route_1065 | To face unafraid the plans that we've made,

[You know why Albert is out here in the blitzing cold freezing his ass off right now? Because he is a saint, that's why. And yeah, there's also that thing about residual feelings of not-guilt over not being able to get help to Reid during the little Yamask fiasco a couple months ago motivating him to pay it forward now, but that is entirely beside the point.

The point is, it's damn cold, and nobody should be out here on his own. Which is why they're out here together acting like the fools they are.

And he's just about to make Muttered Crack #9002 since they started this little expedition when — oh. Wow. That...that sure is Regice, all right.]

Look at that thing. What the hell are they up to this time?

["They" being whoever is responsible for Johto, presumably, and not the golems themselves.]

[And Reid is perfectly immune to Albert's crankiness, as per usual. He doesn't move his eyes from the massive moving block of ice, his mind whirring as he mentally removes the snow for a better look at it, and then breaks it down into pieces to understand its movement, its limbs, its composition.] I'm not sure. According to what I could read about them--and admittedly, it wasn't much since they're legends from a place called the Hoenn region and not Johto or Kanto--they're three golems created by a creature called 'Regigigas', who was worshiped a long time ago as a creator of the world as we know it. Regigigas was sealed away because of its power, and it supposedly can only be awakened when its three golems are together. But if that were to happen, that would mean the... end of...

[That IQ is buzzing so hard it can practically be heard.] the world...

It's... I know it sounds unlikely, but it's possible that this is another joke, or at the very least a reference to our world. [Reid shifts so that his body is facing Albert, but his eyes remain on Regice, his mind putting together and taking apart things that most people can hardly comprehend.] It would make sense, considering the date, but it'd be strange considering only people from Earth-based worlds would get it. The Mayan calender isn't in the public eye when you come from, right?

Regigigas. Regi-, that's "ruler", and -gigas, that's "giant". And minus ten points for mixing their Latin and Greek.

[Why, yes, Albert will launch nerd criticism even at legendary Pokemon golems. He does not discriminate in his fury. Plus, it helps keep him warm.]

What about the date? Last I heard we were just starting to get antsy about the turn of the millennium in another decade. Far as I know, we've already passed that here. [He takes a moment to hunker in, biting back a sudden bout of chattering teeth.] But my mystic mumbo-jumbo all comes from Coop and his specialty's Tibetan hoop-de-doo, not Mayan.

[Reid nods in agreement. Seriously, guys, Greek and Latin are very distinct languages. You are going to make them both nerd-furious with this. (Okay, Albert will get nerd-furious, and Reid will just get nerd-annoyed.)]

The Mayan calendar is actually three different calendars strung together to make specific dates. Unlike the Gregorian calendar, which is strung together in a simple, linear fashion, the Mayans had three simultaneous calendars at once--the divine calendar, or the Tzolkin, the civil calendar, or the Haab, and the Long Count.

[Oh, interruption in his lecture to wrap his arms around himself, his body suddenly overtaken with shivers.] We, uh, should keep moving. [He starts creeping along the edge of the hill, the calf-high snow slowing him down significantly.] A-anyway... the civil calendar is like our calendar, using 365 days, divided into nineteen months. The divine calendar uses 260 days, divided into twenty periods of thirteen days. They would use that to decide when specific religious ceremonies were supposed to happen. The Long Count...

[A little more teeth chattering.] The Long Count is the universal cycle of 2,880,000 days, or 7885 of our years. According to the calendar, the beginning of the current cycle occurred on August 11th, 3114 BC. That would mean that the end of our cycle would be December 21st, 2012. At the end of every universal cycle, the Mayans said that the world is destroyed, and a new world is created.

[Chatter chatter okay maybe they should have brought some Fire-types with them] It would fit Regigigas's role as a creator and destroyer.

Okay, so here's a good question. If this thing's the creator and destroyer of the world, then what the hell went toe-to-toe with it to seal it away?

[Being that Albert's lone Fire-type is a foot-high pony that would probably be drowning in the snowdrifts right now, maybe a better thought would be, maybe they should've been a little more prepared for going out to play Donner Party than they currently are.

He follows along with Reid, half-kicking the snow before he tries to step on it to help break the path they're walking.]

But if that's what this is, then whatever's running this show knows enough about where we're from to have a really sick sense of humor about it. You can't make Mayan jokes unless you've heard of the Mayans, and the locals sure haven't. So who's pulling the strings? [He pauses long enough to pull his scarf up over his nose and mouth, his next words a little muffled.] Or maybe it's a question of, how are they getting it out of our heads?

The books never said. The people of Johto and Kanto aren't very interested in the legends of other regions.

[Reid tucks his hands under his arms, preserving his warmth, and looks back at Albert, finally able to tear his eyes from the massive golem.]

Psychic animals exist here, so it's not too far-fetched to consider mind reading. It would explain how they know not only general things about our worlds, but intimate details of our lives and their significance to us. [Yes, that Amanda thing still bugs the living hell out of him.] Really, if they have the capability to to do all of this, it's hard to know what they can't--WHA--

[And suddenly, Spencer Reid has disappeared, leaving behind a big hole. You might want to stop walking immediately or you will fall into the drift with him, Albert.]

[Which just goes to show you, kids, that even being a genius doesn't automatically mean you're safe from dying hideously in the snowy apocalypse.]

Kid!

[While he does catch himself — at least such that he's not walking into the hole straight-on like a complete idiot — the snow is slippery and difficult to maneuver in, and there's no stopping on a dime here. He wobbles, loses his traction, and scrabbles ungracefully all in the span of about a quarter-second; after that, it's all over, and look at that, there's two idiots in the hole.]

--Yeowch!

[Well, the fall wasn't too bad. That was cushioned by nice soft snow. What came after was bad--that is, having someone fall on top of him.]

Ow!

[Oh, there will be bruises tomorrow. Stupid small holes. He didn't even have a chance to get back the breath that had been knocked out before this, so he's having issues breathing at the moment. So instead of a nice long characteristic babble--] Off. Please.

[Well, that landing wasn't so bad. It was cushioned by nice soft — oh, hi, Reid.

Following a few muttered curses that will not be repeated here, Albert tries to get his bearings enough to do as instructed and get off of his companion; it's easier said than done, what with loose snow showering down in places every time he attempts to move, and his gloves and pants quickly becoming even damper than they were already.]

Dammit. You okay?

[Aside from having a full-grown man just land on you, he means.]

[Ow ow whyyyyyy

Reid takes a moment to breathe after Albert finally manages to get off, then pushes himself onto hands and knees.] I think so. What about you?

[He is making a quick mental evaluation of both his own and Albert's health. He himself feels pretty sore, but no sign of broken bones, concussion, or internal damage. As far as Albert is concerned, it's hard to tell from the darkness in their little hole. At the very least, he's still capable of talking. And swearing.]

[Because WHAT KIND OF IDIOTS GO OUT IN AN APOCALYPSE STORM LIKE THIS ANYWAY oh right geniuses that's who.

Likewise, he takes a moment to take stock of his own condition, waiting for the initial shock of the fall to dissipate and any possible aches and pains to surface instead.]

Banged my knee, I think. Nothing I can't manage.

[Brief, concise sentences. Useful, necessary information first, Albert, in as small and neat of a package as you can fit it.]

Damn.

[Okay, so maybe that's not useful, but it's certainly concise, and at this point, probably necessary in some sense of the word.]

[Reid nods. Luckily, his left leg, chest, and back where the things that took the brunt of the damage, and not his bad knee. Otherwise, he might have been crippled for a while.]

Exactly what I was thinking.

[Reid looks up at the hole above them, his heart sinking when he sees how high it is.]

Do you think it's worth the energy to try to dig our way out? [No guarantee that it will work, and could be a potentially fatal mistake if they make the snow cave in on them. On the other hand, what else can they do? Wait?]

[Trying not to upset too much more of the snow around them, he more squirms-and-shifts than outright moves, trying to get his bearings and have a look of his own at their current predicament. It is undeniably pessimistic; there's a rather large chunk of snow jutting out precariously up near the lip of the hole on one side, and with the support below it collapsed, it's not going to stay up there forever.]

What options have we got? [It's not a rhetorical question.] We call for help, somebody's got to come out into the blizzard themselves and actually track us down on top of it. We try to dig, it might fall in on us or it might not. We wait around for a miracle and we end up like Popsicles.

[None of these are particularly palatable solutions. Fortunately, Albert has fury to sustain him where he might otherwise be getting nervous.]

How about your team? You bring anybody along who might help us out of this?

Um... [Reid looks down at his belt, plucking the three balls he has attached. He usually doesn't carry around animals in balls, nor does he think strategically about who he takes. He has a Lapras who wanted to come along despite being water-based, a baby Eevee who had chewed up the curtain and is in a ball as punishment, and...]

I left Yang a the farm with your team. He would be able to track us in no time, and if some of yours came, I'm sure they could dig us out. But we need to let him know we're in trouble, and the only animal I have who can fly is Amanda.

[Fair warning.]

Edited 2012-12-23 08:12 (UTC)

[Albert, naturally, has a whopping ZERO POKEMON on his belt at this point, owing directly to the fact that he refuses to use Pokeballs because they are in fact really stupid. (How does a six-foot bird fit into a ball that he can hold in the palm of his hand, anyway? Dammit, Johto.) Of course, that means he is also really stupid at this point, being able to provide exactly no Pokemon assistance whatsoever.

GOOD JOB, ALBERT.

Still, this is a good point Reid raises here.]

The dogs could make it. Gandhina's built to handle the snow. [But that does not address the problem of HIS FAVORITEST POKEMON EVER, now does it.] You really want to trust that bitch to come to your rescue right now?

[That one's semi-rhetorical. It is, after all, an idea, and it's not like they'll be worse off if she refuses. But that use of "your" is likewise deliberate; Albert sure as hell wouldn't trust her to come to his rescue right now. Or ever, considering.]

You know, considering I still remember pieces of her life and how she thinks... yeah. She can be really unpleasant, but she wouldn't let either of us die. [Yes, Reid is pretty damn sure Amanda would lend a hand even if it was just Albert down here. Even though she'd snipe at him relentlessly and rub in the fact she saved him like no one's business.] Especially not considering her own death.

[Then Reid clicks the ball, and there's bright red light in their little hole before there's a floating Yamask stretching her 'fins'. It's hard to tell how she feels because her eyes are stuck in a perpetual wide-eyed stare, but she looks around, looks at Albert (and it can be safely assumed that she's glaring), and then looks at Spencer in quick succession. There's soft noise, like a young woman speaking too far away to be heard, but that's the best she can do in the communication department.]

Amanda? We need help. We need you to get to the farm and tell Yang and Gandhina that we're trapped.

[So here's the thing about Albert Rosenfield: he may disdain the things he finds illogical and irrational and downright stupid as far as the day is long, but when options are slim and one of them actually stands a chance of working, he's surprisingly willing to bite the bullet and go along with it.

As the saying goes, if it's stupid but it works, it isn't stupid.

(Okay, sometimes it is, but at least it also works.)

As such, he grudgingly sucks it up and keeps his mouth shut, doing his part to at least not deliberately antagonize the floating ghost thing, even if he won't deign to be nice to it either.]

[Reid sincerely appreciates the effort, Albert.

Amanda waves her fins in place, probably berating them for getting in a hole and complaining about stupid geniuses with death wishes. And she's also probably complaining about Albert, but it's kind of hard to tell.

And after some time fin-waving, she bobs in the air, giving the closest approximation of a nod she can, and then floats upwards.]

Thank you, Amanda.

[There's some noise that's probably grumbling, and then she's gone. Reid sighs in relief, sitting back and rubbing his bad knee. The cold is making it ache horribly.] Now all we have to do is wait, I guess.

[Waiting. Not something Albert always does well, necessarily. Still, the situation's not quite as utterly hopeless as it had seemed a minute ago; while Reid was wrangling Amanda, he's been digging around in his pockets to see what else he might have with him. The good news is, one of the ever-present contents of his coat happens to be his cigarette lighter, and there's a mostly-full pack stuffed in there, too. Another few cursory pats and he unearths a rather boring gray scarf that someone probably stuffed in there by mistake. Not that he's complaining.

He offers it out to Reid; every little bit helps.]

Figure how far we came out looking at that golem, how long it'll take her to get back, plus the dogs making it back to us again...

[Some brief mental math.]

We don't hear back from her or them within an hour, I'd say we've got problems. Think we can keep it together that long?

[Reid tentatively accepts the scarf.] You sure you don't need it? [Asks the slip of a man who will probably be a Popsicle in twenty minutes.

Reid glances up at the hole, his brow knitted together.] Well.. we don't really have any other choice, do we? At least the snow should insulate us from the worst of the cold.

I need you to not be an ice cube.

[Also he has fury on his side. He's too cranky to freeze, obviously; like Teddy Roosevelt, death will have to take him sleeping, because if he's awake, there'll be a fight.]

I'm just saying, let's not sit here putting all our faith in Plan A without at least considering what we're going to do if we have to go to Plan B. That knee's bothering you again?

What kind of Plan B is open to us?

[Why are you so awesome, Albert?

Reid nods in thanks as he wraps the scarf tight around his neck. His hand rests on his bad knee again, but when Albert points it out, he glances up in surprise. For a moment, he's ready to deflect the concern, deny that there was ever anything wrong with it at all, but the fact that Albert's actually a friend shines through. So instead of doing his reflexive 'oh no I'm fine so hey here's this new topic' routine...]

Yeah. It always bothers me when it's especially cold or damp, though.

Taking our shot at digging? Calling for a human rescue? Or we could always grow wings and learn to fly — who knows? Around here, that idea might actually work.

[It helps, probably, that Albert knows how to handle Cooper like a pro, and he and Reid really aren't so different in a lot of ways. Coop gets away with deflecting when the situation warrants it, but that doesn't mean Albert doesn't know he's doing it; had Reid chosen that option, it would've been the same way. He calls it like he sees it when the scenario deserves a call, but whether he says so or not, he sees plenty more than he lets on.

Not to mention it just seems to be the season for gratuitous heart-to-hearts, so they might as well keep the trend running. It's not like they've got better things to do while they're stuck in a frozen hole.]

How'd you hurt it?

Well, I guess we can try all three if we don't hear anything in an hour.

[You know what?

Screw it. Gratuitous heart-to-heart, here we go. Better than freezing to death.]

I got shot. There was a case in DC--someone was threatening the son of an ER doctor, and for every day the son didn't die, the unsub killed another man in his place. To keep more people from dying, the boy decided to go to school and use himself as live bait while the rest of my team was stationed with him. I was assigned to protect the doctor--Dr. Barton.

[Reid rubs his knee again, wincing at the memory.] We, uh, figured out that the unsub's real target was Dr. Barton, but not in time. The unsub--Patrick Meyers--was outside the Barton household. I managed to take the shot for Dr. Barton, and everyone lived through it, but I was crippled for a while.

[It doesn't take a profiler to spot the sentiment that flickers across Albert's expression at that very first "I got shot"; it's a delicate blend of "you've got to be fucking kidding me" with "lord almighty, not another one". As though he really needed any more basis upon which to compare the kid to Coop, really.

The thing is, it never gets easier, trying to figure out what you say to the guy who got plugged. "Nice work, agent"? "Glad you're okay"? "What the hell were you thinking, don't ever scare me like that again"? Hallmark doesn't make a card for this.]

And it still slows you down sometimes, when the weather's rough or you get in a scrape like this.

[He pauses to reflect.]

You do a pretty good job of hiding it.

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