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driftfleet2017-06-09 09:55 am
thespaceopera) wrote in driftfleet2017-06-09 09:55 am
Calibration Post 1, "Daytime"
[ Not long after the shuffle, there's a ripple of static over the network - loud, sudden, and seemingly with no origin. It's puzzling, but there's no indication that it's going to happen again...
Until a minute later. Another surge of static comes in over the speakers, and then a voice - one some may find familiar, though not necessarily welcome, after all of this time... It's Diamond. Long time no speak, hmm?
Clearly, not all is well. She sounds very far away, for one. For another, she sounds... skeptical, almost alarmed. There may actually be real concern in her voice. ]
Again? Twice in one c--
[ Her sentence is cut short with a strangled gasp, followed by a moment of silence. What follows may be the sound of metal dragged across metal, but it's hard to place. When she speaks again, it's uncharacteristically monotonous. ]
... Bring them in.
[ A blip of lost time passes right after those words, before every passenger mysteriously wakes alone in their own unfamiliar room. The style of decor resembles that of the Marsiva's Hospitality Deck, if any passengers should remember what that's like. It sounds and smells the same as the host ship as well, all clean and chrome, but this set of rooms has only been used once, and for the very same purpose that befalls the fleet contestants now.
As for their hosts, there is no immediate sign of them, though some may recall a series of hideous, half-electronic screams before their memories begin to blur upon arrival...
Welcome back to the Marsiva, dear passengers. It's time for round two of calibrations. ]
[ This mingle will cover all non-calibration room interactions. Please continue to come back to it for the duration of the plot! You are, of course, free to post any other mingles/posts/etc. that you'd like. ]
Until a minute later. Another surge of static comes in over the speakers, and then a voice - one some may find familiar, though not necessarily welcome, after all of this time... It's Diamond. Long time no speak, hmm?
Clearly, not all is well. She sounds very far away, for one. For another, she sounds... skeptical, almost alarmed. There may actually be real concern in her voice. ]
Again? Twice in one c--
[ Her sentence is cut short with a strangled gasp, followed by a moment of silence. What follows may be the sound of metal dragged across metal, but it's hard to place. When she speaks again, it's uncharacteristically monotonous. ]
... Bring them in.
[ A blip of lost time passes right after those words, before every passenger mysteriously wakes alone in their own unfamiliar room. The style of decor resembles that of the Marsiva's Hospitality Deck, if any passengers should remember what that's like. It sounds and smells the same as the host ship as well, all clean and chrome, but this set of rooms has only been used once, and for the very same purpose that befalls the fleet contestants now.
As for their hosts, there is no immediate sign of them, though some may recall a series of hideous, half-electronic screams before their memories begin to blur upon arrival...
Welcome back to the Marsiva, dear passengers. It's time for round two of calibrations. ]
[ This mingle will cover all non-calibration room interactions. Please continue to come back to it for the duration of the plot! You are, of course, free to post any other mingles/posts/etc. that you'd like. ]
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No. [Phil Gasmer had been the closet Rip could claim to innocence in years, and only because everything that made Rip Hunter who he is had been stripped away. Oh, certain traits remained steadfast: a sense of wonder for what the future might hold, for one. A certain amount of cleverness, and a will to survive, even when he found himself in a situation so far beyond his capability.
And also--he'd like to think--a willingness to fight for better things.
But in the end, the aberration of Phil Gasmer had been erased--removed from existence by Eobard Thawne. No, Rip is quite sure nothing Peggy could have seen would prompt her to ask such a thing--so he presses forward with his own observation.]
You saw something else. Something that has you concerned.
[Angry--or perhaps that's simply what she shows. Perhaps in truth, Peggy is afraid of some darkness she'd found in Rip's mind, what it might mean.
She's not wrong to be.]
What was it?
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It's not what I saw that concerns me. [ true enough. peggy stands with her hands on her hips. her eyes don't falter now that he's managed to meet her gaze. she doesn't know whether his play at not remembering the previous night is honest or otherwise; at this rate, she can't trust him not to be a hauntingly good liar. ] It's what I felt.
[ she draws herself up taller -- bit difficult, really, without her heels. the atroma hadn't been so charitable as to provide them. ]
Who was Sara?
[ was; she assumes the blonde died. gunshot like that? christ. ]
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Even before she speaks the name Rip knows would come next, he can guess at what would follow. Asking after Phil might have been a poor precursor, but her anger, her defiance shown as Peggy straightens her spine?
Rip's seen it before. The rage in Mick's eyes when he shot Sara. The fury in Jax's, when the man pointed a musket at Rip and promised to shoot. The equal conviction, when Rip had been held captive aboard his own ship--no longer his ship, as promised by Mr. Jefferson.
And he hadn't been wrong, in the end.]
Sara is--[spoken with specific and purposeful emphasis; Peggy has assume she died, perhaps because Rip had, both times he had opportunity to end her. Both times, she'd survived]--the current Captain of the Waverider, and leader of a group calling themselves the Legends. My former position and team both.
[But that's not what she's after, in the end. No, in the end, it could have been anyone on the other end of the gun, or whose throat Rip gripped with such cruelty in his hand. He doesn't know which; he can't remember which, although both times her name had been spoken.
Both time, Rip had felt an incredible relief when he found himself able to commit the atrocity.
She wants further explanation, no doubt. But in the end, Peggy isn't owed it. She had been the intruder into his mind, she the one to poke around memories which don't belong to her. It doesn't matter that the Atroma are ultimately the architects of this design, or that Rip himself holds such guilt now for those actions.
That he would want to know such things before a person stepped aboard his ship--and has already learned the harsh lesson of defying a person's nature in pursuit of his goals.]
Well? Captain. [What understanding he holds doesn't matter. Again, again he's found his choice taken away, his will, his desire completely ignored and in favor of what?
Because that is the dark truth about this. That freedom Rip found in abandoning all sense of duty and responsibility? That had its roots in something quite real. So he looks at her, expectantly. Judgment perhaps would come next, or further questions.
Either way. Rip has his own temper to match.]
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-- ones she'd thought had been made in earnest.
her impatience fills her chest. she breathes it; she feels it throbbing in her blood. he offers no defense of himself nor of his actions. and yet peggy had craved it. a great swathe of her heart had hoped he would as good as prostrate himself in an attempt to explain away what she'd seen and (most importantly) what she'd felt. hadn't he proved himself especially curious about how the atroma could activate old psychological programming? peggy waits, unhappy, in the twisted hope that he might trot that excuse out between the pair of them. if only so she count counter that she's convinced the winter soldier hadn't felt a damn thing when he broke her ribs and tore through her and left her to die. quite unlike the man whose pleasure and satisfaction had coursed through her mind like a borrowed contact high. ]
When we're through here? When the Atroma are done with this little detour? You're off the Starstruck.
[ -- she'll not allow another dottie underwood within her midst. someone so potentially unhinged that they could kill so indiscriminately. except that's not the right word, is it? no. that gunshot had felt supremely discriminating. the bullet might have had the woman's name on it.
and that, perhaps, makes it all the worse. ]
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(And perhaps rightfully so. How could he defend those actions, in the end?)
His arms remain crossed a moment longer, his fingers impatiently tapping his elbow as he lets the proclamation sink in. His mouth twists into a bitter smirk, and Rip shakes his head.]
As you say, Miss Carter. [Though this time Rip hardly knows where to go, it doesn't matter. He has however long this sidetrip lasts to figure it out. What's far more important in the moment is seeing Peggy out of what little space might be deemed his for the duration. So he takes the pair of steps necessary to reach for the door, once more refusing to look at her as he opens it.]
I'll assume we're done here.
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[ done.
eventually, she'll need to explain to her first mate why she'd gone and netted them a cook only to blackball him less than a month later. she doesn't much fancy cutting steve in on the intel -- for whatever reason, she's unprepared to stoke his own version of a righteous indignation. let her take that hit; she's beyond bitter enough.
it's hard to settle on a verdict as she leaves. peggy hates that he won't at least look her in the eye. is it guilt or cowardice? shame or indifference? she's further annoyed that she can't tell. but she tells herself she'll be relieved to be shot of him. pleased, perhaps, if they need never cross paths again. it'll be up to her to decide whether she ought to warn others about what she'd seen.
and if she chooses not to? well, that last memory she'd witnessed provides just enough of a tether. as horrifying as his satisfaction had been in attempting to murder sara, the depth of the man's grief had been equal. perhaps it's the one common ground left between them -- and it's one she won't discuss. not now.
peggy strides toward the door. she pauses, briefly, on the threshold. but in the end, she's not one for taking one step forward only to take two back. she's backslid far enough already. and so she marches out, chin held high, and doesn't stoop to say goodbye. ]
...and some time later.
having washed her hands of rip hunter, peggy now finds herself staring at the blank screen of her communicator trying (in vain) to compose a message meant for him. she'd given her word, after all, that she would ask. and -- in the meantime -- she's left acutely aware that he's been to visit her mind as well. the things he saw...
well. they're vulnerabilities. if rip really is a danger (although she'd starting to think less and less of that knee-jerk assumption) then he may as well now have a blueprint to hurt her and her ship. this time, she must proceed a touch more delicately.
to that tend -- while standing in the middle of the kitchen, her hip leaned against the counter -- peggy scrounges together what remains of her caution and her consideration. ]
How much of the nights are you remembering?
[ last time, when she arrived at his room, he'd seemed a bit thrown by her assumptions. might as well start with a strong interrogative foundation. ]
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Not to mention what's come of other's ventures into his mind. He's remembering a bit more with practice: who has been there, maybe what they touch--but the memories themselves remain beyond his grasp. The best he can do is maybe guess at what others have seen--something he's in the midst of doing, in fact, when his phone goes off.
When Peggy Carter, of all people, asks him a particular question.
He knows she wound up in his head a second time. Equally, Rip remembers well his trip into hers. He can only assume the latter is her reason for sending a message, and Rip, who is once more in his room, types back a reply.
It isn't kind--but given their prior conversation, he sees little need to be.]
Worried about what I might do with what I saw in yours?
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[ there's no denying the deeply personal nature of what they'd both seen on different nights and in different minds. however tempted she might be to play it off as something unimportant, they've been forced across a line together -- no bond has been forged but the awareness of their soft underbellies remains.
for her, it forces a rather sharp-edged honesty. ]
But don't feel too special. You've hardly cornered the market on that concern.
[ meaning she might also worry about what others might do with the same knowledge. difference is, perhaps, that she's already given him reason to clap back. ]
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[She tells him not to feel special, but that itself is a point of concern. No doubt this time is trying at every turn, for each of them, but--
Well. It likely can't be a comfort to think there might be others with memories so similar to the one she'd seen in his head out there. Especially if some may not have spawned for the same reasons.]
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[ that is, if this time aboard the marsiva holds true to the last? then it'll be at least a month before they see their ships again. ]
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[And perhaps Rip might have been slowly driven mad; a month of these blasted calibrations, as he's learned they're called.
A month of anyone and everyone potentially crawling through his head.]
You needn't concern yourself, Miss Carter. I've no intention of using anything I've learned against you.
[Whether or not she believes him, Rip has no control over. He expects, however, that to be the end of the matter.]
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but take, for example, the hidden blade in what he says: a whole new crew. as if he shouldn't already know there's at least one in that number who will never earn banishment.
and it's quite possible that rip never did, either. not really. so! ]
It's possible I may have been a bit premature in my sentencing.
[ -- this is as near to an apology as she'll come, perhaps. at least in words. ]
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Enough to hope he need never turn any of what he's learned against those whose secrets he now holds.
Yet he doesn't expect much in way of a reply. If anything, she might snap back that she simply couldn't believe it, what with the memories she'd lived without any of their proper context.
(As if that might justify them.)
It's far from what he reads. Unseen, Rip frowns. The message would appear evident in intention--moreso, for the tongue-in-cheek manner of that almost apology.]
I would ask why, but I'd prefer not to discuss it over the communicators. [Meaning if she does want to continue, they would have to meet.]
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[ -- and so they should. but, evidently, peggy's pride wouldn't suffer searching the parts of the marsiva left open to them just so she could muddle her way through a detente. of a sort.
(lord knows they're leagues away from a peace treaty.)
nevertheless, overtures must be made. ]
I gather you're a whiskey drinker. [ provided what she'd spied in his waverider was at all accurate to him. ] The kitchen's got something close to it. Not close enough, mind. But us beggars can't be choosers.
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What must she have seen to make her change her mind?]
I do prefer it, yes. [There's only one way to find out. Whatever outcome results, Rip has the opportunity to know, at least from one person, what they discovered about him entirely without his consent.]
I suppose not. [About the drink or the kitchen. It's hardly the most private of places, but perhaps that's better. For them, it can serve as neutral ground.]
I will meet you there shortly.
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peggy's got no intention to stay in the kitchen. it is, however, precisely as he suspects: neutral ground. a jumping-off point, where they might quickly decide whether the negotiation is worth pursuing or not. she'd given her word within his mind that the next question she had to ask would be of him. not stolen or gleaned or espied.
the forced sleep cycle must have caught her off guard on the previous night. without the chance to sleep on her pin curls, her trademark style is instead sleek and smooth and naturally straight. peggy has at least managed to pin a section back from her brow.
when rip arrives, he'll find her still standing by the counter. she glances up from her communicator before setting it aside. at her elbow, there's an unlabeled bottle of something whose colour is just a shade off-brand for a decent bourbon. it's still capped. ]
Mister Hunter.
[ she'd been inundated with memories wherein he'd been a captain or recent-captain. even so, she sticks with what's become familiar. ]
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[He's dressed this time, at least: wearing the outfit he typically seems to favor, sans the duster--although there is one addition. If she looks closely, she'll notice a chain peeking out from the pocket of his vest.
It leads to a watch, tucked carefully away for safekeeping. After everything, he's in no mind to be parted from it.
He looks at her expectantly then. While they both have questions, this is her negotiation to begin--at least in his eyes.]
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You know, [ a puff of her cheeks. she reaches to grab the bottle, but she doesn't rush to open it. if their first salvos go well, then cracking the lid can wait for when they've settled somewhere more private. ] I think I've lost track of how many versions of you I've seen, now. Is it three? Or maybe four. [ she taps fingers against the bottle's curve as she counts. ] God, I think I could argue that it's been five.
[ it took her some thinking but for all her bluster she'd clearly already settled on that number. ]
With some overlap.
[ -- none too much, she hopes. ]
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Off-brand or not.]
Five, is it? You'll have to tell me how you got that high. [Though he says it lightly enough, there's a firmness to the tone. Even knowing she's trespassed through his mind--or because he knows--Rip remains set on not revealing anything more to her than what's strictly necessary.
He will, however, concede her final point.]
I'd assume there must be, if they were all some version of me.
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(it does occur to her that maybe if he's smarting off it's because she's employing no finesse in her approach. worse yet, she's proven herself capable of it; somehow, peggy's decided he no longer warrants that lighter conversational touch.)
she bides her time while the other person, only vaguely familiar, retires from their immediate vicinity and takes a seat at one of the long tables in the style of nearly every mess hall she's ever seen. pushing off the counter, peggy takes one step nearer to rip -- her voice drops in volume. ]
If you are willing to have this conversation, then we'd best do it 'round yours. [ not in her room; of that she is insistent. ] We'll take two bottles, [ peggy grabs for a second from the cupboard left ajar, ] if we must.
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And only to be met with his continued refusal to cooperate.
She steps closer, lowers her voice and suggests they go elsewhere--his room, once more. That, at least, is easy enough to agree to, right along with the notion that they might need more than just the one bottle before all this is done.
He would do her the favor of taking the first, at least. It'd be rather rude to leave her to carry both.]
After you.
[It's habit more than anything else; whatever else she's seen, Rip does have some measure of manners. He follows after, quickly catching up to walk at her side, until they once more reach the door with his name on it.
He doesn't speak again until they're inside, that door closed behind him--though when he does, it's without looking at her.]
I don't remember what goes on when other people are in my mind. [The answer to her earliest question maybe further serve to explain his continued reluctance, and the low bite of anger he feels near constantly now.] Only that they've been there, such as you were.
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striding a few steps ahead of him comes naturally to her. beyond that, she keeps him on her left. it isn't a question ego so much as habit -- there's something soothing found in old protocol. peggy might as well be back in her bottle-green uniform for that's the sort of armour she wraps around herself now. precise; practical; professional. it's just about the only thing that might manage to keep the worst of her temper at bay.
this is a step backward; she knows it. nearly two years in the fleet, and she's managed to mollify most of her reactions. but this dense and clustered series of events has flensed her raw. beyond what she'd seen of him and what he'd seen of her, she'd also seen enough of others to lift her hackles like a dog under threat.
and yet, once inside his room, she tries very hard to appear calm. peggy holds out a cup for rip and wastes no time in prying some space-age ersatz cork out of the bottle. ]
Twice, no less. [ and she's still surprised by it. ] I can say that the second time 'round saw your funny little AI self a touch troubled by your fall from grace.
[ -- if she speaks in wry, hyperbolic ways then it's only to protect the both of them from having to shuffle too close to the truth. its best blanketed in alternating layers of both over- and under-statement. ]
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Hardly any surprise, given that she had once been a spy.
He takes the cup offered, waits for Peggy to get the first bottle open, and cooperatively holds his out when she seems ready to pour. In the interim, she offers up something about his mindscape he's yet to learn, sparking a touch of surprise from him.]
My AI-self? [Well. That's rather unexpected--although perhaps not in the full scope of things. After all, he hardly imagines Peggy pictures herself as the little girl he'd met within her memories.
And if he had been the AI--then perhaps it makes sense, that concern of which she speaks. AIs, after all, are meant to serve and protect their captains.]
I think you'd have to agree that it wasn't a conversation that ended well. [Nor one that left Rip exactly optimistic for how his immediate future might play out.]
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[ she pours a generous measure into his cup. and then, taking a step back, pours an equal measure for herself. the bottle is (for the time being) left to stand alone on the metal chest at the foot of the bed. perhaps it's ill-advised to knock back drinks with a man whose very motives you question; however, she takes some small comfort in knowing rip never got to see the memory where peggy's brother praised her ability to hold her whiskey.
the drink itself is similar to every other almost-whiskey she's found in the fleet's travels: slightly unsatisfying and carrying an odd under-flavour of lime, of all things. but spirits are spirits and she's prepared to settle.
she raises her cup in a mock toast. ]
Arriving a second time might have been a coincidence, but you -- him -- made it quite clear the intention was to repair a bridge or two. [ ... ] Are you that upset about being punted off the Starstruck?
[ well, that accounts for one of the five versions. ]
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