goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

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.

[ If it's ambition, it's because there's a new purpose - once that got to begin because she didn't end every chance at personal redemption by making the Director pay. (In the end, she'd been too late there, too - the Director was long gone. Just a sad, lonely old man...)

She can't undo the harm they did. She can only press forward, do better. Move on and make something more of her life. Stop others abusing what was made to help in the war. To do the right thing.

So she does that. She focuses on the mission, on the recovery. It's a very long day, though, four hours of planning, seven of infiltration and waiting, and finally execution. They (mostly) get out of it unscathed, healing unit and all. The other guys? Well, a bit more banged up than when they started their day, but no one died.

No one who encountered Freelancers on missions back in the day ever got to say that. ]

Oh man, he does that to you too? That guy is such an asshole.

He indeed can be an asshole, but who is this and how did you get my frequency? [ He doesn't much feel like trying to sort out who or what this could be. It's late. He's tired. He's a little hungover. He is in no mood. ]

From my partner. Speaking of whom, mind opening the door? She's running on like close to 37 hours straight no sleep.

Lemme unpack this then. Who the fuck are you and why haven't you just sedated her yet?

Firstly, have you met Carolina?

Secondly, makes it hard to get anywhere if you sedate your partner, okay, she's the driver here.

[there's a long pause, before]

Look, will you just open the door already? She's half convinced this is a really bad idea and about to leave already. Unless you really are that much of an asshole, in which case I don't know why I fucking bothered to give you a heads up.

why didn't you START with the fact she's at my door you dipshit?

[ At least this place isn't a mess. He doesn't own enough TO make a mess and he is sleeping in just his boxers but- you know what? Fuck it. She's the one that bailed, she's the one making this WEIRD, he's being SENSIBLE. So. Opening the door and blinking at he while cleanshaven and mostly naked is the most passive aggressive response ever. ]

You gonna stand there all night?

Why do you think I was telling you to open the door, genius?

[That's pretty much the last of the text messages, helped in no small part that they can see some movement even if there's not much in the way in light, not until the door opens and York's in boxers and broad shoulders are backlit and he shaved, why did he shave? and her eyes stall first and foremost of the signs of scarring on her chest.

Old dead rage tries to stoke old embers; it's Epsilon who prods her gently when she doesn't respond to York's call. C'mon, C, need to answer the guy. We're here now. What's the worst that can happen? ...He doesn't ask that. They've lived through such things already.

Part of the shadows on his left detach from the building, the lattice of brick work filming over, before washing into a singular brown shade across her armor. She doesn't stagger, but there's a laboured sense to the two steps she takes out of the dark.

...Is she hesitating? Agent Carolina never hesitated.

But she isn't in Freelancer any more.

Her voice is a little rough, tired, but her visor doesn't move from York's face. Rude AI aside, it's good manners to ask first: ]

..May I come in?

Your friend is an asshole.

[ And an AI, apparently, if she's driving and the hints are anything to go by. He'll- sort out how he feels about that later. Right now he's just watching her carefully- and sure. Things have changed. But body posture, gestures, that shit? That never really does. And even without the heads up from whoever it was, he can tell she's exhausted. Stressed. And uncertain.

The last one is what has him sighing and stepping aside, motioning for her to get in. She's beat to hell and tired, he's beat to hell and tired, and it didn't take much to figure out that the odd stillness earlier was cuz of the scars in his upper torso. Reggie's last goodbye. ]

Come on. I'll make coffee. Think I got some food in the fridge too.

[ Good food, too. Well. What little good food there is LEFT with what's going on around here. He gets by. Tries to keep comfortable. ]

[ "Takes one to know one," is the quick reply echoing from her armour. She withholds a sigh, resists the urge to shake her head at them both. At least Church doesn't sound annoyed - that'd make their stay easier, however long or short it might be. She's careful to avoid touching him with her armour when she steps after him, doesn't look directly at his scars, but it's hard to miss and easy to guess that they caught her attention.

Thank god for a railing or the stairs might be a bit more troublesome, as she follows him up. Tired or not, she refuses to let her stride falter until she's on the main landing floor.

For someone who's been here a while, the aparrtment is pretty sparsely decorated. But every inch screams bachelor.]

Just...food, is fine. Thank you. It's not a good idea for me to have caffeine right now.

[the process of removing her gauntlets is a little labourous, noticeable even as she glances about, tries to consider where to secure Church and the rest of her armour.]

Who said I wasn't making decaf? [ He calls over his shoulder, already on the way to the kitchen. It's about all he ever buys, as often as he brews it. Better to not risk giving himself a fucking heart attack on top of everything else. ] Got a standing armor case in the corner by the coat rack.

[ Something he grabbed- well. Yesterday. He was planning on just maybe picking up something that could make him less likely to die in the coming weeks. The plans for such purchases and thefts are all over the coffee table. Hell, he's got a tablet with varying specs with pros and cons listed in blue, glowing font. Picking up what he can is well and good but he wants something that will work and work well. Since the last one got blown all to hell, well. That leaves him with fewer options. ]

Seafood or chicken? For the food.

[ Gauntlets are removed and the fine black undergloves follow, even as she sways a little in place. Then up go her hands and off comes her helmet, Church briefly flickering into place over her right shoulder as she runs one hand through her hair. ]

Why would you ruin it with decaff? [it's a little deadpan, mostly dead tired, but it's not a refusal. The little hologram floats over to inspect the case, a little uncertain he trusts it (or York, for that matter, no matter what his Logical Delta-part thinks). Her gloves are set on the table, where gaze proceeds to linger on the plans as she works on unbinding her armor.

..This may take a little while. Which really does highlight how tired she is. She can and has done this before almost in her sleep, which means everything takes forever when you're attempting to operate at a higher level of function than your body's prepared for.]

...Chicken. Thank you.

Because you need to sleep, boss.

[ Needs to sleep terribly if she's fumbling with the gloves. He wonders if he can't get her to pass out for a little while. Maybe a month? A year. Odds are it won't stick for more than an hour but- it'll be alright.

He shuffles back out with the coffee, eyes narrowed at the glowing blue guy. ]

Where'd you pick this one up?

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