i know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

[thespaceopera]

[ Calibration Rooms ]
( for N-Z characters )

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ROOMS BY CHARACTER

N - P Nami Natalie Goodman Natasha Romanoff Noctis Lucis Caelum Nono Okita Souji Otono-Tachibana Makie Pavel Chekov Prompto

Q - S Riona Cousland Theirin Rip Hunter Sam Winchester Seymour Krelborn Shinji Ikari Shouta Aizawa Signy Mallory Sokka Sorey Steve Rogers

T - V Takashi Shirogane Takeshi Tyrion Lannister Uraraka Ochako Vash the Stampede Velvet Crowe Victor Nikiforov

W - Z Yuan Ka-Fai Zaveid Zelda

Comments

steve rogers;

[uprightness]

( tw: images of war, death and violence; )

[ it's a vast room. the air is pleasantly chilly, air conditioning, perhaps? and there's a voice in the background, a man, and he seems to be reading the same message on repeat, a symbol to the nation. A hero to the world. The story of Captain America is one of honor, bravery and sacrifice -

it's a museum. it might take you a moment to understand that. but look closer and you may see different, various displays. it's an exhibition of a sort and you're not alone. faceless visitors walk around you, taking pictures, pointing at the images and the items. there are many rooms to explore, it would seem but before you choose where to go, someone brushes just past you.

steve rogers isn't wearing his captain america uniform but he is, indeed, in uniform. something older that speaks of a different time. he won't say anything, but the same deep voice will narrate, to begin your tour, please follow.

but as you walk inside the first room, it'll be startlingly different. a burst of music, signs reading VICTORY. somewhere in the back, a band is playing and faceless men and women are dancing. a happy scene, it should be, but it isn't. steve, at least, seems startled by it all and if you look closely, you may understand why. a wine spilled on the shirt of one man looks suspiciously like blood, the cameras flash, the noises might sound like blasts and falling bombs, too loud, too close.

it's not a memory, per se. more like a memory of a dream. for a moment, it all turns sweet. there's a woman to the right corner in royal blue and and a flash of a dance, a gentle twirl and steady hold but come closer, try to look at her face and you'll get nothing. nothing but a whisper, the war is over; we can go home now, imagine it -

and then it all fades away. the dream is halted as quickly as it began. the music stops, the people disappear and the hall is terribly empty.

the first part of your tour is over. once it is, you may notice a few doors, each labeled with golden letters. make your choice. maybe you want to go through the one labeled early years or perhaps WWII, or maybe legacy or the 21st century or you could go back to the same hall that led you here.

Make your choice. he does seem so anxious to leave the room where you stand now. ]

[mucked]

[ -- she hates it. every placard and printed quotation; every flash of light and every twirl. which is worse? the museum or the dance hall. peggy can't decide; perhaps they're equal evils. and yet she can't exactly tear herself away. she's here, now. and she knows from prior experience that one can't simply walk out of these rooms or these halls.

one must press forward. ever onward. she eyes the mute man in his dress uniform -- god, he looked damned handsome in it -- and appeals to him.

darling. ] I don't want to go where you don't want me to be.

[ -- and so she betrays hesitation. one that actually manages to overcome her nosiness. there's a lot she'd like to see, but she knows enough to tread careful. ]

[uprightness]

[ at first, he doesn't seem to notice at her at all. he seems so very keen of following the figure in blue, the one that said something about home. he seems unsure of where she might have gone to in such a hurry.

when he does look at her, he says nothing. but the automated recording comes on, the same pleasant male voice. attention visitors, the next show will begin in two minutes. ]

Can't stay here all day.

[ in two minutes, it'll all replay itself, the cameras and the swing dresses and that one twirl. as much as he seemed eager to see it again, now he looks wary. perhaps because it'll always fade to nothing in the end. ]

[mucked]

No. [ but her agreement is reluctant. ] I don't suppose we can.

[ -- again, she looks at the doors. the one betraying the future is sorely sorely tempting. but peggy can't bring herself to steal something from him he mightn't want to give. it may yet be that she needs to walk through that door to get out of her, but she'll err on a safer side at first.

peggy shoulders her way into the early years with a whispered apology as she goes. ]

[uprightness]

[ another reminder will echo through the room, attention visitors, the next show will begin in one minute. as they walk through the door, it'll begin to close. for a moment, he'll linger, almost as if he's itching to go back and see it all one more time, be there to catch a ghost-like figure at the end of a twirl.

but the door closes and that room is sealed for now. he seems to make his peace with it, nothing else one can do, right? one must go forward.

the room in question is vast, filled with the same images and quotes and mundane explanations about his date of birth and his family life.

there are a few chairs to the side of the room. he'll take a seat on one of them. around them are different, every day items. an old key sits next to a train ticket. on the back of one of the chairs a jacket is draped; small, with just a few tinges of dried blood on the collar. beneath a little lamp another ticket rests; this one belonged to one of the cinemas in new york.

next to him there is a little popcorn bag and on his other side a paper file. ]

Not so crowded in here.

[ indeed. only a few faceless visitors walk around the room. most of them are drawn to a lifelike picture of him in his early years. they all stand shoulder to shoulder with steve rogers, they're all taller. ]

[mucked]

Just as well, [ she answers in an idle voice, ] I'd rather not share you with them.

[ although she knows the crowds aren't real. equally, she knows that he isn't himself. a shade of that person, perhaps, meant either to help or to hinder as she figures her way through this maze of artifacts.

doesn't matter; she nevertheless sneaks peeks at him. it's difficult to see him in those colours and not think of a time when she'd thought he'd be there forever. as indomitable, in her eyes, as he was incorrigible.

instinct makes her pick up the key; the pragmatist in her wonders if it fits into a lock that might let her out of steve's mind. ]

[uprightness]

[ somewhere in the back of the room, a screen flickers. a movie starts playing. he rises out of his seat and moves to sit on the little bench facing the screen. the other visitors turn towards the sound, too.

but it's not a movie. rather, it's a memory. two young man climb the stairs in an old apartment building in brooklyn, talking among themselves. it's alright, she's next to dad, We can put the couch cushion on the floor like when we were kids. It'll be fun. All you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash - .

and just as one of them starts looking for a key, the taller one kicks a brick aside to expose it. when he offers it, it's a little cleaner than the one she's holding but nonetheless the same. Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own. a hand touches his shoulder, the taller man smiles, the thing is, you don't have to. I'm with you till the end of the line, pal.

the screen shuts off. steve is still looking at it and then at the key. ]

Kept losing it.

[mucked]

[ -- she turns the key over between her fingers. this isn't so terrible. of all the things she might witness, she feels safe in this one. steve's made no secret of his friendship, nor his loss. strangely enough, the sight allows her a sort of smile as she sees him once again. hears the stronger version of his brooklyn accent breaking through.

her smile presses into a hard line; it's sad, but not too sad.

somewhere between the beginning and the end, she takes a seat on the bench beside him. and in the wake of bucky's affirmation, she holds the key out to the man she understands is only a piece of steve himself. ]

What a terrible place to keep the spare.

[ gentle; understanding. ]

[outstandingbalance]

[Natasha knows this, at least the museum. The dance hall, she doesn't know, but in a way she recognizes it too. The sense of hyper-vigilance it evokes, though, is recognizable.]

Hey.

[How does this work? Does she talk to him here? Does she give him a hug and head back into the foyer until she can go?

How's this supposed to work?]

How about we head over there...?

[She points to the 21st century with her chin. Seems like the safest place, considering Steve's expression. Moving forward, but that's the place she'll already know the most. She can try to avoid the creeping sensation that she's invading where she shouldn't.]

[uprightness]

[ he is still looking around him as she speaks, searching for the figure in blue that twirled into his arms. but at her suggestion, the door opens and he seems to know what it means. rising up, he nods and walks over, holding it open for her. ]

ladies first.

[ the next room is spacious and well lit. there are pictures and quotes on the wall. a few benches are arranged in the middle of the room. there are faceless people walking around, looking at the displays.

a few items seem to be outside their boxes. to the left, a vase of flowers is standing on a little table, to the left, a little computer chip. on one of the walls a black tuxedo jacket is hanged and to the right, an old radio that seems to be from a previous century. odd to see it in a room this modern.

there is another room just ahead. steve takes a seat on one of the benches and looks around, exploring the room from that one spot.

he still doesn't say anything ]

[outstandingbalance]

Always a gentleman.

[One corner of her mouth tightens a little as she says it, not really a smile or a grimace, but something a little sad. She doesn't like this. And she doesn't like how aloof he seems.

She goes to investigate the computer chip. Strange as it is, the fact it's the most modern thing in the room makes it seem the most out of place.]

Is it really worth putting all these things out like this?

[She doesn't really expect an answer. She just says it as she picks up the chip]

[uprightness]

[ when the door closes behind them, the same blast of music can be heard from the room they just left. the scene seems to replay itself. steve looks a little sad for it. ]

I won't be there for that dance.

[ not if he's here in the 21st century with her. that door is shut now, the music is muted, the figure in blue will have to twirl into someone else's arms. ]

They never really asked me about those.

[ the moment she touches the chip, the same automated voice will remind the visitors touching the items is not permitted, as if trying to warn her of it. but it'll be too late.

a memory will take over. a computer chip is held firmly in steve's hand and he must place it in the right place, otherwise, project insight will launch itself and so many would die, so many and all his fault -

but there is a man standing between him and his destination, long hair and a metal arm and steve implores him, people are gonna die, Buck. I can't let that happen, don't make do this.

what comes later is a nasty fight. an enraged man against a determined steve, an angry shut up! against a whispered I'm not gonna fight you, you're my friend.

one is fighting, the other is not, i'm with you until the end of the line and he falls, falls, falls - and it ends. ]

It's their decision.

[ he looks at her, looks at the little chip with a sigh. ]

[outstandingbalance]

[Natasha wasn't there for that. She knew, in broad strokes, what had happened. Knew they would have fought. She knew Steve had completed the mission.

If she could look away, she would, for both of their sakes.

She sets the chip down and, instead of going to investigate his other memories, or trying to riddle together how they fit in his psychology, she goes to sit beside him. She can always continue rummaging through his head later if this doesn't work.]

Whose decision is that? Seems like it's your life.

[uprightness]

[ his gaze is still drawn towards the previous room. to the party and the music and the woman in blue who spoke of home. but when she sits, he turns to her, places both his hands in his jacket's pockets. his fingers seem to search for something and once he finds it, he lets out a breath.

whatever it is, it's a light weight just inside his right pocket. touching it seems to help him focus on the moment and on her question. ]

I don't know.

[ he confesses, seems just as lost as she's feeling. ]

Maybe at the end of the tour.

[ they'll get answers. ]

[outstandingbalance]

Is there anything in here you want to look at in here?

[She can take a hint, but the question is why. Why should she have to? He's not paying attention to her. She's not even sure he's really paying attention to Peggy, at least not in a way that isn't rooted in his general pre-occupation.

She shakes her head.]

Not much of a tour if we don't look at anything, right?

[wingedman]

[Sam's been here before.

(He's never told Steve about it, but after meeting him, he went to the exhibit, checked it out. Bought a few of the books, read them, and then made his own judgments about the man, ones that had nothing to do with old stories or wartime propaganda.)

It's the same, but different - and as he follows the uniformed Steve into the first room, he sees just how different it is. Sam - of course - focuses on the noises, the wounds. Fingernails dig into palms, and only the chill of the air keeps him grounded. He's still uneasy as the dream fades away, and doesn't linger over the doors for long. Twenty-first century might be the safe option, but heaven forbid Sam choose that one, and he knows better than to venture into the war, even if he doesn't know exactly what's happening.

So early years it is.]

[uprightness]

[ he seems distanced for a moment more before following him. as much as he doesn't like this room, the sounds and the sights, he still seems to be reluctant to depart. a part of him still wants to see it again, if only for another glance of the figure in blue. but his visitor picks a destination and steve follows him through the door, watching it as it closes behind them.

the room they walk into is spacious, yet intimate. the same male voice is narrating details such as date of birth and upbringing.

the items around them are not grand. they're all simple. an old key is right next to a train ticket. there's a jacket draped on a chair; small, with just a few tinges of dried blood on the collar. beneath a little lamp another ticket rests; this one belonged to one of the cinemas in new york.

next to him sits a little popcorn bag and on his other side a simple paper file.

steve takes a seat on a little bench in front of a television screen. currently, it's off. it's up to sam to decide what it'll show. ]

[wingedman]

Not feeling too talkative, are you? You know, normally it's impossible to get any tour guide in DC to shut the hell up for five seconds.

[Not that Sam's doing much in the way of talking, either, but he doesn't exactly have any clue what's going on here. It seems like a dream, but Sam doesn't think it's one of his. He lingers for a moment over the items before resting a hand on the jacket, smoothing out a wrinkle and straightening the collar a little.]

[uprightness]

I suppose I'm not a tour guide.

[ not a willing one, anyway. he has nothing to say about this, this little museum of memories and its visitors. he wants to see them through as much as he wants to claim a lost moment in the other room. it's a terrible contrast to face. he watches as sam touches the jacket, his eyes shifting to a little screen that begins to play - a movie? no. it's a memory. steve, so physically different in that one and still, with the same attitude. an inability to stay away from a brawl, an angry you wanna shut up? that leads to a fist fight and the same stubborn, I could do this all day.

Luckily, he doesn't have to. bucky's sense of humor is dry and fond, sometimes I think you like getting punched, and steve's reply is equally dry, equally fond, I had him on the ropes.

it ends with a quieter conversation, bucky is headed to England, steve's quiet confession regarding the matter.

( I should be going. ) ]

[wingedman]

[It's heartbreaking to see two men who might as well be ghosts: Steve before the serum, still desperate to fight the war in whatever way he could, Bucky before...well, everything, young and carefree and a little cocky. Don't go, Sam wants to tell them. But it's only a memory, and even if it wasn't, he isn't sure he could do that. He steps back from the coat, glances at Steve.]

I really don't know how this works. Hell, I don't even know if you're real or a figment of my imagination, or something else, but-

[He shrugs helplessly. Give him an idea of what to do?]

[takingkarabusiness]

[ Kara at once feels bad for this invasion but is desperately curious... and what better place to start than the beginning, so she goes through the door labeled early years ]

[uprightness]

[ her tour guide seems eager and reluctant to leave all at once. on the one hand, he knows his duty; where she goes, he must follow and with this one - he does want to see her reach the end of her tour. on the other hand, here is a dance he has been waiting to claim for so long. it keeps slipping through his fingers but - but maybe this time it might -

but she chooses her destination and steve follows her, away from his own nightmare world and into a little, intimate room. the items inside aren't too impressive, not at all.

the items around them are not grand. they're all simple. an old key is right next to a train ticket. there's a jacket draped on a chair; small, with just a few tinges of dried blood on the collar. beneath a little lamp another ticket rests; this one belonged to one of the cinemas in new york.

next to him sits a little popcorn bag and on his other side a simple paper file.

there's also a little screen to the left. he takes a seat on a bench in front of it. ]

[takingkarabusiness]

[ She takes the whole room in, brushing her fingers across the key while looking around ]

[passingthrough]

[This is not Kitty's first rodeo, or more specifically, her first visit to a calibration room. Of course there's knowing the basic drill and there's knowing what to expect and she never has any idea what to expect. People are different. Go figure.

She really didn't expect to find herself in a Captain America museum. Or maybe it's a World War II museum and this section is just about him, but whatever the case she looks enthralled. Enough so that she almost doesn't notice when the man himself walks by.]

Steve...?

[She follows maybe because it seems sensible, maybe because it would be rude to ignore the narration. She watches the man more than the other images but some of the noises trigger her instinct to phase. It doesn't change anything. You can't see her do it unless something is about to collide or connect in the same moment. But it happens sometimes. It's saved her life before. Sometimes it just makes her feel unnecessarily jumpy. Not that there's any actual jumping. She trained herself long ago to look utterly calm if feeling threatened. More intimidating.

And then it's just the two of them in the lonely room and he doesn't seem to want to be there, so she looks over her options and she doesn't know what to pick. It's going to be invasive for him, isn't it? She's curious, but she doesn't want to pick something uncomfortable for him.]

Where to?

[directed]

[He hates these things.

Perhaps it's inevitable that Rip would have found himself here; after all, he's seen memories already where Steve Rogers had been a rather prominent figure. Why not wind up in the head of the man himself, forced to witness the memories that might hold answers to questions Rip would much rather ask. He already knows Steve Rogers is an anomaly of time, somehow. Born far too many decades before the events he saw play out in Natasha's mind, and Rip naturally does wonder how it might be possible.

This, however, is hardly the way he wishes to find out.

But he's been in enough of the calibrations now to know that he'll walk away seeing something unwished for, likely by Steve and Rip both. With a quietly huffed breath he waits for the imagery of the first hall to fade--willfully doesn't think about who that woman in blue might be--then glances towards the man at the center of it all.]

Mr. Rogers. [How aware is this avatar of the construct they've now both found them in? While Rip's memories of his own calibrations are lacking, he's familiar with the concept regardless. He knows Steve might have no idea, so he tries to at least be kind.] What is all this?