001 • video

[cigarbribery]

So, hi!

[The setting: an ice cream parlor, somewhere in Heropa. The scene: Foggy Nelson, eating ice cream, because somebody offered him free ice cream with toppings and he's broke. He gives the camera a little wave and a friendly grin.]

I'm Foggy Nelson—yeah, I know, not my idea, but I'm not changing it now—and I have some questions. Don't worry, I got the "welcome to another world, you have superpowers" speech, I just have some concerns it didn't address.

[Lots and lots of them, actually, but he'll just start with the most pressing.]

First of all, I'm a lawyer back at home. Got a law firm and a partner and even a sign for our office. [A pause, during which he looks quickly away from the camera and lets out a quiet, tired sigh like he's already missing it, then:] Of course, you don't have any reason to believe me, and I don't have any proof to back me up here. Which leads me to my first question: do my qualifications still carry over into an alternate universe? Because, man, being an insurance claim investigator is the only thing that's probably worse than being a lawyer. [He's both, so he gets to be funny about this.]

Second, I might need a crash course on imPort law. I'm pretty sure immigration law doesn't quite cover "forcibly dragged to another universe" that well, and I only got maybe a sketch of the benefits of registration when I tried to ask. [This whole registration thing honestly comes off as a little sketchy to Foggy, but he's going to keep his trap shut on that much.]

Third—does anyone here know what I mean when I say the Avengers? How about the Incident? I—just need to know.

Comments

[wordaday]

[Ah, yes, it's that time of month again. She always feels so bad for the new people, she remembers how rattled she was to be here the first time.

This guy seems pretty cheery, though, all things considered. Huh.]

Well, the government seems kinda lenient [Hey, the word-a-day calendar word from last Friday!] on imPorts when it comes to things like qualifications. I'm sure you'll be good. And as for the last question, never heard of it. Sorry.

[Have a sympathetic smile, Foggy.]

[cigarbribery]

How lenient, exactly? Can I just quit my job right now and start a law firm today, or do I need to pass the bar here first? [A beat.] Again.

[nooooooooooooo]

It's fine. I was just throwing it out there to see if there was anybody else who recognized it.

[wordaday]

I mean, I'd probably go to another lawyer and ask before you quit. I'm just a waitress, I don't really know the in's 'n outs.

[She shrugs.]

But I know there's imPort doctors and other lawyers that haven't been around long enough to redo all their school stuff. It would be kinda dumb to, right?

[cigarbribery]

Yeah, you've got a point. I'll keep the job, I have a feeling I'm going to need the capital.

[A snort.]

Scratch the kinda—I'm not looking forward to possibly getting buried in student debt again. I haven't finished paying off the loans from last time. [A pause, then:] Who are these people, by the way? I might want to talk to them.

[wordaday]

Well, hopefully your job ain't too bad? My first one was just awful.

[Reality shows, never again.]

But, ah, I know there's a Mr Gold who's a lawyer, he was on the network about a week ago. And I know of a doctor, I know is first name is George but I dont know his last name.

[She pauses for a second, and then remembers another doctor. Ugh.]

And then there's Dr Chilton, but I don't think he's, like, a real doctor?

[cigarbribery]

Nah, but investigating insurance claims isn't really my idea of a good time. What did they stick you with first?

[A lawyer named Gold. Foggy shakes his head, trying and failing to suppress a smile as he pulls a napkin from the dispenser and takes out a pen from his pocket, to write down the names. He didn't bring his planner along, unfortunately.] A lawyer named Gold, huh? Poor bastard. I'll dig up the post and talk to him.

[A pause.]

Is he a quack doctor or something? What's he doing, operating without a license?

[wordaday]

Reality TV.

[YIKES.

Foggy seems to be going a mile a minute, and there's a small part of her that's impressed. He's better at this than she was, at the very least.]

And honestly, I don't know. He's a psychologist, psychiatrist, one of those? Real insistent on letting you know about the "doctor" part. I'd only go to him if it was a last resort, he's...[An asshole.]...prickly.

[cigarbribery]

And you survived that? [A low, impressed whistle.] Damn. Yeah, comparatively speaking, waiting on tables sounds so much better.

[If it's a choice between going a mile a minute and pausing for just long enough to dwell on what he's lost in the blink of an eye, he's going to pick the option that at least gets him information about this brave new world he's been dragged into. Plus, it's the option that keeps him from thinking too much about—well. Everything.

It's been a long and strange month.]

Oh, so he's a psych guy. [He scribbles that down on the napkin, Dr. Chilton, psych-something, last resort.] I'm doing pretty well on the mental health front, so no worries, I'm not paying him a visit any time soon.