Number Five Hargreeves (
apocalypsehow) wrote in
fandomhigh2021-01-01 09:14 am
Entry tags:
BWI Airport Portalocity Lounge, Saturday Morning
No more than a few minutes ago, Five had been waiting in Dallas, Texas in 1963 to make sure Kennedy died. The fact that he was in the future/past wasn't actually that strange for him. Because his job. The fact that he was now physically a teenager again, however, really was strange. And annoying.
Mostly annoying.
He grabbed a newspaper--it was 2021 somehow??--and a coffee to take a seat where he could unobtrusively observe people. The fact that he was basically a kid in an ill-fitting suit and sitting near a glittery sign that proclaimed this the pick up spot for Fandom High was just a side-note.
Mostly annoying.
He grabbed a newspaper--it was 2021 somehow??--and a coffee to take a seat where he could unobtrusively observe people. The fact that he was basically a kid in an ill-fitting suit and sitting near a glittery sign that proclaimed this the pick up spot for Fandom High was just a side-note.

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Just the bus. Not the people in it. It was a Look, but at least it was a look without inflatable flamingoes, so Anakin was just gritting his teeth and bearing it.
He got out of the bus and stalked into the airport. "FANDOM HIGH!" he bellowed. "Let's go!"
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That was reserved for basic human kindness and familial affection. As was the case for all the Hargreeves brood.
"I don't know if the yelling is necessary."
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"Kids these days," he grumbled. God, he was such a grumpy, old man.
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Because you look 12, Five.
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And having been subjected to a deluge of pictures and videos of previous Crimes Against Shuttles, he couldn't help feeling quite a bit...underwhelmed.
"Huh," he mused, slipping his phone into a pocket. "I somehow expected quite a bit...more."
But he knew Nina. And now he regretted not insisting on just portaling to the island after all...
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Or had the Tales of the Bus become inter-galactic gossip?
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While Prompto would just be over here not existing, APPARENTLY.
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Or maybe the Maitlands weren't the only weird thing she could see. Lydia was keeping her options open.
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Enola had lost sight of any baggage handler and was now trying to drag a trunk almost as big as her to that strange automobile.
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“No! No,” she said as she continued to strugggle with the chest with little success. “I am an independent woman’s and-“
At that point she slipped and fell on her hip regulators.
“Never mind. Yes. I would appreciate the assistance.”
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“Thank you so much,” Enola said with a huff as she pulled herself to her feet and then handed the strange looking man a dollar tip. “You are very helpful for an American.”
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"You're from the...school?" He certainly seemed to be but it was best to be certain. Her father had, she was now sure, not done his research on this very thoroughly. But she could have told him that, if he'd bothered to listen.
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"I'm Belle."
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