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Entry tags:
❪ test drive #9 ❫
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YOUR STORY BEGINS  The Storm came. You remember darkness, but you don't remember much after that. You don't know how long you slept, but the dreams were short. You remember the expanse of stars and galaxies in your direct view. Every world and solar system ever known to man was present in your dreams in careful, pristine detail. You also witnessed the Storm, which has devoured a fair portion of these galaxies. Your Earth and similar planets were assimilated by the Storm. Somehow, you knew it would be the last you'd see of your world. That was when she told you what happened. You knew that you'd be living somewhere new. The details weren't clear, but you knew it was a part of a deal with the entity known as Darma - once, you might have been able to speak to her, but now you are only met with silence. When you awake, you will find yourself in Thesa Station. Your body is still cold, you're hungry, and the halls seem frighteningly bare somehow. Exploring the halls brings you to the transporter room, which will give you easy access to and from Nadril... Getting there is a quick process that leaves you feeling vaguely nauseous and out of your own body, and you can’t travel to the rest of the planet just yet, but the space station and the icy colony are yours to explore. A FORCED AWAKENING (THESA STATION)  ... But that is, of course, assuming that your awakening was a smooth one. In the best case scenario, nausea might be the worst you'd feel. For many others, the newly awakened won't be a pleasant one. In the past, the refugees will only wake when they are mentally and physically prepared for it. After all, they are in a whole new galaxy, and dimensions and time were trampled with to make the Intervention possible. Those who witnessed the storm before it devoured their own world would know as well that the Intervention hadn't been a graceful one, and it's exemplified by the way you wake. Alarms on the station will be blaring when you finally come to, siren calls and flashing light invade your already disoriented senses. You'll find yourself face-planted on the cool metallic floor among many others with you. Some, just as confused and unstable as you; others, still sleeping — they're alive, but no matter how much you try to wake them, they will not gain consciousness. Or maybe some will. It seems the best way to approach those in stasis is to put them back into their chambers in hopes that the glitch hadn't disrupted their recovery. Thesa Station has changed though, seemingly overnight. The space that surrounds the station is now in near-total darkness. Where there were once stars across billions of lightyears, it appears as though they're fading — some would flash right before your eyes. This is especially true for those with access to the Observation Room. Alarms will continue to ring as you find your way there. Once inside, you will see visible glitches in the hologram of the multiverses as a ghostly, dark fabric begins to blanket over the shining dots that represents the many stars across many galaxies. As it gathers the stars, it moves even faster. Somehow, you may feel that it's getting closer now. The impending doom of the Storm is now upon the little corner of the universes where Darma found her planet. It's only a matter of time now before the Storm finally, finally, finds El Nysa. THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT
Nadril will remain accessible once you've established footing — it may seem like a welcome change to the steel, alarms, and artificial gravity. Once you've teleported down, your devices will pick up the message from the one and only Nurray, the leader of Nadril.
True to her words, the city square where you've teleported will have been furnished with a new piece of technology. Those who are familiar with Thesa's ins and outs would recognize it as a version of the Virtual Reality machines that can be found up there, but it is made for far more people. This foreboding machine has a shining gate that allows users to simply step through it and disappear into space. However, what you're really doing, is stepping right into the past.  I. Burning Dawn — You can hear the piercing screams even before your surroundings finish rendering. Once they do, searing heat, choking smoke, and flickering flames greet you — you find yourself in the midst of a burning village, at the center of the town square. The streets are swarming with people, both peasants who seem to live here fleeing for their lives and the heavily armored troops who have fanned out throughout the village, armed with torches and spears. Those who are running speak of safety in the forest — a place of refuge, somewhere they can be protected even from these outsiders with their blades and their fire. But reaching the forest means getting past the invaders who are stationed throughout the village and at all the exits. Fight your way out, sneak your way out, or find some other solution — but to escape this simulation you must find a way out. Should you find yourself killed by the invaders, you will respawn back in the village square again, right where you started. There does not seem to be any other way to end the VR session. II. The Escape — It is bitterly cold. You find yourself as part of a caravan — and though no one explicitly says so, you know instinctively that you are traveling north. Snow crunches underneath your feet and soaks through the material of whatever it is you are wearing. There are cliff walls and caverns visible further up ahead, and the path you need to take is a long, winding road that leads to the top of those cliffs. On the horizon are dark clouds, and murmuring around you makes it clear that you all expect a storm. You have perhaps half an hour before it is expected to hit. What you do with that time is up to you, but should you fail to prepare properly and succumb to exposure, the next thing you know you find yourself within the caravan once more, a chill in your soul as you stare out at the approaching storm. Thirty minutes... III. Crime — "Catch!" Someone calls that word out to you, and a moment later, a small wrapped package is dropped into your arms. There is a flurry of movement from somewhere behind you, and suddenly, men garbed in Olympian insignias — older than the versions worn in Olympia these days, but still recognizable — appear, brandishing swords at you. "Stop! Thief!" If the guards catch you, the scenery around you will distort, and you will find yourself back at the start of the simulation, with a package thrown into your arms. But if you flee, if you evade the guards for long enough through the twists and turns of the Olympian markets of hundreds of years ago, and manage to lose them... When you come out of the VR session, you find yourself gripping a small trinket of some kind — an antique bracelet, or perhaps a goblet, or some other bauble of Olympian make. It is very old, and it is yours to keep. IV. ...And Punishment — The rattling of chains fills your ears as the walls of some kind of cell form themselves around you. There are shackles around your wrists, connected to chains which are bolted to the stones hemming you in. There are others chained here with you, and as you begin to process what you're seeing, someone enters the cell. It's a large, imposing man with scale-like skin, and he takes one of the others in your cell and hauls them away. Minutes later, from outside, you hear screaming — and then utter silence. The man will return in thirty-minute intervals, dragging the inhabitants of the cell away for execution until he gets to you. If you do nothing, you will meet your end in a variety of ways — beheaded by an axe, perhaps, or drawn and quartered, or boiled alive. Should that happen, you will awake in the cell again, until you find a way to free yourself and escape. V. Castaways — The tang of sea salt fills the air as the image of the ocean builds itself around you. You find yourself on the deck of a ship, sailing away from the isles of El Nysa, toward the thick, thick fog that has kept everyone fenced in for so long. "It's never been done before, crew," shouts a man with a thick beard, wearing the clothes of a captain. "But today, we'll be the first! Full speed ahead!" The ship sails directly into the fog, and it seeps in around you, obscures your vision and becomes so thick that it's almost hard to breathe. But you can hear the waves breaking on the ship's hull, and everything is fine. Until it's not. Until the sound of the waves breaking is the sound of waves crashing, until the wind whips around you and howls but does not clear away the fog. There's a sickening crunch as the mast cracks and twists and falls, shattering the deck and sending you and everyone around you into the icy cold depths of the sea. The isles are back the way you came, but can you make it? Try — because should you sink to the depths of the sea, you'll only find yourself on the ship's deck again once you open your eyes. INVISIBLE WIRES
While there are no apparent seasons in the everwinter of Nadril, the diverse flora is not all year round. Now, with the coming of the most distant moon of the year, there grows a beautiful red vine. It snakes upwards from the ice, bright red against the glowing scenery. Growing along houses, coiled up tree trunks, and spidering over the ground, the plant is resilient and quickly adapts to any terrain.
It's quite the sight to behold, but get close and the veinlike roots fade, becoming entirely invisible. Like this, the vine ensnares its prey. A small tendril wraps around your finger, your neck, or burrows into your chest to entwine your heart. Each plant chooses two hosts in this way, binding them together with a sharp ache that becomes more severe the greater the distance between them grows. You may be alone when afflicted, left to suffer the night wandering to find your other half to soothe the pain. The vine withers after about 24 hours, leaving behind no trace, however, resisting its pull has been known to draw blood from the most stubborn obstinate victims. FINAL OOC NOTES
As always, feel free to wildcard prompts within Thesa Station and Nadril!
These threads may be carried over as game canon if players choose. Players are encouraged to submit TDM threads as application samples, but they are not required. Please direct any OOC questions to the questions thread below. Players may submit an AC-length thread HERE from this TDM for two (2) Natha REP. The due date for submission is January 20th, 11:59 PM EST. Due to the plot-relevancy of this TDM, current players are able to play these prompts in-game in their own logs. However, only threads involving a perspective player may be used for Natha REP. For this application cycle, there will be a cap of 60 and no reserves. Applications will be open on January 2nd at 12:01 AM EST and close on January 4th, 11:59 PM EST. Thank you! |
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so. maybe he's instantly a bit more at least with that bump to his shoulder, peering at his new neighbor with an expression that is apologetic and appreciative all at once ( because it has to have been obvious that he's unsettled, that his nerves are doing a thing and he wants them to stop doing that thing ), a half-smile that looks a little bit lopsided. ) Managing. ( he says at first, and it isn't the sound of his voice as much as it is the way his gaze shifts, looking toward the end of the row of prisoners and back again to her that gives him away as more anxious than he wants to present himself.
he knows the scaled man won't be back to collect another for a while yet, because he'd just come to collect one, but. the knowledge that he's coming back at all has him at a standstill, something that won't let the tension ease, even minutely, from the hard line of his shoulders.
thank you, though, mercy. for making this attempt in the first place. he doesn't want to seem weak. ) I'm beginning to think I made a really bad choice with this one. ( at least he isn't telling dad jokes. we'll save you that. )
I can't believe how immediately you murdered me with how sweet this tag was bye
But in the end, it still isn't real. It makes it easy to act. And when he visibly calms to the press of her shoulder against his arm, she's smiling up at that apologetic expression and shaking her head. A silent there's no need, for neither apologies nor thanks. It's the right thing to do, offering someone in a stressful situation some measure of comfort. She can't place a hand on his arm or turn very far to face him properly; they're both chained in place, for the most part. But she can offer him that easy little smile even as his eyes betray his words. Managing. Sure. Aren't they all? )
I wager we have a few hours, yet. That should be plenty of time to figure something out. Maybe I can even learn how to pick locks by then. ( Which is where she tips her wrists to show him— she's finagling with some flattened metal piece of a bracelet she had and a bobby pin. It's also very clear she has no idea what she's doing beyond a working knowledge of old locking mechanisms. Something about holding the tumbler over and twisting... ) Besides, this wasn't your choice to make. If they had explained what was awaiting us on the other side, it's very unlikely we would have subjected ourselves to this. Can you bend the end of this for me just a little bit?
( Which is where she's straining to offer him the metal strip, a bit too thick for her to manipulate with just her fingers. She's hoping her relative nonchalance will rub off on him and help set him at ease a fraction at a time. Sharing the sort of camaraderie with him that says we'll get through this, no sweat. )
—I'm sorry, I didn't even say hello. I'm Angela. Do you find yourself in prison often, or is this going to be one of those funny stories when we explain how we've met?
( Don't worry, she'll be the one to bring the jokes. They're not dad jokes, but they're just as bad!! Sorry, Shiro. )
asdkjh my intention was not murder but i can't be sorry because this is wonderful already??? jeez
or. something.
her being tactile is something of a breath of fresh air, so to speak, for a lack of better phrasing; he's always liked to think of himself as somewhere in the neutral middle, never wanting to push boundaries by invading personal space but never wanting to present himself as someone that's closed off, and she … gives off the kind of air that makes him relax even without that small touch. and that's saying something.
this man was probably stressed out straight out of the womb. no — he was just born tired. we're pretty sure he and stress weren't properly introduced until after he'd joined up with the garrison. possibly after he and two out of four holts had been taken by the galra. somewhere around there, but that's not important.
the point we're trying to make here is that, already, he's almost forgotten that he was seconds away from panicking in the first place. how do you do that, mercy? magic?
the sound of her voice is soothing; it's soft and sincere in a way that has him wanting to listen, even if he would have regardless, and for a handful of seconds he's able to block out all that background noise, focus on her words and her presence and where … did that bobby pin come from? which is a question that doesn't really matter and not one he's about to ask, because she's asking for his help and he ends up manipulating the metal easily, the line of his mouth kicked up just a little bit at the corner. ) True, but there was still the decision to help out with these things in the first place. ( 'these things' meaning 'memories from the past' —
but there's no point in dwelling on the things neither of them have any control over. ) Not the best display of my decision-making skills. All of my simulation experience up to now has involved flying.
( good lord, please don't apologize for those jokes, because that actually makes him crack a full grin and he huffs out a laugh, a quiet one, but exceptionally real. has anyone ever been able to say they've found themselves chuckling in jail? ) I'm Shiro. And if I told you all my stories of being held prisoner, you might get the wrong impression.
( okay so maybe you're not going to be the only one with the jokes. we never promised that, anyway. )
it's too late the cops are already on their way AND I KNOW... CLUTCHES CHEST
Also, save Shiro, oh my god. LET THE BOY BREATHE...Don't give away her secret; it's with a wiggle of the nose and only a light bewitchment. (And an unfortunate amount of experience. The real secret ingredient.)
She knows she has his attention and she tries to hold onto it now that his breathing has evened back out and some of that tension leaves him, jaw unclenching and eyes no longer darting to and fro— and when she offers him the metal, he's taking it readily. )
Just a bit— ah! Right there, that's perfect. Thank you. ( Where did the bobby pin come from? Have you seen her hair? It's carefully contained poise of fine blonde, threatening to turn to loose waves at a moment's notice. She needed the help to keep a clean nape with pale bobby pins keeping it up toward her hair tie, glittering gold. There was a purpose for it, before, with her suit; here, not so much. She takes the metal piece back and slender fingers get back to work, trying not to bite her lip in concentration as she occasionally glances up to check for guards.
It means she catches sight of that smile, which has her own reflecting it, warmer than ever. Good. There went that panic attack, booted right through the bars. ) Right, searching for the anomaly that matched their previous readings, with the stars going dark. How we're to do that in here, though...
Are you a pilot, Shiro? You must have been quite the scourge, if you've been prisoner so many times.
( Spoken with a tone that says she absolutely believes it to be the case. (She doesn't.)
...Oh! A promising click, felt through to her fingertips. Her eyes widen and she's very carefully fussing with the bobby pin, gently, gently turning, and...! Clink. The latch releases, and the thick band of iron creaks open with an impossibly noisy rustle of chains. She quickly brings her knees together to catch it and stop it, attention darting up toward the gate. Was it audible...?
The whole cell went quiet. )
well i guess i'll just do my best to tag this from jail ... in handcuffs ... oddly appropriate
( he needs a lot of help. let's be real, here, but he'll never admit that much.
don't worry, though. your secret is safe with him. not only because he has an unfortunate amount of experience with certain things, either. he's just great at keeping secrets. )
and — well, maybe he hadn't paid too much attention to her hair, but the moment he finds it in him to be more perceptive of his surroundings instead of focusing on the feeling of being trapped again ( yes, that's gone right through the bars now, all thanks to her ), he might notice a few things. she has a kind face, the sort that matches the soft kindness of her voice and he counts himself pretty darn lucky to have found himself with a cellmate such as herself.
good company, and apparently no shortage of bobby pins. you never know when you're going to need one.
his mouth pulls to the side, a flicker of something thoughtful across his expression. ) There has to be a reason, otherwise why bother, right? ( trying to remain objective, here. he's usually pretty good at that.
but then he's back to that small half-smile, a knowing sort of light in his eyes. ) I was. Until I stole a fighter and took it for a joyride. ( takashi shirogane are you seriously being funny right now. who are you. what's happened to you. ) I've been told I'm a menace.
( oh my god.
but listen. it's a testament to just how good you are at what you do, mercy; not only have you gotten him to calm down to where he needs to be, you've brought out a side of him that is rarely seen. achievement unlocked: funny space dad. congratulations, that has to be worth at least like 50G.
he goes still when the lock clicks, when the chain begins to drop into her lap and it does sound altogether too loud in the relative silence; he glances around, doesn't see any new shift of movement or anything indicative of being found out, and he breathes a small sigh of relief, turns back to face her. ) I don't think anyone heard you.
( a beat. ) I take it that isn't the first time you've had to do that. ( shiro would you stop teasing, for the love of god. )
I have faith in u new friend you're gonna do great at jail-tagging!!
The hair style's simply old habit; she's worn it the same way for so many years now, easy to pull half the pony back through a loop of the gold elastic to slap a surgeon's cap over, keeping it free from face mask ties at the back of her head. The bobby pins are part and parcel, but when she feels his eyes on her, she glances up with a little crinkle of the nose from her concentrating that smooths back out as she smiles.
(It's sweet of him to think so highly of her, based on appearances and a few words. Good thing she thinks the same of him. He seems very nice, and his eyes are endlessly kind despite the scar running beneath them. He's also far too young to be so white; was it natural?
Hah. No, she knows stress when she sees it.) )One would certainly think, yes. But there's little enough here to observe, and the guards don't speak to us. ( Thus, the solution is to break out and see what they can find for themselves. And, you know, avoid the "off with their heads!" of it all. He mentions a fighter, and she isn't sure yet if it meant a plane or some other thing entirely, but the stray pieces of her observations seem to seam right together. The scar, the build— military. Of course. She's been around it for years herself. It's his demeanor that threw her off, but she should have known. ) My. You had fun at least, I hope? That's grounds for a court martial.
( Plenty mischievous in tone on her own, sneaking a sly glance over— which is why the placement of the chains rustled, once she gets it unlocked, and they go still, waiting on bated breath. No confetti and giant checks here to celebrate, just yet, much as she'd been enjoying the funny space dad side of this nice stranger she'd found herself in prison with. She couldn't possibly ask for better. Hopefully she won't be the reason they cut the simulation off early, though.
When no guard comes, Shiro's the first to breathe out that relief, and then Angela half a second behind him. But here's the kicker; now she has a hand free, which means she can lower it to his forearm beside her and give him a little squeeze. Both in thanks and reassurance. He's managed to keep her calm through it all, in return. An exchanged half-smile, a bit lopsided, and then she's switching the tools to her dominant free hand to get the next one free. )
You don't recognize me? I'm a regular Houdini. I never fumble. ( The amount of time it's taking her to even get her tools inserted properly says that is a bald-faced lie. The teasing keeps them young and on their toes, exchanged in low-pitched murmurs as this one works open in half the time, tools of her newest trade up between her lips so she can very quietly set the chains and shackles down under their bench. Now, his turn. Forgive her for leaning over your knee, there. ) Now, let's get you out of here, too.
i'm so glad you have faith in me ... it's the beginning of a beautiful friendship
and it isn't that shiro forgets himself, or that he doesn't care about his own well-being. it's just always been that he's more considerate of others that need guidance, that he's always wanted to be the hand that guides them, and in the absence of all of that … well, he's just like them, isn't he? in need of some assistance, some guidance, sometimes?
so. this chance meeting, even if it could have been under better circumstances, is a good thing. a nice thing. and he's definitely going to remember it once they're gotten themselves out of here.
( yikes, we didn't mean to get so deep about that. moving right along, before we write a thousand words of introspection that have nothing to do with anything. )
there's always going to be a layer of kindness draped over every other part of him, because above all else, that's how he tends to want to present himself; kind eyes, soft smile, the sort of things that make him approachable but beyond that — no, beneath that are the things that have made him older beyond his years, the kind of responsibility and obligation that makes him seem so tired, but he keeps right on going. it's just the kind of image he's projected for longer than he can remember, and even if he might try to joke that all that white was natural?
if only that were true.
he nods at what she says next, because that is probably the most accurate thing he's heard so far re: what they're even supposed to be doing here; he hadn't come into this with any knowledge at all of what was expected of him, but he supposes now, looking at where he's found himself that that might have been the whole point, and it's. disconcerting in the sort of way that makes him think there might not actually be a way out of this, but. he's not about to give in to that sort of pessimism when they've only just gotten started on their escape.
his new friend here is making pretty good headway, too. so he isn't about to discount her efforts just because he's unsure of how they're going to proceed.
but: ) They haven't caught me yet, so I'm still in the clear. ( a beat. ) Having about as much fun as can be expected while in chains. ( you're fired.
from everything. that's it. we're done with you.
but it's been — more than good, more than effective in keeping his anxiety in check and it would have been reassuring to know that he's been the same kind of presence for her; one never goes into a simulation expecting to make a new friend in the interim, but once they're out of this, maybe they'll have to take a chance at having a normal conversation that doesn't revolve around trying to escape from the lizard man's lair.
and so: ) That's where I've seen you before. ( his eyes are practically glittering with general amusement, and it's almost like they aren't about to be taken off to their deaths with the way they crinkle at the very corners as he watches her work, relaxed but not so taken with the camaraderie that he forgets his surroundings, glancing around as she leans over his knee ( no forgiveness needed, trust ) and works on getting him free as well. finally. ) I'm a big fan. Think I could get your autograph when we're out of here?
( … why are you like this. )
clasps ur handcuffed hands so tight over the meta
Shiro has very much earned himself a hug once they're out of the simulation. Because he is indeed very approachable, and she thinks it wouldn't be unwelcome. A thank you as much as a celebration that they've both made it out.
(For what it's worth, the white is very dashing.)
Her best guess is that they need to get outside the prison to observe any similar behavior. It was the stars going out, after all. A breakout seemed the most logical conclusion. Thankfully, these shackles were quite old. And their cellmates were quite docile to their presence, seemingly having no feelings one way or another to their presence even as Angela undoes her cuffs. It's what makes it easy to realize they might be able to slip out. Perhaps if they hid, the guards wouldn't notice, either... (That's quite hopeful enough for the both of them, thank you.) She can't help but crack another smile at his response, shaking her head. )
You're always welcome to hide out with me. I'll cover for you. And I'm sure I won't have any future experiences to top this, either.
( Don't worry; she'll make it clear how much he helped her once they're out. Right now, her focus is on maintaining that easiness between them and keeping him from falling into another swirl of anxiety. Because there's no escaping her now that she's fond of you. Sorry, Shiro. You're stuck with her friendship.
She can at least hear the smile in his voice, even if she can't see him right now— her focus is entirely on getting him free. Which, you know, is a good time to realize his other hand is metal once she's releasing the first. (She has a groove, now, for picking these locks.) It's so commonplace to her she doesn't even seem to notice it as something strange. )
You know, my manager always says not to give it out unless it's on a photograph, but I'll make an exception this once. Here, other one?
i ... did not mean for that last tag to get as long as it did i am so sorry asfdskjg
( it's always going to be like that, though, he thinks; a series of steps in the right direction, toward the people that need them and a slow but steady progression forward. he's all right with that, because it feels like what he's always been meant for. a natural leader, and a natural caretaker.
he'll take that hug once they're out of here, because it would be the exact opposite of unwelcome — and can you even imagine him without the white hair, now? imagine … before war and space and a war in space had taken effective years off his life … it was black. we skipped right over the salt-and-pepper and went straight to the salt. thank you, stress.
but it would probably fluster him to know the white is being referred to as dashing. grown ass man right here. flustered. don't judge him. )
theoretically, it should — should — be simple enough to slip out once they're both out of their respective chains, and if that's all it takes for the simulation to end, it seems … doable, on a very basic level. putting theory into practice is always going to be the hard part, though, and even if he likes to think he's managed to maintain some level of stealth throughout his career as a paladin despite his considerable bulk, there's some niggling little thought in the back of his mind that wonders if they're going to be able to pull it off. not without a hitch, but at all.
the anxiety might be all but gone, but concern is a constant in everything he does. he's just wired that way. ) After this, I think I'd trust you with more than just covering for me. ( a soft admittance, but a very real one, all things considered.
gosh, what are they going to do, being stuck with each other? he's pretty darn fond of you, too, angela. there's no getting rid of him, either.
and, okay, so maybe he notices that she seems almost dismissive of his arm — which he is kind of thankful for, but would have been prepared for, since it isn't exactly the kind of prosthetic one might be used to seeing; that's what happens when you have an altean draw something up for you, even if she'd done it all on your own.
you get a floating arm. that doesn't have an 'off' or even a dimmer switch and you might wonder, takashi, how do you sleep at night with that thing? the answer is that he's gotten so used to not sleeping that he doesn't even notice it. it makes a good reading light.
( how are you taking this even remotely seriously. how. ) have the other lock for your picking, madam. ) Just for me? I'm honored. ( the sound of that smile is still in his voice, and it absolutely is not going anywhere. ) Good manager, though. Also, never give anything away for free. How do you know I won't try to sell it?
( … yep, still fired. )
please never apologize for tag length omg I'm living for this thread
No really, never apologize.(That's exactly why they say doctors make the worst patients, you know. They always know what's best.)So long as there's always forward movement, it's enough. Angela's content to be the person with her hands square on the backs of those she loves, keeping them propped upright and seen to. The shoulder they can lean against when they need support. Someone has to be at the back of the line and keep everyone moving forward, after all, to ensure no one's left behind.
If he were to tell her his hair had been black all his life, it would take some imagining. She'd probably say something like "I'm sure it was beautiful but so is this" and be done with it, because while it was a product of stress, it's not something he can readily change about himself. What good does it do to make someone self-conscious? She has other snowy-haired men in her life, and they're all heroes. It's not a bad connection to make.
All tea no shade. You look great, Shiro!! The hug will prove it. )
Well, we're not out of the frying pan yet. But I appreciate that very much.
( Just as softly, since they're being Real and not just teasing each other. The concern is there for her too; she's never been the woman with the plan. That was everyone else's forte. With Jack and Gabriel at the helm of Overwatch, she never needed to worry too much about which direction they went. Sometimes she felt the need to correct their course, but when it came to planning, they always knew what to do and how to do it. Everyone had their roles. She could take charge now and again if necessary, but she wasn't nearly so skilled with it and it was only ever during evacuation efforts in the middle east. All they can do is try and keep an eye out for one another.
Truly an insurmountable task they're not at all prepared for. (Sike.) Good thing they're best friends now!!
Also, look. It's on his other side and she can't see that it's just floating until he's shifting to offer her the other wrist, and that does get a moment from her. A tip of the head, turning to observe the end of the forearm, seemingly disappearing but— oh, there's a shoulder "dock". It must be... magnetic, perhaps? Color her curious (and very intrigued), but that's a mystery for another time and place. (Don't worry; she has no plans of dissecting it to figure out how it ticks.)
(Also, you're getting bullied into bedtime, stat.) )
I know a diehard fan when I meet one. You won't betray me that way. ( And with a satisfying click, that second one is falling off too. Now just pay attention as she turns his hand over and doodles her "autograph" in the palms of his hands. Cheeky. ) There we are, then. Now, for the rest of the plan.
( [ Crickets ] )
ok we are going to be FINE because some of my longest tags have been 1300+ words ... coughs
so. they really are kindred spirits, aren't they? what a wonderful chance meeting this has turned out to be.
he'd been more used to the slight salt-and-pepper look he'd come out of his initial stay with the galra than he cares to admit; sometimes, he'll look at himself in the mirror and try to remember what he'd looked like before he and the holts had left for kerberos, what the softness of his expression had looked like without that scar bisecting it, without the tiny lines of stress and responsibility and obligation etched into its surface, the sort of definition he wouldn't have thought to expect until he was much older than his current years.
truth be told, he's still getting used to the whole-white thing. but. it's just hair, at the end of the day. it doesn't change who he is on the inside, just. makes him look like the old man he feels like sometimes. ) I'm just being proactively positive. ( and he does give that with a flippant sort of tone, almost teasing? just like a good chunk of their interaction has been so far, because he's always been a man of consistency, and that isn't about to stop now.
though, at the very least, he's still being quiet about it because she is one hundred percent correct about not being out of the frying pan just yet; he can still feel the heat, that's for darn sure, even if it might have lessened infinitesimally once the shackles started coming off, and that's a heck of a load off of his anxiety in its own right.
though, while she works at that last lock he finds himself at least trying to think of how they're going to proceed from here, because it isn't going to do either of them any good at all if they're free and have zero plan on how to proceed; he's racking his brain, turning over every single one of his brain cells one by one and he thinks that if there was just some way to invisible their way out of the cell once they have a chance to, that would be it. done, stealth check passed. then to get the literal hell out of dodge.
they'll. get there. surely. it's only a matter of time before one of them comes up with some Great Plan ( ™ ) to get them to their destination and, subsequently, that hug that's going to happen back out in the real world.
and you know? he wouldn't mind all that much if she wanted to inspect his arm more closely; before he'd woken up from stasis here, he hadn't exactly had a lot of time to get used to the thing, and he'd really like to figure out the whole of it for himself, too. shared knowledge, or something like that, is what it all comes down to.
too bad he isn't going to be able to tell her more than 'it's an altean design' and 'it's powered by a crystal' and 'if you only knew how much it hurt before allura figured out how to fix it so that it didn't'.
also … no need for bullying into bedtime. he'll probably go gladly, willingly, even if his conscience would be the one convincing him that he was stepping out on his responsibilities. or something like that. ) Yeah, you're right on that one … betrayal's never been my thing. ( a soft hum, and then we swear … we can hear those crickets.
hm.
excuse him if he's grinning just a tiny bit wider at that 'autograph', though. you ridiculously endearing woman. ) How long do you think we have before they come to get another prisoner? ( maybe … they can fabricate their escape then.
again. hm. )
CLASPS HANDS WICHU also we both apped, so can I add you on plurk!! I'm @ clegane
(Shiro, please, you're perfectly handsome!!)
The remark on proactively positive gets an easy little laugh under her breath, another fond bump to his arm as she works to free him. )
Then that makes two of us, which should say something. Do we want to chance one more guard visit to observe their numbers and risk being taken? Or do we want to try and escape this time? If there's only the one, we may be able to disable him.
( That's a very kind way of saying "knock his ass out", thank you, Angela. Let the other prisoners have a go at him when he's down. She doesn't have time to pick the shackles open for everyone in the cell, but she can pass the tools along after showing them once. Perhaps that could be a distraction of its own... Hm.
Sorry if you were enjoying the crickets. At least they have a hug to look forward to and set their sights on. A lofty goal, isn't it? Waltzing right out of a prison just to squeeze each other for a bit. How perfectly and quaintly human of them.
And he's found good company if he needs help figuring out the new arm— she works on prosthetics and cybernetics as another facet of her living. Yet another way in which they align well. At least he's enjoying his autograph, as any true fan should. (Angela???? Enough!!) )
Fourteen minutes? Give or take. I have a decent internal clock, and I want to say it's between thirty and forty minutes between visits. I suppose it depends on... how long they take with the last prisoner.
( Oops. There's the downer. )
Do you think if we can help enough out of their shackles, they could help...?
OF COURSE YOU CAN if i don't add u first i'm @ problematic there's a link up there somewhere
great minds and hearts think and beat alike respectively, after all.
( also! fine! he's handsome! we'll just … leave that alone for now. there are things to be done. like get all the way out of these stupid shackles. ) ) If there's only one … I bet we can take him. ( yep, very nice way of saying knock his ass out, and he thinks that might actually be their best plan considering the longer they wait, the smaller the window of escape is going to end up being.
so maybe he's been in enough hostage-like situations that he's had to think about things like this before — but, generally speaking, galra cells are a lot less … accessible than this, so while he might not have had much of a chance of getting out of other situations like this without a fair amount of help ( read: someone managing not to get themselves caught and therefore being able to help from the outside ), there's enough of a chance here that he's really beginning to think that they're going to get out of this without. uh. incurring the ultimate, worst endgame scenario.
which is being caught all over again and sent to their ( simulated ) deaths. he would really rather not die even if it isn't real.
and of course he's enjoying that autograph. why wouldn't he? he is your biggest fan, after all .. ( shiro. no. you also stop this. immediately. ) ) If it were me, it would be enough incentive to help someone else any way I could. ( again, you are an inherently good person, and that doesn't mean that everyone else in here is. but. surely there's no harm in trying? at the very least, for the next fourteen minutes. ) Let's to try get as many free as we can, and maybe … ( he really doesn't want to say it like this, because it seems rude, but: ) Maybe they can at least provide a distraction, and we can sneak out?
( it's okay, shiro. it should make you feel better to know that these prisoners have already met their fate. even though we all know it will probably make you feel worse. because that's just the kind of person you are. )
BLESS
(Heh hehhhh she wins!!) )
I should hope so. We have no particular weapons, but a chokehold goes quite a long way, wouldn't you say?
( Doctors that know Krav Maga: surprisingly few, but Angela is at least counted among them. It's come in quite handy over the years and will likely help them out of this, as well. She won't put everything on Shiro's shoulders. They're large enough, perhaps, but they carry a certain slump that says they've carried more than enough already. How old was he? Mid, late 20s? If that. That's too young to be white from stress and to hold that sort of tension in his spine. Which only means she'll refuse to heap more on him if at all necessary. Let him breathe.
And Angela would much prefer not dying. Especially if it meant cycling them through with other partners, the "next time". She's perfectly content at Shiro's side, thank you very much. (He is her biggest fan, after all.)
Still, he goes on to say what she hadn't dared put words to— but had certainly thought. The troubled furrow of her brow is the first he'll see on her as a result. There is a difference between practical and rude. Just as there's a difference between practical and cruel. They're being practical. )
Mm. That is true enough, even if it leaves a bad taste. ( Then, a bit louder, but pitched to stay within the cell: ) Is anyone else here participating in the simulation?
( ...There's those darn crickets again. They largely don't even seem to acknowledge she'd spoken at all. Whether it's because this is an echo of a memory they'd never been a part of, or the prisoners being resigned to their fate? That wasn't her place to say. She's sure they would have shown interest in being freed once they'd seen her picking locks, in the first place, or overheard her and Shiro murmuring together. Well, here goes nothing.
She slips off her seat and goes to the nearest prisoner, working at their shackles. It doesn't take long once she'd figured it out. And once he's free, he does seem to realize as much even if he hadn't registered her presence. He rubs his wrists, glancing down at the shackles, then begins looking around.
It seems to glitch, not following the original plan, but the simulation seems to adapt. And so she moves onto the next, and then the next— the problem is they're beginning to mill about and make noise once they're freed, and the others begin to take notice as well. Just a couple more... )
FINALLY GETS BACK TO THIS god i'm sorry it's been a week
which. he gets the feeling that it's going to be doubly true here. he hasn't been able to put his finger on why just yet, but. best to keep that in mind going forward, because heaven forbid he find himself caught unawares.
he huffs out a bit of a laugh, still quiet, still hopefully managing not to draw too much attention to himself just in case that inner clock of angela's isn't quite as on the mark as she thinks it is. ( even though we trust that it will be. that isn't the point. ) ) Chokehold, huh? I'd say so. ( and color him impressed, while we're at it. but that also isn't the point.
it's never going to matter, at least not much that he's too young to carry the weight of the stress that has been heaped on him, again and again, for too damned long; he's always taken it with the proverbial grain of salt, not only because he's always going to think it's his responsibility to take it on for himself, but because it means the people around him won't have to if he does, and that in itself is the kind of reward that only comes from being so much more mature beyond one's years.
he was born tired, and he was born an old man. we've mentioned the first part — what about the second? so. don't worry about all that stress, doc. it all ends up working itself out in the end, even if it means going prematurely white and wearing the sort of posture that atlas must have adopted at some point during his punishment.
those crickets sure are making a nuisance of themselves, aren't they? somehow, he hadn't expected a positive answer — and here we've just gone on for a paragraph about him keeping that positive attitude, wow are we hypocrites — but it is comforting, in a sense, to see that first prisoner freed and looking around quizzically.
and then there's another. and another. and after the third he finally rises from his seat as well, rolling his shoulders in a way that finds the one with its appendage still attached crunching just a little uncomfortably. ( it really didn't feel like he'd been sitting long enough for that to be a thing, but maybe when we mentioned he'd been born an old man, the side effects had decided to come with it.
no. he's still in peak condition. this is really all for the sake of making old man jokes. )
the freed prisoners look to him when he stands, and he nods in their general direction. ) We're going to need your help. ( a beat. ) If you're willing to give it.
( time to glitch the hell out of this sim. gotta get to that hug, after all. )
it's ok!! I backtag forever
They share that in common too— what a surprise. Shouldering a burden so those around them didn't have to. He would make a great medic. Angela may very well need to steal him sometime and see if he holds up. (Telling her not to worry just simply won't do; if he spends a day in her shoes as a medic, he'll understand why just fine.)
When he moves to stand behind her, Angela's turning to glance over her shoulder and watch as he stretches and rolls his shoulder, sure she can hear that crackle of the release of pent-up pressure on the joint. Maybe her estimate of his age had been wrong. She's pretty good at faces, though, and didn't think she had been.
(Shiro!!! You poor old soul, goodness.)
She continues to pick shackles open and the prisoners turn their attention to Shiro as he speaks, her head turning a fraction to let him know she's listening, as well.
What's up your sleeve? )
no subject
or at all, but we're not saying that old dogs can't learn new tricks. ha. aha. ha.
( but maybe she'll borrow him one day, and maybe he'll realize he has a new calling as a medic, if he manages to hold up to her standards. he's never … thought of that in particular, having always been on the offensive side of the military, but. it's something to think about, isn't it? something to think about indeed.
and listen! he just gets stiff sometimes, okay. really, he's fine. totally fine. )
as she continues to free prisoners, they turn to look at him as he continues speaking, that leader-tone creeping into his voice as it most often does even when he doesn't mean for it to, still speaking lowly enough that should there be any guards passing by on the other side of the cell's door, they won't be able to make anything out. ) They won't be able handle all of us at once if we rush them. It's our best shot at getting out of here alive. ( he pauses, looks back over to angela for a brief moment, gauging what she might think of his plan. )
We can all get out of here if we play our cards right. What do you say?
( aw. that's the former-paladin-of-the-black-lion and future-captain-of-the-igf-atlas we know and love. )
no subject
Angela wouldn't have taken him for a leader at first, gentle at her side and warm, teasing, but as he begins to speak, her ears practically prick as she finds herself drawn to his words, his tone of voice. He's inspiring and reassuring, rallying, and when he looks to her for approval, she smiles and inclines her head. Yeah, that's the best case scenario they could hope for. That he goes on to promise that they may all escape, however, is what sets him apart from men like Jack Morrison who had headed up Overwatch.
Jack would have made it clear first and foremost there was risk involved, that they may not make it. That every sacrifice would be remembered and honored, and that it wouldn't be in vain. They all had to give it their all regardless for the good of everyone.
She thinks she likes Shiro's version better. She even looks a little proud of this man she's only just met. )
Sounds like you have yourself a medic.
( Angela will be the first to answer, but the rest are quick to follow, stating their own skills as they go. Laborers, mostly. They're strong. That was the important takeaway. )