fandomhigh | BWI Airport Portalocity Lounge, Saturday Morning

Celia had had a trying morning, thus far.

She'd boarded a train in New York at the crack of dawn with a large trunk that she was pretending to struggle to carry. Hector had given her a cursory pat on the top of her hat and a tug to one stray curl, accompanied by a stern look that Celia knew meant Don't make me regret this. She'd fallen asleep on the train, and the conductor had awoken her...here. She'd not expected Maryland to be quite so much...brighter, or louder or confusing -- and in fact, Celia had been to Baltimore before, once, and she was very sure that this was unsettlingly different. She'd stumbled off the train, been ushered through a security checkpoint filled with people dressed strangely and giving her even stranger looks and now she was...here.

If not for the glittering sign bearing the name 'Fandom High,' she'd think she was in the wrong place.

Celia slumped gratefully into a chair, dropping her trunk on the floor beside her, and let out a sigh. Then she immediately straightened up. It wouldn't do to have her new classmates think her a lazy slob at first meeting.

[YAY NEWBIE SHUTTLE.]

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"It mostly just raises more questions," Elsa admitted, and then took another deep inhale, let out another slow exhale. "But I suppose it helps."

Some.

"... How does it work?"

Joker winced. She was probably going to be scared off by the answer to that one, too. "...Alien technology we found buried on Mars?" he ventured apologetically.

That didn't frighten Elsa so much as raise even more questions.

This was going to be a neverending cycle, wasn't it?

"... On Mars. The planet?"

She just had to get this straight.

Probably. Until they got to the debate about what YEAR it was, at which point they'd both be lost.

"...Do you know of any other Marses?" Joker asked. "I mean... I'm really just not... There's been a colony on Mars for, like, a hundred years."

"Well, there's the mythological god," Elsa tried, raising her eyebrows a little. "But finding anything actually on him would be-"

Nope. Noooope, she was not going there. She blushed, clearing her throat and straightening her skirts.

"This isn't just some elaborate joke, is it?"

"I was going to ask the same thing of you," Joker told her sympathetically, "because this is starting to get weird in frightening ways... but let's go back to the part where you're looking up the skirts of Roman statues, because that expression on your face was priceless."

Elsa found herself somewhat envying her sister Anna's ability to swat somebody without fear. As it stood, she was stuck standing there, feeling increasingly awkward.

"Ladies don't discuss such things," she admonished, her blush coming straight back. "Though I suppose they're somewhat less confusing than the idea of settlements on other planets."

"I know perfectly well that all the things 'ladies don't talk about' get giggled about like crazy when the gentlemen aren't around," Joker admonished her.

"But... it's not really that confusing," he insisted. "We go somewhere, we build a settlement. That's what humans do. Mars is just lucky it didn't have an indigenous population for us to abuse and exploit."

Elsa had to admit, his lack of verbal filter was at least somewhat refreshing. There was a brutal sort of honesty to that, even if so much of it sounded like madness. She nodded faintly.

"I suppose it is," she allowed. Humanity was cruel. She only had to open a history book to know that much. "Assuming you're telling me the truth, how... how did people get to Mars, then?"

Well, THAT one was easy to answer, at least, and shouldn't cause any problems. "Rockets!" ...See?

"... Rockets?"

Yeah, no, wasn't ringing any bells.

Joker sighed and facepalmed. "And here I was, almost believing you. You're totally trolling me, aren't you?"

Because who'd never heard of rockets?

Elsa had so never heard 'troll' used as a verb before.

"No... No, I'm pretty certain there aren't any trolls here." She would have noticed them, if they'd followed her through the weird doors they'd sent her through. "... Are there?"

The place seemed so decidedly devoid of large rocks!

"...What? No, it's a slang term for... There's no such thing as trolls... You know what? Let's just get back on solid, non-crazy footing, okay? 'Rockets' are long tubes packed with stuff that explodes. You light one end on fire and they shoot off into the sky. Seriously, this isn't ringing a bell?"

Elsa was just about to argue that trolls were, in fact, a real thing, when the boy started speaking again.

Tubes of things that exploded?

"... Not a one," she admitted, starting to look a little concerned by the fact that she hadn't so much as heard of something that seemed like such common knowledge to this boy. "Your description makes sense, but I've just never considered that somebody might want to do something like that."

"Really? You..."

Better to just drop it and not think about it for now.

"I'm sorry, I'll come in again. Hello! I'm Joker. My box floats, and my legs don't work. How are you?"

"A lot more confused than I was earlier today, I think," Elsa admitted, though backing up and starting over seemed so ludicrous, she couldn't help but smile. "Hello, Joker. I'm Elsa. My box has wheels, and shockingly, I don't get out much."

Which really wouldn't have changed much about this conversation, save her awkwardness.

Joker gave her the best approximation of a deep, sweeping bow that he could manage from his seat. "Well, Elsa, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure's mine, Joker," Elsa replied, responding to his bow with a curtsy that came easily, with years of practice behind it. "It's been an enjoyable... and educational conversation, so far."

BWI Airport Portalocity Lounge, Saturday Morning

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