Voices from Heaven (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thespaceopera) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2017-06-09 10:11 am
thespaceopera) wrote in driftfleet2017-06-09 10:11 am
Entry tags:
- !atroma,
- !mingle,
- anthony j. crowley,
- asuka shikinami langley,
- aurae "tempest" le paulmier,
- chloe price,
- daenerys targaryen,
- daeron,
- daryl dixon,
- doudanuki masakuni,
- edna,
- edwin jarvis,
- eizen,
- ezri dax,
- felix gaeta,
- felix harrowgate,
- fenris,
- fingon,
- ginko,
- hermione granger,
- ignis scientia,
- imperator furiosa,
- jack sparrow,
- kaidan alenko,
- katherine "kitty" pryde,
- katie mccoy,
- kazuto "kirito" kirigaya,
- keith,
- khadgar,
- kurt darkholme,
- lance,
- looma red wind,
- lumiére,
- lunafreya nox fleuret,
- max rockatansky,
- merlan margaret o'keefe,
- mikleo,
- mon-el,
- natasha romanoff,
- noctis lucis caelum,
- okita souji,
- pavel chekov,
- prompto argentum,
- remy lebeau,
- rokurou rangetsu,
- sayid jarrah,
- sokka,
- takashi shirogane,
- takeshi,
- uraraka ochako,
- vash the stampede,
- zelda
i know you, i walked with you once upon a dream
( for A-M characters )
Before you post your toplevel comment, please:
1. Check the first letter of your character's name as its written in our tags. A-M names comment here, and N-Z names go to the other post.
2. Make a note in your comment if anything especially triggering or graphic might show up in the Calibration. If you're not sure if something's worth noting or not, we suggest listing it anyway, just to err on the side of caution.
3. Put your character's name (it can be shortened or different from the tag, this time) in the subject of your comment. This will help visitors find you easily, and help us update the list below.
4. Post your comment! It's fine if everyone's Calibrations end up looking and reading very different from one another. As long as you're having fun and following our guidelines, you're good to go. :)
5. If you have any questions or concerns during Calibrations, you are welcome to send them towards the mod team at any time, as always.
(last updated: 6/18/17)
no subject
seeing Jarvis like this. But he at least understands Jarvis actually enjoys his work. Is proud of it. He is not a slave.]
I will be fine, thank you. I- think I have come to see you, actually.
no subject
For me? That's quite kind of you, Mr. Fenris! Would you -- Would you like to stay for dinner? I can lead you to one of the rooms to freshen up, if you'd like; Mr. Stark has many guest rooms for such an occasion.
[The hallway is vast and expensive, carefully set with lovely vases. Up head, it turns at a bend into a world unknown until they get to it. Spoilers: it will be more hallway, albeit a bit different than usual. On the pedestals are items -- nearest is a fencing sword on one, and then on another a baking tray. There's also one with a life vest on it, and another with a stack of nameless books.]
no subject
[See, he REMEMBERED. He smiles a little, for Jarvis' sake, and heads down the hall. He knows this game, he knows what happens here, but it doesn't mean he enjoys breaking into Jarvis' personal memories any.
He eventually settles for the life vest, picking it up.]
...You were near water?
no subject
You're standing at the edge of a pool, looking down at your own reflection; you're young, younger than the boy from the calibrations — perhaps five or six, all pale, noodly arms and lacking in sufficient sunshine. Behind you, there's the chatter of your mother and her sister, of family friends and children. There are other kids in the pool, too, all playing and having fun, but you're scared to venture in. It's pale blue and lovely to any other eye, but to you, all you can think is, I don't want it to go in my nose.
You crouch down and wag your fingers through the water, the other hand clasping the edge for safety and belly on the ground. No way do you wanna fall. But your father and uncle, watching behind you, have been chattering away about your fear of the water for the last few minutes.
"I'm telling you, just throw him in," your uncle guffaws behind a mustache. He's a big guy, all tanned muscles and an army career in his belt, and before you can even turn to make a wary face he's crouching down and picking you up like you're a small dog. You don't even have a chance to cry out your panic before you're being thrown unceremoniously into the deep end with your uncle's hefting "huah!" You slap the water and you sink like a rock, terror taking you over. You move your arms and try to push yourself up with your feet, but for some reason, the surface isn't getting any closer.
Your father and uncle are blurry figures up above. You open your mouth when the air in your lungs feels all wrong and water pours, replacing a fleeing collection of bubbles. Gasping — kicking — panic —
As your head feels light, one of your sixteen-year-old cousin grips your arm and drags you up to the surface, where you cough and cough and cough and cry — a little of everything, really. Your granny's slapping uncle upside the head and saying words you're pretty sure she shouldn't really say.
"It's alright, Eddy," your cousin says at your ear, paddling you to the edge.
You return from the memory —
coughing a mouthful of water.
Edwin and Fenris stand in a new hallway with new items, sopping wet.
He tries to adjust his water-logged tie.]
Oh dear. You shouldn't trek water all over this newly cleaned rug, Mr. Fenris...!
no subject
It's...changed. I-
[He raises his bare, wet feet, grimacing. ]
That was deeply unpleasant.
no subject
[He frowns, looking around the room; it's certainly different! A bit of a different architecture, at any rate, and the marble is replaced with a lovely oak finish. The pedestals remain, with new items: a lovely golden tie, an art pad of some kind, a first aid kit that seems to be slightly opened and partly used, and a dented waiter's tray that seems... shaped suspiciously close to the size of a man's skull.]
I suppose you'll need to use a bit more caution in which one you pick up.
Some are quite messy. But they work quite well for getting to where you need to go.
no subject
[He settles very quickly on the tray, because, well, that looks like something violent happened and he's all for violence. ]
Did someone come a cropper of you?
1/2
You're in a diner, standing beside Miss Carter — and goodness, what a day it's been. You're exhausted on your feet, but you hide it well despite your early rise; usually there's a day or two out of the schedule that leaves you wiped out. Stiff upper lip, as they say. "So what next? Miss Carter?"
Miss Carter is looking behind you, all around the diner, but you're not quite sure where her bafflement — or perhaps focus, as it's starting to seem — is lying. She hushes you quickly, before you can even question further. "Quiet. Procedure 791 — Isolate the suspect and remove civilians from harm before attempting arrest."
"I'm sorry," you reply, confused, "What's happening?"
"The man at the counter," she says in a low, urgent tone, nodding slightly, "is Agent Messner from Washington, D.C. The man behind me is Agent Reese."
"... SSR agents?" You say at last. And oh. You suddenly understand far too well why she's anxious. There are agents all around you — and they plan to take you in. It was bound to happen sooner or later, considering all the undercover work and double-crossing and additional shenanigans on the path of clearing your boss' name, but it's still not too pleasant a realization. Miss Carter, however, is as poised and focused as always. You know you're in decent hands; you can only hope your hands are helpful in return.
"I need you to find a way to block the front door so that no one else can come in." She says, her hands unconsciously turning to fists. Oh goodness, you think, these men have no clue what they're up against. "I'll do the rest."
You smile despite yourself, just a little. "I'd love to."
And you're surprised to find you are more than honest. You rush to the side while Miss Carter walks to one of the agents — he's planning to grab her then and there, but Miss Carter speaks: "... Oh. 10 cents for a cup of coffee, if you can believe it." And then she hits him, kicks him, throws him, and proceeds to start climbing the upholstery and tables like a madwoman. Well then! That's your cue. They holler and hoot to catch her while you smash a glass over one's head and she throws a dish like it's a disc-throwing competition. Lovely! Splendid 10 out of 10.
You hold the revolving doors to keep out the other agents, but you're not quite so powerful as to withstand it for an eternity. Your muscles struggle and you call out — "I can't hold it forever!" She's already a step ahead, pushing a chair in your direction so that you may block the doors further; excellent. With them taken care of and Miss Carter knocking the lights out on the last man in the room, you point toward the exit.
"That way, Miss Carter!"
As you rush out to join her, you pick up a tray, turn to a rising man, and give him a good ol' fashioned wallop on the top of the head with it — ]
no subject
And Mr. Jarvis is here, back to his regular age!
... And he's on the floor, groaning in pain.
... You're holding that tray awfully like you may have just clocked poor Jarvis in your memory-fueled stupor.]
no subject
...And then they're back in the hallway. Fenris looks at the tray, then at Jarvis. Oh. Well. At least he isn't dead. That's what happens to most people Fenris fights. The elf clears his throat, casually dropping eh tray before crouching near to Jarvis. ]
Um- sorry. If I did that. Are you alright?
no subject
It's quite alright. I think some unseen source is enjoying my pain today.
[He blinks, one eye at a time, and looks to Fenris.]
This is... all a strange dream, isn't it? But that did hurt...
[He's slowly coming to realize this place isn't a real place. But ah — looking down a ways, the walls appear to be slowly turning into pale, drab walls. All over the ground are papers (a carpet of them, nearly!), not legible from here and in the scarce lighting. A hanging, sickly yellow light swings. The sounds of cell bars clang.
Jarvis turns and stares down that ugly hall, uncomfortable.]
Suspiciously like normal.
no subject
[He doesn't sound impressed. It's not funny, Atroma, people's minds are their own. His brow furrows, looking around, the cell bars make a touch of panic appear in his eyes. He hates being trapped.]
...What's happeing?
no subject
He swallows hard.]
We should get you through here quickly, before anything does happen.
no subject
I couldn't agree more.
no subject
Moving seems like a wise choice.
[Behind them, footsteps grow louder. Fast. It seems like no matter how fast they move, the footsteps catch up faster and faster and -- and the cells pass by them, all clicking open as they rush. Up ahead, there's an outline of a door in the darkness, as if light is piercing through the crevices behind it.
"Edwin Jarvis," an accented voice thunders behind them, "You're under arrest for the crime of treason!" And just like that, Jarvis immediately knows he can't go through that exit. This is his mind; there's no escaping what's inside it, is there? Just as soon as he realizes it, hands lunge from the shadows and grab him by the arm, and then by the other. Shadowy figures surround him. He's slammed unceremoniously against the brick wall, cheek-to-stone, but -- ]
Keep going, Mr. Fenris! Go!
[It's Fenris' choice, though. The figures have no interest in him.
He could risk helping, or make his escape to the final memory. Jarvis certainly wouldn't fault him.]
no subject
He spins back around, he'd call his lyrium to life, but it doesn't WORK in someone else's mind. So he'll just come swinging witch fists at those hands. He may be tiny, but he sure is fierce when those buttons are pressed. ]
Get off him.
1/2
no subject
With their arms securely held behind their backs, they're thrown rather painfully into a cell; the doors close behind them almost instantly, and then the area goes quiet.
Well.
They're most certainly trapped here until the next memory plays out.
Jarvis dusts off his jacket, wincing. For it being a dream, his knees sure do feel skinned under his pants legs. More importantly-]
Are you alright, Mr. Fenris??
[Guilt floods his expression, because... you know.
He's gotten him locked up, even if in just a strange dream.]
no subject
And then it's over and the elf exhales. ]
I am fine. What was that all about? Why were they after you?
no subject
After a long pause he opens his mouth to speak, and -
"Mr. Jarvis here decided to be a terribly inept traitor."
Jarvis turns sharply toward the voice -- there, standing at the cell bars with his hands folded behind him, was a man dressed sharply in a British military uniform: a general, face all angles and posture firm, powerful. He looks from Fenris to Jarvis, incredibly smug about the whole affair.]
Sir, I can explain, I -
["You did plenty of explaining, didn't you? All the way here. But for all your... orderliness, you sure bloody well can't lie your way out of a paper bag, can you?" He isn't smiling, holding up the signed document in question - a Letter of Transit. "To think you'd give up everything you've worked for, all for a woman. You think you can make me look like a fool and walk away?"
Jarvis looks bewildered.]
I just needed a letter for her. All you had to do was sign!
[Sorry, Fenris, you've been dumped in the middle of some memory-turned-dreamscape concoction.
But at least your question is being answered...?]
no subject
...Why did she need a letter? I'm...a little confused as to why taking a wife makes you a traitor. Was she to marry a noble?
no subject
"A letter to help her leave her country. Are you daft? Perhaps kept your head in the ground?"]
... She's Jewish. [Jarvis stares at the ground, shoulders slumped.] It's — an ethnicity in my world that was — perhaps even still is... currently under the threat of genocide.
[The general shakes his head, quiet for a moment (as if he may have some semblance of a heart — though it doesn't last long), before sighing. "You're too much of a bleeding heart, aren't you? Now look at you. Stuck in a cell. All for one Jew—" Jarvis glowers up, a sort of uncharacteristic anger flashing across his eyes.]
Her name is Ana.
[The General leans in, one hand curling angrily on the bars. His eyes are hateful, full of disgust. "My most trusted aide indeed. I'm going to make sure the only way you leave here is by a rope around that ridiculous neck of yours; treason, Mr. Jarvis. You're facing treason in a time of war. How lucky do you suppose you'll be?"]
no subject
He gives a soft, annoyed 'tch' sound. ]
How typical. People will always find a minority to try and either wipe out or crush under their boots. It never changes.
[Fenris leans in, smiling a deeply unpleasant smile at the General. ]
You would be surprised. How quickly these things can turn. Luck is a terrible thing in Times of war, but it's the generals who foolishly show their faces that die the quickest. You're a very large target.
no subject
[Jarvis says it out of concern, to try and quiet him, because if... Fenris is 'hurt' on his account, calibration or not, he will not forgive himself. But the General glowers back at the elf for quite a long moment, but eventually he does lean back, adjusting his tie. "I'll be watching you, too, then, little man." He looks to Jarvis, equally disgusted. "And I'll be seeing you again soon, ol' chum. If you'll excuse me... I've got important work to do. War doesn't waste time dancing and hand-holding."
He waves someone down, and starts making his way back into the darkness of the hallway beyond."
Jarvis sags in his seat, breathing out.
It's over, at least.
He looks to Fenris, quiet for a moment.]
... Thank you, Mr. Fenris.
[You spoke up so boldly; he expected it a bit, but it still surprises him somehow.
It was hard to find someone who would speak on his behalf, then.]
no subject
Think nothing of it. People like that need to be railed against, or nothing gets changed. He is fortunate my lyrium does not work here.
[Or he'd be SUPER dead already. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
warnin' for good ol' low-key racism (also now in the right place)
(no subject)