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

[thespaceopera]

[ Calibration Rooms ]
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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

Rip Hunter

[directed]

{{ooc: potential content warnings: murder, torture, child murder, war zone, violence (including by a child), talk of mental manipulation/brainwashing, maybe some making-out}}

[Perhaps the idea of being on a spaceship is familiar--but as you look around the bridge, something about that title doesn't seem to feel quite right. Nor is this ship quite like any one might expect to see in the fleet: there aren't so many stations, but rather two consoles: one central to the room, with a display on each of its hexagonal sides, and one closer towards the windows which show no sort of starry expanse, but rather tunnel cut through a massive sea of green, neither space nor water but something else entirely. Even from a distance it seems this primary set of controls is clearly designed for a pilot to sit at it's center, though the rows of chair alongside would indicate that single person wasn't meant to work alone.

Turning fully around reveals a rather different brand of room from the bridge; instead of hard lines and functional greys, the parlor has been decorated with rich woods and deep browns. Almost immediately it would seem a great deal more personal, emphasized by the numerous and varied items that have been tucked away on nearly every shelf and flat surface. Some things might seem more obvious: guns from varying eras have clear purposes, after all. But there's also a pen lying around, fragmented bits of wood, a pocketwatch, and--is that a tooth?

You stand at the doorway separating the spaces, as if between past and future itself, and yet for the disparity the two places are part of a single whole. This you are certain of, in the same way that being here, in this place, feels so much like home.

(Yet with any comfort that might hold, there's a thin twinge of regret threaded in the back of your mind.)

The choice is yours now: explore the parlor with its random collections of knick-knacks, or see just what any of those consoles might tell you about where you're headed. Either way there's no sign of the owner of the room just yet--but he'll no doubt be popping up in short order.]

[mucked]

[ -- although the consoles seem like an obvious escape route, peggy chooses instead to explore the parlor. she hasn't any idea whose mind she's landed in, now. but she knows that to get out of it she might not be best advised to take the obvious course.

so! she hops the step into the parlor and runs her fingertips along the very edges of these shelves. it's important that she deny herself the pang and urge of base curiousity. she must be selective, if she can, and try not to take too much from a space that shouldn't give her anything at all.

except! is that a tooth? good lord.

she picks it up between her finger and her thumb. ]

the tooth: tw: torture

[directed]

[For a second, nothing seems to happen; you just hold a tooth in your hand, have a chance to see the stains of red on its roots. Yet just as something seems to catch your eye--a dim blue light on the surface, hardly there at all--the room changes around you. Gone is the warm comfort offered by the parlor. Instead you sit in the dark, a single bright light shining down from overhead making it all but impossible to see.

But you can still hear. The sound of metal scraping metal, a voice no less sinister for the cheer within it as he complains about the current state of things. And you, forced to listen in terror, your heart pounding in your chest, the same question you've asked a thousand times on repeat in your mind:

why is this happening to me?

He calls you Captain Hunter, but you're not; you can't protest it, however. Not with the gag in your mouth. As if he hears the thought, the man comes into view, tugs down the gag after mockingly asking if you like being threatened.

As if you've had any choice after God only knows how many hours it's been.

You try to tell him, again, that you don't know anything. Again, he doesn't care. It's like all he can see is that ridiculous coat pulled right from your imagination, never mind you're not putting on a British accent to match it. He hushes you, wishes he could believe you, and waves the knife around so close to your face, you're afraid he's going to pluck out one of your eyes by accident.

That's not his goal, in the end. Not when he grips your jaw so hard you can't close your mouth. Then it's nothing but pain, the sharpness of an unforgiving blade, the ropes biting into your arms as you fight against them on instinct.

There and back again; the memory ends, leaving you right where you started with that tooth in your hand.

Although not everything's exactly the same. From no obvious direction, a familiar voice, a British one, suddenly breaks the silence.]

--I suppose you'll likely have more than a few questions after that.

[mucked]

[ -- and, just like that, she's stuck within someone else's recollection of a terrible awful day. she is the unwilling observer in a tableau she wishes she didn't have to see. shutting her eyes makes no difference; her eyes don't shut. not really.

she blames the familiar undertones to the voice she hears -- the one enduring the 'interrogation' -- on some bleed of memory or understanding. ordinarily, she might have recognized a familiar voice inside a different accent; not so in this hazy, nightmare-like state. because the shared fear and (soon after) the shared pain whites it all out.

blade and rope and helplessness: everything is boiled down to these three things before, in a hard cut, she finds herself pulling greedy breaths while she stands once again in the parlor.

and when she hears rip hunter's voice, she at least has the decency to look guilty. ] -- Maybe.

[ but not for you. likewise she might apologize, but not to this creature. she'll wait for the real man. ]

This is your ship.

[ peggy doesn't hide her surprise. somehow, she hadn't expected him. ]

[directed]

Indeed; it's called the Waverider.

[He speaks again, and if she listens closely, Peggy might hear his voice from--above, somehow. Yet Rip himself remains as of yet unseen, and but for those disembodied words, Peggy might convince herself she still stood alone somehow.]

I'd ask why you're here, but it's not as if I'm unused to having strays on board.

[Though perhaps not poking around his things. A beat passes.]

Any particular reason you're still holding on to my tooth?

[outstandingbalance]

[Natasha glances around the bridge, then to the parlor. Her discomfort is clear. She doesn't like being here, that is clearly evident. It's also clearly evident that she's not going to get out of here doing nothing.

Natasha doesn't hate easily, but it's safe to say that she hates this.

After a moment of consideration, she moves to inspect the nearest console. That, at least, seems less personal.]

[directed]

[Well, at least she does hate it properly. That's something.

Approaching the console reveals images of assorted rooms; from their design, it's not hard to guess that each might be some space aboard the ship on which she now stands. They cycle about in a pattern, as one might expect a security camera to. Watching would allow Natasha to see a empty containment cell, an empty set of crew quarters, the parlor, an armory full of weapons, and a long expanse of hallway.]

You'll need to tap one to pick it. [The voice of Rip Hunter sounds out from above, somehow, although the man himself remains unseen.] It hardly matters which. The records of this ship are quite thorough.

{{ooc: mostly talk of murder.}}

[outstandingbalance]

It doesn't matter which, huh? [Somehow, Natasha doubts that's the case, but sure. They can do this.

It seems voyeuristic, but also somewhat familiar. Snooping security cameras? That's a Tuesday.

She taps on the hallway video.]

the hallway; cw: murder talk

[directed]

[Oh, but it doesn't. No matter what she chooses, Natasha would become privy to something Rip would rather not have her see.

Her, or anyone.

She taps the screen, but it's not a video that plays. Rather, Natasha finds herself in the scene, part of it, the odd inhabitant of a role belonging to Rip Hunter.

You stalk out of the room into the hall, shaking your arm as you go; you may have knocked the man out but that was a terrible punch, one you can feel all the way up to your elbow. It hardly matters that he deserved it; he baited you with that remark, taunting your inability to protect anyone--

And because he'd been right, you'd lost your temper.

You just need a moment, you think, stalking down the hall. But you aren't on your own, however; a woman follows, demanding to know what he meant, you already tried to kill Savage. Leave it be, Sara, you demand, but she doesn't. Of course she doesn't. None of them every bloody do--

She goes on, gentle. When you interrupt her, you are not. Your anger still burns hot, and reciting the tale only adds fuel to the fire. You could've killed Savage. You could have ended it--

You hesitated.

You cannot look at her. This, of all things, is your greatest shame. Of all the choices you've made, the people you've condemned to die for the sake of preserving history, in this single moment you've assured the death of those you care for most. Centuries before they're even born, you could have saved the lives of your family--and you've failed.

She tries to understand. Perhaps she does, in some ways, because Sara's hands are steeped in blood. Even she says that killing is never easy, especially for a good man.

As if you could be called a good man.

You meet her eyes in disbelief, shaking your head. The man killed my wife and son, and God knows how many other wives and sons, and I couldn't--

The words stop thick in your throat. No. You couldn't.

Killing people doesn't make you a monster, Sara. You draw in a breath; there's no more anger now. Simply sorrow, and regret. But having the chance to avenge your family and not taking it--that does.

You walk away from her.

You walk away, and as suddenly as it began, you're once more on the bridge.

Not alone, however. Rip has now appeared, though in the form of a hologram. He stands next to where Natasha has only just returned, or perhaps where she's been this whole time.]

No; I'm afraid it really doesn't matter what you choose.

[takingkarabusiness]

[ Kara wanders onto the ship and is instantly drawn to the parlor. She's never had a lot of interest in mechanical things, but the personal touch of the other room pulls her in. She runs her fingers across the pocketwatch ]

the pocketwatch

[directed]

[If Kara wishes to find the personal, she perhaps couldn't have picked a better object with which to start. As her fingers brush across the metal closure, the scene shifts--

You no longer stand aboard the ship, but outside it. You've just dropped the filter which keeps it from sight, because soon now, too soon, you'll need to make your way onboard. Yet as necessary as you know it is, you don't want to go. Not when you look back and see a young woman standing there, radiant and beautiful, smiling despite the sadness in her eyes.

Not when you see the young boy, too tired to say goodbye to his daddy, sleeping so peacefully in her arms.

This isn't the first time you've said these farewells, not even the first time since Jonas had been born. Yet it never gets any easier, no matter how familiar the path.

Once on board, it doesn't take you long to find your way to the captain's chair. You exchange pleasantries with Gideon, meaning to get to business. Yet she promises to pull up those details later, prompting you to turn your attention towards another matter.

One which you almost sit on before you see it: a small box, non-descript, left where you would quickly and easily find it.

You already know the source; Miranda has done this before, left parting notes or some other message for you to find while you're away--although she usually does a better job of hiding them. Picking up the box now, you can feel the weight in your hands, though you've really got no idea what could be inside.

Even if you had guessed, you wouldn't have thought of this.

It's a pocketwatch, a beautiful gold object, an antique in the era you're about to leave. It comes with a note in familiar handwriting, short and unsigned, and one that doesn't fail to make you smile.

So you'll always know what time to come home to.

You open the cover, and tucked inside next to the ticking gears and turning hands is a picture of them. Miranda, with dark hair and stunning blue eyes and that incredible smile. Jonas, blonde curls that could have only come from you framing a face beaming bright with laughter.

You smile, even laugh to see them caught in that perfect moment.

Gideon, you say as you tuck the watch safely into a pocket. Do you have the mission details ready for me yet?

Then the vision ends. Kara is back in the parlor of that same ship, though the years have changed it greatly. The picture inside the watch is different too, but before Kara can open it, a voice calls out from nearby.]

I'd prefer it if you stopped touching that now.

[If she looks over, she'll see Rip leaning against the doorway--although it's not quite Rip. He's transparent, a hologram, a figment of technology left aboard this ship.]

[takingkarabusiness]

[ she pulls her hand away automatically, snapping up to look at him ]

Sorry! I was just looking.

[directed]

You and everyone else, yes.

[He knows he can't stop it. Even if he were made of something more than carefully directed light, this process has to happen for all of them. They come in, they view some set of secrets from his past, they leave.

And yet of all things, the watch would spark that protest. There are far worse memories to be found, ones rife with violence and betrayal and despair.

But the watch is the one item that exists not only here, but in the waking world.]

Are you aware of what's happening?

[all7seas]

[The pirate had gone off looking for Rip, and this strange room seemed a rather depressing place for his former cellmate. Cozy enough, Jack supposed, in its own way -- but somehow neither here nor there. Or was that then or now?

He idly picks up the wood fragments and twists them around in his fingers, trying to piece them back together into whatever it was they once were.]

[directed]

[The pieces would fit together nicely if turned and held at just the right angle. Before Jack can manage to accomplish it, however, the space around him changes—darkens, although in the moment, there's no change registered at all. Once the memory begins he's part of it, helpless but to experience it as it plays out.

Which begins with you heading down a long and darkened corridor, one you recognize, even though you can't see so many details. How could you not, when walking among the ruins of a place you knew so well, halls you traversed for years?

Before you and your fellows wrecked it all.

But that's another story, and right now, a distraction. With Eobard Thawne about, it's far too important that you remain undiscovered. The spearhead you carry suddenly glows, buzzing with supernatural energy.

You must be getting close to the other pieces—fragments of the same spear as the piece of metal in your hand.

You and the young man on your team wander through the wreckage, until Jax calls your attention to an out of place obelisk. The spearhead too seems to know; it glows once more, and in answer, similar light comes from the unit nearby. You signal the rest of the team over the coms before drawing your gun—a revolver in appearance, but the red beam it shoots out is far more damaging than a bullet.

Or it should be. The shot merely bounces off the container, however, apparently protected from such attacks.

Your try, Mr. Jackson, you say, giving the young man an encouraging pat. While you can only hope the strength of his blasts would prove more useful, it seems he means to try another tactic. It's not obvious, however, when he asks what your favorite candy is. You do answer, however, and then question why.

A grin serves as your only reply, at least until he sets to work. Seems Firestorm has been perfecting a few new skills in the months that have gone by, and impossibly the obelisk made of futuristic materials is transformed into a pile of jellybeans right before your very eyes. Jutting out from the candies are the two fragments of the spear, now easily obtained.

Though not before you pluck one of those jellybeans from the pile to try.

Both delicious and impressive, Mr. Jackson. Your triumph is as evident as Jax's pride as you snatch up the fragments, alerting the team to the success. From there it's a race back to the ship, especially once Raymond reports that Thawne is aware if your presence.

He's too late, in the end. The memory ends as you feel the first real sense of success you've known in what feels like far too long.]

[all7seas]

Jelly beans.

[That's pretty much what Jack took away from it. Sorry, Rip. At least he somewhat also feels really proud of the jelly beans! And also the broken spear. But mostly the jelly beans.]

Rip and I shall be having a conversation about his magical sweeties and his highly ineffective weapon.

But what was that spear? Some cursed thing, no doubt!

[directed]

Well to be fair, that particular device had shielding against any damage my gun might have done.

[Surprise, Jack. Rip's gotten quite good at showing up during the course of the first memory played out—or at least, some version of him. While in shape and sound it's definitely Rip Hunter, the transparency of the hologram makes it clear that this isn't the genuine article.

He does look amused, however, as he leans against the doorway to the parlor.]

And that "cursed thing" is called the Spear of Destiny, or the Holy Lance. It was one of the most powerful artifacts to ever exist in my world.

[passingthrough]

[With little more than a glance spared for the parlor, Kitty makes her way to the main console, taking the pilot's seat and beginning to study the controls. She'd always had an affinity and aptitude for tech even if life pushed her so much harder toward being a warrior. And learning more about her situation was a priority of course.]

[directed]

[At first, little might seem to change—at least until she looks up again. The first sign that the memory has begun is the replacement of a green void with clear blue sky, and the slow trickle of concerns flowing into your mind, planning for what could happen next, what must be done, the risks entailed if things get as mucked up as they normally do—

The doors open behind you, allowing Jax to board the bridge. You spare him a quick glance before once more turning your attention to the consoles and calculations requiring your attention. You listen, however, as he reports on the status of the injured Mick, along with the Einsteins whom your team have only just managed to save. When he realizes that you're flying the ship away from the city, he questions it—the mission isn't completed, after all.

Which is why, as you quickly point out, why it's necessary to go. The aberration means the Nazis are meant to launch their atomic bomb at New York, but presumably from underwater as they'd loaded it onto a uboat. Jax smartly realizes the same a beat later, which is precisely the reason why you hand over a tablet featuring a new set of calibrations to be put into the time drive.

Yet for as clever as he can be when it comes to the mechanics of things, the reasons for this have evaded him. For months you've had him do numerous repairs and alterations to the ship, making what had once been your space more suited for a team. Without understanding the full scope of your intentions, however, he balks at the notion of further upgrades mid-mission.

So you quiz him. Things he never would have known before those "chores"—things he couldn't have known, given that the technology of the Waverider comes from a century and a half into his future—now are easy answers for him to provide. With a hum you once more turn to your controls, but you can still practically feel the change in his attitude when he at last realizes your game.

To teach him about the Waverider.

I'm a time traveler, Jefferson; I spend most of my time thinking about the future. Specifically, my own. You've had to especially do so in the past months, with the Time Masters gone and the protection of history set squarely on the shoulders of the team you lead. You take in a slow breath; though it's simple fact, the reality remains grim.

And—it occurs to me that that future might not involve me being aboard this ship.

He brushes it off; you'd expect as much, given Jefferson's faith in the team, his ability to believe that things would work out well in the end—so proven by his assertion that Rip might quit rather than have anything else happen. But the luxury of such hopefulness is not one you can afford, evidenced by the very device he holds in his hand.

He asks what a time scatter is; you don't tell him. Not beyond calling it a last resort, better left unused.

He leaves the bridge. You're close enough now to guide the ship into the water.

In that moment of darkness, the memory end. Kitty once more finds herself on the bridge, though less visibly alone than she was before. She'll have to turn to see him, however; a semi-transparent image of Rip, leaning against the back of one of the chairs behind her.]

No one's gone straight for the pilot seat yet. Interesting choice.

[passingthrough]

[She lets out a breath, unsure to do with all of that. Was she just living someone else's memory? The Einsteins? A nuke? But she has little luxury to be confused. When she hears the voice behind her she spins to face it.]

Rip.

I remember you. You were more opaque last time. What is this?

[directed]

You don't know?

[He asks out of genuine curiosity and interest--thus far, everyone else has been aware of the nature of this place when they came in. Interesting now to find someone who might not be.

He glances down at himself, however; for being semi-transparent and seemingly not real, he moves rather like his real self.] I'm something of an artificial intelligence in this, ah, scenario, let's say. Miss Pryde, what is the last thing you remember before you found yourself here?

[uprightness]

[ it's a contrast steve rogers is not entirely a stranger too. the professional and the more personal, the warmer atmosphere next to the work-area. he doesn't know whose mind he has entered but he chooses the consoles almost immediately. the parlor seems much more personal and he hopes that this is where the more intimate memories are, the ones he hopes not to see.

the consoles then. he turns his back to the parlor and walks towards them. he knows it isn't real and yet he seems reluctant to touch them, as if he might break something just by reaching out and exploring.

( exploring is the way out. still, he doesn't rush. ) ]

[directed]

[It would seem to be a possibility, wouldn't it? Perhaps even more likely once Steve approaches the console and sees the images flashing across the screens. It's a cycle of spaces, rooms presumably aboard this very ship, given the similarities in their color schemes and design to the one where Steve currently stands. If he gives it long enough, he'll see an image of a hallway, a set of quarters, a medical bay, a glass containment cell, the bridge itself, and the parlor flash across the screen. Notably, all are shown to be empty--including the bridge that at the moment houses Steve.

There's a pause when each new image appears; as if giving Steve the opportunity to decide if he wants to perhaps take a closer look at that particular one.]

[helmsplitter]

[Huh.

He stares out at the churning green sea with a moderate amount of fascination. It looks both familiar and alien at the same time, like something he should recognize and yet can't quite put his finger on. The ship he's on is flying through it like it's neither water nor air and yet it moves smoothly and with a purpose he can empathize with. It's going somewhere - he's just not privy to the destination yet.

When it doesn't seem like they're going to be arriving anytime soon, Doudanuki turns away and starts to explore. He's drawn immediately to the parlor and its collection of, well, weird junk. He wanders into the parlor, noting the guns and the books, the maps on the wall, the telescope pointing at nothing in particular. Then he sees the fragments of wood and feels like his stomach is dropping away. He's seen something like that before - it's like a broken spear, shattered into pieces.

Feeling a kinship for a broken weapon, he goes down on one knee to pick up the pieces from where they've been scattered.]

[directed]

[As Doudanuki picks up the Spear, the scene will change--as will his perspective. You walk back into the parlor with the rest of the team, relieved that at least this seems to have gone right. Yet the work is hardly finished; while Mr. Rory declares his desire for a treat, you and Sara set the pieces out on the table--and that's all it takes. Now reunited in place and time, the pieces tremble and shake with power, the very power of God.

They wish to be whole. And a moment later, they are, broken bits of wood and metal reshaping themselves into their proper form with a flash.

The team looks down in wonder, but not you. You've seen this before, held the Spear whole and complete before. And when Martin reaches for it, you warn him against touching the artifact foolishly. You know how it will tempt each broken member of this team far too well.

You can already hear it calling to you, barely a whisper, but a temptation present in your mind.

It will draw on our weaknesses. Our desires. Our regrets. You speak of it's promises with caution, warning--and one voice asks what's wrong with being able to remake the world. You might have predicted as much from Mick. He's long made clear his desire to act for himself first, regardless of what anyone else things.

He's an arsonist and a thief, after all. Has been from the start.

Absolute power corrupts, you counter, regardless of intention. It's why you had attempted to destroy the Spear, going so far as to scatter it through time--but before you can finish, Mick's got his gun out, shooting flames at the Spear, never mind that you're aboard the ship.

Never mind that it would be a useless effort.

Fortunately nothing is set on fire--including, predictable, the Spear. You speak of the effort it took to break it before. Numerous explosives, you say, your annoyance clear. Then, however, Amaya points out something you haven't seen.

A phrase. You stare in surprise, wait for the words to reveal themselves.

Yet before they do, Doudanuki would find himself once more in the parlor he first entered.]