![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
larkers) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
meadowlarklogs2020-11-14 11:54 am
- !arrival log,
- dceu: diana prince,
- dogs b&c: nill,
- dragon age: marian hawke,
- marvel comics: thor,
- mcu: tony stark,
- red vs. blue: terrence ephemera,
- supernatural: dean winchester,
- the 100: lexa,
- the boys: homelander,
- the last of us: ellie,
- the magicians: quentin coldwater,
- the vampire diaries: kai parker,
- xena: callisto
ARRIVAL LOG #027
WHERE: A hotel in the financial district for all training. For the Displaced who were around for Anime Naex, it's the same hotel! Later, it all comes together for a big competition concert in the New Amsterdam Stadium.
WHEN: July 22, 2512 for the big show!
WHAT: Auditions for a singing competition, as well as new arrivals!
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy, second-hand embarrassment via singing competitions.
Awareness comes to you in blurred snatches, cloudy fragments of sound, light, color, and sensation. It's hard to grasp onto anything but a series of rhythmic beeps, a medicinal astringent smell, and the sensation of movement beneath you. Your eyes are heavy and you struggle to keep them open, but in the glimpses between slow blinks, you see a man in front of you dressed in all white. There isn't any other visibility. Not yet.
You realize there are others with you who are dressed the same way as you. To your left there's an armored interior door, two more people visible, and large, hulking buildings passing by through the window. You try to open your mouth to speak, but it's as if your tongue is coated in tar, and you manage nothing more than an empty parting of lips.
When the vehicle stops, a nurse steps into view. His jaw is set as he pulls the IV out of your arm. The movement is harsh, sudden, like he's not taking care to be gentle with it. He's on the clock, it seems.
The nurse opens up the van's door soon after, and he steps out, monitoring the way the two heavily armed soldiers yank you out. The first of them speaks: "Get 'em out—the orders on high say that we're not supposed to stick around too long. Something about us having some heat on our necks." It's a woman from the sound of her voice, and she's irritated, impatient. This job is already weird enough, right? Now there's tension.
Both the guards and the nurse don't waste any time after that. They take care of the IVs and get everyone lined up. "Now listen to us. You're going to head around to the front door of that gaudy bar with all the red lighting. Go inside. They'll know what to do with you. Ask them about the glow if you're not sure." At this time, you'll notice others like you: all dressed in tank tops and a pair of shorts, along with neon-colored flip flops. Given that it's warm as hell outside, the clothes fit.
With the orders given, the guards pile back into the van and pull off into the sky, hitting the road. The road, of course, is in the sky. For the newcomers, it's better to head into the bar like directed. Well, it's not like you have any choice in the matter.
◉ Though entirely capable of independent action and thought, new characters will find themselves completely, unquestioningly compliant to any verbal statement which could be taken as a command or request.
The message that comes this time is a picture of the shorts-wearing newcomers being funneled into the van, likely from their original destination. There aren't any words, just the picture itself. It can't be traced, but does appear to come from a different, anonymized source than the previous messages.
Did something change?
Out of the alley and around to the front, the newcomers will find a city that is in the process of rebuilding itself. While New Amsterdam has seen better days, it's starting to regain some of its more pristine gleam that it especially tends to acquire in the summer time.
Despite that, New Amsterdam has been through a lot—so much that it's almost impossible to summarize it all. The city's seen a lot of tragedy between giant kaiju attacks, people being hit with a rage sickness, an EMP that killed lots of people, and a vengeance-driven simulation put on by a very angry AI. And this was all New Amsterdam alone. Most recently, the entire world was hit by a monster attack, with the monsters pouring out of unknown crevices beneath every city. Oddly enough, New Amsterdam fared the best throughout the attacks because of the intervention from the strange people with the blue glowing chests (known to each other colloquially as "the Displaced").
Ah, the Displaced. These people have had a presence in New Amsterdam for a while. First, they were the weirdos who inspired messages from the NAPD to remind people that vigilantism is a bad idea after they took out a kaiju all by themselves. Later, they were creeping into medical wings and heading up into the floating pyramid outside of the city to help bring the environmental grid around the world back online. Over time, they've become known, but a lot of the footage of their deeds kept disappearing from the internet. After the simulation where their powers were key to causing little glitches throughout the experience, the Displaced became more widely known. And most recently? They've come out as a group in connection to the bar they run. (Oh, yes, the very same bar that everyone got dropped off at today.) As a result of that, the public has started calling them the "Red Wings."
There has been a group that has quietly appreciated the Displaced for a while. Around September 2511, little shrines started sprouting up around the city depicting the Displaced. While many of these shrines were simple in nature, made up of candles and a simple piece of art portraying someone with a blue shape coming out of their chest, others were beautiful murals, lavish in every way. These murals sell for a lot of money, but the people buying them don't seem to know why these paintings are a big deal.
Are the Displaced worthy of shrines and attention? Debatable. The people connected to the shrines think they're either touched by god, gods themselves, or carrying something god-like within them. These people tend to be marked with sacred geometry tattoos. They aren't in the majority in the city by any means, but they were the first "fans" of the Displaced. Now that the Displaced are becoming known (not for being people from another world, but for their feats to help the city and their glowing blue chests), their shrines are getting more notice.
There does appear to be some basis of truth in what these worshippers believe. The Displaced are connected to weird underground structures that help them fast travel around the globe. They've also had prophetic dreams, as well as some dreams of the past. They've also rewritten reality via a different dreaming experience. Oh, and don't forget the massive amount of greenery growing around New Amsterdam, turning it into one-part rain forest, one part massive metropolitan city. That happened directly after the Displaced returned from a pocket dimension.
Along the way, the Displaced have made some enemies, but whether they're truly considered a threat is still yet to be seen. The UN recently released a statement making it abundantly clear that they aren't fans. There are also mysterious people in shadows hiring mercenaries to move the Displaced around—both in their initial drop offs, as well as during an event. Mercenaries in this world tend to be arms of corporations because they're the ones with the big credits to spend. Of course, corporations are the ruling power in this world.
The most notable of the corporations at the moment is Riverstone. A former entertainment mogul in the 20th and 21st centuries, Riverstone eventually began to broaden their interests prior to World War III. Most recently, they offered to perform tests on the Displaced in exchange for some information. Riverstone has a mild presence in New Amsterdam, but has a symbiotic relationship with the United Nations in their capital city, New Beijing.
Perhaps it's better that New Amsterdam isn't in Riverstone's sights, and instead it's the Displaced themselves. Thanks to New Amsterdam's ability to recover more quickly after the recent monster attacks, they're beginning to move forward on a progressive agenda set out by newly-elected Governor Joseph Lynch and his right hand, Lieutenant Governor Amabel Delafield-Chapin. Part of their agenda involves affordable housing, a way to maintain a low unemployment rate around the city, and various shelters and locales to help people out of hard times. Some of these things are being put into motion by various Displaced, but they aren't the face of the movement.
It feels important to note that it's hot in New Amsterdam right now. Hot, humid, and unpleasant. There is also water rationing going on. So, you know. That's fun!
> RED WINGS
The newcomers were directed to head into a bar that is on the other side of the alley, and there is only one available: the Displaced-run Red Wings. While Red Wings has looked worse for wear thanks to the recent monster attack, it's starting to look like its old self again. Bright red lights welcome the newcomers inside. The windows have been repaired, and the bar looks like it's in better shape. Thanks to the attack, there are still some cosmetic changes in progress to freshen up the place, getting rid of the booths and replacing them with tables, but this appears to be a work in progress.
Thanks to the recent reveal—or owning up to being strange—Red Wings is hopping right now. While it's not possible for any of the newcomers to see because their implant hasn't been activated yet, there are various baseball and soccer games from around the world playing on projected screens. The bar is standing room only at the moment, but there are various bouncers/guards ready to cart anyone out who's seeming a bit unruly.
Even if business is like this, it's unlikely that the current Displaced will ignore you. So, be ready to ask about the glow.
The "When You Believe" competition came about due to a rather simple pitch: all 104 megacities send their top three performers to New Rio De Janeiro to compete with one another to determine who is the best singer in 2511. The problem? It's not 2511 anymore. It's not even early 2512. After months of setbacks, the "When You Believe" competition is finally on the road. Ten cities have already picked their top three performers, and New Amsterdam is next!
Now, what is reality TV like in 2512? Invasive. In a world that already has flimsy expectations of privacy, a singing competition like this is meant to give an inside look at the lives of everyone who signs up. Hell, all permissions are granted by the long-ass contract that you sign when you audition. Everyone's forced to sign the contract to even audition, but no one blinks an eye. Terms and conditions were never anyone's favorite thing to read, right? Nothing's changed.
"When You Believe" has your typical singing competition setup: three judges, each willing to be a mentor for their favorites, as well as an extremely charismatic host. The competition's host is Amoli Bhasin, a charming young actress out of New Delhi who's made waves in the last year for her role in the remake of The Bodyguard. (Sensing a theme here? Whitney is huge in the 26th century, all thanks to the Displaced.) While this is her first hosting gig, Amoli calls the shots. Zany ideas? Invasive interviews? Catching auditioners on candid camera? It all comes from her.
The judges pale in comparison to Amoli, but they are: an older folk singer by the name of Raul Vaites, a dancer named Claire Esposito, and the owner of the world-famous record label, SLAMMING records, Drake Miller.
> AUDITIONING
Think you've got what it takes to believe? (Look, even with all the delays, they didn't come up with very good catch phrases.) Well, guess what: Amoli Bhasin has her sights on the Displaced for her competition. She's going to swing by Red Wings two days before the competition starts to let every employee know that she's looking for a star among them. It would be wasteful to come to New Amsterdam and leave without one of their homegrown stars! Come on, Red Wings, show your spirit!
As mentioned before, auditions essentially provide Amoli and the show's producers a ticket to someone's life. But they don't announce this fact or shine a light on it. Seemingly believing that their way of being incredibly invasive is the new normal—and frankly, it's kinda been that way for centuries, so they aren't wrong—they aren't too forthcoming about the fact that anyone who signs up will be in for more than just fifteen minutes of fame.
Once you sign away your right to privacy, Amoli and her camera crew will be everywhere. Waking up? Oh, they got a key to your apartment through the contractual agreement. Taking a shower? Well, they want to see if you have any tattoos! The only thing that remains private is your accounts that you access via your neural implant. Try as they might, these reality TV shows haven't been able to get the rights to access those things freely. Darn!
Outside of the complete loss of freedom, auditioning is shockingly straightforward. The judges don't care about Amoli's need for spectacle and are just here to judge talent. If you're talented and a Displaced? Odds are you'll move forward through the audition process. If you can't sing and you're here for shits and giggles? Well, Amoli's still grateful you gave her the right to see the inside of your apartment … on accident. Unless, you know, you were angling for voyeurism.
If you're interested in having your character audition, sign up below! Let us know there if your character can sing or if they sound like a dying cat. There is a potential for lasting consequences if your character proceeds through the competition, but they won't be in place until after the AU event ends. Unfortunately, any new arrivals in this log will not be able to audition. (Maybe that's for the best?)
> RISING THROUGH THE RANKS
After the audition period ends, the chosen handful will be assigned a mentor in one of the three judges. These mentors specialize in different areas, and they take an interest in who suits them best. Raul prefers musicians who'll play their own instruments, while Drake is really into the 2512-equivalent of your Christina Aguilera or Mariah Carey type. As for Claire, she prefers performers who can dance, even if their singing might be on its way to a lot of auto-tuning on a record. (They'll still need to sing, but if they can move? That'll help.)
All of the auditioners will be put through a rigorous 48-hour musical bootcamp before they have to perform before an audience full of New Amsterdam citizens.
This performance? Oh, it'll take place in the New Amsterdam Stadium that's riiiight across the street from Red Wings. This competition wants to be the real deal. That may be why Amoli is determined to ensure that a member of the Displaced makes it that far.
> VIEWING EXPERIENCE
Throughout the week-long competition, there will be 24 webcasts of the various people auditioning. Amoli will be everywhere in New Amsterdam causing trouble. Even if the city is hot, miserable, and under water rationing restrictions, Amoli doesn't seem to give a damn. It does seem that some of the filming is done via little drones zipping around the city to spy on people. Look, Amoli can't be everywhere at once.
Otherwise, the hotel holding the initial auditions and main bootcamp is open for anyone willing to pay their way in. Prices aren't steep, if only because they want to make it seem like the competition is getting a lot of attention despite the current state of the city (and the world). Impressions are everything!
> THE FINAL SHOWDOWN
Everything culminates in one big show at the New Amsterdam Stadium. Tickets for this leg of the competition are still recently affordable, though no one will be able to get front row seats. All of those seats are reserved for high-level executives from the three major New Amsterdam corporations (Pulsar, Vyonation, and Giles Bell). Governor Joseph Lynch and Lieutenant Governor Amabel Delafield-Chapin were also provided executive suites in order to watch the show.
Three people will advance from this leg in the competition to go forward and compete in the Rio de Janeiro contest later in the year. If Amoli gets her wish, one or more of those three will be a member of the unique group of people with glowing chests.
> MERCHANDISE
As a part of Amoli's pitch, she's working together with local second-hand clothing companies to put out patches and various types of merchandise to let New Amsterdam citizens rep their favorite Believer. These things will be hastily put together, and they won't be cheap. While they aren't charging a lot for tickets to any of the events connected to the competition, they're eager to make up for it via this merchandise.
On top of it, Amoli's being a bit shameless: she's also requested that a few thousand Red Wing pins and patches be made. Even if she can't get a Displaced on her show—and she sure as hell is going to try—she intends to make money off of them!
Hell, if Red Wings isn't gonna do it, that means it's up for grabs!
Not long after their arrival, the new Displaced will be brought across the city to an abandoned hover-bike garage in a neighborhood that's clearly seen better days.
Located under said hover-bike garage, access to the safehouse is a hatch in the floor beside a rusted set of metal shelves that used to hold tools and supplies. The immediate area is similarly abandoned: full of rundown and dilapidated warehouses and forgotten businesses, where numerous people squat in hopes of having some stability because they can't afford a place themselves. Gaby will be around, ready to greet as many of the new arrivals as she can and get them settled in. Brusque and no-nonsense, she'll be open to questions, but will advise the newcomers to ask the people who brought them in for the beginning bits of information. Newbies can also contact El through zeir inbox, if needed.
The safehouse is a large space with multiple rooms for storage, with the largest of the rooms filled with rows of basic cots set up to sleep a large number of people. Basic, but outfitted with everything necessary for daily life. A few doors lead to back rooms for storage, medical care and a large communal bathroom, and past the long rows of cots there is a communal kitchen, fully stocked, and an eating area. There was a VR system for anyone who'd be hanging around the safehouse for a long time, but it's currently still out for repairs. Unfortunately, the partitions that were setup were destroyed by some viciously digging moles, so privacy is back to being nonexistent down in the safehouse.
◉ New characters will be asked to pick their beds, and be provided with a change of (second-hand, mismatched and somewhat threadbare) clothes and basic toiletries.
◉ There is a mini-bar set up in the kitchen. The quality of the alcohol inside is akin to what someone might get from the well at a bar, but it's well-stocked.
◉ While the kitchen has basic foods and necessities, anyone looking for a jolt of caffeine from coffee or tea will find themselves sorely lacking. The only tea present is herbal in nature, and caffeine appears to be pretty much nonexistent in most of the beverages lying around.
◉ Along those same lines, newcomers will find that this is a world that is steeped in sustainable choices. Paper is a thing of the past. Ever used a bidet regularly? This world gives everyone a crash course in exactly what that feels like if they haven't done that before.
◉ Gaby will make it clear to all new arrivals that if they have any requests or queries, they should contact her or El. Either she or El will explain that they've been given a modest stipend of credits to help them get by until they can find a job. This will be enough to cover their living expenses for about a month while they hang out in the safehouse, if they're careful with budgeting.
◉ The drugs making new characters compliant will remain in their systems for a few hours after their arrival at the safehouse before finally beginning to fade. They will be gone entirely after a night's rest. In the meantime, they may want to be careful of what others say to them.
◉ New characters will be given rudimentary access to the network on arrival in the safehouse, but will not have their ID set up yet. They will be able to make posts and replies, but their messages will be anonymous — and they do not have inboxes yet.
◉ New characters do not have access to the internet until their ID is setup. They only have limited access because they're present in the safehouse, but they can't surf the rest of the internet, check out Cooltalk, or watch the equivalent of Netflix until their ID is made.
◉ New characters cannot leave the safehouse at this time. The hatch is locked tight for them, making it impossible for them to get out for the next four days while they're locked inside. There won't be any immediately obvious ways to cut their way out through turning off the power, either. Time to sit tight.
◉ New characters will not be allowed to leave the safehouse until JULY 26 (NOVEMBER 21). These 4 days are for them to adjust, learn about the world they've arrived in from their fellows, and for El to speak with them and work on setting up their IDs. However, this is when the AU starts, so while characters will know they have to sit tight for four days, they won't be able to explore outside of the safehouse as themselves until after the AU is done.
You're now free to post to the network and logs comms. To reiterate, your characters will have no IDs or inboxes, nor be allowed to roam free until after the AU event and characters return to their normal selves. (Keep in mind that our sole AU opt-out option is to be brought into the AU but not mentally AUed in. If you take that route with your character, they will of course be able to roam free in that world!)
Before the AU, all characters will appear as @anonymous on the network. While sitting down in the safehouse, it's expected that they'll have gotten a good idea of their new situation from their fellow characters, and will have discussed their background and job potentials with El in order for their false IDs to be set up. Of course, then they'll be tossed into an AU, so how's that for a whacky crash course?
If you have any questions or ideas about how you'd like to get your character involved in the world, please head over to the plot engagement post and drop us a comment! For questions specific to this log, there is a thread below.
The November CR meme for the month is here.
Please check out our November calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month.
As we announced in our calendar, AC will remain halved until at least January 2021. New players will only need to provide at least five comments across two-four (2-4) threads, while older players will only need to provide ten comments across two-four (2-4) threads. Please let us know if you have any questions about this!
Finally, take a look at our AU event outline one last time and let us know any questions or concerns you have about it! We'll be posting the full planning post on November 16th, with the first log for the event going live on November 21st.
arrival
He must not know what he's getting himself into when he hones in on Bucky.
The feeling's mutual. He hadn't been looking at the door at the time, he didn't notice the movement out of the corner of his eye — and damn if that's not a testament to his decreased paranoia over his months here. It's just nothing, and then all of a sudden it's a familiar voice and then a lot of something when he tugs his eyes up to pin them on the source.
Lips part.
Brain freezes — didn't used to do that often when he had the serum.
Last time he saw Tony was two days prior if you don't count the months he's spent here, and it was after getting his arm blown entirely off. They had to give him a new one when he woke up.
He really, really doesn't want another, and so his answer to Tony's question is an unhelpful, slow: ]
Oh, hell.
no subject
[ Right back at you, Barnes.
Not to say it isn't a complicated not at all complicated tangle of emotions on Tony's end here- after the Universe ended the petty shit that surrounded the accords kind of became secondary to how to best assist without putting on the armor. Any and all frustration and resentment were pointed in a very particular blond direction but-
He's not about to talk about that when they're both standing awkwardly, staring at one another. Tony- grey at his temples and in his goatee, an odd vein of fine white scars up his right arm, across his throat, up the right side of his face- is not the same bitter, frustrated, furious wreck that blew off Barnes' arm years ago.
Again- it'd take talking about it. ]
Right, I'm not doing this without buying you a drink first or- bartering for a drink? They dropped us off without beer money, which is rude.
no subject
Which doesn't come, and that's... a surprise, to understate it.
Instead comes actual words. Calm ones, mostly, that involve buying him a beer, and what the hell parallel universe is this version from?
Or, what history does he have to look forward to that leads to talking and not fighting, tense though it may be? ]
Do.... what.
[ Skeptically, warily.
I'm not doing this as in...
You know what, too many variables to guess, what in the hell is happening right now, Christ, it's goddamn Tony Stark. He came here hoping for Steve and instead he's getting the personification of all things guilt and history. ]
no subject
[ Very vague handwave. Because brainwashing, because international enhanced politics, because Ross was a dick and Zemo played them like a tightly strung fiddle, because Steve was backed into a corner by his own full plate, because Tony had a shit day and pointed all his ire at the absolute wrong, not at all acceptable target. Then everyone on the run trying to keep their heads down, then Thanos, then-
When he got back Tony saw him all of once before.
Well.
Before.
Zero chance to apologize or make reparations and maybe he was a little more lenient with Steve's everything because he couldn't apologize to the person he actually deeply wronged in the situation. So. Making up for non-existant time.
The roil of tension doesn't go unnoticed and, well- zero armor here, it'd be hilariously one-sided. He is many things but he is not an idiot, even if he still took issue with anything RE Barnes. Hands held at chest height, palms open, showing how very harmless and very unarmed he is, Tony pitches his voice lower, since this is- it's gonna be a thing, apparently. ]
Look, you want a pound of flesh, go ahead, can't say I didn't earn it but you and me? Clean slate on my end.
no subject
It's not gonna be a thing.
The wariness doesn't leave his posture, but them fightin' muscles slowly relax.
Clean slate on my end.
He... can't actually comprehend that for a minute. Can't wrap his head around it. Sorry, what? Clean--
Jaw comes up to the left a little, a deeper furrow in his brow. He's just-- ]
Are you... is this a test? We're from the same place? Is this a different universe thing like the other guys?
[ There's a Tony and a Bucky here already, he's met them both. They get along famously. Other Tony built something to help rip the code words out of his brain a few weeks ago, that's a debt he's not sure he'll ever be able to pay back.
Clean slate doesn't imply friendship but it's still too generous an offering for Barnes to completely believe right now. Not the least because he won't actually let himself have it. ]
no subject
[ In the middle of everything. he'd like to not have this out or emphatically refuse to have this out right in the middle of a crowd. This is awkward enough without throwing in an audience to a distinct lack of interpersonal drama.
Or. Well it is but it isn't in the way it would have been say, eight-ish years ago. He's grown, moved on, had the distance and time and enough scotch to sit back and rationalize everything like he should have if he'd had any kind of forewarning to what he'd be shown in that bunker after a supremely terrible day. ]
I'm still the asshole that blew off your arm- for the record, not my exact intention there's just- uh. Certain stress responses connected to people going for the reactor, Panic ensued, Fri overreacted accordingly. Still. I did that. That fight happened.
no subject
He's slow to process right now. Slower without the serum giving him a little caffeine-style boost 24/7.
Somewhere to sit.
Still the asshole that blew off your arm.
Okay. ]
...Alright.
[ Carefully, slowly, like he's testing the word and how it feels in his mouth. Testing the waters. Not sure this is actually happening, but either way, he glances over his shoulder. Debates on it, but... good faith-- ]
There's... an event room. They keep it closed off most of the time. Should be empty.
[ As in, empty empty. As in no witnesses. How does that sit with you? ]
no subject
[ If there's hashing out that needs to be done. He's 98% sure this isn't going to turn into a fight. Neither of them are in the place to want it- Tony's older, wiser, distinctly unarmed and in no mood to start shit. Apologize, sure, catch up on anything Barnes thinks is worth noting? Absolutely. But anything more intense than that isn't on the docket.
He doesn't really have it in him to be anything but tired as of late.
He keeps his shoulders down, his brows lifted, looking to Bucky to lead the way as he honestly has no idea where this event room might be. ]
After you, Sarge.
no subject
He leads the way, gently tugging the partition open, slipping through to stacked chairs and a clean, long table. He hovers near it like it has its own gravitational field, like somehow pressing a hip against the lip of it will help stabilize him in any real capacity.
Before they even start — his mouth opens up, runs away with him as it sometimes does in the form of short deadpan bursts. ]
I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.
[ As a fair warning. Maybe it's the slowness of his speech or the lack of inflection that makes it a little humorous, but it's pure blunt incredulity dulled down and muted. ]
no subject
Hence. Sarge.
Or James
Or Jimmy since there's already one James in his life- or was? The grammar of his particular situation is fucked and the more time he spends ignoring it, the better.
In the room and the partition muffles the conversation in the bar proper and, well- now it's them.
Alone in a room.
In a way they've never really been before (brief moments in the Bunker aside) and it's...about as awkward as Tony anticipated. ]
Does anyone? Pretty sure the answer to that is no, so. Don't feel special.
no subject
Even if this does feel like the goddamn twilight zone.
His tongue passes over his lips, and anxiety claws at him. It presses in on all sides, this urgent notion that he needs to speak. This unshakable impulse, this feeling like the universe expects or demands he be the one to open his mouth and say— ]
Sorry. About--
[ Killing your parents? What the fuck would that even be, Barnes? How would that sound? You can't be serious.
A gentle, subtle pivot. ]
The... chest. Thing. Kind of fair about the arm, you know, considering.
[ Considering that thing was presumably attached to... his heart or something? More than a fair trade. ]
no subject
[ Flying blind in a fight he'd never wanted, flushed out of hiding by someone that used him as a weapon just as much as Hydra ever did, aimed at Tony's trust issues and Steve's unshakeable need to protect the people he considers to be his.
Rock and a hard place. Unstoppable force, immovable object.
Tony, with deliberate care, keeps his posture open, his eyes clear, his hands visible. It's not as much of a fight as it used to be, hell, it's not even a ploy or a mask. He's-
Over a lot of the issues. ]
Pretty sure Steve didn't know how that would play out, or he wouldn't have recommended it. He certainly seemed surprised. And angry. But- [ He shrugs, waving a vague hand. ] Not exactly wrong to be. Not my best showing, I picked you as an acceptable target after several very shitty days at the end of a shitty month. It wasn't right, Kind of regret that a lot, so. Sorry for trying to maim you.
no subject
When he pictured this conversation happening — not that he has very much, given that he woke up here immediately after cryo and it's been... understandably monopolizing his thoughts — he didn't imagine receiving an apology.
Pleading his case, mostly. Apologizing, unsurprisingly, although that's the part his imagination always got hung up on.
He's never been able to find the right combination of words, never been able to find a sentence that felt good enough. Shockingly, he's not doing any better on the spot. ]
Um— likewise.
[ His chin ducks. A hand passes over his hair — too short, he still hates that.
Say it, Barnes.
Say it, Barnes.
Say it, Barnes.
Then again, he's spent the past few months finding ways around saying shit out loud. Thought he'd hate it, turns out it suits his otherwise closed off demeanor. ]
If you... Can I, um.
[ His right hand lifts — flesh and blood, no gloves. ]
You know about the... skin thing, right?
no subject
He didn't accurately anticipate how stilted and strange this all is, coasting on the glib determination of a man that had little left to lose. He knew Barnes had a hell of a time between brainwashing, living on the run, his own solid attempts at maiming and dismemberment, more time on the run, and all that followed.
Faced with the reality rather than the nebulous construct or abstract notion to which he could do violence or acts of contrition he's-
A little off his game. NOt that he has much to begin with. ]
...are you making a pass at me? Because I"m pretty sure neither of us saw that coming.
[ A beat, he's not serious but- the question is so Fucking odd he needs a moment to recalibrate. ] I'm fresh off the boat, Barnes. Elaborate on the 'skin thing'.
no subject
I feel like it might make things worse if I say you're not my type.
[ And... you know what, another thing he really didn't bank on and doesn't want to do: being the one to explain the logistics of Tony's new reality to him. He lowers his hand, blows out a slow breath through puffed cheeks. ]
Okay, um. There's... somebody made a- like a mental PDF about it. I'll send it to you.
[ And he does, with just a single stilted second of mentally manipulating the implant. Obviously he's not gonna expect Stark to read it on the spot, so he'll skip to throwing out what's relevant right now. ]
You're gonna wanna get some gloves or long sleeved shirts, probably. Here, um... anybody that's like us, anybody that's not... from here, if you touch each other, it does this... empathy sharing. Thing. It does other stuff, too, but that's the big thing.
no subject
[ and wrong to him on so many levels but- what can he do other than shrug and do a quick mental scan of the mental file.
Right.
Empathy. ]
Considering the weather? Not looking forward to that. So you want to...hold my hand and have feelings at me- is that the gist of it?
no subject
Don't get him wrong, he doesn't go up to strangers shaking hands and sharing his vulnerabilities, it's not like that. It's... he's comfortable with using it in certain situations, when he's prepared and in control of how he feels. He's comfortable with using it when he's not prepared or in control with a very short list of people — namely, Steve and Natasha.
And now just Natasha.
But he's not thinking about that right now.
Anyway, have a tight-lipped grimace-smile hybrid. ]
Since I'm not exactly nailing the spoken-word poetry thing right now... yeah. Thought it might be... easier.
[ He appreciates the efficiency and thoroughness of how it gets him on the same page with someone. But it's not everyone's cup of tea, so-- ]
You can say no. Won't hold it against you.
no subject
[ Not that he thinks either of them would do better in Italian, Russian, or Frech. There's- baggage upon baggage and outside of a select few back home skin to skin contact wasn't something he was big on in the first place.
Having another reason to avoid it feels par the course.
Rocking back on his heels, Tony does the mental math on where he is at the moment- empathy. Feeling what the other person is feeling and all he's got, right now, is a snarled knot of frustrated grief he's trying not to look at too hard and more exhaustion than he kows what to do with.
nothing triggering, nothing damning.
And no way to know what he'd get from Barnes. ]
...Sometimes you gotta run before you can crawl.
[ Without thinking, without giving himself time to overthink it? Tony offers his right hand habitually, radiating hairline scars that vein up his arm and all. ]
Come on, Barnes. Care Bear Stare me or whatever.
no subject
Care Bear Stare.
A soft scoff.
That amusement will still be at the surface when Barnes reaches out and launches them full-tilt into the experience. He wraps his hand around Tony's wrist rather than handshake-style, because there's nothing particularly businesslike about what it is they're about to do.
Maybe this was a worse idea than just talking about it. Maybe this is too much to overwhelm Tony with being fresh off the boat. That uncertainty floats at the surface, too — along with a sudden guilt, a preemptive apology.
Too late to take it back now. It's already started.
The bond also does memories — Barnes mutes them, they're not full-blown affairs, Tony won't see the entire thing playing out, but he'll get bits. Enough to understand context. It unfolds something like this:
A dark road at night; tail lights. A car crash.
The world is a dream. Everything is a dream. He is asleep. The memory of what he felt like then, his emotions... it's like being under water. It's like being a mile below the surface staring up at the sun, unable to hear or think or smell or breathe, light's scattered and dancing. He's moving on autopilot.
There's a flit of recognition.
A flit of confusion.
It's blanketed immediately by something foreign and invasive and unstoppable, unquestionable, something made of steel. He's conditioned to comply. He's a broken horse. Recognition slips away, and his body moves mechanically. He's tired. He just wants to go back to sleep.
A flickering memory of a computer monitor. Tony's own face, distraught.
Icy dread.
Flooding recognition, a forgotten memory rushing to the forefront.
Dawning horror.
The kind of guilt that could drown a man.
Remorse on several levels; what he took from Tony, what he did to two people, and a selfish final he was my friend.
Accountability, responsibility, resignation. He knows this doesn't fix it.
This is how he explains himself, and this is how he says I'm sorry. ]
no subject
It isn't that unfamiliar.
Sure, it isn't coiling red tendrils and a vision of the icy void, of the deaths of people he knew, cared for and trusted-
one of the didn't make it, two of them never had a chance-
But it's-
Harrowing. To see it from Barnes' point of view like a screen at the end of a long hall. To feel so viscerally his discomfit, his dread, his guilt that is too damn similar to everything Tony's carried every day of his life since the crash and has only been compounded the longer he lived that, frankly, it's unfunny. Exhaustion and sorrow and the weirdest confirmation of camaraderie he'd never expected-
Hell of a proof of concept.
Hell of a way to make sure your Brainwashing has well and truly stuck.
Watching that moment again drags up all his own feelings from what isn't quite the worst day of his life if only due to the events on Titan-
A kid crumbling to ash in his hands, grief, guilt, he should have done better-
Watching Rhodey fall and that chilling certainty that he will not make it in time, pushing the armor as far and at as he could and it wasn't enough, wasn't ever enough-
aching with every bone in his body, worn ragged and grieving but the barest thread of hope that they can reconcile. That this will be enough to help and-
Rage? Rage. Not even directed at Barnes in the present moment, but Rogers. It wasn't ever about avenging his mother.
It wasn't ver about hurting Barnes at all. It was about hurting Steve by hurting Barnes.
It's a fun little trip down memory lane save for all the ways it isn't, and he can't- he can't course correct. Can't compartmentalize with all his carefully packed away emotions spilling into one another like blood from a wound-
He staggers backward, leaning hard against the table, right hand pressed tight to his chest to calm his erratic heartbeat, eyes wide and watering, focused on the middle distance, his breath a ragged, wet sound that will be mortifying once he's
Well.
Back in control of himself.
Quietly, but with great emotion he hisses: ]
Fuck.
no subject
Sorry, I didn't--
[ Maybe think that one all the way through, at all, even slightly. ]
I just thought you'd... want to know.
[ That it wasn't done maliciously. That the person who killed his parents did indeed regret it, and suffer the guilt of it. That doesn't bring them back, but if it were him he'd at least take some consolation in knowing that.
And it felt-- it felt like he was supposed to apologize, and not just for grabbing the goddamn glowing ring in the center of his chest. It felt like walking away from this without acknowledging it would be doing Tony a disservice, like he was copping out, it felt wrong.
But the words weren't right, the words were almost as insulting as not saying it at all.
So.
That. ]
no subject
Needs to breathe.
Blink past the tears from foreign emotion that scrapes raw and ragged along his own baggage, his own loss. Hooking in like tape to tear open wounds long since thought buried, if not healed properly, leaving him trying to shove all his messy emotions back into the hole in his chest where the reactor used to be.
It's fine.
He's- it's fine. ]
I did. Do. It- [ Inhale, hold for three impossibly painful seconds, exhale. Rinse.
Repeat. ]
We're. Good. Fuck- do I want to know what you got from me?
no subject
Do I want to know--
Guilt, grief. Terror, rage. Spiraling out, panic attack, anxiety.
He shakes his head. ]
Probably not.
[ Honestly. Quiet, blunt, toneless. Not judgmental, just... frank. ]
Maybe... should've done the drink first.
no subject
[ He laughs, high and tight and just on the edge of hysterical as he drags out a chair to sit.
Slump. Puppet with his strings cut, eyes squeezed shut as he breathes. In. Hold. Release. Until the crackling rasp fades, until every other memory of someone going for the reactor-
and god, if Barnes got the memory of Obie, of Steve all fury bringing the shield down-
Nope, breathe. Just.
Breathe. ]
Definitely would like that drink, now.
no subject
I got it. Be right back.
[ A murmur, and he slips out of the room to give the guy a few minutes of space.
When he comes back, it's with his hands full and demonstrating some serious dexterity — one serving of whiskey and one beer each. Seems like that kind of a moment. They're distributed gently, and then he pulls out a chair facing Stark to lower himself into.
And... yeah, he's out of his depth and out of words again, so. Awkward quiet on his end. Sorry, Tony, but maybe it's for the best that he just shut the hell up for a while all things considered. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)