Calibration Post 1, "Daytime"

[thespaceopera]

[ 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. ]

Comments

[directed]

[For as many moments in his life that Peggy has seen--and not just seen, but endured--there are others that remain locked away in Rip's mind. Perhaps the Atroma would see fit to send her back a third time; perhaps not. Perhaps Peggy would have opportunity to find herself standing over a fire barrel, archaic for 2166, but the only warmth available for the survivors of Vandal Savage's ruthless conquest.

And if she found herself in that time, in that place, she might hear herself talk about the funny feeling of knowing the universe itself hadn't wanted him to save his family.

That his efforts were--moot.

He still tried, however. Even after attempt and attempt and failure, Rip had gathered a team to travel through time, to hunt down Savage. To kill the man before he could murder Rip's wife and son, and to one final time fail.

Hard to think it's been over a year since then.]

You should. [Taken umbrage is too polite a phrase; he'd judged her, unfairly so. For her ability to find comfort in this prison, to build a life within the walls provided by the Atroma--Rip had thought himself better suited, perhaps, to enduring the day to day while not settling into some manner of routine or worse, acceptance.

To find contentment here.

But he's no better, in the end. Not at all, because even under the circumstances they now endure, Rip cannot say he wouldn't wish this place on his family for another chance to hold them in his arms, alive.

Her switch is an appropriate one. Fortunate too, her foresight to grab two bottles. His own glass drained right along with hers, he sets it aside in favor of picking up the second container, cracking open the seal keeping it shut. They'll end up passing a bottle back and forth at this rate, but for now--for now, this works well enough.]

[mucked]

[ something settles unspoken between them. for peggy, it's the preexisting understanding (or else the hope) that he might empathize with her position. it's a gamble; just because he's lost a great deal, it doesn't mean he's naturally inclined to relate to other mourners. but she's always liked a bit of a gamble. and, after all, it's easier than outright explaining herself, her thoughts, her feelings.

she turns the bottle in her palm. what's left to say? she could tell him that she knows, now, how to stop someone else's descent into a brainwashed hell. she could tell him that the story doesn't have quite so unhappy an ending, because she'll see steve again in her lifetime. better late than never again. she could tell him, too, that deep deep deep down she still expects herself to be the sort of person who doesn't cave to sentimentality.

but, then again, can she be so certain? so instead peggy turns the bottle in her palm and chokes the neck and takes a very generous swig. god, by now she's had enough to make her head begin to swim a little. she used to hold her whiskey better than this. but who does she drink with, anymore? not steve.

she hasn't felt safe enough to get drunk in a long while. not since new years. she doesn't feel much safe just now, either, but something had to give.

They called it Project Rebirth. The SSR, that is. [ a beat. ] And afterward, when they'd manage to enhance only one man, the SSR and the army threw him to the USO shows and they called him Captain America. He went on tour. Bond sales skyrocketed in every state he'd visit.

[ she isn't saying anything that isn't public knowledge, and yet it still rises like bile in her throat. but she needs -- suddenly she needs -- rip to understand. it's an appetite matched only by how much she'd needed to understand, in turn, what she'd seen in his dreams. ]