...And also these.

[thespaceopera]

[ Calibration Rooms ]
( for N-Z characters )

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ROOMS BY CHARACTER

N - Q Nami Natasha Romanoff Nelkeila Tarid Nux Nyssa al Ghul Octavia Blake One Peggy Carter Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève

R - U R. Daneel Olivaw Rapunzel Remy LeBeau Riku Robin Redbreast Rogue Santanico Pandemonium Shawn Hunter Stefan (Alesci) Salvatore Steve "Orion" Rogers Steven Quartz Universe Souji Seta Stiles Stilinski Syeira Tadashi Hamada Tekhetsio

V - Z Vash the Stampede Vima Sunrider Vision (The) Wanda Maximoff Wrath Yamanaka Ino

Comments

[sinuosity]

[ Your eyes follow the bird as it disappears — and only when the echoes fade into the sounds of the forest are you free of its grip. You follow the trail of the boar. You are a ghost over the leaves and fallen twigs, a seasoned hunter. If the prey is big enough you think you might have a use for the tusks. ]

[ There's a grazing ground near where you set up camp for the night. You could keep going now, but wounding it will draw other predators you've no interest in facing. Best to wait for the dawn. ]

[ Inside your pack, there is a bolt of dark silk, a brand (now cool to the touch), a dagger, a white chess pawn midway in a game. And leftover bread. ]

[enshields]

[Setting up camp is a brisk affair, he's done this-- (how many times? Back in Europe--) enough that everything is known by rote. The pack is another matter, he tends to travel light, and each item gets studied in turn. There's a furrow between his brows, then, as he reaches for the loaf of bread. Best to keep his strength up.]

[sinuosity]

[ The bread is freshly made, soft to the touch — odd when you're supposed to have been out here for hours. You pause before you bite into it, and wonder: there's no birdsong. Then, you dismiss it immediately. It's of little matter. You are hunting. What can a bird do but distract you? ]

[ The world changes. You are in a stone hall. There is a man standing next to you, in dark green clothes, with a heavy cloak, the glint of rings on his hands. Father. On his right side stands a man in black, hood and mask pulled down. Al-Owal. The first and oldest of your father's lieutenants. He may live long enough to serve you, when you ascend. Father turns, his face is younger than his eyes, which are serious, and steady, warmed by looking at you. ]

[ The man being brought through the door commands all the attention. His eyes are hollow, there's something crusted under his fingernails. The men in black — masked — carrying him drop him the moment he's in front of your father. He trembles, violently. Father holds his gaze, then he says, calmly, in English, Stand up. ]

[ You have seen this so many times you have lost count. Even before you were named heir. People come from the outside, like cracked stones, broken statues. All of them, lost, and helpless. The first thing your father commands them to do is stand. Some do. Some don't. You eye this ghost in front of you and you wait to see what he will do. ]

[ He obeys your father. He struggles to his feet. In Japanese, he shakily states his name. Yamashiro Maseo. He has come here to be freed of his pain. ]

[ Your father nods to you, his eyes sharp and old. Take him inside, give him bread. To Maseo, he says, This is my daughter. She will ensure you are cared for, until it is time for you to be tested. The two men, silent, close in at Maseo's side, and Father dismisses you. You lead Maseo down a hallway, to a small chamber recently used by another, but it is clean, well-kept. There is soft bread, its aroma permeating the room. Remain here, you tell him. You will be brought food, and water. The chamberpot is in the corner. You may wander with an escort. Ra's al Ghul will send for you, when he is ready. The man looks at you, still hollowed by the cruelties of the outside world, and you think, if he survives the test and you are allowed to name him, you will call him Sarab. ]

[enshields]

[It means ghost. The knowledge is not his own, and it jerks him out of the reverie. The bread has gone cold in his hands, but the taste lingers. He stares down at it, and then up across a sparking fire to the woman he sees there.

Speaking is an effort, the forest seems to yearn to keep its silence. It's a fight to be free of its influence. At length,]

Who are you?

[sinuosity]

[ The forest keeps its silence. The flames crackle. She's standing there, fully armed, and pulls down her mask. ]

My name is Nyssa. Who are you?

[enshields]

[People wear masks for so many reasons he's lost count. That she removes it so easily is a panacea to the suspicion he always nearly always harbors of strangers.]

Rogers. [He breaks the bread. Offers her half in the dim light.] Steve Rogers.

[sinuosity]

[ He is offering her own bread. The corner of her mouth twitches, but she takes it without hesitation. ]

We are well-met, Steve Rogers. This is my hunting ground. Are you lost?

[enshields]

[He gestures for her to pull up a place at the fire, the light flickers and jumps, casts their shadows like titans behind them.]

I don't know where I am.

[He says that very slowly. The forest is familiar, but it's not the Ardennes.]

Guess the rest depends on your definition of 'lost'.

[He's a man out of time. Being lost has variable meanings for him.]

[sinuosity]

[ Nyssa listens to the sound of the forest, and satisfied they're alone, removes both swords and sits. The bow gets set down between them, closer to her than him. ]

Very lost, then.

[ But not hopeless. She knows the bare-bones of hopelessness, and he, like Caesar, is far from it. ]

We are hunting. We should find it by tomorrow and return home. I believe there will be a way out, then.

[enshields]

[Her weapons remind him, his shield is gone. It's the first time he realizes its absence, and his fingers flex. Muscle memory ensures he feels the creak of leather straps beneath his hands. Very lost, she says, and he thinks of canaries in coal mines deep beneath the earth.]

This is yours.

[The memory. The forest, the birds, the bread. He has the good graces to look abashed, as he ducks his head slightly and rubs at the back of his neck.]

Didn't mean to intrude.

[sinuosity]

[ A flex his fingers are used to, but Nyssa can't identify what he holds by how he holds it. A shield isn't a weapon, to her. ]

It is no fault of yours.

[ She takes the bag, and from the sealed Thermos pours out fresh, clean water in its cap, offering it to him. ]

What did you see?

[enshields]

[He accepts it with an appreciative nod, curls his fingers around it. His shoulders are slightly hunched, his elbows balance on his crossed knees.]

A man you called Sarab. A stone hall. Someone-- wearing all green. Your father?

[He describes these things gingerly. There's artistry to his memory of it, and to hers, but words fail. He doesn't like that he's intruded. Too much like the echo of empty dance halls, the memory of Peggy's hand in his.]

[sinuosity]

[ Recognition flickers across her face, and at the word father she stills. ]

All the men you saw, those in black, they were all him, once. They come for the same reason.

[enshields]

[He looks at her, askance, and takes a sip of that water. It's clear, and cool. He wishes it weren't.

After a moment,]

What reason is that?

[sinuosity]

[ Simply, ]

They are lost, and broken. They want an end to their pain. The outside world is cruel.

[enshields]

[He makes a soft noise, torn between an exhaled huff of laughter and something shot through with understanding.]

Does it help?

[sinuosity]

[ She frowns, not liking the sound. ]

They are changed. Better — it's subjective. They are strong, but they have to be to make it to our gates. I know little of them before they are tested.

[enshields]

[His boot scuffs the earth beneath his crossed ankles, he closes his eyes, too brief to be restful.]

Do you mind if I ask about the canary?

[sinuosity]

[ Nyssa's expression softens. ]

I do not. What do you wish to ask?

[enshields]

What would've happened if I'd followed it?

[Her, his mind prompts him unbidden. Instinct: the bird represents something loved. He thinks about picket fences and children that favour their mother, and how little of that light is left.]

[sinuosity]

Her, [ Nyssa corrects, softly. ] she would have led you home.

You are not the only one lost, Steve Rogers.

[enshields]

[He exhales.]

I'm sorry.

[He's heard those words more than once, masquerading as something more profound than what they are: just words. Meaningless without the sentiment behind them. But he means them wholeheartedly.]

[sinuosity]

[ Quietly, ]

Her name was Sara. She was the bravest, strongest person I knew.

[enshields]

[She doesn't seek pity, maybe not even compassion. To her, he's a stranger. He has no more place in this world than the one he woke up in, but she's trying to make it mean something.

Was. He studies the fire.]

My mother's name. She was the same for me.

[sinuosity]

[ It's pain shared in silence, as the fire crackles and she puts away the bottle of water. He gives her no pity. ]

Eat. I'll take first watch. Tomorrow, we will catch our prey.