Зимний солдат (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reconstitution) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2016-06-07 10:54 pm
reconstitution) wrote in driftfleet2016-06-07 10:54 pm
I came in like a wreeeeecking ball!
Who: Winter & You (poor bastards)
Broadcast: n/a
Action: Iskaulit
When: early am
[ OOC Note: This thread is mainly for closed CR, though new people who want to thread with Winter are willing to participate. Just keep in mind that the end results are predetermined! Personal threads won't be dependent on one another, but if you have any questions about anything, send me a pm or catch me at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
skorozima on plurk. This is a mod-approved augment glitch, the effects of which will only last briefly.
**Content of thread may hold Civil War compliant material, reader and participator be warned!** ]
[ Beginning;; Meditation Room ]
[ It's early morning, not that it's easy to tell with the endless expanse of starlight outside of every window. Winter finds himself wandering into the mediation room after his morning workout. There's been a general sense of unease that he's been carrying for the past few days, though nothing has appeared out of the ordinary.
It's different than the hyper vigilance he normally suffers from, like a whisper no one else seems to hear. Grabbing one of the cushions, he sits at the far end of the room with his back to the wall. His legs are crossed, hands settling on his legs. A deep, focused breath inwards, held for just a moment before it is exhaled through his nose. This is only the third time he's come to this room on his own, and he really is trying to make it a part of his day. It's still difficult.
Things are silent, save for the normal creaks and groans of the Iskaulit. His head isn't buzzing with activity, and he's almost calm.
Longing.
The word reverberates sharply in his mind, causing his eyes to snap open in search of the voice. There's no one else around, yet the sweet, crooning lilt sounded like it came from right next to him. His heart is pounding against his rib cage.
Rusted.
Winter jerks almost violently. No no no no. Not here. How? his hands slam up to his ears to block the voice out, and the noise in his head increases.
The voice is just as melodious and clear, somehow more prominent, now. A few more words are spoken so sweetly, even as he writhes on the floor with an angry howl. There's no way for it to stop.
Trying to concuss himself doesn't work. The voice sounds almost chiding for his poor attempt.
Then the words stop. Everything stops. And then,
Good morning, Soldier. ]
«Ready to comply.»
[ His limbs feel heavy, but he listens intently for the voice to give him his new mission. The Soldier is ready.
Let's get started, shall we?
Anyone who happens upon Winter in this state will be aware of a few things that are off. His stare is vacant and unsettling; those who met him his first week on the fleet will recognize it. It's certainly not the expression of someone who means you no ill-will. Winter's posture is aggressive and strained like a tightly drawn bow ready to snap. Any sort of verbal greeting is met with silence. ]
[ Middle;; Hallways ]
[ Whoever crosses paths with Winter in the halls is bound to have heard the commotion coming from the Meditation Room. Perhaps one of the unlucky ones made a fleetwide broadcast calling for backup?
Whatever you were doing, you're not going to be getting very far. He clenches his metal fist, the plates shifting to accommodate the movement. His eyes are locked, harmful intent in his expression.
You're next. Be prepared to fight for your life. ]
[ End;; Gym ]
[ While he's done a great deal of damage, he's not looking so hot, himself. At this point, Winter has collected a great deal of injury, though he doesn't seem to notice or even care. There is a mission. It must be completed at all costs..
Even if the metal of his left arm is warped, almost decayed and rusted in appearance. It hangs lifelessly at his side, fingers stuck in a half curled position. He's sporting a gunshot wound in his thigh and his abdomen, still oozing stubbornly. There are a few broken ribs, but that doesn't seem to slow down his rampage much.
At least this way, he'll be easier to subdue. Maybe all he needs is a little cognitive re-calibration. ]
Broadcast: n/a
Action: Iskaulit
When: early am
[ OOC Note: This thread is mainly for closed CR, though new people who want to thread with Winter are willing to participate. Just keep in mind that the end results are predetermined! Personal threads won't be dependent on one another, but if you have any questions about anything, send me a pm or catch me at
**Content of thread may hold Civil War compliant material, reader and participator be warned!** ]
[ Beginning;; Meditation Room ]
[ It's early morning, not that it's easy to tell with the endless expanse of starlight outside of every window. Winter finds himself wandering into the mediation room after his morning workout. There's been a general sense of unease that he's been carrying for the past few days, though nothing has appeared out of the ordinary.
It's different than the hyper vigilance he normally suffers from, like a whisper no one else seems to hear. Grabbing one of the cushions, he sits at the far end of the room with his back to the wall. His legs are crossed, hands settling on his legs. A deep, focused breath inwards, held for just a moment before it is exhaled through his nose. This is only the third time he's come to this room on his own, and he really is trying to make it a part of his day. It's still difficult.
Things are silent, save for the normal creaks and groans of the Iskaulit. His head isn't buzzing with activity, and he's almost calm.
Longing.
The word reverberates sharply in his mind, causing his eyes to snap open in search of the voice. There's no one else around, yet the sweet, crooning lilt sounded like it came from right next to him. His heart is pounding against his rib cage.
Rusted.
Winter jerks almost violently. No no no no. Not here. How? his hands slam up to his ears to block the voice out, and the noise in his head increases.
The voice is just as melodious and clear, somehow more prominent, now. A few more words are spoken so sweetly, even as he writhes on the floor with an angry howl. There's no way for it to stop.
Trying to concuss himself doesn't work. The voice sounds almost chiding for his poor attempt.
Then the words stop. Everything stops. And then,
Good morning, Soldier. ]
«Ready to comply.»
[ His limbs feel heavy, but he listens intently for the voice to give him his new mission. The Soldier is ready.
Let's get started, shall we?
Anyone who happens upon Winter in this state will be aware of a few things that are off. His stare is vacant and unsettling; those who met him his first week on the fleet will recognize it. It's certainly not the expression of someone who means you no ill-will. Winter's posture is aggressive and strained like a tightly drawn bow ready to snap. Any sort of verbal greeting is met with silence. ]
[ Middle;; Hallways ]
[ Whoever crosses paths with Winter in the halls is bound to have heard the commotion coming from the Meditation Room. Perhaps one of the unlucky ones made a fleetwide broadcast calling for backup?
Whatever you were doing, you're not going to be getting very far. He clenches his metal fist, the plates shifting to accommodate the movement. His eyes are locked, harmful intent in his expression.
You're next. Be prepared to fight for your life. ]
[ End;; Gym ]
[ While he's done a great deal of damage, he's not looking so hot, himself. At this point, Winter has collected a great deal of injury, though he doesn't seem to notice or even care. There is a mission. It must be completed at all costs..
Even if the metal of his left arm is warped, almost decayed and rusted in appearance. It hangs lifelessly at his side, fingers stuck in a half curled position. He's sporting a gunshot wound in his thigh and his abdomen, still oozing stubbornly. There are a few broken ribs, but that doesn't seem to slow down his rampage much.
At least this way, he'll be easier to subdue. Maybe all he needs is a little cognitive re-calibration. ]
no subject
But Mr. Winter is trying to kill her. He is, isn't he? She stutters:]
What did I do wrong--
I want to go home...!
[Her voice is high and she struggles to not become hysteric. She can't, she can't do this...! She's not allowed to cry or fight back! But she can't die now. She has to see her mom someday.]
I-I'm so sorry, Mr. Winter...!
[She grabs his arm and hefts her weight enough that she bites down as hard as she can on his knuckle, drawing blood. It's a scary taste, one she's not used to unless it's her own, but she bites, bites, bites. Even if it doesn't do anything, at least -- at least Miss Nami and the others will be proud that she fought back. Tears drip down her face as she makes a toothy vice on his fist.
Short-lived, but you have to give her credit.]
no subject
It would be much easier to accomplish were The Weapon not firmly rusted in place. ]
no subject
She drags herself, back protesting, up to her feet and starts moving immediately. The hallway teeter-totters, but she can't stop, though she does touch the wet spot on the back of her head. Ow, ow, ow-- Why? Why did he do that? She thought he was a good person -- he seemed like a good person.
She cries out, her voice breaking a little:]
Help!! Help, somebody, help!
[He's hurt pretty bad, bad enough that she'll be faster, right?]
no subject
It goes sailing down the hall at her. With any luck, it will reach her before she can round the corner for help. ]
no subject
Fate hates Koala, it is decided.
She looks back, bless her heart. She looks back to see if he's able to keep up, and he's not -- but the heavy object he threw at her certainly is, and she can hardly react before it barrels into her and throws her (all the light weight of her and her scrawny body) onto the floor, forehead painfully smacking the floor, not only making for an excellent bump later on.
Did you know a lot of punching bags are about a hundred pounds?
Yeah, she's unconscious.]
no subject
She rounds the corner just as slowed punching bag glides through her. Isn't this familiar? It's almost the same way she met Winter, but there was no child laying battered and still on the floor. And the man's eyes weren't dead.
She keeps walking past the girl, toward him. She extends both sets of claws from the metal gauntlets on her arms with an audible, "SNIKT!" They aren't adamantium like Wolverine's but they'll get the job done.]
You must really hate punching bags.
[She doesn't attack. Not yet. Her jaw is set and her eyes are narrowed. Go ahead, Winter. Explain this. Say there's an invisible monster attacking them both. Something.]
no subject
Still alive, so that heart attack can wait. She glances up again, voice strained.]
Kitty...?
[She wants to take Koala and run because she's no use here. Please tell her you can take this guy.]
no subject
I got this. Get the kid out of here. [Said with confidence because that's what she is in these situations. There's almost a comfort in emergencies—a prioritization of thoughts and movements that comes naturally not leaving room for doubt, insecurity, or regret. Even if facing off against someone who is maybe not quite a friend, but more than a stranger tempts to challenge that.
But she doesn't have to beat the man or kill him. She just has to delay him until the others are safe. Phasing comes with a pretty good built-in escape route if she needs it once that's done.]
no subject
...good luck.]
no subject
He plants his feet, daring her to come closer. ]
no subject
What happened here, Winter? Since when are you attacking children? [It's clear something's not right with him. Is it even him? Another version? Something the Atroma are doing? The programming he talked about taking hold on its own?] You don't want to be this person. You told me so.
no subject
The Soldier's eyes are locked on Kitty, but his focus is distant, almost staring through her. She will get no reply. He doesn't answer to her. ]
no subject
And then I remembered the other version of you called himself James Buchanan. It's not the name he used back then. Maybe that's why it didn't click.
Bucky. [Any part of this getting through?]
no subject
Enough talking. He stalks forward with her in his sights, intent on doing what harm to her that he can. He will. Failure is not coded into his programming, previous injury aside. You either win, or die trying. ]
no subject
[She moves closer when he does. She wants him to take a swing at her—one that will pass through harmlessly so his energy doesn't get to come up against the resistance it's expecting. It should be enough to help knock him off balance long enough for her to deliver a hard kick this leg in hopes of using his momentum and weight against him to bring him down. But that's just her ideal version. She'll have to respond to whatever happens on the fly.]
no subject
no subject
She has the claws out, but she's not actively trying to slice him. If anything she's just going to use them to herd him where she wants him. She doesn't want to injure him further. She wants to wear him down so he won't be a threat anymore. Then maybe she can contact someone who would know what's going on with him and how to fix it.] I didn't think you could get any chattier.
no subject
The Asset's attacks are methodical, raw power behind every hit. While it's waning, the threat of failing his mission looms, so he regroups. He's stubborn, he will not be herded like a sheep. ]
no subject