goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

...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!

A codename isn't a lie in this business. [And is the only "lie" she told, at that. Thumbs shift, moving to wipe away his tears, even as her own vision blurs. There's a distant voice, tiny and tinny, that goes missed, her attention is just that focused on this ridiculous man hugging her close.] And who even uses a name like 'Humphrey' without shortening it, huh?

[He hasn't let go yet, and she's not inclined to either, leaning forwards instead to press her forehead against his - they're of a height like this, that makes it easier. And she can close her eyes and ignore the not-at-all-platonic feelings that she wants to follow the course of.]

You stand out by being scruffy and suspicious looking. Could have at least trimmed it up a little..

Remember Reginald? [ Only Gamma could call him reggie to his face for a long ass time. Then he nearly killed York so, he's sort of got a reason to wanna riff on his pasty, traitorus ass. ] I don't do field work! I don't do face to face meetings! only reason I came out was the money was good and Vic said he 'got a vibe from this chick like woah'

...course he meant like. Probably gonna get laid sort of vibe not bestie from beyond the grave vibe.

First name basis was limited to a very set number of people, and besides that wasn't even his surname. [beat] And I'd sooner beat the shit out of him than ask for further details.

[she's quiet as he talks, eyes reopening to half-lidded, and her mouth quirks slightly he elaborates a little on his choice for participation. ("Uh, hey? C? ...y'there?") And as for Vic--]

I'm not entirely sure what planet he's on, if I'm honest. And I don't mean that in the literal sense. Although.. [Something in green eyes darkens a little, head tilting very slightly, lips parting a fraction] I don't know that that vibe isn't--

("CAROLINA!)

[she flinches back, out of startlement not rejection, head snapping around to her forgotten helmet. Epsilon. The job! She pulls away, but not far, one hand sliding along his chest, trailing his arm, only letting go when she has to step away and duck down to get her helmet. There's an apologetic half-smile for York, then on goes the helmet quickly - back to business, it would seem. "I'm here."

Or perhaps trouble, given how her back straightens a little too sharply, pose reverting to wary/alert at whatever message she's receiving.]

Uranus. [ A beat. ] I'm not even joking I've tracked his signal and it pings off a little, tiny ass colony orbiting that planet like a sad little moon. There is fuck and all there, I've been there, I've lived there, it is awful.

[ So Vic being so damn strange kinda makes sense. Even if his ability to broadcast quite so far does not.

Of course that all gets tossed out the window the moment she leans in and has that look, that is a good look, it's one that has him leaning after her and-

Oh. Right. Weren't they running from people that want them dead? They were? oh GOODY!

Wait hold the phone who the fuck is she talking to? ]

We got company?

[ Have you forgotten her partner already, York? Tsk tsk. Remember, she had someone keeping an 'eye on the sky'. There's a strong murmur, her conversation muffled by the helmet, before she turns back to York.

All business. Isn't that familiar too. ]

Company, and not just the local guards. Apparently one of the patrols for one half of the civil war decided to lend them a hand.

[She hesitates, then, before:] Our camp, it's a long way off. But it's secure. If you want to come with me.

[ Carolina knows he might choose to split here. He has a life here, after all. (...What kind of life? 'Hobo' crack aside, scarring aside, he's gregarious and always had as much a knack for charming people as he did for pissing them off -- does he already have much of a life here? Others here that mean something to him? Oh, that is NOT a knot of jealous she should be following right about now.) ]

Edited 2015-08-24 01:26 (UTC)

A long way off with people that have guns chasing us down? I don't have full armor anymore, boss. [ Otherwise he'd be on that like white on rice. ] I'd slow you down. I'll head back my way. No one will blink at me wandering around, I'm kinda known for it. You? You'll get shot. Let's not have that happen again. Besides. If I don't check in with Marcy she might just start renting my room out early- often as people just go missing here.

[ Or die. Dying happens a lot too. Enough that businesses, what few are left, are starting to get jaded. ]

...I don't want to leave you here. [because she knows your left side is weak, because she doesn't trust those soldiers or those guards, and say what he might, they might just haul him in due to convenience]

Besides, you'd only need your helmet. [From her back pouch, she pulls free a black...grenade? Is that a grenade? And since when did they have orange marks and spikes?] They won't be able to trace our exit or destination, and we can get you back to town in a couple hours the same way.

[It's not a plea. Soft and quiet and earnest, but not a plea.] Please.

Didn't stop either of us before. [ It's not fair, but it's kinder than pinning it all on her. They both fucked up in the past. ] I've been living here for two years now. I've been handling myself without the suit for longer than that. Handling myself with the suit all on my own- [ Ignoring D because thinking about that will just make him more bitter. ] for even longer. I got this. You already know how to get ahold of me.

[ Whatever the thing in her hand is? It looks new. And he's learned far too well to avoid the ever loving hell out of new. New's how the project happened, how the eye happened, how he damn near died all those years ago. No thank you. ] You want me to ride along- Clair, I'm sorry, but I'm gonna need a reason. I jumped in without looking to help Tex and- yeah.

[ That. That hurts. Even with her helmet on, there's no way for him to miss the flinch that runs through her shoulders, that tightens her fingers in a flex, that stiffens her posture. That wasn't fair. Even if she's let go of her resentment of Tex...it still hurts.

And makes her even more afraid to leave him behind. There is a civil war raging across Chorus, after all.

He needs a reason. And she doesn't know that she has one for him, let alone one that he wants to hear. All she has, double-edged as it is, is the truth. ]

Because I don't know if I'll be coming back.

We were supposed to be returning home when our transport crashed here. Some of the cargo was scattered, siezed. Some of it was Freelancer tech, York. I've been getting it back. [her back straightens, keeps that visor fixed on him] The healing unit was one of the pieces siezed. That's why we needed the codes, to get it back.

[she looks down at the teleport grenade in her hand.

And knows it's not enough.

She turns away. Epsilon's silence is sympathetic; at least he's already made sure York's been fully paid.]

You better get moving. They'll be here soon. Put as much ground between here and them. I let you know how things go soon as I can.

[ It's not fair- but he'd nearly died. He'd lost delta. He'd lost damn near everything with one little favor that, what? It didn't do anything. Omega was still around for awhile after that, Tex managed fuck and all. So he lost his suit, his best friend, and almost his life for nothing. He's not about to fall into that a second time.

Not for anyone. Not even for Carolina. he knew her back then, sure. But it's been years. Who is she now? ]

Getting it back and...? What's step two, here? You destroying them, selling them, or using them? [ Because only one of those options is appropriate to him. There is no way using them will end well without an AI. No way he'd expect her to sell them either- but using them?

That she'd do, if she had a mission. And she's made one. She was always good at sticking to missions. ] Protip on the healing unit. Hurts like a bitch and it's easy to OD on morphine if you're not careful. Mind that.

[ He hands the helmet over from where he'd dropped it and shrugs out of the vest. He won't be needing either. Whatever they're doing? He helped, he's happy to have helped, he'd like to help more- but he is not equipped to do so. No armor. No heavy artillery. no delta.

he'll be damned before he makes himself a liability for her. ]

Less you know, the less you need to worry about.

[ Well. If he's going to shut her down, then she'll just shut him out. She accepts the helmet and vest in silence, merely nodding when talks about the morphone, the latter garment slung over her arm while he steps away.

Just knowing you're alive makes you a liability, York. One she never expected to have, to ever have a chance at again. And Carolina doesn't know how to feel about that any more than she does to see York walking away.

But, they both let go, didn't they? They both learned to move on. ]

Take care of yourself, Taylor.

[And then there's a bright flash, a hiss-snap as reality seems to invert, and Carolina is...gone. Just gone, with not even a stain of shadow on the dirt and stone to indicate she was there, beyond the footsteps sunk into the floor.

Miles away, in the small science hub they'd taken over between Crash Site Bravo and the three nearest cities (or, rather, ruins of one, military dead zone of another and the dying town out of range of York's), the spare helmet is hurled with the full force of her temper, before Carolina spends a minute standing and staring at nothing. Not daring to remove her helmet in case Epsilon notices the tears falling down her face.

(He notices. He knows better than to comment. Instead, there's chatter; he's made sure Vic sent payment, hey, hook up that drive, we'll get that code, we should be good to go soon.)

There's radio silence there after. Nothing at all, for 3 days. A silence that ends with an anonymous text in blue font, with no traceable network path. ]

Yo.

[ That- that's new.

And he'd washed his hands of new for a reason. New is dangerous, new is unpredictable. New might be useful with this fucking civil war going on. he wants off planet but can't leave as long as there are people here trapped like him. Oh he probably could've snuck off months ago but- he's got a life here. He's invested.

Damn him but he's invested.

She leaves and it's like she'd never been and that's- that's for the better. There will always be the mission. There will always be something, someone else. Another target. Another CO. Something that's more important than just being a human being.

All focused ambition is she. It's something that won't ever change. Him? He learned to move on. To set the war aside and just live. Quietly. Comfortably. Back home and- he shaves.

Why not? The beard felt weird and maybe he just needed to look in a mirror and see him. Not like he gets out all that much anyway. He keeps the hair, though. D liked it long.

Three days and a random text and that is weird on several levels. ]

Vic, chap, I told you just to call.

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MY LACK OF HUG ICONS HURTS ME SO

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