[His first thought is that something went wrong during the jump and he was forcibly ejected from the time machine. Except he doesn't remember the mission, doesn't remember getting on the thing. Amnesia. Temporary or permanent? Hitting his head or being drugged? He doesn't know and that puts a damper on his mood, mildly speaking.
He searches the surrounding area for the Lifeboat. Even in a forest as thick as this, it shouldn't be too hard to find a giant time traveling machine, but no such luck. Which doesn't make sense - if he had been flung far in these woods, he should be injured.
While he travels down the winding path Flynn picks up whatever he deems useful - meaning, whatever he can use as a weapon. Smaller stones to throw. A bigger one to swing with. A thick branch to serve as a club.
Damn caveman tools. He really needs a gun. And a getting of his bearings. Preferably in that order.
When he reaches the village he slows down, taking in the sight with analytical puzzlement. At least he's in modern times and won't have to worry about bluecoats or the Inquisition. He slides the rocks into his pockets, the "club" underneath his jacket and walks the town with the air of a) someone who's always lived here or b) absolutely wants to be here. There's no confusion in his strides, no looking around with irritated frustration even if the emptiness of the town has him on edge.
Before long he'll stroll up to the various front porches, knocking on doors with growing impatience.
If he has been at it for a while, he might try to kick the door in.]
ii. To see and be seen
[Town hall. Maybe he'll get some answers here.
... Or hey, maybe not. Maybe there's just chaos and a bloody eye which is about as useful as the empty streets outside. Is it Rittenhouse then? He's never seen them use a symbol like this but he wouldn't put it past them. Play Illuminati, being just this side of extra in their history-remaking schemes.
Flynn's mouth curls in disgust, hating the feeling of being watched and wondering how they achieved that sensation. Some kind of airborne drug? A way of controlling the populace? What's the deal with this place? Was there a sleeper agent in town he had to eliminate? Had he stumbled into a broken future where they had taken over? What?
The blood looks fresh, so Flynn does the only thing you should do when you find a provocative, bleeding eye on a wall. He takes out a handkerchief and starts wiping it away, trying to smudge it into blindness. Whoever is watching, he hopes they get a good view of it.
When he hears someone approach he turns, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile like he's some jovial caretaker as he gauges their reaction.]
Damn kids and their graffiti. No respect for authority, eh?
iii. Not as it seems
[It's the 1990s. He's gathered as much by now and ugh, they bring back memories. War. Landline phones. Nikolai and Sergei on their bedrolls signing Quit playing games with my heart until Flynn threatens to cut theirs out.
But the year loses its importance when he finds the item in one of the dusty rooms.
It's a journal. Leather-bound, the letters LP worked into the front cover.
He picks it up slowly, turning it in his hands and for the first time there's a flicker of real emotion, a disturbed and angry expression while he flips through the pages.
If he hears someone in the adjacent rooms he will move, surprisingly quietly for a man his size, and try and sneak up on them. When their back is turned he'll make his move, grab them and slam them up against the nearest wall.]
It's been fun so far.
[His voice is gravely, snide and full of calm rage, the consonants sharp and the vowels heavy with an Eastern European accent.]
But I'm getting tired of this. So you and me, let's have a little chat.
Garcia Flynn | Timeless
[His first thought is that something went wrong during the jump and he was forcibly ejected from the time machine. Except he doesn't remember the mission, doesn't remember getting on the thing. Amnesia. Temporary or permanent? Hitting his head or being drugged? He doesn't know and that puts a damper on his mood, mildly speaking.
He searches the surrounding area for the Lifeboat. Even in a forest as thick as this, it shouldn't be too hard to find a giant time traveling machine, but no such luck. Which doesn't make sense - if he had been flung far in these woods, he should be injured.
While he travels down the winding path Flynn picks up whatever he deems useful - meaning, whatever he can use as a weapon. Smaller stones to throw. A bigger one to swing with. A thick branch to serve as a club.
Damn caveman tools. He really needs a gun. And a getting of his bearings. Preferably in that order.
When he reaches the village he slows down, taking in the sight with analytical puzzlement. At least he's in modern times and won't have to worry about bluecoats or the Inquisition. He slides the rocks into his pockets, the "club" underneath his jacket and walks the town with the air of a) someone who's always lived here or b) absolutely wants to be here. There's no confusion in his strides, no looking around with irritated frustration even if the emptiness of the town has him on edge.
Before long he'll stroll up to the various front porches, knocking on doors with growing impatience.
If he has been at it for a while, he might try to kick the door in.]
ii. To see and be seen
[Town hall. Maybe he'll get some answers here.
... Or hey, maybe not. Maybe there's just chaos and a bloody eye which is about as useful as the empty streets outside. Is it Rittenhouse then? He's never seen them use a symbol like this but he wouldn't put it past them. Play Illuminati, being just this side of extra in their history-remaking schemes.
Flynn's mouth curls in disgust, hating the feeling of being watched and wondering how they achieved that sensation. Some kind of airborne drug? A way of controlling the populace? What's the deal with this place? Was there a sleeper agent in town he had to eliminate? Had he stumbled into a broken future where they had taken over? What?
The blood looks fresh, so Flynn does the only thing you should do when you find a provocative, bleeding eye on a wall. He takes out a handkerchief and starts wiping it away, trying to smudge it into blindness. Whoever is watching, he hopes they get a good view of it.
When he hears someone approach he turns, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile like he's some jovial caretaker as he gauges their reaction.]
Damn kids and their graffiti. No respect for authority, eh?
iii. Not as it seems
[It's the 1990s. He's gathered as much by now and ugh, they bring back memories. War. Landline phones. Nikolai and Sergei on their bedrolls signing Quit playing games with my heart until Flynn threatens to cut theirs out.
But the year loses its importance when he finds the item in one of the dusty rooms.
It's a journal. Leather-bound, the letters LP worked into the front cover.
He picks it up slowly, turning it in his hands and for the first time there's a flicker of real emotion, a disturbed and angry expression while he flips through the pages.
If he hears someone in the adjacent rooms he will move, surprisingly quietly for a man his size, and try and sneak up on them. When their back is turned he'll make his move, grab them and slam them up against the nearest wall.]
It's been fun so far.
[His voice is gravely, snide and full of calm rage, the consonants sharp and the vowels heavy with an Eastern European accent.]
But I'm getting tired of this. So you and me, let's have a little chat.