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emptynesters2017-04-04 08:54 am
onemind) wrote in emptynesters2017-04-04 08:54 am
Entry tags:
TEST DRIVE :003
TEST DRIVE :003
WELCOME to the test drive and thank you for your interest in Station 72! To allow players to experiment with game mechanics, flexibility and to account for the fact that our TDMs tend to span a number of months to make up for our low player turnover, we've put together a game-themes random scenario generator for you to play with. Mix and match prompts at will, pick your own broodmates, experiment with abilities and specializations, talk to each other and maybe make up some pre-established CR, and generally play around however you like.
This test drive is not game canon, so take this chance to go nuts! Current in game players are also welcome to make top levels here and aren't beholden to their in-game characterizations (so if it makes more sense to be a broodmates of a character test driving, feel free to do so for the sake of these threads).
For the full experience, we strongly encourage players to write up a short blurb about what their fellow characters might know about them either through shared time on the Station or through the Nest mental link. Handy links can be found at the bottom of this entry if you have any questions and APPLICATIONS are always open if you decide you'd like to jump into the game proper. If you're having trouble coming up with a symbiote ability for your character for use in either the TDM or for your application, we have an ability workshop post located HERE.
(Mix and match these prompts at will to create your own TDM scenario - there's no obligation to use something from every category. Feel free to make up anything that isn't covered in the prompt if it lends to your playing.)
THE PLACE
1. STATION 72 consists of massive, alien sprawl. While large sections of the Station might be mistaken for a Station manufactured for use by humanoid beings - the hangar is relatively standard other than its massive size, the Life Support deck with its series of living quarters seems normal enough (if you ignore the part where none of the rooms have doors on them), and there's even a Jai Alai court -, beyond the most well trod paths the Station quickly cedes to the utterly bizarre. Corridors twist and loop back in on themselves, great verandas overlook massive empty rooms, ramps because stairs which lead to dead ends. It's easy to get lost if you don't have a destination in mind. Strangely enough, if you do know where you want to be, the Station's twisting paths will eventually get you there as long as you keep your goal firmly in mind. Knowing that is another thing entirely.
2. THE MELTED WORLD was once beautiful. Then again, maybe it's always been a toughened old rock, but at some point the planet called Ojan was glassed in the throes of a brutal war. The planet's entire surface has become a twisted, mirror-like substance by whatever super hot biological weapon was poured into it. The material isn't actually that horrible, consuming black; it perfectly reflects the empty, quiet space that surrounds Ojan: a foreboding testament to a war long forgotten. But what lies below the surface of the desolated world?
3. THE SCEPTRE is a fabulous building structure suspended from an asteroid in orbit around a planet. The Sceptre pierces down through the atmosphere of the planet below and over the course of the asteroid's orbit, The Sceptre has an opportunity to pass through every habitat and climate the world below it has to offer. The Sceptre is sleek and beautiful (or it is? Maybe it's fallen into disrepair and only ghosts remain) and its massive windows look out onto a varied, verdant world (or do they? What state is the planet below in, exactly? Has it been so thoroughly paved over that the atmosphere is the only place left to build?).
4. PENTARA PRIME is the ancient, meandering capital of the lush garden world of Pentara. Unlike most cities, it is a large, verdant sprawl, made up eighteen clustered centers - groups of low, elegant stone buildings, strung together by winding roads populated with quietly humming pods moving people from spoke to spoke. The capital is built around leisure, not production and there are far more gardens and orchards than there are buildings. The sun is heavy and low, and the air is still and buzzes with the sounds of fat-bodied insects. It’s so still, so calm. It seems empty and there is something unsettling in the quiet. --Or is it? Maybe it's bustling with energy, just as vibrant and delightful as it seems on the surface.
5. CHORIUS is not quite a planet. Not anymore. Once long ago it was, but over time it has changed - been stripped clean of every valuable mineral, every scrap of rare metal, and eventually even of atmosphere. The core has cooled perceptibly and now even its rotation period has slowed dramatically. Now it is a made up of shaped carbon and steel that bridge over the stripped surface of the planet, pulsing with energies, shielded from the harshness of the sun by a webbed dome that keeps the electric scented air from escaping into the space around it. Here nothing is wasted. Everything - everyone - is recycled and reconstituted into new forms. Every one of the cities changes daily, reformatted to meet new goals and new needs. It is a dead world filled with the living. But whether it is thriving or dying is hard to say - and what the newest change will bring with it is even more difficult to guess.
6. SPACE, THE FINAL FRONTIER. There's a lot of it in every direction.
THE PEOPLE
1. THE OUTLANDERS consist of small bands of settlers and explorers who have quested out into the unknown, the remote, and the dessicated parts of this galaxy looking for either new opportunities or forgotten mysteries. They are mostly upright though only vaguely humanoid, remnants of a civilization driven from their own failing world, each group is bound only by their own codes and personal laws. They're traders and nomads, largely peaceful but wary of the harsh, dangerous environment and beings they've crossed paths with. Don't cross a deal with an Outlander - they'll make you regret it.
2. A VERITABLE MELTING POT, the beings of this metropolis are as vibrant and diverse as is imaginable. These are a people developed by a myriad of cultural influences, technological insights, overlapping interests and clashing societal norms shaken up and spit out into something that more or less works as long as there's a whole lot of bureaucracy to keep it in order. And boy is there a lot of that. Mind your p's and q's - someone might haul you in for questioning if you cause too much of an uproar.
3. A RUINED GHOST is all that remains of this ancient civilization. Once there were people here leading brilliant or lives, or quiet ones, but all that's left are their ruined structures, old half-functional consoles and signs of lives abruptly arrested. What destroyed these people is initially unclear, but their extinction appears to have been absolute. --Or was it?
4. THE COURT is elegant and beautiful and perfect. Every being is shrouded in delicate, gauzy fabrics layered so densely as to obscure their elongated squirming bodies from head to toe. Each step sounds like a bell ringing from the the small metal plates at the bottom of their soft slippers; every gloved finger glints with small golden threads. The queens sweep through their secret insect gardens and their royal technomancers walk the halls with the glitter of hologlyphs sparkling at their fingertips and in the wake of their sweeping robes.
5. THE GREAT MILITARY is larger even than it’s name suggests. Every member of their civilization plays some part in it, every person has a rank, every family an insignia. The structure is rigid and inflexible and all-encompassing, and it has made them into ferocious enemies. They have been at war for as long as they have been a people, and their battle will never end, because if it did, they would go with it. The harshness of their life is painted on the sharp planes of their grey faces, but there is an indomitability and a pride to them that is hidden by their stern, unchanging expressions.
6. SCUM ALWAYS LIVES at the edge of the universe. Beware the dark of the space and the seedier underbelly of cities or the shadows of forgotten planet - pirates make their living there and these are desperate times, friend.
THE OBJECTIVE
1. GET UP from where you've fallen. Or get up from the nesting deck pod where you've just woken up on the Station. Or get up to Level 672 where there's a ship waiting for you. Or get up from the knee you've taken before this alien queen. Get up.
2. THE RESCUE might be saving a city from a disaster engineered by an enemy force, playing bodyguard for a government official, or liberating a rare artifact from a crumbling structure.
3. IT'S A RACE AGAINST TIME to collect the relic you've been sent to retrieve from the collapsing ruin. Or to make your way free of the military blockade. Or to make your escape from a crumbling world.
4. THE MASQUERADE is all a cover - for an assassination. For a heist. For a political coup.
5. INFILTRATE you know what you need. And you know who has it. With a little help you’ll be able to break into the place no one is supposed to go. You could sneak in… or smash in. Or maybe just talk your way past every little problem.
6. COME ON AND SLAM and welcome to the jam. It’s a ritual or maybe it’s just a pastime, but whichever it is there are rules and there is a goal. There’s probably even points. If you’re lucky, you just might score one. Avoid the spiky pits? Or maybe the thrown fruit. Or perhaps just the other team...
6. EXPLORE and uncover the secrets this place have to offer. There’s a mystery here if you know where to find it. And all you have to do is look.
7. DON'T DIE is easy to say and hard to do when you're under the guns of an armada. Or when you're trying to outwit spies. Or when the ground is literally crumbling under your feet.
INSPIRATION
what's up lesser beings and background characters
( bakugo katsuki is a teenager with an explosive temper and a heart full of heroism in spite of that; you'll get heavy vibes of indomitable will, the earth before you will feel like it's crumbling at all times, the sound of wicked laughter in the face of towering walls and shapeless, dark dangers. his symbiote power is literally "pocket" dimensions in his pockets and it's not his only power. there u go. )
THE STATION ( )
-- you want me to hold your damn hand, while I'm at it?
[ Nobody said anything about not having the right to poke around the place, but he doesn't have to be so nasty about the choice of companions. Or does he? Don't you all have something to complain about, in one way or another? Maybe he's just more vocal about what he can and has chosen, against what he can't and hasn't.
The hallway is a narrow, one-after-another sort of adventure. At certain points, he has to turn sideways to fit broadening shoulders through the opening, and wriggle through into the next room. It all reminds him of a funhouse, a deathly funhouse - if something goes bad down here, they can escape in single-file. A cursory glance back at his companion, and it's clear he doesn't trust them to function like a capable, sentient being at all. Good thing he's here, to pick up their slack. ]
I don't know what you're looking for, so if it's something in particular, you better let me know.
[ OR ELSE.He's found the rec room, the conservatory looking out onto what he'd discovered to be artificial space ( a vision, not a reality ), a spiraling staircase, an orb-like room without any sensible gravity and cushions scattered all throughout. A hall of hexagonal cabinets that had opened onto mirrors. Now, he wriggles his way through the opening ahead of his companion and scoff-groans. ]
You order this?
[ guess what it's a ball pit, and then a whole lot of other kid playland stuff beyond that ]
CHORIUS ( )
[ This place is the pits.
Literally, they call it the Pits, on account of it smells worse than a Xcordan's seventh underleg. You know the one - it's the one tucked in the middle of all the rest of those undulating little segments, the one that's the most difficult to clean after a kill. Gets the Xcordan their "Carrion Crusader" nickname and everything. There's none of them around right now, thankfully. Just a back alley gaming parlor, equipped with a couple of Chariot X200 gaming platform and a whole network of crime syndicates, just looking for trouble. The Chariot is several astral cycles out of date, but that hasn't stopped the junker kids before from getting on and having themselves a ride. Like the one who's in it right now.
Some native chick (?), eager to make nice with a couple foreigners. Eager to get paid.
At the left of the Chariot's seat, there's -- well, that kid. Blonde hair gone ashy-grey from all the fallout from the planet's dying center, a black corecloth filter strapped across his face, keeping the worst of the pollution from killing him. His arms are bound up in black cloth, layers and layers of it, and that's what puts him on edge the most. Down here in the Pits, there's all sorts of combustible gases and powdered fibers floating around, and the wrong sort of twitch turns the Pits into a crater. Another crater, to be honest. He hovers over the kid in the seat, hands clutching the back of it - impatient and tetchy. ]
She's been in there too long, [ he snaps, in reference to the kid he's managed to coerce into running recon in the bowels of the Harbor - the only remaining digital system. ]
Either she's playing us, or she fucked up.
[ He jerks his head towards the door. Fucking watch the door, or watch his back. There's plenty of dangerous-looking aliens in this place, and some of them are starting to take notice of the strange goings on over here. Which means there's the dilemma: defend the girl and maybe get the goods, or bust on outta' here before you get overrun. ]
WILDCARD(S)
[ An argument. A miscommunication. A rescue. A moment's peace. Peace, interrupted. A delivery to be made. A delivery to be intercepted. Overwhelmed. Underwhelmed. An invasion of privacy. Shared dreams. Images, prompts. LET'S DO THIS. ]
ball pits because i can't help myself
So he's taken to getting it to spit out the most absurd things he possibly can. It's like a real time version of Sim City, except he can do it smaller scale. And with children's playground items.
What? He's having a good time, don't look at him like that. ]
And so I have. Does it offend? I can ask for different colour balls if you'd like. [ November turns to who has just addressed him, smiling benignly at Bakugo. ]
no subject
already, he's had his suspicions about the way the station... operates. there's a mutability and a transience to it that suggests either the one who designed it valued eclectic over focused, or the "symbiote" that's living it up in his brain is actually just code for "sorry, you have an inoperable tumor and you're hallucinating shortly before you die". there's plenty of REASONS, but not all of them are supported by FACT.
what is supported, is november's weirdo desires. and they're supported above bakugo's own. like the station likes november better, or something. which is bullshit because what the fuck is there not to like about bakugo!!! ]
"Does it offend", hell fucking yea' it does.
[ -- a burst of scathing, hot emotion passes between them. ]
None of this is helpful, it's just... it's whimsy. [ beat ] I hate whimsy.
no subject
Oh, you don't enjoy primary colors? [ He knows that isn't what Bakugo is getting at, but who cares. ]
Perhaps the station enjoys whimsy. You never know. On a positive note, I thought it would be a good exercise to see where the limitation lie by asking for things that aren't in the realm of dangerous. [ Just in case it dropped from the ceiling like the board game boxes did earlier. ]
Have you made much headway, Bakugo?
no subject
The station can kiss my ass, [ grousing and growling, as he punts a few of the errant orbs into the ball pit. this guy's brain is fucking weird. too neutral, too flatline. not much gets to him, and it's not so much really good composure as it is -- he's wrong. weird. it makes bakugo's skin crawl, and makes him inclined not to turn his back on november entirely. ]
This stuff's for kids.
[ YOU'RE a kid ]
I'm getting that this place can create different inorganic materials and structures. I haven't been able to get it to make anything organic or alive, and I've been looking for everything from beetles to bison to other people. [ stooping to pick up one of the remaining ball pit... balls, because it feels legit. looks legit.
smells like old, mouldering plastic and everything. ] Maybe it can't sort you out from me, you freakin' weirdo.
slinks over
The ball pits, admittedly, do not seem to be dangerous. ]
Not really my style.
YES GOOD
It looks like Ueno's playpark.
[ which means that it's likely that the ballpit and the entire vibe of "kid's playland" that's surrounding them came from bakugo, who was entertaining brief memories of being brought to the retro playzone when he was a kid. or something. there's bumper cars and everything, even if they are souped the FUCK up like monster trucks. spikes on the wheel rims and hefty, armored grills and everything. ]
I didn't need you to come with me, teach. I can handle it.
[ he's going for "rude" but it all kind of comes out with a sloppy sort of concern ]
no subject
Been a while.
[ A possibly less than subtle confirmation of the fact that he's perfectly aware of where this all came from. He's not trying to shame Bakugo for it, though; if this place takes shape from the mind, then it's natural that such memories would be close to the surface of Bakugo's consciousness. He's not so far from his playground days.
Anyway, the huge fang teeth on the bumper car grills kind of gave it away.
Aizawa runs a hand along the bars of a jungle gym, testing the solidity of it, his expression and tone unchanging. Thinking: So that's how this place is, huh. ]
I don't have anywhere else to go, regardless. Looks like you're stuck with me.
[ Not untrue--but also designed not to prod at Bakugo's pride. Regardless of what the kid thinks, he's still a kid, and still--to Aizawa's mind--his responsibility.
He knocks on the gym's bars, listens to the metallic clang that follows. ]
In light of that, how about you tell me how you got here?
[ What had Bakugo seen? What had he gone through? ]
no subject
Could be worse.
[ accepting, then? ]
I walked. [ avoiding the Real Question: ] I woke up in what felt like the fuckin' morgue, and walked outta' there. Been looking for a way out since.
no subject
Aizawa sighs. He glances up at Bakugo for just a second, eyes narrowing slightly, and then starts walking forward again. Wherever they are, the only way out is through. ]
Answer what I'm asking.
no subject
aizawa uses the "teacher voice" though, and part of bakugo bristles. automatic and reflexive, but he hops down from his vantage point and follows in aizawa's wake. strangely silent, for a while, as he finds the words to describe the shit that happened. ] -- I thought it was one of those noumu things, at first.
[ he drags his feet a little, slouching into his damn pockets as he recounts the memory ]
It wasn't, though. It was a fuckton worse. It wrecked the school and hurt a lot of people and I could...
[ he stops now, fists clenching and unclenching in violent little gestures ]
Man, I heard could hear it calling my name. Just my name, over and over.
no subject
But someone else came for you.
[ As they had for him. ]
no subject
[ he also pauses, picking up on the sudden absence of footsteps in front of him; it's not like he's looked up from the toes of his own shoes. everything just so --
visceral ( memories of a building, crumpling under the weight of something amorphous and towering, connected to the sky -- the sky itself was hunting, calling his name. his name, this was his fault, again; memories of classmates looking to him, for him. ) he'd run. he'd called out in return to the thing, a thunderous display of power to push everyone away, to draw it in -- ]
I thought I could handle it. It wanted me, not them. So, I ran -- tried to get it away from the school, and it. It wasn't stupid.
[ HE was stupid, that's for sure ]
I went with the weirdo after that, and ended up here. Like you do, y'know?
no subject
Of course.
[ Which means: I'm glad you're safe.
He's quiet for a second, thinking. What Bakugo just described sounded like a scenario designed to ensnare him specifically. Flashy, outsized, demanding as much power in return as it put out. Demanding that he play the biggest, baddest hero. Memories of his own experience filter through as he mulls it over. A night patrol; a sudden altercation. A dread so deep it felt unnaturally placed inside of him, like a worm, a poison. A villain who knew more than his name; a savior reaching from the darkness. Calling this way, this way. Calling help me.
The situation wasn't rational. ]
I'm not entirely sure that what I experienced was real.
[ At the same time, he's awash in his own and his student's very real emotions, in foreign images that are nevertheless sparkling clear. ]
But I can't deny that it was effective.
no subject
[ all for one.
he'd been the most powerful thing to witness, firsthand. not as great as all might, in the end, but the cost had been - it'd been awful. and on the heel of that knowledge, the assault on the school and his foolish flight had done little to absolve him of the cold kernel of guilt and shame. it felt like a nightmare, all of it. maybe they were all dead, dreaming, caught up in some strange quirk? all he remembered was his name, on the un-tongue of some great skyborn threat. ]
Yeah. Effective as motherfuck'n fish for cats. [ ugh ] Why'd you end up here, though?
[ yeah why ]
I got the impression that if I left, you'd be fine.
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post chorius bc i can
( The suspense is positively killing me. Let's find out. )
[ but what neither of them realizes that at least one of these bad boys ends up spraying when it bleeds out some kind of acidic, orange sludge (it wasn't specified in the briefing and peter read that top to bottom at least three times). so when bakugo grabs the girl up from her place pinned with an empty, jerry-rigged pistol, peter has his arm around the creature and his plasma knife buried between its segmented plates to keep the focus on him. the massive, slime-coated thing with a mouth within a mouth and teeth for days dies, don't worry, but the beat between a triumphant kill becomes a prickling heat that escalates fast along both his hands. peter grinds his teeth through the sensation, wiping his hand against the carapace before scrambling out the door behind bakugo, who at this point is half hauling their accomplice out of there.
so they get the girl, and they make out with about half of what they're actually looking for, but half at the moment is better than nothing, so they take it with gritted teeth and whatever gratefulness she gives them. but on the way back, peter glances at him from their place now, sitting in the cramped back seat beside. he can feel the overflowing rasp of a mind on a mind, young and craggy edges jutting forward, and while peter isn't completely torn up by the injury, he's fraying a bit. his brow twitches. ]
( In yours or mine? )
[ pockets, that is. it's a brief flash of an impression: the medkit, a slender thing with antiseptic, painkillers, and cellgrowth stimulant all in one that should do the trick for his hands. between them, they've enough pocket space for a small cavalry. there's a polite modicum of concern etching the tail end of the thought. did it get you as well? ]
how many times did that tag die on you
[ too little, too late.
this is NOT how things are supposed to go; bakugo isn't the one who wants to be pawing at their contact's face, slapping her a little in order to rouse her from the digitally-induced slumber she's been put into. all four of her eyes open, panicked and rough, and all four of her arms seize him and it's just -- well, she doesn't wake up well, but once she figures out what's going on, it's easy enough to pick her up under one arm and dodge the chair thrown his way. to shove the second out of his way, itching to unleash. but he can't, not half the place would go up in cinder and smoke.
someone's bleeding, thick orange goop like soda left out to mould over, and he grimaces underneath his guise, darting out the door - seizing his current work-partner by the skinny little wrist to drag him along with him. scrambling from the suddenly-active hive, full of shouts: stop them, get them, grab her, don't let them get away. but they do, they're both too clever and he's half too stubborn to let any of them fall behind.
he shoves their accomplice into the front seat and demands that she duck, while he drags his mask down and punches his nestmate in the goddamn knee. and again, snarling through gritted teeth: ]
You stab-happy fucker, I told you not to kill anyone. I can't believe you.
[ he's furious, boiling over with incandescent disgust. killing, it's just. it's just not what's done.
angrily, he shoves his hands into his own pockets, and the symbiote in his mind flexes; it's sickening, and his face turns white with the strain of it as he hunts through the spreading void in the depths of his pockets for the stupid fucking medkit. which he finds, and half-hurls at his nestmate. it doesn't really go far, because the backseat is so small and cramped. but he tries his best to make himself small and subtle and hunches down into the space between the seats, arms wound around his knees. glowering. ]
I'm not going to thank you for that.
/counts on fingers... 4
Anyone, not anything.
[ peter turns, feels that little sickening churn, like a ship capsizing for a momentary sensation, before reverting, the way the medkit lands on his chest feeling less impactful than the wind up behind it. peter uses the tips of his fingers to crack it open and start applying it with a slow thoroughness meant to conserve what they have. both hands are equal in their dominance, but peter favors one side over the other and lets his focus linger on that hand in particular as bakugo speaks. ]
That works out perfectly seeing as how I won't be apologizing.
[ peter's body language doesn't adjust, ducking low and easy against the cramped arrangements as he works, face in neutral, brows only drawn to his work. he can feel the inward tug of disgust seeping through him, the kind that makes him pause as he feels the warm sensation of flesh carefully rebuilding along his palm. he's not disused to the concept. killing is messy. he doesn't expect anyone to accept that, least of all this one. it's not what's done, except when it needs to be done. ]
yikes.
That's what passes for anyone here, dimwit.
[ something speedy races by, and he pulls his hood lower over his face; hears their accomplice, tired and disoriented still, shudder down into the front seat as well. they'll have to move quick, when they decide to go, before anybody sets up a perimeter. or sniffs them out, that'd be worse. there's nothing bakugo can do, down here where the slightest spark'll set off a nuclear explosion.
it's been the worst experience for him, holding himself back from cutting loose. maybe if he'd been able to do something, stabby wouldn't have had cause to whip out the plasmablade and slice an alien to death. the all-too-recent memory of it fills him with resent and revulsion again, and he doesn't bother keeping it at bay. ]
That didn't need to happen, we could have found another way.
[ hilarious, that he's the one talking about "another way", but killing is literally the least heroic thing, and he already toes a very grey line ]
We gotta' move. [ grumble ] Find us an exit.
chorius, SWeATS (ʘ‿ʘ✿)
( She's not playing us. )
[ That's him deciding to stay. For now, anyway. He's got his back to both Bakugo and the girl, just a step away from the opposite side of her chair, arms crossed nonchalantly. He's still watching the door, but in his periphery he can see one of the fuck-ugly beasts side-eyeing them from a few yards away; it looks away a half-breath before ticking over into suspicious. ]
( If you don't calm down, it'll be you who fucks us over. You may as well be a priest in a whorehouse. )
[ Guilty? Over-excited?? Both?? Anyway, this is definitely how you talk to children. ]
forces myself to write things exCUSE YOU
[ biting; with his words come teeth, bursts of heat.
honestly, he thinks he should have been at the door, but he's seen Locke Lamora in action and the guy's a goddamn useless noodle in a fight. better him for the quick escape, than him having to fight his way straight through a room full of big, nasty, rough-looking aliens that remind him a little of one of the neighborhood kids that used to get dropped off at afterschool activities while her mom and dad sat through court case after court case because her aunt just couldn't keep her gnarly face out of criminal activity. she was a hell of a brawler, though.
which brings him back to focus: ] YOU KEEP CALM. Dick.
[ enjoy that blast buddy ]
She's cold. [ don't look at him he didn't just take one of her four hands into his own and test her pulse. he's not worried. he's strategic. ] She can't die in there, can she?
wwwwildcard
( I can't believe you're as loud in your sleep as you are when you're awake. Seriously? )
well here we go then
because what the fuck, cheeks mcgee. ]
Yeah? Well, I can't believe you drool like a dam that's sprung a leak. Gross.
when do we not... go...
the swat earns him a glare, puffed cheeks. a swat back because she's not going to let him get the last bat in, she refuses, and the mental tap of hand on hand is something that makes her clench her own just slightly at her sides, staring up at nothing because there's just sensation. some weird science-fiction surrealistic dive into something hot - not too hot to touch right now, though. ]
( You're worse. Like twenty chainsaws worse. )
[ she holds it a beat there, like she's got something else to say, like that's all she wanted to leave it at that because she could and because he's there, but she doesn't.
and she doesn't soften either. ]
( I don't want to sleep anymore. Do you wanna go walk? )
no subject
[ the last word has to be his, of course. even if the echo of his physical form shifting, sitting up from where he's been stretched out - sleepless, irritated, a hovering and tangled ball of wrath and loathing. even the act of throwing the sheet that his legs have been winding into a knot is televised between them, because he's so hard to hide himself away when he's not used to keeping secrets, telling lies. the one thing about him that's easy to accept, is that even if he's an asshole, at least he's upfront about it.
just like he's upfront about hating her being here, too. she was supposed to -- not be here. it's not like he wanted anybody he knew to see him like this, much less be wound up in his head, and vice versa. he never asked for a psychic link, he'd only asked for whatever it was that he needed to save everyone. since "space" was the answer, he'd left. but a brain parasite? that was pushing it, and she was pushing it. ( go the fuck home, he'd yelled. ) the last thing he wanted to do was hang out with her, much less share a brain with her. with that, pushing at his throat and welling up, hot and spiteful in his chest, he scoffs. dismissive as he shoots back: ]
Sure, whatever. It's not like I'm sleeping anyways.
[ wait what ]