goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

[ 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?

[ She glowers at him, but there's a slope to her shoulders to signify that she's not going to fight him on it - miracle of miracles that that is. ]

I should argue but I won't. Even my hair feels tired..

[ It's a rather undigified slump into the chair that follows, all the better to remove her boots, and she doesn't look up until he's almost beside her with the coffee, shaking left foot, then right, free of the trappings of her armor. She looks so much smaller without it.

She can't help but find herself admiring York, thinner though he is than she remembers but no less cut in the ways that count, and she ignores the mutual looks of distrust between AI partner and locksmith. ]

It's...a long story. Hunted him down after I decided I was going to kill the Director.

[ And isn't that said super matter of factly. ]

...I feel like both those points need elaboration, and we got time.

[ Coffee is set at her elbow, a hand resting tentatively on her shoulder, giving a squeeze before he steps away. Quick, filling, simple meals he can do. It's right back to the kitchen.

Keeping this normal is keeping him off center- but they need something a little neutral. Food. Food is neutral. Nevermind the extra scars, nevermind the pockmarks where Wyoming had shot him and the shrapnel from landing here. Nevermind that he's mostly naked. It's just another night. Like the past couple of years have never happened. ]

How'd that go?

You've never been so tired as to have that happen before?

[ York being...well, domestic in his own fashion, is strange enough. Mostly naked is what keeps this off center, which is why there's a half smile but no meeting of his eyes when the coffee is left beside her. Most definitely keeping her gaze set past his chest over over a shoulder and most definitely not on the curve of his shoulders or--

She really is tired when she can't muster the willpower to even avoid that much. Gaze goes into the decaff coffee. It's a traitor in its lack of caffine, but it's a safer thing to focus on when trying to talk. ]

It was an experience. You should meet his friends sometime. ["Yours now, too, thanks to Wash." She snorts very lightly before continuing] ...But we found him in the end.

No one pulls all nighters quite like you, boss.

[ Heat and eat, that's what he does. Soon he's got a simple chicken burrito hot and ready- well. He's got five. He figures she'll need some and he may as well eat if he's up. Whatever wandering eyes that might happen he doesn't notice or doesn't comment on, more focused on getting her fed and figuring out where he's gonna put her for the night.

The plate of steaming goodness goes in front of her as he finally pulls up a chair, knocking his knee against hers. ]

Knowing this planet? If they're around it'll probably happen. [ He slumps back with his mug in his hands, eyes flicking from her to Epsilon and back again. ] Seriously. How'd that go? I know things were-

Well.

I don't know how anything was, now that I think of it.

You don't have to call me that, you know. I'm not your boss anymore.

[ Said quietly, eyes still boring into the contents of her coffee cup. Whether York has noticed her attention or not is besides the point; it's one thing to tease with it deliberately. Her self control is better than this, it's embarassing for it to be slipping so much..

She hadn't felt that hungry when he'd first mentioned food, but there's an almost painful rumble of her stomach when the scent of heated chicken wafts her way, and she looks up with a thankful smile when their knees knock. ]

If anyone could cause it to happen, it would be them.

[seriously. they're like. magnets for chaos. or something. The first burrito is picked up and, well.

It's not inhaled in one go, she has more manners than that. But it doesn't take long for her to devour it. Epsilon flickers a little at York's question but doesn't reply, but he's rather clearly focused on Carolina. It's unusual for him not to be a chatterbox here, but this isn't about him. She licks off her fingers slowly as she considers her answer, before releasing a deep breath. One she hadn't realised she was holding. ]

We found him, in the end. The man-- not the Director. He was long gone. Too late for that. [again. yet she doesn't sound bitter. a little distant, but focused.] Just an old man stuck in the past, unable to let things go.

[her voice trails a moment, as she reaches for a second burrito, but not yet biting into it, turning it in her hands.]

..I walked away.

[She sounds oddly...proud? Of that fact?

"You left him your pistol," her AI-partner points out, earning a flat look.]

Yes. I did. [and it's not hard to figure out what he probably did with it.]

Edited 2015-09-03 13:38 (UTC)

Only boss I ever liked, Clair.

[ Which is true in so many ways- but then he wasn't hired all that often, Vic wasn't a boss so much as a partner and the whole cracking locks and encryption from the safety of his apartment was...well. Ignoble. It felt shady because it was shady and he'd kinda gotten used to it. But working with Carolina? Had always been twisted with a strong line of Duty and an undercurrent of the right thing to do. They were the good guys.

Until they weren't.

He tugs one of the burritos over to nibble on, checking his stomach's readiness to actually settle before taking a bigger bite. That he almost chokes on when she says she walked away. Just. Away? Away.

Part of him is stupidly proud for her. Part of him is knotted up in everything that had been, everything they'd lost, everything that went wrong. Swallowing it is harder than swallowing the chicken. ]

...I'm sorry. For your. Loss. It is a loss, isn't it?

[ There's not much she can say to that. There's a curve of a smile to her eyes, tired though she is, and a lump forms in her throat. But no tears. Not right now. She's simply too tired for that.

She nibbles more slowly on her second burrito while he processes what she's told him. There were probably less dramatic ways to drop that on his lap. But right now, she really can't think of any.

At his tentative question, she licks her lips, then sets her food down as she shakes her head. ]

No. no, not really. It was the loss of everything, everyone else that was worth mourning. Revenge wouldn't bring you--all of you back.

The person he used to be was lost a long time ago. It just took me a while to realise it. [the smile that forms is mirthless, lopsided and brief] Nothing I could have done to the person I found would have been worse than what he did to himself. And I wasn't going to let him drag me any further down with him.

[He was a coward. And she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of dictating her actions any more, even at his end.]

Aw. You wanted to avenge me.

[ He has to snort a soft laugh at that. He didn't think there was anyone that thought he was worth avenging left alive- and with how the last time he'd seen Carolina in person gone he didn't think she'd have wanted to do that either. And yet she'd had that urge and moved past it.

Good for her. They've lost enough of themselves, carved them out and set before the altar of The Director's obsession. It's good that she's moved on. That they've moved on. Took him years and then almost dying and losing Delta to move on but- he'd had to.

The alternative was to hang on to the thing that nearly killed him twice.

He hooks his ankle around hers- a casual point of contact he's not all that sure he's got permission to have anymore, and finishes his burrito. ]

Nowhere to go but up now, huh?

Yes. I did.

[ His tone jokes, but it was no laughing matter for Carolina, not then, and not now. Not if the quiet delivery of her confirmation was any judge.

She had had enough regrets bound up in that burning desire, that all consuming revenge. But choosing to live? That seemed an even better way to accomplish it. She picks up the remains of her second burrito and resumes eating just in time for him to hook his foot with hers, and it takes a moment for her not to freeze up. Their friendship had fallen apart so spectacularly and it had been..not all of her own fault, admittedly. But it had taken her such a long time to realise how toxic and twisted things had become, to realise how both of their flaws had been used against them.

She could try not to read anything into it. And yet, there's something more than just casual contact with the gesture, she recognises it for what it is - a tentative check for what boundaries now lie between them. which is why, once he's settled, she turns hers very slightly, curls her big toe upwards to lightly brush his ankle. Her feet aren't quite so long that she can hook the back of his foot in turn, but this would do for now. Right? Right.

Second burrito is finished.]

When you've fallen down far enough. [there's a hint of humour to her voice.] And I wasn't alone 'down there', which proved to be more help than hindrance in the end.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject