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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[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.]

[They might be wet and cold, but at least they're out of that mess. And regardless of the gaps in their shelter, even low body heat eventually builds.]

Yes. Assuming it's the same movie where we're both from, I've seen the Princess Bride.

[Had been forced to watch, actually, but definitely thoroughly enjoyed it. Her type of humor, low-key jokes that you missed if you blinked. She'd always been a fan of banter.]

Fortunately, I haven't seen any quicksand or rodents of unusual size, but I'm pretty sure this place has enough creepy ocean life to make up for it.

[Rogue hated being cold. It came with bad memories, and was generally unpleasant besides.

She gave a flicker of a smile.]

That's the one. I'd be sorry ta hear if any universe changed it. Somethin' about messin' with somethin' that good just - seems wrong.

[She tentatively experimented with moving her head back off the wall, but that didn't quite work just yet, and she slowly rested it back.]

[Natasha might not like the cold, but she's used to it. In her blood, she's been known to joke occasionally. But the damp, on the other hand, is unpleasant any way you look at it. Wet cotton clings to her chest, to her legs, and she shifts slightly, moving her calves in an attempt to make it slightly less sticky.]

Guess there's at least one thing we can count on to stay the same. That's something.

How's your head?

[Hard not to notice just what's bothering her.]

[Well, there were three things she could count on to stay the same - at least in the existence of Worlds Like Theirs. She debated mentioning it, but wasn't sure she wanted to open that door. She didn't mind it, but Rogue remembered how adamant Natasha had been about being herself. She wasn't sure she wanted to open an uncomfortable, and potentially isolating conversation.]

It's gettin' better. [A slight shrug, one that goes down slower that it came up out of caution.] Like I said - bit of a head rush. Had worse.

[She paused for a moment, and then decided to go ahead and say what she was thinking. Better that, than to keep the conversation focused on her.]

I saw your post, the other day. Askin' if people wanted ta talk about what happened.

[Natasha is fairly adamant about being herself. It's something that's surprised even her: normally she'd be perfectly happy to let people think she's whoever they want her to be. But here...here, she's stuck. Can't get away. And she's beginning to find that she wants to be the person she's made, and not...anyone else. Anyone she could have been, or might yet be. Anything she learns about those other Natashas just might hit a little too close to home. There are some truths she doesn't need.]

[So she doesn't ask, and does the same in return for Rogue: doesn't press. Not now, not yet. Maybe never, but that might be a little much to ask.]

They want me to be a counselor, I'll be a counselor. I'm not a bad listener, even if I'm not licensed. And it's not a bad thing to hear other people's thoughts on the subject. You have a few?

Mmm. [Half a sound, half a shudder.] I thought it was nice.

[Simple, to the point - if not perhaps the point Natasha was going for. It had distinguished this Natasha, the one sitting right next to her, as unique. And she had thought it was nice. Smart too, of course. Good information gathering technique.

...okay, but seriously Rogue, was that all you were gonna say? You can't change the conversational topic and then not talk about it, that's not how these things work--

She gave Natasha a flicker of a smile, sharp amusement in the dark.] Didn't see much point, personally, in talkin' more than I normally would about talkin' more than I normally would. Still thought it was nice... for those who do.

[Nice. Nice? Natasha arches an eyebrow as she listens, what's almost a sardonic smile curving half her mouth.]

Nice. The glitches, or my offer? I'd assume the latter, but you know what they say about assuming.

[But for some people, the glitch was nice, in a way. Cathartic. It had been that way for her, in part. Mostly, though, it just felt invasive. She didn't like the feeling of someone crawling around in her head. And yet it had given her a much-needed change of perspective on more than a few things about the last few months.]

[A quiet huff of amusement.]

Your offer. For the record. Hate when they pull shit like those glitches.

[It is rare for Rogue to curse in conversation. She was raised very firmly in that manner, and has never really shaken it. Hasn't wanted to. What's the point of a curse if it doesn't have a punch?

She leans her head back against the stone wall of the dune again.]

Overall, though... had worse.

[She wants to ask if Rogue means during her last kidnapping or at home, but they've set these rules now--no invasive questions, at least nothing too invasive. Not now, not yet. Not when neither of them has anywhere to go. This tiny space they have is fragile, as fragile as whatever rapport they're establishing.]

[So she doesn't ask. Instead, rests her chin on her knees and looks out through the cracks at the raging storm.]

You ever think maybe it's the same power-mad sociopaths running all these different kidnapping schemes? Or maybe they all just read the same omniscient-creep handbook, I don't know.

Pretty sure it's just that creeps in general ain't that original. [Anytime people start thinking themselves superior, any time they start viewing other people's lives as... entertainment or convenience or as useful tools, their actions become astonishingly predictable. Perhaps not in the same exact manner, each time but certainly in the method, in the cruelty. Ugh and ick.]

[Thankfully, Rogue is starting to get a little bit warmer now, so she finally drops her hands from her arms.] But maybe you're right. Maybe they've started a club an' all sit around playin' Old Maid and drinkin' bad whiskey ta demonstrate their lack of taste an' sound judgement.

[There's an amused quirk to her mouth.] Like that old Dogs Playin' Poker picture. Except with Old Maid.

[That it's Old Maid is very important.]

Edited 2015-09-17 05:01 (UTC)

That's fair. I guess after a while all megalomania ends up the same place. Dastardly plan, damsel on the train tracks, mustache-twirling.

[She does grin at the idea of a bunch of theatrical-looking villains sitting around playing Old Maid, though.]

You're really not a fan of Old Maid, are you?

[If it's the game of choice for villains and all...]

[Rogue smirks the satisfied smirk of someone who has had her snideness picked up upon, because Screw You, Malnosso, that's why.]

Just figure it fits, considerin' how desperate they are for certain kinds of entertainment.

[You do not even want to know how many times the Malnosso had made people fall in love for their kicks and giggles, Nat. You really don't.]

Edited (wrong icon!) 2015-09-17 05:52 (UTC)

[Well, that's a vague but menacing statement. Natasha thinks on it for a moment, looks over at Rogue, arches an eyebrow. The few conclusions she's coming to aren't ones she likes.]

We probably shouldn't give them any ideas. I think we've got our hands full enough, or we will once this "vacation" is over. Even with the augment glitches, things have been a little too quiet. Makes me wonder what they've got coming.

[Rogue shrugs. She agrees, it's worrisome, especially coming at it from her background. However, she learned a long time ago exactly how much good worrying about what the all powerful megalomaniac psychopaths in charge would do was a giant waste of time and energy.

She's sure Natasha knows that too, sure she's just making conversation, so she responds in kind, casually and not really thinking about her words - in part the effect of the wind, the wet, and the cold, and in part just because she doesn't mind talking about what she's saying.]

Don't let it drive ya crazy. It'll probably be somethin' casually cruel or that they've convinced themselves is for their greater good. At least there's no war here I can see - wouldn't really fit in the genre, I guess.

[War is nothing new to Natasha. She's been fighting one war or another as long as she can remember. The sides are nearly always interchangeable, the conflict usually irrelevant. What always seems to matter is the fact of the fighting, and it makes her wonder a little just why that is. If things like Atroma have a wider reach than they can imagine. It gives her chills.]

We've had strange ships attack the fleet before. Few months ago, before my time. But a few attacks aren't a war. I guess that could change. There was a war, the place you were before this?

Edited 2015-09-22 00:46 (UTC)

I heard about those attacks. You're right - it's not the same thing. Heck, could be a publicity stunt for all we know.

[Grumble, grumble. Not that Rogue isn't concerned about the attacks - don't get her wrong, but the whole thing just seems a little too neat to her. A mysterious fleet that appears out of no where, shoots up the fleet, and then runs off? Come on.]

...an' yeah. You could say that.

[It was strange. Luceti - the war there - didn't really feel personal in the same way other things did. It had been the facts of the place, it had... simply been her world, something all of them had to deal with together. It had afforded very little privacy with the horrors it had inflicted with the same casual malice as a hurricane. She almost wouldn't mind explaining it here - some of it anyway, the world, the war, not the specifics, but the... general nature of that mad planet.

It felt strange, because that was the sort of thing that she... should mind. She wouldn't like explaining about home, for example. But... she didn't. That particular lack of tension was evident in the way she didn't close off her posture at all. It was fortunate that Rogue didn't lie often - really, she'd be terrible at it.]

The thought's crossed my mind once or twice.

[Because really, what wouldn't an audience like about a little surprise attack? The thrill of violence, ships in combat, not knowing if your favorite character or crew will make it through. She's seen how bloodthirsty people get over Survivor. How much more will a company, a thing like Atroma do for those ratings?]

[The other answer, as short as it is, is weighted enough for entire paragraphs. She's lived her own battles. She knows the sound of them. This isn't her place to ask, or at the very least not the time. So she nods. Huffs a little unamused laughter. Motions at the gale beyond the table.]

At least they gave us the tropical island paradise to enjoy first, here.

[As oddly willing as she felt to talk about Luceti, she was perhaps even more willing to not talk about Luceti.]

Yeah. Shame they forgot about addin' in the fine accommodations [a gesture with her gloved hand to the table currently blocking the majority of the wind and rain] in their brochure. They're really missin' on a golden opportunity.

Oh, obviously. It's absolutely rustic. People would pay extra for the authentic experience. [She snorts softly, then rests her chin on her knees again, looking out.]

At least it's weather, though. Four months of nothing but climate-controlled metal was starting to get boring. [She's always hated cages. What are ships and stations but another kind of cage? What is any of this, if not that?]

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