger things have happened than ocean-hopping." Henry says Looking up at the sky for a moment. He stops on the wrap around porch pushing the back door open. "I'm Henry by the way." He says easily. "You can have a seat in the living room I'll grab the first aid kit. You might see some things you find odd but please we'll work this out." somehow he adds under his breath.
"Right," he nods, not sounding all that sure. "Steve."
Guess it takes a little more to make Steve feel skeptical at this point. Even the strangeness of the house as he steps inside, the various objects set up around the room that look foreign to him. While he waits for the man to come back, he ventures closer to the things that look a little more recognizable, and ends up leaning over the phone set up on a table, brow furrowed as he studies the object without touching it.
Henry comes back with a first aid kit he keeps around for the humans that pop in and out of his life and sets it on the coffee table. "The landline... " He says choosing the phrasing of his next statement carefully, and he starts pulling things from the kit. "I'm afraid you may have hoped more than just continents."
Steve isn't particularly boggled by the object. If anything there's something familiar to it, and he can tell it's a telephone. He looks up when Henry comes back into the living room, giving him a single nod. "I know." He doesn't need a lot of explaining, honestly. It would be the kind of thing Steve would have thought impossible once upon a time, if he hadn't just recently learned of how very much real Greek gods and Amazons and magically hidden islands in the middle of nowhere are. "What year is it?"
"2017." Henry says evenly ripping open a disinfectant wipe, "This may sting a little." He says eyeing the blood, but he learned to handle himself around it long ago. He cleans up the cut and puts a bandaid over it. "Do you think you broke anything?" He asks he has a few people he could call to help if it's needed.
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He needed some quiet time so he retreated to the old farmhouse in upstate New York for a few weeks. It was coming up upon a difficult anniversary for him even after centuries had passed he found himself missing Edeva and the child that could have been this time of year.
So he retreated he wrote, he thought... but he didn't cut himself completely off, that never did a vampire any good.
There is a bright flash and rocking boom from his partly wooded backyard, that make his eyes fly to the window cutting the email short. He pushes his feet into his sneaker and runs toward the crater.
He looks into the crater and sees the wreckage of a World One Era plane and a young man. He rolls his eyes to the heavens and wonders why these things always happened to him.
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When he comes to, all he hears is white noise. There's barely anything left of the plane, mostly just the front and one of its wings, and little bits and pieces of the rest scattered across the floor. It's a wonder it even managed to land with him still alive and in one piece, though that's not the first thought flitting through his head.
He startles into a sitting position, breathing shallow and rapid as he pats at his own chest in a panic. He can't make sense of it, though. He's... he's alive.
"No," his voice trembles with panic. If he made it, then the gas must have too, right? He scrambles to his feet, stumbling all over himself as he spots the blur of what's left of the plane, and he rushes over to see if there's anything left in there, for the moment unaware that he has company. "No, they can't— they can't..."
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"There is no threat here right now." Unless you count Henry, but then he's never really been a threat to humans on the just side of things. "Look around no gas." He continues letting go of the blond and holding his hands up.
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Gas— no gas. He looks around when the man lets go of him, his heart still beating rapidly but his worries at least mildly soothed. Of course that just opens way to more questions, so. "Where am I?"
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"I was across the Atlantic, the last I checked," he points out, vague enough, as he follows, if somewhat cautiously, after the other man.
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Guess it takes a little more to make Steve feel skeptical at this point. Even the strangeness of the house as he steps inside, the various objects set up around the room that look foreign to him. While he waits for the man to come back, he ventures closer to the things that look a little more recognizable, and ends up leaning over the phone set up on a table, brow furrowed as he studies the object without touching it.
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