"Sure. Do you want to take India or pretending to be a superhero?" she asks.

"You've done more research. I can handle India," she replies.

Contessa stumbles as her path changes.

"Door to Doctor Mother," she says. "We've got a problem"

She jets through the water, making for Texas.

This Earth has been subject to some horrible tragedies, which doesn't excuse trying to murder a peaceful visitor, but it sure does explain it. On the other hand, there are procedures in place to handle someone showing up with no context on the modern world and get them up to speed and equipped with access to the government and a legal identity. She just has to look somewhat humanoid.

The real question is what she wants her powers to be.

She wants powers that are plausible, possible for her forb to emulate, and that will be useful for establishing her as someone to take seriously.

Ideally, they should also provide a cover explanation for why she wouldn't be letting anything scan her yet-to-be-constructed body.

She ultimately decides to give herself a 'Brute' power in the form of enhanced durability that can also plausibly prevent her from being scanned. She settles on using the timewise-rotation trick to make her hard for other things to injure or move, with her forb backing that up. That would be a fine power on its own, but it doesn't really give her any reason to know things she shouldn't.

She muses a bit more before deciding on a 'Thinker/Striker' power that gives her information on things she touches.

That just leaves the matter of fabricating an appearance that will help sell her story. As she reaches shallower water, she crafts a humanoid body from the sea, tucking her forb into the forming lungs where it won't be seen.

She waffles for a moment on coloration, before setting on a pale purple complexion with wavering white stripes. She gives her new body extendable frills in place of hair, and a slightly more digitigrade gait, but leaves the face and eyes perfectly humanlike.

When she hits the coast near Corpus Christi, she makes sure her optical cloaking is still in place before slipping from the waves, adding a Greek omega to her heel and breaking into a run parallel to I-37 that will see her on the outskirts of San Antonio by morning.

She stumbles out of an alley, on the lower southeast side near I-410.

"Hvar er ég?" she asks, grabbing at a passing man's sleeve. "Hvar er hún?"

Then she trips over a storm grate and faceplants on the sidewalk. All according to plan.

40 minutes later, she's sitting wrapped in a trauma blanket in a bland beige room that is either an interrogation room or a briefing room. Which one it is at any given time really depends on which way the information ends up flowing.

"Hello, I'm Officer Blake," the man who sits across from her says. "What's your name?"

"I don't recall," she says. "I ... my Enska is not much good."

She shifts in her chair, trying to wrap the blanket further around her.

He scrawls a note on his notepad.

"That's alright, miss. We sometimes get folks who turn up with powers and no memory of who they are. We'll sort it out," he reassures her.

"Are there any other things you can recall? Like how old you are, or what your native language is called?"

"It's íslensku I speak," she tells him. "I don't recall ... a girl? There is an important girl. Other things, I don't recall. Nothing else."

He nods, and takes another note.

"That's just fine. We'll figure out where they speak, uh, Islensku, and see if we can figure out where you came from, but it's a long shot. For now, you're in America. I work for the PRT -- the federal agency that's responsible for people with powers. It's my job to get you situated here. If it's alright with you, I'll get you set up with a temporary apartment, and then tomorrow we can take a look at figuring out your powers and going through the paperwork. Does that sound okay?"

"Yes, yes. It sounds okay. Ah ... federal agency? I don't recall the word," she says.

"The part of the government," he clarifies.

"Oh! Ríkisdeild," she says. "Yes, an apartment is okay. Thank you."

He sifts through his overnight notifications.

Ward mentoring request, notification for a PR event, new case 53 ...

He pauses.

"Door to Doctor Mother's office," he says, stepping through the glowing portal. "Sorry, Doctor. Are you busy?"

"Not just at the moment," she replies, turning away from her desk. "Why?"