edge_of_forever | Entries tagged with pc:clint barton

The weather was perfect, warm and sunny with a clear, endless sky. You gain an appreciation for real sunlight, real wind after spending so much time within that carefully designed climate of a ship. There was work to be done, as always, but there were a few leisure hours to be had and Dolios seemed like a place designed to enjoy them.

Unlike many places, the docks weren't actually in the seediest, grimiest part of the city. A few minutes wander away from the ship's berth she'd found something that wouldn't look out of place as an Earth's sidewalk cafe. You could definitely see this place having a brunch menu. Kate managed to snag one of the tables outside and the local drink, something orange and tart and more than a little alcoholic.

With a satisfied sigh, she leaned back in her chair and looked around her. Kate liked the ship. She felt useful on the ship and being part of a team. But for a few hours, this was exactly where she wanted to be.

Come across Kate enjoying the day while the ship is docked!

highfunctioning

The void of space is momentarily interrupted by the presence of the spacecraft Persephone: a mid-sized ship on a mission of exploration, research, and interplanetary commerce and cultural exchange. She is operated by a crew of anywhere between 15 [skeleton] and 60 [full compliment] from all walks of life. She represents a Consortium of Planets, and her home port is Earth.

In addition to the crew, there is a lively contingent of passengers aboard at any given moment. One of the goals of the Consortium is to promote interplanetary exchange, and they view safe passage as a public service. Papers to travel with Persephone are easily obtained at your home world's embassy on any Consortium affiliated planet. There is a basic background check and standard set of physical examinations, of course, but nothing troubling or invasive.

They've been en route between planetary systems for three weeks now, and life is unremarkable. Routine. There is an air of purposeful contentment.

inhisnest

While Clint would prefer there not to be another invasion on the station, he can't deny the thrill he felt at actually being able to do something again. Even more important is the fact that he has his gear back. He's been a marksman as long as he can remember. A sniper without a gun or a bow is like being crippled and he swears he had some vague approximation of phantom limb syndrome until he had his bow back in hand again.

And now he doesn't let it out of his sight. It's stupid, probably, and he's sure the rest of the station thinks he's a little odd but Clint has never particularly cared what other people think of him. The ones who matter - they never seem to judge. His group of people that matter seem to be dwindling and he wonders what will happen when he's the only one left.

He has never minded his own company but that's on his terms.

Today, he's in the kitchen trying to get the replicator to give him coffee just the way he liked it back home - black, hot and strong. He's gotten several mugs of...not so good coffee, one that would have been okay if not for all the cream in it and he has hopes for this one.

"One cup of coffee. Just one."

And to think, he used to drink it by the carafe.

eof_classified

<00:01:ψ> INITIATE PROGRAM< ABERDEEN.EXE
<00:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED< ABERDEEN.EXE
PROGRAM LAUNCH< 00:01:ψ | 03:19:00:0000>
PRIME DIRECTIVES:<
> [ QUARANTINE RELEASE : < 1 M1A TS-#1758 > < 1 M2A TS#1000kw “EXCALIBUR” > < 1 M3A TS#4591971, TS#4591972> < 2 M2A TS#1979-1-TS#1979-3, TS#1979-1A-1E > < 3 M1A TS #4205A-E > < 3 M2A TS #731-12A-12E > < 3 M3A TS #MIR899-01A-01J > < 3 M4A TS #183RC-5A-5E “LICKER” > < 4 M1A TS #4781-8A-8G > < 4 M2A TS-#1966 > < 5 M1A TS-#396739 > < 5 M2A TS #510105 > ]
> [ LOCK DISENGAGE : < 2 M2A CP #23 > < 2 M3A CP #6319 “RIPLEY” > ]

<00:01:ψ> LAUNCH PROGRAM< ABERDEEN.EXE
<00:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED<
RUN<
> ALL DIRECTIVES:)

MAY 29 | 12:00 A.M. :

The countdown clocks tick over to zero just as the time changes from 11:59 pm to 12:00 am. A clear chime like an elevator announcing its arrival sounds briefly in every room on board, but otherwise the passage of the countdown’s completion goes unmarked.

DING!

And then, on every floor of the station, doors that have heretofore remained locked begin to open, and one by one the things that those doors were keeping in begin to crawl out.

morethanhuman

Erik stands in the middle of the shuttle bay, one hand extended palm-up in front of him. Far overhead, almost at the top of the shuttle bay, Lwaxana’s shuttle hovers in midair. His eyes narrow, Erik curls his fingers in a little come-here gesture. A rush of power that's lain dormant in him for over a year surges out through his fingertips, and the shuttle hurtls toward him. It swoops down, passing so close over his head that the breeze from its passing ruffles his hair.

He can’t rein in a laugh-- it's been too long since he’s felt this, the full depth of his power wholly at his command-- and it bubbles up in him, exhilarating and wild, spilling out as he sweeps his hand out in another long gesture, sending the shuttle flying back up to the ceiling.

There's a sigh behind him and he turns, grinning, while the shuttle zooms around the room. “If you’re bored already, don’t let me keep you.”

"I'm sorry, did that read as an I'm bored sigh?" Mystique asks, sidling up to him with an uncharacteristically playful smile. "This is admiration. This is 'my god, you look good with ten tons of metal hovering over you'."

She crosses her arms and watches him hurl the thing back up a second time.

"But you're missing ( something... )

The shuttle lowers gently to the ground and Erik’s eyes go fierce, a wide grin breaking over his face. “Come on,” he says, striding toward the door.

. . .

They're not even thirty feet from the door when Raven sees it start to tremble in its frame.

Then all of a sudden, it stops. She glances at him and sees he's changed his focus: he's disregarding the door entirely, peeling layers off the wall, the metal rolling up and crumpling like paper until she can see the inventory shelves through the frame. There's a mess of wires, smoking and spitting sparks, but it doesn't stop Erik from stepping through.

Sure, it's petty, but Raven can't resist swiping her comm in front of the half-dead sensor; it gives a sad, bleating no access beep just as she lifts one white boot over the jagged wall.

How do you like me now, HAL?

"They're organized by serial number," she says with a frown, eyeing the tags on the front of the shelves. She pulls open one at random and sees a stack of filthy, bloodstained clothing: nope. Another: a pink vest and a cell phone covered in stickers. Another-- ooh-- has a duffel bag labeled STARK TECHNOLOGIES-- definitely worth checking out once she's found her stuff.

Finally, she pulls open the right drawer. She locks and loads her Glock with a look that's somehow both affectionate and smug, then glances over to see Erik holding his helmet up to the flickering light.

“I’ve always said it takes a very special guy to inspire fear in red and purple,” she says dryly, applying a fresh coat of lipstick in the grainy reflection of the shelves. “I think I just got goosebumps.”

[see the OOC post here before tagging.]

xiii_legion

Pullo isn't always the most punctual person in the world - just ask Mystique (or at least, if she was awake) - but he's in the gym at 8pm just like he said he would be, with his collection of wooden swords and his one precious gun in a holster around his waist.

For a moment he wishes his old friend Vorenus was there with him - Pullo's no leader, really, mostly staying at the head of the Aventine rabble by cracking skulls and pouring drinks. He doesn't inspire loyalty or devotion the way that greater men do and he's not even sure if anybody will even show up, but there's enough of the martially-minded still among them that he's hopeful at least one or two might. He'll worry about what to say if and when they do.

proserpinian

<4:22:ψ | 24:00:00:0000> INITIATE PROGRAM< LOCKDOWN.EXE
<24:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED<
PROGRAM LAUNCH< 4:22:ψ | 06:00:00:0000>
PRIME DIRECTIVES:<
> [ ALARM : < KS#20-19: AIR RAID > < PS#08771-5: CODE BLACK > ]
> [ DEFENSE : < SECURE ALL GRIDS: F1-F5 > < ENABLE “F3-G3: SANCTUARY”>
> [ CLASSIFIED ]
> [ DISENGAGE : < SANCTUARY: “MOBILE” > < COMMUNICATORS: ONLINE > < REPLICATORS: ONLINE > ]
> [ CLASSIFIED ]
> [ CLIMATIZATION : < O2:36% > < N:64% > < Ar:0.12% > < Kr:0.09% > < Ne:0.10% > < TEMP: 19ºC>10ºC> ]

<4:22:ψ | 06:00:00:0000> LAUNCH PROGRAM< LOCKDOWN.EXE
<06:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED<
RUN<
> ALL DIRECTIVES:)

April 22 | 6:00 A.M. :

The sirens begin blaring at 6:00 sharp. As the residents of the Proserpina scramble out of bed or halt in their early morning routine, many of them reach for their communicators only to find them unresponsive. The home screen has been replaced by an interactive map, meant to guide them from where they are in that moment on the station to the Porta Ianulis. It proves impossible to exit the map program.

Soon after the sirens begin, an announcement begins to play, in a similar style to the announcements for docking missions: a calm, clear voice directing residents to the Porta.

[ This is a critical message. Code black. Please calmly proceed to the Porta Ianulis. Repeat: this is a code black critical message. Please calmly proceed to the Porta Ianulis for further instruction. ]

The message repeats once every three minutes.

As the residents exit the room they were in at the time of the announcement: their room, the training area, the kitchen, they will find that the door locks behind them, and that they have no access to it, or to any of the rooms on the station. The hallways and the open areas of the Proserpina are dark, lit by sparsely placed, brilliant white floodlights instead of the usual twenty-four hour recessed lighting along the walls and floors.

Those perceptive enough will note a ten degree drop in temperature, and perhaps even a change in the composition of the now oxygen-rich air.

Once the residents have entered the Porta Ianulis, a new announcement begins. The sirens continue. Communicator maps update locations, and now direct residents to the third floor: a room labelled SANCTUARY, along with the overhead voice.

[ Critical message. Code black. Please proceed to Floor 3 via the turbolifts. Please remember each turbolift may hold a maximum of 1500 kilograms. Repeat: this is a code black critical message. Please calmly proceed to Floor 3 via the turbolifts to await further instruction. ]

As the residents load themselves into the turbolifts in small groups, the temperature continues to drop.

Upon reaching the third floor, communicators will once again update their location, now guiding the residents to the room labelled SANCTUARY. A new overhead announcement begins:

[ Full security now in effect. This is a critical message. Code black. Please proceed in an orderly fashion to the sanctuary: grid one, room three. Repeat: please proceed to the sanctuary to await further instruction. Lockdown procedures commencing. ]

“SANCTUARY”, a formerly unknown and inaccessible room, is now responding to all communicators.

[ Before tagging in, please refer here. After the doors shut, this can be heard playing over the speakers. ]

princess_bruiser

This is definitely the craziest dream she's ever had. It's not a nightmare or anything, cuz the only bad thing about it is that her friends aren't here, and it's sorta boring. Maybe it's a little scary the way she can't seem to wake up. Everything's so real-- she even ate a PB & B sandwich from the little cubby in the wall-- but there's no way she's really in space. That'd be insane-o.

Right?

She drifts in and out of sleep for a few more hours until, finally, she feels something shift and she knows, even half-asleep, she's not on the dream-space-jail-bed anymore.

Molly opens her eyes and looks around, then gasps loudly as she jumps to her feet.

"HOLY CRAP!"

Where is she? It looks sorta like an airport and it's nighttime and nobody's around and it's definitely not LAX because she's been there before when her parents take her on vacation and there are always tons of people there.

"GUYS?" She runs off the transporter pad, sprinting across the room for no real reason other than to do something in her panic.

That's when she remembers her cell phone. Duh!

Molly reaches reflexively into the pocket of her space-prison-jumpsuit...

Wait, if I'm awake, why'm I still wearing this weirdo outfit? ...and where's my cell phone? Where're my clothes?

She stares up at the Hub, and all of a sudden, she's pretty sure she's gonna puke.

If I got kiddernapped, I'm gonna be grounded so hard.

"HEY!" she shouts at the room, voice at full, angry volume, her hands balled up into fists at her side. "HEY, JERKFACES! Unless you want me to make a new window in your fancy house, you better come explain yourselves now!"

She thinks Chase would be proud. All she has to do is scare them, punch their lights out, and find the door.

[ Come find one pissed-off fourth grade dropout in the Hub, ready to rumble. ]

inhisnest

[January 7th, 2013]

Cap throws Clint a...sort of birthday party.

[Here|All Ages]

ithinkiwasbornforthis

The 24 hours are just about up, as far as Forge can tell, and though he doesn't want to admit it he's anxious about what the next move is. He sits on the edge of his bed, clenching and relaxing his fist, having not the slightest idea what's about to happen to them - who is going to come through that door, or what they're going to want.

Luckily, as it turns out, he doesn't have to worry about that. One minute he's sitting on the cot, and the next he's standing in the middle of a vast room, something like what Grand Central might look like if it was abandoned and untouched for about a decade. That's not what strikes him, though. At the moment, all he can register is that he's once again on his feet.

Two feet.

"Oh, thank god," he mutters, flexing the fingers of his cybernetic hand and feeling the familiar response.

Pam materializes a few feet from Forge, on edge and alert, looking about and assessing everything at once. With no direct threat, she relaxes visibly and arches an eyebrow at him. "Found something?"

She does not wait for an answer, but paces a few feet away, turning about. "The Proserpina," she says, wonderingly. There are not many things that can still surprise her, but this has quite caught her off guard.

It is a very pretty cage and she half expects Victor or even Felipe to walk into view at any moment, but despite dropping into a half sleep, Pam had had plenty of time to think that through. As much as she would love to corner Victor and put an end to him, she highly doubts his connection.

"I want answers," she says. And if answers were not given, Pam would find them.

[Tag one, tag both, tag both together, just let us know in the subject who you want!]

sharpshooting

"Three needle-insertion vials of clear blue liquid, a hundred millilitres each, labeled Trichromataphyl. In the same rack, four eyedropper vials of opaque white gel, a hundred millilitres each, labeled-- hm." John squinted, then spoke into his communicator again. "Can't pronounce this one. Spelled H-R-R-A-Zed-apostrophe-D-N-I-K."

Cataloguing alien medicines was often entertaining, sometimes infuriating, but always interesting. It gave him something to do during his office hours, since it seemed most of the Proserpina's residents put seeing a doctor after an injury on the same level of necessity as taking a bath-- nice luxury if you've got the time, but only if you don't have anything better to do.

"One needle-insertion vial of opaque liquid, dark red, two hundred fifty millilitres. Labeled in an alphabet I don't rec--"

"Attention." The announcement interrupted, startling him into jumping a little, his knee bumping the table and rattling the vials. "The station has successfully completed docking procedures and the transporters are now active. Please proceed to the Porta Ianualis for transport to the planet's surface."

"Thanks, but no thanks," John muttered. "They did just fine without me last time." He'd felt selfish not going down, but when everyone came back with tans spouting stories of pirates and zombies, that feeling had evaporated quite quickly.

"Attention Doctor Watson. Please proceed to the Porta Ianualis immediately."

The voice hadn't changed in tone, it still sounded serene and cool, rather like the computer he and Mystique had dealt with in the testing facility. It didn't make John happy to hear it addressing him personally. He glared up at the ceiling in warning.

"What if I don't want to?" he challenged.

"Attention Doctor Watson. Please proceed to the Porta Ianualis immediately."

"I really don't feel like it!" he countered, planting his fists on his hips. "Really. Don't feel like going anywhere. I'm just fine right here."

"Attention Doctor Watson. Please stop being argumentative and proceed to the Porta Ianualis immediately."

He had to laugh. "You think taunting me is going to get me to go? Have you met my flatmate?"

There was a pause, and John thought he might have won, and then: "Your services will soon be required." And that was ominous, and it suddenly dawned on John that he was having a row with the computer, which as far as he knew hadn't spoken directly to anyone (except when it kept telling Lwaxana to stop shouting at the dictation program).

He debated the further wisdom of arguing, but ultimately he didn't want to know how much more personality the computer was willing to display-- or how much more direct it was willing to get in addressing him. "Fine," he muttered, knowing when he'd been beaten, hopping off his stool and shoving his hands in his lab coat pockets. "But I don't have to be happy about it." There was no reply as he left the infirmary.

He was the last one in the hub. Incredibly, even Sherlock was already there, and Sharon, and Lady Grantham. They were all he had time to process before the doors whooshed shut behind him-- and since when had the concourses had doors on them?-- and he heard the ominous sound of giant locking mechanisms sliding home.

"Uh," he said, turning back toward the assembled group, only a few of whom were looking at him. "Guys... what's going on?"

That was when he glanced up and realized it was snowing.

brightestlight

"Alright," she says, staring up at Thor with her hands on her hips. "Hang it right there. No- No, to your left. Left!"

Thor looks down at her from the ladder he's standing on, raising a brow even as he shifts the garland to the right, then left, then further down. "Is this what you wanted?" He'd gotten talked into this-- mostly because Caroline had run into him in the hallway, and the conversation had started with 'You're really tall' and ended with 'Get a ladder.'

"Yes, perfect. Now, here-" and she's handing Amy Pond an ornament to give to him, going through the mishmash of boxes and things that she'd collected from various closets for the past week. Because this place was going to be decorated, so help her. When in doubt, start managing things. She marked off a checkmark on her list, and her eyebrows shot up when Amy just moved to grab a pair of lights. "Hey! Hey, only white lights in the Hub, the colored lights are for--"

And Amy just raised her eyebrows, and moved to the wall with the colored lights. "I think this is better. Bright. Like Christmas?"

"But you don't understand, this isn't the plan. There's an orgainized chart that I emailed you yesterday."

It was clear from Amy's expression that she simply didn't care, but it was the look from Thor that made her finally put them down. "Fine," Amy said. "Then you can do this yourself."

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Come on."

Thor sighed heavily at the two of them, still on the ladder, even as more people wandered into the chaos that was the Hub. "Where exactly do you wish me to put this?"

OOC They're decorating! Tag anyone, tag each other - there's a table in the corner that has a carafe of cocoa and mugs and some Very Weird Cookies (Banana mint)

Current Location: the hub

theycallmecap

Steve had spent the better part of the afternoon coaxing things out of the kitchen replicator. The fridge was consequently stocked with things that were not what he had been going for but were still edible, and the less edible things had been thrown in the trash as he went. But in the end, he had managed to get everything he wanted: turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, and apple pie. He had heated them all up in the oven again before bringing them to the banquet hall, warm and ready to be eaten, a little before six.

Those that came over were consequently greeted by the smell of a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, even if it was everything but, given their circumstances. The smell of a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, and the smile of a true American boy, who insisted on welcoming every attendee personally.

daughterofthefifth

Lwaxana had elected to leave all the additional furniture in the Taj Mahal room after the unveiling party, so the setup tonight was comparatively simple. By nine o'clock Friday night, she was standing back, admiring the effects of the orange and green paper lanterns she'd found. In the spirit of Erik's decade, she was wearing a long sleeved tunic-length dress in a purple and ivory paisley, over matching purple leggings and black mid-calf boots. Her wig was loose and long in the back, flowing from a bouffant wrapped in an ivory scarf. All in all, she had found the effect rather reminiscent of old Starfleet uniform style, but Earth was strange like that.

The table was laid with an assortment of mid-twentieth century foods, including a number of things that Lwaxana was almost 100% certain were not from Earth, as well as something the computer had identified as "Ambrosia." The centerpiece was a three-tiered display of sugar cookies all iced with purple and red, cut to resemble small helmets. Crowning that was an oddly-shaped cake, the only cake the computer would produce, and it had done so over and over again until she had given up and taken one: sides iced in white, topped with red and edged with black, cut to the telltale curve of a u-shaped magnet. Apparently the Proserpina had a sense of humor today, further evidenced by a number of alcohols that were not gin and one set of a Gin Rummy game.

Here will follow two top-level comments: the first, an initial Everybody Except Erik Arrives post! Tag there to mingle, comment on the slapdash '60s mod theme, poke holes in the Magnet Cake, and pat yourselves on the back for your part in the party planning! The second, an Erik Finally Arrives SURPRISE post, for all your hilarity needs.

inhisnest

Waking up to find Natasha gone had been not entirely unexpected, considering that she and Clint didn't always share a bed, but it was slightly disconcerting when he couldn't find her anywhere on the station. He'd spent all of Tuesday looking for her and when he'd run out of options, he'd spent most of Wednesday keeping his own company; he just hadn't been fit for anyone else's.

As much as he liked Banner, Rogers, Thor and Carter, he didn't feel the same connection with them sometimes as he felt with Tasha. They'd been trained as assassins, deadly weapons, and there's always been a part of Clint that had a little trouble relating to normal people. Good people. He's done things and made choices that aren't always on the straight and narrow.

He ends up in a mostly-empty room on the station, the one they'd used for yoga once, and while his poses are a solitary activity, he's made the choice to show his face in public instead of hiding in his quarters. It's a start, at any rate.

girl_who_waited

Amy sat on the edge of the concourse that overlooked the central hub, her feet dangling over empty air as she leaned her chin on one of the bars of the railing. She was holding her communicator in front of her, her brows still furrowed.

She'd looked like that - mildly concerned, sort of confused - since she'd shown up here. It'd been a while of spending time by herself, because she wasn't really willing to have anybody else know about the Angel thing, past telling Steve - Captain America, seriously - and John Watson about it.

But that's got her still digging through whatever she can find in whatever information she can get on her communicator. She's found the wardrobe, and it's a red hoody with thumbholes and a jean miniskirt, tights, and boots today, and it's almost like she's home.

Almost. Except that the Doctor's not here, and it's got her frowning. "I suppose that's one way not to get married tomorrow," she murmured, and then flopped backwards, laying on the floor as she stared up at the ceiling, only leaning up on her elbows when somebody walks into her peripheral vision, and she's both pushing herself up and unwinding herself from where she'd been sort of wrapped around the barrier to stop people from falling the considerable distance to the hub floor that was two levels down. "Sorry, just a second-"

And then she's standing, and that furrowed brow is back.

inhisnest

[9.07.2012]

Natasha and Clint meet on the observation deck in what may or may not be a date.

[Here|In progress|All Ages]

acalltoarms

She still wasn't home, not anywhere close to home. But Kate wasn't stuck in a cell any longer, so at least that was a start.

This place felt too big and too small at the same time; some places opened like a cathedral and others felt as tiny and boxed in as the place she’d arrived in. The light was a soft white glow, soothing but undeniably artificial, and nowhere was there a hint of the sun. But there wouldn't it, would there? Not if they were in fucking space.

Kate had spent the…she’d been thinking of it as morning, but that was wrong. No mornings, no nights, just hours stretching ahead endlessly. But she’d spent a few hours wandering the parts of the space station that were open and mentally mapping it in her head. Medical bay, full of equipment she didn’t know how to use, spaces to work out, places to relax. Living quarters, some of which were bound to be occupied. But she hadn’t seen much in the way of people.

She told herself they were sleeping, told herself that there were actually just oodles of people sleeping, families with kids and old people, so many that it was actually annoying like a park on a crowded Sunday. It was a whole little space village. Anything to fill up all this emptiness.

Kate scratched the healing injection wound on her wrist and wondered again just what the fuck they’d put in her. She’d looked for microscopes and slides so she could look at a sample and reassure herself there weren’t little alien bacterium turning her into some kind of E.T. hybrid, but there wasn’t anything to be had. Nothing she knew how to use, at least, because this Jetsons space shit didn't come with an instruction manual.

She wanted to scream. No, what she wanted to was punch something in the face really hard, maybe break a couple teeth. All she did was grit her teeth and scuff soft shoes (not even boots, where were her boots, where was her goddamn suit) along the too-smooth floor. Kate swallowed down the edge of panic rising up her throat again and shoved her hands into her pockets.

It would be easier if people were around. Easier to put on a brave face when you’re scared if there was someone to reassure. Years of practice, and Kate was still shit at feelings without someone to share them with.

Just when she’s thinking she should head back to one of those gym rooms and beat a punching bad to hell, Kate wandered into a room, narrower than the others but with high, high ceilings. Anything else in it was dwarfed by the huge window spanning full of space dark sprinkled with stars and streaked with the dust of a galaxy.

Beautiful. Past beautiful, you’d call it beautiful if you saw it in an astronomy class or a planetarium. Breathtaking in a glorious way, not a punch-to-the-plexus way. Kate felt something a little magnificent bloom in her chest. Her feet drew her closer to the window until she was nose to the glass, except that it couldn’t be glass and had to be some super future high-tech nano plastic. And yet it was all that separated her from deep space.

“Wow.”

theycallmecap

Steve isn't sure what he's done lately for God to smile down on him like that, but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He asked the replicator for a hamburger and got a notepad instead. Most people wouldn't be happy with the trade-off, but after he finally gets something edible out of the machine, he wolfs it down so his body can stop demanding food and he can focus on the gift of paper.

Paper is a gift in this place.

There was a pencil in his room when he moved in, and he's made sure to put it aside for when he could make use of it, so he grabs it now and walks over to the observation deck. The one he goes to most often, the one where he first met Sharon, and where she told him everything about her Steve. He likes familiar places that resonate with memories.

Once there, he sits at the back of the room, his back to the wall, and starts to write. He writes about what it's like on the Proserpina, and he draws a quick map of his quarters. Then he starts to write about the people, starting with his team, and of course it's too tempting to draw each of them. And then he starts to draw Sharon, because she's come to matter about as much as them, and he wants to call her team. He's so absorbed in what he's doing that he doesn't even realize when somebody walks in, and up to him.

nottheotherguy

I hadn't been around when the robot rats came out of the walls, a fact which I couldn't really say I regretted. But just knowing it had happened was enough, sometimes, to make me a little wary when I heard noises I couldn't place the origin of. Of course, being that this was a pretty big place, and pretty old to boot, there were a lot of noises I couldn't place the origin of.

Mostly I'd trained myself to ignore them, but every now and then I was just bored enough or feeling just adventurous enough to follow the sound and see where it was coming from. Today happened to be just such a day-- lucky me-- when I walked past the door leading to one of the classrooms and heard a motorized whirr coming from behind it, along with a little high-pitched muttering that sounded like two kids talking through vocoders at each other.

The door opened when I stepped closer, and I froze immediately at the sight of two tiny vaguely cube-shaped robots on wheels rolling around the room, chittering to each other as they went.

They stopped as soon as they saw me, and we spent a second just staring at each other. Then, almost at the same time, they emitted a startled bleep and zoomed away toward the far wall, where a panel slid aside to let them through. "Hey!" I yelled, almost involuntary, the urge to somehow stop them and make them come back so I could figure out what they were for and why they'd been-- what had they been doing, anyway? Vacuuming? It was a mystery, and one I suddenly really wanted to solve.

I was on my knees inspecting the panel that had opened to let the robots through when I heard footsteps behind me, and half-turned to see who had stumbled upon me acting like I'd completely lost my marbles.

[tag one, tag all! no one but bruce will see the tiny robots, but anyone's welcome to tell him he's imagining things. :)]

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Edge of Forever RPG

November 2013

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the city on the edge of forever

[[ a pan-fandom roleplaying game ]]

Entries tagged with pc:clint barton

Planetside: Dolios

come sail away

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bow in the presence of greatness

[backdated to May 12th]

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Out of the frying pan...

Holiday Plot 1 : The egg nog is in the details

Deck the halls

Thanksgiving

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ERIK

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All good things...

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Open

weeeeeeeeeeeeeee-bleep!

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November 2013

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