nysalogs | [Open/Closed] There is life outside your apartment...

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[Open/Closed] There is life outside your apartment...

Who: Rodney McKay (

doubledoctornocitrus) & Annie Walker (

smithsonian), & TJ Johansen (

stargatemedic), & Felicity Smoak (

alergictonuts), & Ianto Jones (

torchwoodteaboy), & Various/Open
What: November Catchall
When: Various dates in November
Where: Olympia
Warning(s): Rodney is basically his own warning. I'm sorry.

Evening, Olympia (Closed to Annie Walker)

"You!"

Apropos of Nothing (Closed to Felicity)

Are you planetside?

Do you have a roommate?

Re: Your Destiny. (Closed to TJ)

This time, Rodney avails himself of the tools he's given, and looks up 'Tamara Johansen' in the little social media applet that's been treating him surprisingly well. With her as a medic, he should have figured she'd work in a clinic, and it's convenient that she's actually in Olympia. And, well, it's also convenient that the clinic is in Olympia as well, because he's stopped off at the...healers(????) once or maybe twice and if Beckett had practiced mystic bullshit, this planet's idea of the medical arts is beyond the pale.

Regardless. Rodney shows up at TJ's work with a smile and asks for her specifically.

A Stopped Clock (Closed to Ianto)

Whereas Rodney had, prior to his discussion with John, resolved to be Nice(tm) to Ianto, the discussion had had the surprise side-effect of forcing him to realize he actually needed to make an effort. Conveniently, the cafe-like place within which the discussion took place has pretty good coffee, which is as good an offering as any. And...honestly...Rodney has next-to-no clue what Ianto is actually like or would actually like.

Which probably wasn't good, considering the whole vague hand-gesture-y situation.

Armed with cafe coffee not made by someone whose optimal brew was 'nearly caustic with pesticide levels of caffeine', Rodney attempts to hunt Ianto down using his vague recollections of things that weren't his work and were also people-related, all while nervously trying not to admit to himself that it's important to not fuck up this actual human relationship. It's not even his relationship, which is somehow worse, because if he fucks up then it's not him who is going to be suffering the most.

And so, Ianto, Rodney comes bearing one (1) gift.

Making a Racket (Open -- Thesean Starter Housing)

Rodney keeps odd hours, even considering that they're on new planet and sometimes it can take a while for daily circadian rhythms to synchronize with diurnal cycles. Which means he's up in the middle of the night and there's crackling noises and flickering light coming from beneath his door as he does the Mad Science thing. He's bound and determined to learn how to make this world's technology for himself--and then try and apply a bit of his own know-how to it. But to do that, he's gotta break some eggs. So speak.

It's just very, very late and the apartments aren't very far apart.

Wildcard (Open -- Anywhere)

[Poke me for a custom starter elsewise! I'll match brackets or prose. Plx plot with me. :D]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hand-holding is not an emergency, but Rodney stiffens a little before he can force himself to relax. He's doing this, and not acting like a moron is step one. He is a grown adult human being who has successfully interacted with people his entire life.

"I'm very calm. I'm just adjusting to the...ambiance. I--"

Record scratch. The statement is legitimately too out of left field for Rodney to do more but blink at her. Honestly, she's going to need to clarify before he can react.

"I'm sorry. You just said you're a what?"

His insisting that he's calm does nothing to ensure her that he is - quite the opposite, actually, and her eyebrows go up as a smile plays along her lips, listening to him go on about the ambiance.

When he gets to what she's said, she grins. "I'm a spy. I work for the CIA. Not here," she amends with a shrug of her shoulders, letting go of his hand so she can take a drink from her glass. "I'm pretty sure that this place has nothing to do with the Agency, which is why I'm telling you." Also, because he'd just been going on and on and needed a diversion. "But I thought you should know."

"Well, of course not here. There's no CIA here. Or at least I hope not. I could see them attempting to set up here, given enough personnel. That seems just like something they'd do, regardless if there was a United States to protect. Which I can say, because I worked with an international expeditionary force. From Canada. I am, that is. The expedition was US-based. At first."

He's rambling while he's thinking, letting go so she can drink and forgetting his hand on the table. It remains extended while he talks at her, working through some of the implications. When he finishes processing, he remembers to retract his limbs, and he mirrors her water-drinking.

Then, a little like it's almost too cool to be true and also maybe a lot intimidating, he asks, "So an actual spy? Like with the infiltrating fancy parties and running from machine-gun fire? Like what kind of spy are we talking here?"

Listening to Rodney ramble, Annie realizes her mistake in thinking that a distraction would be the appropriate thing to stop Rodney from talking excessively and she goes back to observing as he goes on and on.

"I've infiltrated a party or two," she concedes, then adds, "And maybe had a few guns fired in my direction." Like, directly into her chest. It's less fun to talk about like that, though, so she goes back to what he's mentioned and motions with her hand. "But you said something about being part of an international expeditionary force? That sounds interesting. What was that like?"

Tell her more.

"Oh, so you're a little bit James Bond. Alright. That's," and Rodney's distracted by the idea of her in a slinky dress maybe with a gun strapped to her thigh. Unfortunately for Annie, Rodney's ability to ramble cannot be curtailed by anything short of duct tape over his mouth, even as he short-circuits on just how terrifyingly hot that sounds. In a...a respectful sort of way. Right. "That's a reference you get, right? You're from Earth, you said CIA, and you didn't balk at Canada. Yes. So."

He misses entirely that he's being distracted from the topic with her conversational gambit, and rolls straight into a possibly not-quite-so-brief explanation of the Atlantis expedition, starting with a, "How comfortable are you with the concept of Aliens and wormhole travel?"

"James Bond saw way more action," she assures him. "A lot of my job is waiting."

For everything. But he's distracted by something and she waits for his thoughts to come to fruition, not wanting to interrupt - yes, dresses and thigh holsters - and when he asks about her being comfortable with wormholes and aliens, she tilts her head at him and says, "What?"

Not because she's not comfortable, it's just not what she was expecting.

"I admit that it's a little bit of a, well, not a stupid question"--Rodney doesn't ask stupid questions, thank you very much--"but one that lacks certain context. Granted, we are literally on an alien planet among aliens, so that a certain amount of comfort is going to be implied, but I mean with the concept of aliens mixing with the reality of Earth as you knew it. Because this--"

He waves a hand at the rather nice restaurant and the rather nice waitstaff.

"Is more or less what the Atlantis expedition was for."

Aliens. Not date nights.

"So, not Atlantis underwater, but Atlantis out in space."

She watches him for a moment to see if he's going to say he's joking, but when he doesn't she nods a little, then sits back in her chair. "I went to Space Camp. I always thought being an astronaut would be fun. But that's... that's something else."

Leaning forward again, she looks at him. "Go on."

Yup, not joking, and he's very proud of it, thank you. Life's work and all. Her mentioning Space Camp gets a little bit of a dismissive wave, but he does try to answer positively, "It's very much a step way beyond that, and honestly if I could show you Atlantis, I would. It's different than Thesa station, smaller for one. Were you woke up."

As if she might not know what he's talking about. His enthusiasm leaks into his words as he speaks, though, and he lights up. Hands animated and his smile quick, he sketches a rough snowflake in the air.

There's a gentle tide of babble as he gives her a rundown of how important he was on Atlantis, how he'd save the day, and all his friends (John gets a mention, as do the others of his team, and a few more). His ego shines through, of course, but beyond that he wants to lay out all of the things he's excited about and proud of, because he wants her to know so that she can share them with him.

When the waitstaff interrupts him before he gets too far, though, he distractedly requests some sort of meal and then very visibly checks his monologue.

"Um."

Despite the company she's currently keeping and the way he's rambling, Annie's actually a very good listener. Even though he's dismissed her claim of Space Camp - rude - she continues to focus on what he's saying with an open mind, his stories overlapping and running into each other as he describes the various days and things that have happened.

Seeing him be this excited about something, even if some of it is his ego talking, is interesting and she's got her chin propped in her hand as he finishes. When he lands at 'um', she actually grins at him.

"Did you run out?"

"Oh, no, I, uh." He blinks at her a bit, now that he's not on a roll, he's scrambling for the social skills that Atlantis had...let's say gently encouraged him to develop. Because he'd been about to mention Jennifer, for one, and for two...

"I just. Have been monopolizing the conversation." That seems like a safe sort of comment with the benefit of being true while also avoiding what he realized might be an actual issue he will need to deal with at a later date. Or on a later date, so to speak. "And I. Would like to know more about you. Since all I really know is that you're a spy and incredibly hot, so..."

Incredibly hot. Annie ducks her head with a smile before looking up at him and shaking her head.

"That isn't something you know about me, that's something you can see," she tells him without denying that she's good looking. She is. It helps with the 'being a spy' and then she watches him for a moment before turning her expression curious. "I'm not sure what you want to know about me. I like being outdoors, I'm an adrenaline junkie, I can speak eighteen languages," she says as if it's perfectly normal, "nine of them fluently. I've been to six continents and I've been dead."

Her smile turns teasing. "I've never been married. You?"

"Well, it's very obvious that you're hot," Rodney tells her with a touch of asperity. He's not registering the distinction between 'know' and 'see,' because he's a firm believer in empirical evidence.

He nods along with her list of things-about-her, though, and perks up a little bit at the eighteen languages thing. That's an excellent sign of intelligence and maybe he's shallow, but the fact that it's more than he can speak suggests she might not immediately fail to be an intellectually challenging conversationalist. He subconsciously shifts her from 'random blonde who kissed me' more into 'someone who I might actively engage with as an individual.' He ticks a notch more comfortable around her.

His eyes widen at the 'dead' thing, though. That sounds suspiciously like the nonsense he'd gotten up to with the SGC. He answers her question, his mind half on the 'dead' thing and still faintly preoccupied with Jennifer, by mushing them together and saying, "Oh, no, I almost proposed once before I realized I couldn't do that to her and I was well on my way there again before the Storm caught me up, but never actually married, either. Seriously, though, dead? Were you resuscitated? Or was there some fancy CIA technology involved?"

"Never married, but had women you would have married?" She's clearly touched on his behalf and it shows. "Rodney, you're a romantic."

She's half teasing and half involved in his relationships for him, but the question about her dying leads her to her own remembrances of romance and she inhales deeply before propping her hand on her chin and looking off into the distance for a moment, deciding how best to answer the question. As openly as possible seems to be the best way and she fixes him with a gentle smile.

"No fancy CIA tech, I'm afraid," she starts. "My mentor was a Russian operative and she shot me twice in the chest in an attempt to prove I was a traitor. I wasn't, by the way, in case you need me to tell you that. I would have stayed dead if my sister hadn't arranged for a delivery to my house that afternoon. The delivery guy saw me on the kitchen floor bleeding out and called 911. They saved my life at the hospital."

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[Open/Closed] There is life outside your apartment...

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