goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

[ Move now, but wait up? Maybe something's gone wrong with the distraction? Maybe the timing is off for the next round of guards?

WHAT WOMAN?

He says nothing, of course Humphrey is too civil, but York seethes in his helmet. ]

[ It's a good thing that commentary stays inside his head. She'd be even less thrilled with him if he decided to become a greater inconvenience. As it is, her fist remains held, and Carolina waits. Ignores the trickle of sweat she can feel firming on her brow, ignores the worry creeping a cold finger down her spine.

And then, a fwhoooooom, as half the electricity across the site goes down, taking some lights with them. Yells follow, in the distance, as various devices go off. Time to get going while the chaos is good.

Her hand drops, and she breaks into a sprint. Go go go!]

What the shite?

[ That is not a LITTLE distraction. That is- bedlam. It's BEDLAM is what it is but he doesn't have time to ask- just sprints after her. It'd be easier if he had the armor and he can't really police how he's moving but- halls a hall and some shit is in the way- he vaults. Slides and sprints and uses every skill he ever had in the project to keep right on her heels.

The last thing he needs to do is slow her down.

Door's up front and if he's lucky, it's the same sort of lock as the rest. He slides into place, hands flying up to test the matrix and- yep. Backdoor in place. He threads that line of code in and out to unspool it, to pop it open and they're home free. ]

[ she checks her pace - has to, so that he can keep up. She was always swift even before the speed unit, but she gave her word he would get out of here without issue, and she means to keep her word. But he keeps up - in spite of himself, in spite if her, and she knows for certain now he wasn't just a member of the regular rank and file.

While he works over the door, she guards his back. Waits for him to get moving, waits until the door starts sliding shut again before she leaps through and follows him.

You're only free once you know you're not being followed. When she takes the lead once more Carolina doesn't return directly back the way they came. Keeping off moss and vegetation where she can, there's a series of caves some distance nearby that they can lose themselves in for a while. Just until they're certain..]

[ Caves, ah, his old friend. He lived in one for awhile, it was nice. Cool, mossy, private. Neighbors sucked though. He keeps pace easily, even if it's been forever since he's been in the field, only slowing when she lets him. He slumps against the nearest boulder once they're in the clear, chuckling to himself.

Wow. Now that? That was almost FUN. ]

Good show, mate.

[ Funny how the adrenaline rush of an evac can change your opinion post-mission.

She's not winded, but even Carolina can appreciate the need to slow down (no, really!) and catch her breath, though even once they're clear, she's already circling the edge of their retreat, scanning for any possible followers.

Something in his pithy comment gives her reason to pause, however, and she turns to look at him. ]

A show, is it?

It's a compliment! [ It takes a little bit of hefting and a wince since it IS his bad shoulder, but he manages to vault on top of the boulder to sit. Lounge. All casual like. ] If the next leg of this goes half as well I may put any requests from you at the top of my queue.

Getting ahead of yourself there. [when he actually looks at her, once he's settled on his high perch, he'll notice her arms folded over her chest. An almost painfully familiar tilt to her hips.] I have some questions for you.

[and neither of us are leaving until they are answered.]

[ Okay this has gone beyond vague similarities and hit right on the painful. She's dead. She can't be here, glaring at him, demanding answers. But that posture is just so-

And the way she'd run.

But Carolina is DEAD. There's no way-

Is there?

He drums his hands on his thighs- sure he's been careful about posture, about his voice, but that? The drumming, the humming, the odd tattoo that he'd always done. It's pretty damning. ]

Ask away.

It's not yours. [what.] The digital key you're using to bump the locks. It's not yours.

[Epsilon saw it, checked in passing, recognised D's old signature. Using a dead man's tools, things he hadn't earned. Had to have stolen.

Because the alternative simply isn't possible.

The coldness of her tone is almost at odds with the cadence of what should be a chipper voice.] Where did you get it from.

Ah, that? It is mine. [ He drapes is arms over his knees, head angled slightly to the side, peering down at her. ] I have no idea what you're implying. My old partner and I developed it together.

[ A beat. ]

He's dead now.

And drop the accent. [a definite glower tilt now]

On at least one of those counts, you're correct. [York IS dead. And she's not going to let someone else sponge off his work] ..You can take your payment. Leave that here. And we part ways.

...Alright fine. [ Away goes the accent. ] Look, I appreciate what you're doing and, hell, I'll help with the next leg without the paycheck. Okay? I know what you're looking for and I was pretty sure that thing got destroyed with the rest of the armor. Call it unfinished business.

[For a moment, it's like the world drops out from under her feet. There's a jerk to her helmet; not quite like she's been slapped, but he could easily read it as surprise - and he'd even be right, though not about the cause.]

...I don't know what you're talking about.

Sure. Okay. That's fine, you know? Don't need to tell me anything just don't turn me over. I kind of have a vested interest in keeping my head down. [ He peels off his helmet and scrubs a hand through his hair, blinking down at her. Without the glasses his cataract is more obvious. ] Also uh- how did you know about the accent and the backdoor?

["Hoooooly shit," says Epsilon, his verbal shock adding to the ringing in her ears as the helmet comes off. Such is her surprise that she takes a half step back. Unable to process the reality before her, even as something blooms hard and hot deep in her chest. She's glad she didn't draw her weapon, because she's certain she'd have dropped it by now.

With long hair tied back and his eyes unveiled, even the scraggy patch of beard he's managed to grow over the years can't hide his identity now. And worn and tired and thin as he is...he's alive. He's alive. ]

..You're dead. You're...the reports all said you were dead.

Whelp, I'm not. Seriously though, not a lot of people know what that bump key looks like. Like. Five people total and other than me and like- the rookie, they're all dead.

[ A beat and he shrugs, scratching at his stubble. ]

I mean if you ARE wash um. Damn you look good kid? Legs for days. But it was me and him and D and North and C- [ He stutters, sighs, and shakes his head. ] Someone else. Look you can keep gaping or you can tell me who you met up with and why they were talking about me, I mean of course they were talking about me, I'm fucking awesome.

[ Rambling, he's rambling as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes from under the vest, patting around for a box of matches. ]

[ She just stares at him, watches the nervous ticks in play, matches his voice to her memory - and finds where memory came up wanting, even with the recordings to refresh them. She hears the stutter, knows the name he's stumbling over, and something in her gut twists. Guilt, and sorrow, and some small scrap of joy.

Her fingers twitch upwards, towards her palms, as she considers a course of action, Then she's following through, pressing gloved fingers against the release seals on her armor, catching the tips beneath her helmet to hook under and drag it up, pull it off. Breaking the contact needed to maintain the camo unit. As the surface of her armor ripples, brown patches washed slowly away by aqua-teal-turquoise, a sweep of a dark red hair falls across her vision, though ponytail is still in place --it grows back fast nowadays no matter how short she cuts it-- but she doesnt swipe it away. Instead, she takes a stilling breath, before looking up, green eyes haunted and hopeful.

The helmet drops, forgotten, landing in the dirt with a soft thud.

Her voice is hers. Dark and heavy, with emotions she doesn't want to credit by name.]

...York.

Edited (typo correction) 2015-08-22 20:09 (UTC)

But even IF it was one of them- it'd have been awhile ago and while I'm that awesome that's a pretty specific detail to hang onto for the better part of five years. Has it been five? It's- it's been awhile since I saw North last.

[ Since North DIED but- that's not something Blue needs to know. Not something he likes thinking about. If he'd just paid better attention, if he'd just been around MORE maybe-

Maybe North would still be around. He keeps rambling on like this, finding the matchbook he wants and lighting up his cigarette, only really stopping to take a long drag. This is when he finally gets a good look at Blue- at what Blue's doing and-

the cigarette stops halfway to his mouth. That shade of teal. Seafoam. Aqua- that color. That and the splash of red clench something tight and bitter and BROKEN in him. It can't be. She's dead. She would've reached out to him. She would've said something. She would've- would've stopped Maine. Saved them. Saved Delta.

For a moment he wonders if he got shot on the job and this is just one last mental hurrah before he clocks out for good but she drops the helmet and Carolina would never. Not even Dream Carolina-

One that doesn't kick him and they play halo naked and they just- be. Somewhere else. But that dream stopped happening awhile ago.

Older too and that's, that's new. The way her voice catches around his name just.

Reactions available:

A) Hysteric laughter. Pros: most honest! cons: Probably get kicked.
B) Punch her. Pros: Good way to check if she's real. Cons: Punching Carolina.
C) Sit and wait for the hallucination to end. Pros: Requires the least amount of effort. Cons: lazy as fuck come on York.
D) Hug her! Pros: Hugging Carolina! Cons: Will get kicked.
E) Kiss her. Pros: Uh, duh. Cons: WILL get punched in the dick. Right in the dick.
F) Open gross sobbing. Pros: NONE. Cons: EVERYTHING.

He'll need a moment or two to decide on one because-

Holy FUCK Carolina. ]

[ She's here, now.

The sudden silence, the loss of his patter, leaves an awkwardness she hadn't anticipated. It's her gaze that drops first, looking down, sweeping the dirt as she tries to think of something, anything to say - of all the scenarios she had expected (scenarios she'd tucked away to never be looked at again after Washington had told her that York had died), rendering him mute had...well, had happened after she'd kissed him.

She'd have been lying if she hadn't considered that, once, along with dragging him off and, well. None of those old thoughts, old dreams, seemed to matter now, now when they're older, and perhaps a little wiser.

She risks another glance at him, trying not to let her breath stall in her own throat, and her left hand closes over something in her pocket. The cool edges still her fingers, before she draws it out, weighing the rectangle of metal and scratched paint.

Then, forwards. Once again, it falls to her to make that first move. The urge to use a terrible pickup line dances through her head, but he's not in armor and something about this entire situation is unbearably unfunny. One, two, three steps, and she stops at the fifth, looking up at him on his perch before raising her hand, her attention trained on the rusty old lighter as she tries to keep her voice even.

It doesn't, quite, work. ]

I suppose..You'll be wanting this back?

[ A, D, and F it is. Oh how FUN.

Stupid involuntary emotional reactions. Stupid brain doing BRAIN things.

He slides off the boulder- eyes already leaking and he's pretty sure he's like, half a second from sobbing like an idiot even if his grin is wide and crooked and the first peal of crackling laughter is rolling out of him. Too harsh, too loud to be truly joyful. Hysterical- yeah. That's the right word. Even as he's leaning in, leaning up (god he's shorter than her without the armor what the hell it's so WEIRD to be like this) and hooking his arms around her shoulders, cigarette and offered lighter forgotten.

He can't even remember losing it or leaving it behind, he'd kind of been DYING at the time and

Christ.

She's solid. She's real. And he tries to muffle his laughter and hide his tears in the cool, aqual plating of her shoulder. ]

[ She's only almost as tall as he is while in her armor; the boosted height from the boots goes a long way, and there's a startled inhale of breath as York glomps onto her. Because that's what it feels like as he slides off, abandoning cigarette and any pretense of stoicism, and for a moment she freezes as the laughter rings in her ears.

And then. And then.

Her arms move, circling his chest. She's mindful, has to be, of how much stronger she is right now in her armor than he is in that vest she obtained for him, and her breathing stutters as she holds him as close as possible, his name a muffled whisper.]

Taylor...

[She's missed him. She's missed him so much, and tears threaten to spill from her own eyes as she turns her face to rest against his neck, against the loose hair that didn't stay pulled up and out of the way.]

I am SO pissed with you right now- [ His voice cracks. It never cracks, but here it is, cracking because she's not dead. She's not dead and he's PISSED but she's here and it's probably hard to take him too serious about being pissed when he's laughing.

And sobbing.

There is sobbing oh god why is there sobbing.

this is just an emotional day okay? Okay. Forget dignity, forget anything that isn't her hanging on right back, whole and alive and warm and hugging him back. ]

You are in so much shit I can't- you. I. We. I'm charging double!

[ There's a choked sound, her own laughter interrupting a sob, and her right hand lifts to cup his shoulder, to move up and rest along the curve of his neck. Trouble? ]

Making c-changes to a contract like that? S'bad for b-business. [She can't even scold him properly, not really, not when she doesn't mean in.]

[ She pulls back. Just enough to see him better, for him to see she's almost as much of a mess as he is. She can't quite manage a smile, but she's so far from unhappy even as tears finally begin rolling down her cheeks.]

You have no idea. [and somehow she's dragged him even part way back into it. Oh god. But she doesn't dare let go. The notion that doing so might mean he disappears, that she might never see him again? Utterly unacceptable. ...She'll think about that in more detail in a little while.

Lifting her left hand, she moves to cup his face in both hands, thumbs dragging along his beard, mindful not to touch his scar.] And what the hell do you call this, hmm?

LYING to the people you employ is bad for business!

[ He snaps back without any real bite, too busy hanging on and trying to breathe past the laughter and the gross, gross sobbing. At least he's not getting snot on her. That'd be too much.

Hell, all of this is too much. Too real. He's not sure he hasn't been shot but- she's here. She's here and she's smiling and she's older- and still looks fucking gorgeous. Oh hello all those feelings he thought he put to rest.

Best friend first. Above all else. Hang on to that before you get in trouble. ]

A beard. What? I have to not be noticed, a hobo beard works!

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MY LACK OF HUG ICONS HURTS ME SO

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