driftfleet | [ action, video ] three of diamonds

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[ action, video ] three of diamonds

[August 9th. Rogue’s birthday. This year, like practically every other year since her powers had awoken, Rogue had the same plan: Tell no one. She will celebrate - or she would try to - without any reason given. It was so much easier that way.

She applies the dark red lipstick that traveled with her, and does her best to dress up as well as she could with what she has bartered for, and spends an inordinate amount of time on her hair.]

Okay, Drift Fleet. Talk to me. Who’s got some spare coffee they’re willin’ to barter for?

[After - hopefully, oh please, yes - attaining her birthday wish, Rogue sets about to basically make the rest of the day as enjoyable for herself as she can. She borrows a shuttle and goes flying for the joy of it. Sure, it can’t go very fast or very far, but she is in space. There’s some joy to be found just in being there. And hey, she heard shuttles can even go under water. That’s got to be amazing, Today’s as good a day as any to check that out.

She’s not necessarily looking for company here, but she might not say no? Later on in the day, though, she will be looking for company. Usually she spends at least part of the day working, but not today. Today is all about browsing, eating, and oh man, if she finds a place that plays music she might not move from there until dark. Feel free to accost!]

Later that night
[Late that night, Rogue can’t sleep. The echos aren’t in her mind right now, they aren’t psyches, they’re memories. They’re the people that she misses so much her bones ache. She decides to follow up on her own advice and goes for a run by the beach. It's not enough, so she starts a more rigorous exercise routine, dropping down to begin with push-ups and carrying through to shadowboxing. Will she manage to complete her routine all alone?

Whether or not she gets through that uninterrupted, when she’s finished she goes to the journals… no. journals were in Luceti. In Drift Fleet, she goes to the comms. This transition was harder than she thought, but she hoped one thing would hold true: that she wouldn't be the only one up and zero dark thirty.]

So. Augments. Upgrades. What are the ones ya feel are most worthwhile? Where do ya pour your resources into on your ship? Are ya happy bein' a pilot, an engineer, or whatever? [A security officer. Just say what you're thinking, Rogue, gosh.] If you could pick any one of them, what would you pick?

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[Shadowboxing! Or, well, shadowkickboxing, because Rogue has never bothered to learn proper 'just boxing.' The moon is casting more than enough light for her shadow to stretch like an alien thing across the sand, and this is really the only kind of dancing that feels natural and relaxing for Rogue. It will be evident to the skilled observer that this sort of movement is well-practiced and fluid, and that Rogue is moving with deliberation and control. She catches a glimpse of Natasha's shadow in mid-roundhouse kick and puts a little extra power into the pivot to turn around face -- oh.

She drops her stance to immediately assume a nonthreatening, relaxed readiness. Natasha is far enough away that although Rogue can make out who it is, it's dark enough that the sling is obscured and Rogue can only tell that there is something a little off about Natasha's posture. Rogue is pleased that her own balance has mostly adapted to the loss of her wings, but she still landed a little heavier than she would have liked as a result of the process of adjustment.

Brushing some white strands behind her ear, Rogue offers a mild, greeting smile.]

Hey.

[...woman of many words, this one. Hold your breath, Natasha, this babbling book just won't -- oh wait, oh good, there's something else:] Nice night ta be out, huh?

[She doesn't appear to be specifically comfortable or embarrassed about being caught practicing, but there is a little bit of tension in her shoulders. Rogue tends to not feel completely comfortable in out of the ordinary situations which potentially reveal things about her, or situations which take her by surprise, or have other uncertain factors.]

[Natasha knows plenty of proper forms. She also knows proper forms are worth exactly zilch in a fight, most of the time, since your opponent isn't going to be responding with choreographed moves. More often than not, set moves and traditional fighting is likely to make you comfortable enough to get yourself killed.

Maybe that's why she can appreciate Rogue's fighting style, as little of it as she's seen; she's been around enough to see potential, if nothing else, and as Rogue turns to face her Natasha's face remains thoughtful, almost analytical. Nothing betrayed. A blank slate, as she gives so much of the time--a blank slate that cracks just slightly, to offer the hint of a smile in return. She isn't feeling much like smiling these days, but she hadn't exactly gotten off on the best foot with Rogue. There's acknowledgement of that, there, her own earlier uncharacteristic roughness. Maybe it had been the implant doing the talking, but it was up to her to fix it.]

Guess there're a few of us not really used to actual time and weather again. Night and day kind of blend together on the ships.

Couldn't sleep?

[It's an invitation to talk, if nothing else. A harmless question, reflected by harmless posture. As she moves slightly closer, the sling should be visible, especially against her pale skin, bare from shoulder to elbow where it vanishes.]

[As Natasha moves forward, Rogue's gaze fixes on the sling. She wants to ask; it's instinctive to ask. She bites it back, though - she's got plenty of practice in ignoring her impulses. If regular people who were wounded got sick of people asking them how it happened, how much more would someone as guarded as Natasha Romanoff? She could offer that, at least.

It's a kind segue Natasha offers, an excuse for being awake at this hour, one that covers both their behavior easily. It's not true in her case, of course, and she has no idea if it's true for Natasha, but that doesn't change the bridging nature of the comment.

Rogue shrugs at the question, gives a flicker of a half smile.]

Nah. An' I passed the point of tryin'. [Normally, a more caustic response to a question like that would be necessary; however, Rogue was up because she was lonely and missing her friends. Natasha was not a friend - they hadn't even been friends in Luceti - but that wasn't the purpose. What Natasha was, however, was another person. Suddenly the night seemed a little less empty.] I'd rather do somethin' I can do than lie around thinkin' of all the things I can't. What brings you out here?

[Hard to miss the sling, and just as hard to miss the way Rogue looks, and doesn't ask. She can admit that's something of a relief, though from some people she hasn't minded the question as much. The people who can ask once and let it drop, the people who accept that she doesn't want to talk about it more than that and let it go. Rogue could probably ask without consequence; they're practically strangers, after all. She doesn't know what to ask and what not to ask. Hell, even the people who know her better here don't always know the answer to that.]

[It's easier to not talk about it now, though, easier to talk about the night and the weather instead. Easier to make small talk about nothing and avoid the real reasons for being up at this hour.]

The same, I guess. Harder to sleep without the noise of the engine than I'd expected. You get used to it, after a while. Decided I'd rather run off some energy, get a look at the stars from a distance for a change.

[Gain some distance in general, the statement almost implies. She's been too long without perspective, stuck on the ships.]

[Rogue nods.]

I'm not really lookin' forward to that - bein' stuck on a ship. Figured it's better to spend as much time down here as I can.

[Rogue also finds it easier not to talk about the real reasons why she's really up, and as such will gladly talk about inconsequential things as opposed to poking holes in Natasha's reasons. She's all about not asking questions she wouldn't want to answer herself.

So she turns slightly away from Natasha to look up at the night sky.]

...you figure out any constellations yet?

I'd say you get used to it, but if you're anything like half the fleet you're going to end up clawing at the walls inside of the first two weeks.

[It's true, but it's almost said like a joke. Wryly, at least, a hint of self-deprecation. She's never been good at dealing with cages. Always found a way out, before.]

[Natasha looks up at the night sky, following the other woman's lead. Stars as far as the eye can see, save where the mountains interrupt their fall, where the waves and vague shapes of other islands block their light.]

Down here? Haven't bothered. We aren't staying much longer. Ratings will start to drop, and we can't have that.

Out there...out there, not much point, either. They always change.

You like stargazing?

[...heh. Rogue glances down for a moment, but her response comes straight from her gut, despite it touching on a subject she'd rather not get into.]

I like knowin' the stars are real.

[She looks back up, a wry little smile reflecting a certain echo of pain, as well as a healthy sense of the ridiculous. Her shoulders straighten, a physical dismissal of her statement, and Rogue tries for deliberate optimism and a change of topic.]

At least we've got the shuttles, right? Can always get off the ships an' go flyin'.

[It's as good an answer as any. Maybe better. She can agree with it, anyway, and still can't quite help her answer--though it's as honest as Rogue's is.]

As real as any of this is. I try not to think too hard about that. Mostly I succeed.

The shuttles are fun, if you don't mind feeling a little like you're flying a coffin. You taken a trip underwater yet? It's a hell of a view.

[Sure. Optimism. Let's try for that, with a side of denial.]

[Rogue glances back at Natasha when she begins with 'As real...' There was a slight shadow in her eyes as she listened. No, that wasn't worth thinking about. Real or not, they had to deal with what was happening right now - though if this was some kind of Matrix type thing, that was definitely something they'd have to deal with if they had any hope of going home. But. One step at a time.

So Rogue just nods, continuing with the casual conversation and turning slightly to face Natasha, since it appeared that she wasn't immediately going to run off.] Just today. I'd been busy workin' and didn't wanna take one out, but I had to borrow one today anyway.

[To go get coffee. Best day ever.] It was beautiful.

[There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a faint intensifying of the ozone. Rogue didn't pick it up.]

[It's not something that's easy to think about, but unfortunately it's something that's often on her mind. The broken arm in a sling at her chest feels real enough. The stitches on her thigh itch, and that seems real, too. But that's all just sensory. Senses can be fooled. Even she can be fooled, and the thought is terrifying.]

[Maybe that's part of why she's up, too, and why she doesn't think twice about the slight breeze coming off the sea, blowing her hair back from her face and bringing the smell of the depths to them. Why she just closes her eyes, head tilted slightly towards Rogue.]

I went a couple weeks back. Almost got eaten, but it was worth it. Real or not, this place is beautiful. Almost wish we could stay.

[...almost got eaten.]

...wow. All the fish I've been eatin' here, I'm kinda glad I didn't run into one bigger'n me.

[And... 'real or not.' No. Not real or not.

Just because something is an illusion does not mean it holds no power. She'd known it was true when he said it. It was still true.]

It is beautiful. If we've gotta be in a prison, at least this one's got a lot more freedom than some others I know. A planet like this... it could make a body forget.

[It is still a prison, still captivity against her will. She won't forget that, but she doesn't feel obligated to point it out, not when they're both making small talk and trying to be pleasant. She also doesn't feel guilty about enjoying it, regardless. Rogue's learned to live in the moment. She knows she's not guaranteed another. And this planet is, like Natasha said, beautiful.

...and like most beautiful things, it's got its dangers. The wind begins to pick up.]

Edited 2015-08-20 06:46 (UTC)

They seem to stick to the deeps, for the most part. Near the volcanic vents on the ocean floor. I wouldn't worry too much about them. The biggest thing you have to worry about near shore are the mantas, and most of them are domesticated.

[She'd ridden one, once, when her augment was still encouraging, making everything seem like a great idea--though the world definitely helped with that. If every place they went to could be like this...she'd trust it even less. Nothing can be that beautiful all the time.]

The bars might be invisible, and the floor plan might be roomy, but it's still a cage, at the end of the day. But hey, at least this one comes with some scenery.

[She gestures towards the ocean, towards the islands out in the distance, invisible in the night. But something in the breeze catches her attention, and she stops--just for a moment, listening.]

You hear that?

[Rogue nods in response to the information of where the bigger things lurk. And then - well, there went her plan for keeping the conversation light and not immediately referring to the whole 'kidnapped and stuck on a reality tv show against our will and with purposes and consequences unknown' thing. She might have made some response to it - not that there was much to be said, as Natasha pretty much covered it - when instead her attention is directed out to the ocean.

She looks from Natasha out to the sea, her gaze scanning the skies, the ocean and she catches that hint of threat in the air.

To be sure, Rogue taps very lightly into Ororo's psyche. Something in Rogue's posture changes as she does so; her posture is already quite good, but it is rigid, somehow contained and entirely aware of the edges of her space - perpetually both guarded and challenging. When the subtle shift occurs, her posture takes on a more regal, relaxed air - there is a slight rounding of her shoulders, a hint of grace in the harsh lines and abrupt curves.

When she speaks, however, that drawl remains pure Mississippi.] Aw, crap.

[She turns from the ocean to begin to scan the area for the nearest shelter. They were on a beach, this was not the place to be caught in a storm. Flat sand for miles on either side - they would need to run inland.]

To the left, maybe - ya see that shadow? Could be shelter.

[Rogue didn't feel the need to explain further; they had both been on the planet long enough to know what a sudden storm would mean.]

[It's a hard topic to avoid, especially late at night when all her thoughts come fast and focused, intent on walling her in even more securely than the hull of the ship, the cramped quarters of her bunk. These dry not-jokes and ironic commentary are the only thing keeping her sane, she sometimes thinks. A lot of people aren't so fond of talking about it, here. She prefers her prisons without the pretty lies.]

[At first, when Rogue doesn't respond, she isn't sure if it's because she doesn't want to talk about the show, or because she's listening. The latter quickly becomes apparent, though, as does the change in her posture--not much of a change, but enough to ping something, to make her focus intently on the other woman. The look on Rogue's face combined with her words are enough to give Natasha the confirmation she needs: that rumble of far-off thunder and growing choppiness of the waves--signs of an incoming storm--weren't just her imagination.]

Pretty far. The shore curves. We better move.

[She doesn't hesitate before breaking into a loping run, trusting to Rogue to catch up and keep up. Her feet splash in the surf, water level already starting to rise.]

[ Rogue doesn't hesitate either, taking off shortly after Natasha. She could feel the wind, and from tapping into Ororo's psyche it excited her as much as she knew she had to escape it. This wouldn't stay rain - it would stir up the sand and become more than just a little unpleasant.

They cover the distance quickly, though the distant thunder was getting louder and the wind picked up enough that sand began scraping at her skin. Rogue narrows her eyes and focuses on those shadows, trying to determine if they'll be adequate shelter or if they'll need to head elsewhere before the rain.

It was just so dark. Ugh. This was not how she wanted to spend the end of her birthday.

...well, bright side? Maybe it was after midnight.

Better to check. Tapping into Kurt's psyche now, for a moment her eyes take on a yellowish sheen as her night vision improves drastically. The shadows ahead were dunes, which were better than nothing and - yes, even further to the left, someone had built a small picnic area. If they put one of the tables over the break in the dunes, they could probably wait out the storm...

She releases Kurt's psyche, gaining a slight headache from the effort of only using one aspect, and her eyes return to normal. She shouts:] I think it'll work if we get there fast enough!

[She can hear feet on the sand just behind her, and lengthens her stride slightly. Seems like Rogue can keep up just fine, and they don't have time to waste. She's seen how fast those storms can roll in, can see the kind of damage they can do to anyone caught out in the open. Sometimes they're just water, but sometimes...Sometimes it's a lot worse that that.

The wind is close to howling now, and Rogue's voice is getting harder to hear over the storm. She doesn't risk looking back, only keeps heading for what she hopes is shelter. She can smell the rain coming with the wind and the sand, salt spray stinging her eyes.]

Hope you're right--I'm really not up for drowning tonight!

[Rogue didn't waste any more breath talking. Natasha was fast, and they had good reason for speed. They cover the ground quickly enough, but it's already started to rain.]

Get between the dunes! [It's shouted as she runs for the table. She can lift it by herself; Natasha's broken arm would be more of a hindrance than a help.

...actually, between might not be so great, she sees. The space between is broader than she thought, or the table smaller, and the water could pour in around the table... But there, that looked like it might be stone - it was a bit of an over-cropping, forming a more natural shelter. She could pull the table in front of them instead.] Nevermind! There's better!

[She points to it, still heading toward the table.]

Edited (i am not 100 percent sure dunes work like this, but it's not Earth, so why not?) 2015-08-25 05:05 (UTC)

[Natasha eyes the dunes, brow furrowed as she makes rapid calculations. Looks like it might be deep enough of a valley, but what if it floods, a sudden shift in the sand...risky, at best, but what other options do they have? She angles that direction, and then she spots the shallow depression in the rocky cliff face, not even a cliff--more like an overgrown boulder, at the same time Rogue shouts over her shoulder.

Natasha doesn't even pause, just zigs instead of zagging, heading for the alcove and trusting to Rogue to do whatever it is she's doing to take care of herself. It's better than nothing, this, and at least it's pointing away from the sea. As long as they don't have to face a typhoon, maybe they'll be okay. Making the outcropping, Natasha skids to a halt, ducking slightly to fit under the overhang and finally crawling as far back as she can make it to get away from the swiftly-coming rain.]

((I'm willing to roll with it if you are! Alien earth science go!))

[Okay. Miscalculation. These tables are heavy. She already has a headache from the controlled use of her powers earlier, but she couldn't get this to do much more than budge on her own.

...well. For better or worse, Rogue was never completely on her own.

She had absorbed so much of Logan's psyche over the years, that he was relatively easy to tap into, despite needing to stand in the heavily pouring rain immobile for a moment. Then reaching out to push the table was almost like - a pleasant little work out at the gym, like doing a push-up. With the wind picking up, and Logan's influence, it was hard to remember to remain cautious in her display -- she just moved, and quickly, shoving the picnic table in front of her.

When she approached where Natasha (almost impossible to see, as far back as she'd gone, in this light and in the rain - but she had hold of Logan's psyche now and the nose knows) had found shelter, she flipped the table on its side, putting its broad surface between them and the storm. She tugged the table back with her, quick and hard enough that the legs met the stone wall with an audible impact.

Sopping wet and aware enough to be uncomfortable and thoroughly annoyed by it, Rogue sat down with as much space as she could put between herself and Natasha, leaned her head back against the stone, and shut her eyes. Her breathing remained fairly even, despite jamming the table hard enough against the stone that, while it wasn't quite embedded, would definitely take effort to push out.

She had such a headache now. And while Logan's psyche was easy to tap into, he was also difficult to put away. The many different times

At least the table kept out most of the rain. It was starting to howl out there. Or maybe that was just her head.]

((Sorry for the action wall. =/ ))

[Those tables are large, and solid. Very solid. She knows Rogue is stronger than she looks from their first encounter with the Nunnili, but there's a difference between a little heavy lifting in the moment, and carrying a solid bench like this across several yards of open space, in gusting winds and pouring rain. It's enough to make her more than a little wary--does she want to be stuck in a small, enclosed space with someone whose abilities she isn't entirely sure of? Does she even have a choice? The weather makes that decision for her, though, and judging by the gusts that crawl around the edges of the bench and the sound of crashing thunder and pouring rain, she's chosen the better of two options.]

[Rogue takes one side of their tiny enclosure, and Natasha is content enough with the other, folding her legs and wrapping her arms around them, chin on her hands. She watches the other woman, considers. Waits. Then, quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the howling wind:]

You okay?

((It's fine! Sometimes that is just what happens in a thread!))

Could be worse. [Ow. Ow. Elephants tromping around with symbols tied to their feet. Rogue concentrates on controlling her breathing: deep breath, hold, exhale, repeat. The pain would fade. She really needs to keep practicing this. This was a post-practice-grab reaction, thus the pain, a muscle stretched too much, a snap of a mental rubber band.

She keeps her eyes closed, and rubs her gloved hands up her soaking wet sleeves. Breathe.] Could be sittin' by a fire with a good book an' a cup of hot chocolate. Man, that'd be really terrible.

[A moment's pause and as the pain continues to clear Rogue realizes Natasha probably put together the 1) movement of solid table with 2) sitting with her back to the wall and concentrating on her breathing and then 3) miiiiiiiiiiiiiiight just be wondering if Rogue was going to snap. That was what she would be wondering, if the situations were reversed. She pops open an eye to look at Natasha.] S'alright. Just a bit of a rush to the head. It'll pass.

[She's seen that sort of look before, though she's usually a comfortably safe distance away from the faces that wear it. It's a little more...tense, being this close, and she's got the good sense to remain perfectly still. The smaller a target she is...well, honestly, in quarters this close if Rogue snaps, she's probably going to get hurt. Badly. But she'll at least make sure no one else does, too.]

Looked like a rush to a lot of places. Handy trick. You'll have to tell me how you do it, sometime.

[It's only half a request. She knows very well that Rogue won't say anything she doesn't want to, but she can't blame Natasha for being both cautious and interested, especially current circumstances being what they are.]

[A quiet laugh, more a brief breathy series of exhales than true laughter.] Ya just gotta have the right touch.

[Ha, ha, she's hilarious.

Her headache slowly receding, Rogue propped open the other eye. She was cold, and wet, and cold. She did not like being either of these things, and she scowled out at the bit of sky she could see over the table, at the rain still occasionally finding its way through.

Then she rolled her head along the wall to tilt it toward Natasha.] So. What were we sayin' about a nice night?

[Flicker of a wry smile.]

[The other woman looks like she's coming down from whatever happened. Whatever stunt she managed to pull to get this table over here, ram it hard enough in place that Natasha isn't sure it's coming out regardless of how she might push, is over, and she's left with the person she knows, if not well. Good. She can get a little claustrophobic at the best of times, being shut in with a potentially unstable unknown doesn't exactly sound like her idea of a good time.]

[But apparently it's all good now, if Rogue can make jokes, and that line gets a huff that could almost be laughter and the bare hint of a smile of her own.]

We've only been here a few weeks. This could be their idea of a nice night. Think I'm reconsidering building a summer home here, though.

[Something about that reminds her so much of...]

Well, the trees are actually quite lovely. [Pause a beat.] Did ya ever see The Princess Bride? Please tell me you've seen The Princess Bride.

[She continued to rub her gloved hands up and down her arms, left her head solidly against the dune, but color was slowly returning to her face.]

later; workouts

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...would you be up for a sudden thunderstorm at some point?

yyy to storms!

Sweet!

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