bakerstreet | ( nursed back to health shipping meme )

[Doesn't that always seem to be the way? An innocuous chain of robberies turns out to be a worldwide plot to destroy civilization - yeah, Pyrrha had been shocked to see that, but a train full of Grimm bursting up from underground in the middle of the city of Beacon? Hard to ignore. Whatever the explanation for Steve's current predicament, however, it's going to have to wait until they're clear of the fiery aircraft.]

Hello? [Her call out is muffled, because of the glove over her mouth, and Pyrrha ducks, trying her best to get under the smoke cloud. She can't make out much of anything, but she makes her way forward, up towards the front of the cockpit. The navigational seat is empty, when she finally reaches it and turns it around, as is the co-pilot. What? Was it unmanned? Had the crew already evacuated when the vessel was going down?

The groan of warping metal almost drowns it out, but then Pyrrha makes out the violent coughing, and she darts towards it, hand still clasped tightly over her mouth. The filter of her glove is starting to fail, and she can taste the ashy, acrid smoke on her tongue. Pyrrha kneels next to the seat, below the worst of the smoke, and reaches out with her free hand to grab the base of the seatbelt, pulling it up further out of the seat, towards Steve. They need to get out of there, fast, because the smoke is only getting worse and who knows when this thing is going to spark and engulf them in more flames?]

[ Steve can't even tell there's someone else there at first. There's smoke coming from some part of the cockpit that's on fire, and the explosion has left his ears ringing loudly. He can't hear much more than a loud, persisting beeping noise, and he sure can't see much of anything past the cloud of smoke.

Then suddenly, there's a figure next to him, someone tugging up the belt, trying to help him. He wants to ask who they are, why they're here, tell them to get out while they can, but when he opens his mouth, all he manages is another coughing fit. His mouth tastes like ash and his throat burns; he knows much longer here and he'll be done for. The same will be true for the other person, so he turns his attention to the belt.

With the help, and a bit of desperate tugging, he finally manages to set himself loose. He lets out a panicked groan and crawls out of his seat, nearly stumbles over from the sudden dizziness, but he doesn't let it stop him. He pushes the other person ahead of him and out of the cockpit, following suit until clean fresh air comes to replace the dark heavy smoke currently clouding up the inside of what's left of the airplane.

He also falls to the ground the moment he's outside. But hey, at least he's... alive? Somehow? ]

[It almost looks like the belt isn't going to come free, but Pyrrha knows if she takes her hand off her mouth to help Steve pull, she’ll be in the same boat, coughing up her lungs right alongside him – and that’s not going to help anyone. All she can do is pull the base of the seatbelt in the opposite direction and hope it comes free with Steve’s efforts – if not, should she use her sword?

Pyrrha’s saved from the decision, however, when the belt finally does come free, and the pilot stumbles up out of his seat. The huntress is on her feet in an instant, wincing minutely at the way the smoke makes her eyes water. Then she’s being pushed, and Pyrrha grabs Steve’s elbow to link them together as they find their way out of the destroyed aircraft.

The air is sweet and clear as soon as they stumble out of range of the smoke cloud. Pyrrha sucks in a breath, but a quick cough or two get her lungs in order. She’s never been so grateful for the fresh mountain air. Her companion collapses, however, and Pyrrha fists her hand in his coat, dragging him a little further away from the smoldering remains.]

Are you alright? [Pyrrha asks once they’re an acceptable distance away from the wreck, soot smeared across her cheek. There’s clearly been smoke inhalation and Steve is bleeding pretty badly from his forehead, but Pyrrha wonders if there might be worse injuries she can’t see.]

[ At least he doesn't pass out, so there's that. He's just inhaled a considerable amount of smoke, certainly more than her, and it's not like he was expecting to survive that. He's just coughing a lot, feeling a bit dizzy, and having a hard time even thinking at all, let alone balance his weight on his own two feet.

It all comes back to him eventually, even if in pieces. Once he manages to take a few deep, steadying breaths, he sits back on his heels, kneeling on the floor. ] Yes. [ He nods, eyes still closed. ]

I'm... alive. I'm alive. Yes. [ He says it like it's a shock, like he wasn't expecting it at all. He opens his eyes, seeing the sky bright blue, the sun shining down on him. It wasn't daytime the last he remembers, and finally he looks over to where the voice came from. The woman's appearance only brings up more questions in his mind, but for now he bites them back. ]

Where am I?

[That's about as good a sign as Pyrrha is likely to get and she nods, mollified. Despite the coughing, the man looks like he's come out surprisingly whole from the ordeal. It's the small blessings, really - hopefully he'll be able to walk back to the patrol border, after a breather, and someone far more qualified than her can assist him.

Pyrrha nods, studying the pilot curiously as he takes a moment to breathe. She recognizes exactly none of the patches on his jacket, nor was she familiar with the aircraft he was flying - but then again, it was on fire and falling apart, perhaps she wouldn't have anyway.]

Yes, you are. [She says this slowly, with certainty, resting her hands on her thighs patiently. She could imagine it must be quite the experience, falling out of the sky like that, so she certainly wouldn't begrudge the man a moment of discombobulation.]

Roughly 50 klicks outside of Beacon. [Pyrrha turns her head, squinting to the direction she'd come from. Her hand automatically reached for her scroll which...of course it wasn't there. She masked a sigh, looking back to the pilot.] ...and about 24 klicks past the patrol line, or so I assume. [It would be difficult to tell without the device, and to call for help.] Where were you and your vessel headed?

[ Her answer doesn't help him any. He still has no idea where it is, what any of her words mean. He frowns and drops his head, resting a hand over his eyes. When he runs his fingers back through his hair he ends up getting some blood on them, which is how he realizes he has an ugly cut going across his forehead.

It won't kill him, at least. Which is a funny thought for whatever reason— probably because he's definitely supposed to be dead. ]

Nowhere. It was... I was meant to go nowhere. It was supposed to be destroyed.

[ Which it was, granted. He just hadn't expected the cockpit to make it whole out of the ordeal. Or him, for that matter. ]

Is this... sorry, is this Earth? Does Belgium ring any bells to you? Or England, Europe? America?

[The lack of recognition is...curious, to say the least. Pyrrha reaches into her belt pouch and procures a strip of gauze, offering it to the pilot. The full field medical kit is back with Jaune and the rest of her team, but she does, at least, have some of the basics on her person. A head wound is likely to bleed through it, but at this point they'll just have to make it up as they go along.]

I don't understand - you wanted to crash the vessel?

[Pyrrha blinks, wondering if perhaps she'd run towards more danger than she bargained for. Had he been heading for the city? To crash his plane there? The follow-up questions, however, make absolutely no sense to her.]

This is the forests of the city of Beacon, in the kingdom of Vale. I am Pyrrha Nikos, [She clasps a gloved hand to her breast, just over her heart.] of Mistral. Are you speaking of outside settlements?

No— not crash it. I wanted to blow it up.

[ Which he did, apparently. He just hadn't expected the cockpit to survive that explosion, and even with that, he knows it's a small miracle that he's managed to survive the crash, too.

It's a little more than he'd care to share with a complete stranger, but right now, he feels as though it doesn't really matter much. He heaves a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the pads of his fingers. ]

Steve Trevor, of, uh... Enid? Oklahoma. [ Is that how introductions work, here? Anyway. He looks at her, a little hesitant, but pressing onwards anyway. ] I'm speaking of another world, I think. I'm not... quite sure, yet.

But...why?

[He certainly succeeded in that respect, but it makes Pyrrha wonder where in the world the craft had come from? Thinking back, she didn't remember seeing it until she was well into the forest. Like it had arrived out of thin air, and it had already been crashing when she noticed it.

Have a blank, if polite, stare, but Pyrrha's mouth pulls downwards at the edges with the mention of another world. So...not a settlement, this 'Oklahoma', 'Enid', whichever it was.] ...You say that as if the world of Remnant is not the one you're looking for.

Perhaps you are confused, Steve? You do seem to have hit your head quite hard. [Pyrrha presses the gauze into Steve's other hand, nodding to his wound.] Are you sure you do not have a concussion?

Because it was— filled with bombs, and it was just... it was going to kill a lot of people. Had to be stopped.

[ He coughs again, his throat clearing up a bit more. His heart's still racing but at least it's more manageable now, and he doesn't feel as though his head is about to spin off his shoulders anymore. He'll call that an improvement. ]

It's not. I've never even heard of the world of Remnant. [ He takes the gauze, shaking his head a little. The spot where the wound is hurts, but it's nothing too terrible. Carefully, he presses the gauze against it. ] No. I did hit my head, but I know what I'm talking about. I'm not... I'm not where I should be.

[ Never mind that he should be dead; he's definitely not on Earth anymore, not the Earth he knows at the very least. ]

Have you ever seen a man dressed like me, or an airplane like the one I was piloting? Tell me honestly, do I really look like I belong here?

Was it headed for the city?

[The smoke is starting to turn grayer, wispier, as it burns up everything in the cockpit and begins to fizzle out. A groan of metal catches Pyrrha's attention, and part of the left side begins to crumple inward with a soft whoosh of hot air.]

And...where should you be?

[A fair enough question, but while the larger part of Pyrrha wants to adamantly deny that it's in any way possible Steve is from another world - there is a smaller part that can't help but note the conviction in his words. It's giving her more pause than she'd like to admit, because, well, it's a little nuts, isn't it?]

I suppose...not. [Pyrrha admits it reluctantly, double-taking Steve's outfit again. She didn't get a terribly good look at the aircraft, considering it was on fire and crashing to the ground, but his uniform wasn't exactly one she'd ever seen before. At least, not from a Kingdom militia.] I don't understand how you could come to be here otherwise.

It was headed for a city. [ He fully expects her not to recognize the name, of course, but still he adds. ] London.

[ The rest he doesn't answer. There's a vague glance aimed her way, then he looks away, back to what's left of the airplane. By the state of it, and what little information Steve's shared so far, it shouldn't be too hard for her to tell that he wasn't really expecting to survive that.

He can't make heads or tails of it, honestly. Can't imagine what sort of force or event would be capable of not only bringing him to a different world, but also somehow sparing his life. ]

Yes, there's... a lot I don't understand, either. [ But, well. Standing around here isn't going to solve anything, so. ] Is there a place I can go to nearby? A city, maybe?

[So, not Beacon. She's still trying to wrap her head around it, though parts of her are still holding back. It's just too far-fetched, isn't it? But Steve is adamant, and he seems rather clear-headed, so perhaps only time will tell.

There was no attempt to jump, to eject and parachute out, and whatever his semblance was, he certainly hadn't been able to use it to try and survive.

Perhaps someone wanted him to survive, for whatever purpose. Friends in high places - though perhaps they weren't necessarily friends.]

I'm sure the command post can help us figure it out. [Pyrrha pushed herself up, off the ground, before offering Steve a hand.] Yes. It will take the better part of two days to get there. [Since her scroll is lost, there's no way to call for an evac. Surely her team has signaled for help, so perhaps they'll run across some assistance on the way back, but barring that, they're somewhat stuck.]

[ Steve hasn't exactly sorted out his own thoughts, but his mind's clear enough to at least have some notion that he's not in his own world, and he's not dead either. Not that he knows the first thing about what an afterlife would be like, but he's absolutely sure this wouldn't be it.

He takes her hand and gets to his feet, wincing slightly as his head throbs a little. He cups his forehead for a moment, then starts swatting dirt and grass off his clothes. ]

Alright. Uh, I... just point me in the right direction. I'll find my way. [ He shakes his head. ] I'd hate to waste more of your time.

[Perhaps their is no afterlife, but a series of realities. Haven't they both seen stranger?

Pyrrha waits for a second, prepared to help should Steve stumble, but he doesn't and she pushes her ponytail back over her shoulder, readjusting her armor. It would definitely need a polishing when she finally returned home.]

We're 24 klicks from the secure patrol line and the Grimm are surely on their way. [Pyrrha shakes her head, glancing to the East. Besides, if he doesn't know the terrain, he probably shouldn't be navigating it with what is likely a concussion.] It would be unwise to part ways.

Aiding you is hardly a waste of my time. Are you okay to travel?

( nursed back to health shipping meme )

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