edge_of_forever | (no subject)

Twenty-four hours doesn't sound like a long time, but when you're too frightened and furious to sleep through much of it, it feels like an age. By the time Tonks finds herself deposited into the big round room, she's irritable, drained and desperate to find someone who can tell her what was going on. She feels naked without her wand, but there's nothing for it-- she has to find out more information, and to do that, she's going to have to explore.

The space station Proserpina, huh? She knows about Muggles traveling into space, of course, but had never thought it would affect her. She still wouldn't believe it if she hadn't looked out the windows and seen the star-struck darkness for herself. The view was enough to distract her, but not for long. She'd spent her worry and fright in the quarantine cell and was now too tired to be anything but wary. If something's going to come out and get her, well, there's not much she can do to stop it.

It burns like acid in her throat, knowing what's happening back home-- or not knowing, as the case may be-- it sharpens her focus as she moves through the hallways, taking a catalogue of her surroundings. Constant vigilance. It's rarely out of her mind these days, and now even more so. No matter where she is, there's got to be a way to get back home, and she's going to find it even if it takes days.

A few of the doors had opened as she approached them (fancy, she thinks, snidely) but when she comes up to one that didn't, she frowned. "Open up," she tells it. Nothing happens-- not an altogether unexpected outcome. Focusing as much as her overtaxed mind allows, she holds out her hand and says convincingly, "Alohomora!"

Again, nothing. Tonks kicks the door with her ugly grey trainer and snarls, "Piss off and let me in!" The door doesn't respond-- but the person who's just snuck up on her does, and she whirls to face the interrupter with a defiant expression.

[she's got chin-length brown hair and brown eyes to start. find her trying to get into the door of your choice!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Alohomora.

Troy and Abed exchange a look, and Abed finishes the sentence Troy has started, "Harry Potter," with a nod of confirmation.

They run across the corner, wondering which character they're going to be faced with.

Brown hair, brown eyes, not out of the movies.

Troy asks her a question, but she can clearly no more hear (or see) him than anybody else, apart from Abed. So he takes it upon himself to repeat it for her: "Which one are you?"

Given the way she's been cursing at the door, Abed has his suspicions, but he'll see if he's right or not.

The guy's maybe her age, maybe younger, looking at her with curiosity and not at all like he's afraid of her. Another prisoner, probably. But where's his uniform, if so?

"What d'you mean, which one am I?" She's pulling a face, not a nice one either. "Which one are you?"

"I'm the fast-blinking, stoic, removed, uncomfortably self-aware one," Abed answers, which isn't really the question he was asking her, but he doubts that anyone from the Harry Potter canon would know his canon. He still thinks his best bet is a sitcom, and wizards and witches aren't big on Muggle television.

Tonks just looks at him for a second, a little wary, but relaxing. She's been jumpy as hell for months now-- understandable, she thinks-- but the guy doesn't have a wand or any weapon she can recognize, so she backs off. "Uncomfortably self aware," she repeats, just because it was a funny turn of phrase. "Sounds... uncomfortable." She rakes her hair back and tucks it behind her ears. "Got a name to go with the description?"

It's uncomfortable for other people, mostly, but Abed doesn't see to point it out, because if he gives her his name, she might give him hers.

"Abed Nadir."