'cause it's better than nothing

[thespaceopera]

[ Calibration Rooms ]
( for N-Z characters )

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ROOMS BY CHARACTER

N - P Otono-Tachibana Makie Pavel Chekov Peter Parker Pidge Gunderson Prompto Argentum Psycho Mantis

Q - S Randolph Lyall Remy LeBeau Sandalio "Biffy" de Rabiffano Sanza Stark Shin-Ah Sorey Steve Rogers

T - V Taako Thor Tim Drake Tyrion Lannister Ulaz Vash the Stampede Victor Frankenstein The Vision

W - Z Wanda Maximoff Zaveid

(last updated: 1/25/19)

Comments

The Vision | MCU

[unbearablynaive]

For those few left who might have visited it in the past, the Vision's Calibrations room is immediately recognizable: a tall, vaulted chamber in a crystalline teardrop shape, colored a warm yellow and pulsing faintly with light. The structure itself is beautiful, but radiates power in a way that many may find uncomfortable, and the pervasive feeling that this energy has the strength to lay any mind bare is hard to shake. As before, images seem to dance on each facet-like panel of the gem, though too indistinct to see unless one is up close - but that's where the similarities end. There's no single pedestal in the center, no wisps of differently-colored energy floating near the top. Instead, approaching one of the seemingly-solid panels anywhere at the edges of the small room reveals them not to be solid at all, but dense holograms of layered light with a multitude of colors and images, a repository of memories and emotions all interconnected with filaments almost too fine to see.

A few images may stand out to a visitor: an animated image of a laughing, auburn-haired woman (oddly, this panel appears red rather than yellow), an armored figure falling suddenly out of the sky, the painted profile of a woman with long pink hair wielding a sword, a garden that looks both like and unlike that of the Twin Roses, a yellow sphere that's nearly invisible against the color of the walls, and a finat blue tinge that dances around the room as if it doesn't want to be caught.

The owner of the room does not appear to be present.

(Warnings: superhero-level violence in the first three options. If you want another option, toss me a line!)

[seeingscarlet]

[She knows where she is. How could she not? This feels as normal to her as coming home and she feels no sense of anxiety at finding herself here. The only thing that gets a wary glance from her is the wandering blue tinge - it's too like the Scepter, too reminiscent of the way the Mind Stone's hurt her. Even here, her right palm still bears the scars.

And it's only because Vision guards the Stone that she doesn't fear it, that she can give the blue tinge one last look before continuing into the center of the room. There Wanda kneels, spreading her fingers out over the floor, and projects a wave of warm, loving emotions.

It would be rude to start poking around without saying hello.]

[unbearablynaive]

[Wanda's presence in the room is welcomed: a yellow glow pulses out from the spot she kneels and races outward and upward until it meets again at the top of the chamber. There, the light meets, crystallizes, and forms itself into a familiar shape as the Vision materializes and floats down, landing next to her and offering her a hand and a smile.]

Wanda.

[seeingscarlet]

[She watches him with no small amount of awe - Wanda will never get over how angelic he looks floating down to her level. She takes Vision's hand and rises only to wrap her arms around his waist and gaze up at him with adoration.]

There you are. I knew you would hear me.

[She shifts, closing her eyes and resting her head on his shoulder.]

It's so peaceful here.

[Not surprising, exactly, but it's something she usually associates with Vision, not the Mind Stone itself.]

[epistemically]

[ She should use caution when approaching the rooms. She's learned as much, but she can't help but wonder who this one belongs to. The ornate chamber, the warm yellow light - it was almost comforting, if not for the raw power that lay just beneath the surface.

It's the woman that catches her off guard. Animated or not, she wasn't expecting to hear laughter in the room and she already feels a little guilty for being much more on guard then possibly needed. Krolia approaches the image of the auburn-haired woman, inspecting the red panel before reaching out to touch it only to stop short. ]

[unbearablynaive]

[Drawing closer, the panel reveals itself to be not solid, as it first appeared, but a deep and layered holographic display (though there's no visible projector). Flashes of the woman go by, with various outfits and hairstyles, and after a little bit there are some Krolia might recognize - it's Wanda Maximoff, the Communications officer on the Twin Roses. Focusing attention on the display will play out one particular memory, set against a backdrop of a large grey building with a green lawn, on Earth, from the perspective of someone rather taller than the woman but still within normal human range:

We touch down after a short flight around the compound. I watch carefully to ensure Wanda lands safely, but I shouldn't worry. She's done enough power jumping that touchdown is the least of her concerns; rather, as soon as both feet are on the ground she rushes over and gives me a hug, laughing in delight. I freeze, unsure how to respond, but she doesn't seem to mind.

"That was perfect, Vision!" she exclaims, cheeks flushed. I frown lightly, running a temperature diagnostic to make sure she isn't running a fever. No, the color seems to be a mix of chapping from the chill winds and heightened blood pressure from the adrenaline. Perfectly normal, so the frown vanishes and I smile at her in return.

It wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination. This was her longest flight yet, and she still had a lot to work on as far as stability and adjustment, not to mention a way to compensate for the cold as she flew higher and higher. But she hadn't meant it in a technical sense, had she? It's dangerous to go up into the atmosphere under your own power, especially for someone still discovering its limits and how it works. She'd needed an escort for this experiment in case something went wrong.

She'd chosen me, and nothing had gone wrong. By a human estimation, that's close enough to perfect.

"It could use improvement," I say in a serious tone, but she catches my smile and doesn't seem to be offended. "We should practice more often."

She laughs again, and takes my arm, and we walk back toward the building.

[epistemically]

[ She knew what flight was light thanks to piloting her own ships but this? This looked much more exhilarating. She's smiles a little, caught up in the emotional joy of the situation -- especially as the woman laughs and takes Vision's arm.

Vision looks like he enjoys Wanda's company.

Wanda would be someone she needs to speak to more. Krolia admits she's been rather closed off since her arrival and she would need to rectify it. She wonders if there were more memories he'd share (was he sharing them with her on purpose?). ]

[brooklyn_boy]

Steve doesn't know where he is. And yet, he does. The yellow color and the shape brings to mind someone he knows well. The Vision, he thinks as he walks into this strange room, both curious and attempting to find a way out. But he knows now from experience that there likely is no way out. Not without going through the room first.

Steve looks around, not wanting to pry but feeling like there was really no way not to in here. His eyes fall on the auburn-haired woman and the red panel she is in. Steve smiles, comforted by this as he walks forward and presses his hand against it. Surely this was a good piece of the Vision.

Surely this was something he knew.

[unbearablynaive]

The panel flickers under Steve's touch, and the video memory in it enlarges and becomes a full-color hologram, almost like being there. It plays from the first person perspective, and it doesn't take much to realize it's from the Vision's point of view.

We fly to the top of a rocky spire at night, surrounded by desert and other weathered rocks. The sky is full of uncountable stars, with constellations never known to Earth dancing around in a brilliant view. We're both wearing environmental suits; I don't need to breathe, really, but it's easier to speak over the helmet radios this way and I can't collect samples if I decide to be intangible.

I move to stand behind Wanda and place my hand on her shoulder, not wanting to lose the contact of our hands holding but trying to match her gaze at everything. There are deserts on Earth, to be sure, but nothing quite like this, even without the endless starfield unblocked by atmosphere.

"There aren't cameras that can catch the same level of detail the human eye can. Not while preserving the same light. For all that technology moves ever forward, there are still transient forms of beauty you must see in order to experience."

The urge to pull her back so she rests against my chest is almost too strong to resist. Almost. But still I hold back. She's not ready yet. Soon, perhaps, but the last thing I want to do is force her into something and pushing her away by mistake.

"There is so much to see, so much to do. I want you to know all of it."

And I will, I promise myself. On whatever level she feels comfortable with.

[brooklyn_boy]

It's beautiful. Everything here is so beautiful. Steve has to tear his gaze away from the stars in order to watch Vision and Wanda. It makes him smile despite the empty ache in his heart that can barely remember what this must have felt like, once. Steve remembers talking to Wanda on the ship and seeing how she glowed talking about the Vision.

Love. True love. He'd seen it starting in his timeline and now he could see just how beautiful it would grow to be.

"You were so patient with her. So kind." Steve's mind drifts elsewhere, smile turning wistful and sad. He pushes it away. "She is lucky to have you, Vision. You're good for her. And she's good for you."

[sinistral]

There is a notion that sleep should be restful and perhaps for some, it is. Bucky can't remember the last time his own sleep hadn't contained the phantoms of his past, the view down the barrel of a rifle and blood on the ground. That makes this experience new — and it also puts him instantly on edge.

He steps cautiously through the space, moving as if he expects to be attacked. It's not his intent to bring violence into the place but violence seems so much a part of his life that he feels he has to cautiously and consciously guard against it.

It's the falling figure that catches his attention and Bucky's breath catches, curling in on himself, hands over his ears. It almost wants to bring to life a memory of his own but he pushes it back sharply after a few harsh breaths. This isn't the time or the place for his own memories to interfere; it is his hope to get out of here with little further incident.

[unbearablynaive]

This particular memory is hard to avoid in here; it's the basis of much doubt and self-loathing for the room's owner, and the panel seems to flash between the fall, the sickening thump of the landing (mercifully without sound unless Bucky draws close enough to touch the panel), the hospital afterwards with a doctor looking grim, and then back to the fall repeated endlessly.

Noticing the reaction, the blue spark draws closer and sinister whispers begin to form, but it seems to be prevented from coming any closer thanks to an amber cage that suddenly surrounds it. The amber cage pulses once, twice, and a holographic screen pops up in front of Bucky, thankfully blocking the replaying memory of the falling man. Golden text appears on a charcoal background.

Please state your identification.

[sinistral]

He has to forcibly tear his gaze away from that panel, hands shifting from the sides of his head to press the heels into his eyes. Even that is little comfort for their difference in texture and he forces his arms to his sides, forces himself to straighten. It's only a trick of this place, after all. It's only something designed to put him on edge.

Just like the blue spark puts him on edge, and Bucky can't say why. It's too similar to something, but he doesn't really know what that something is, and he thinks that he should. That there's a cage containing it a moment later does little enough to soothe him; he's too much on alert. But he does start to ease away from it — half a step, until that screen pops up.

And that's a hell of a question, isn't it? Which designation is he supposed to give? The one he still hasn't escaped, or the one he doesn't feel right in reclaiming?

"Bucky Barnes," he says finally. "The Winter Soldier."

[outstandingbalance]

[Natasha missed Vision's room the first time, but she doesn't have a hard time recognizing who this particular milieu represents. Even for her, there's a discomfort in the feeling of the mind stone's energy, but the discomfort doesn't stop her from heading for the center of the room, looking around for anything other than the walls and their memories.]

[unbearablynaive]

[From the center of the room it becomes even more obvious who this belongs to, and after a few moments of Natasha's patience a holographic screen of the type Stark Industries likes to promote comes up, with golden text on a charcoal background.]

Please state your identification.

[passingthrough]

[Kitty stands in the room, first, as always, checking for threats. Old habits die hard and honestly she's never thought to kill this one. It's kept her safe more than it's harmed her. But as she takes everything in she slowly walks closer to the images. She's drawn first to the falling armored figure. Some part of her feels like she needs to help even though she's sure that's not possible here. That's not how these things work.]

[unbearablynaive]

[This scene stands out quite a bit among the others; it seems to be very important to the room's owner. As Kitty approaches, the memory plays out in first person.

We're at an airport surrounded by destruction; I've caused a great deal of it, but then, so have the others. Wanda's laying on the ground in front of me, and I'm checking frantically to make sure she's all right. Sam and Rhodey are chasing each other in the sky, and I'm barely paying attention to them until Tony shouts a command. I look up and make a split-second decision I'll regret for the rest of my life.

I fire a beam at Sam's power pack to try and destabilize him, but I miss. Rhodey's hit, and he's falling for what seems like forever as I'm trapped here on the ground. They try to catch him--they all do, even Sam who was just moments before fighting him--but War Machine crashes to the ground with a sickening thump.

Flash forward to a surgical suite observed from the outside, time ticking by both too slowly and too fast. Tony turning away from me in grief and anger.

A doctor gently tells me that Rhodey will live, but that he'll never walk again.

And then the memory begins to replay.]

[cajunspice]

[Remy looks up, and up, at the room, slowly turning upon entering and having noted no obvious exits or entrances, just taking time to see it all as he slowly moved towards the middle of the room.] Like bein' 'nside a gem. [And he's seen a few in his time. Never thought he would be inside of one, but hey, now he can say he has.

Nothing stood out as dangerous, you know, beyond being stuffed into a gem, but still that slight uneasiness. Enough to make him want to keep constant watch on his environment around him. He also looked instinctively for a projector, something that may be throwing those images and lights up, before dismissing it with the realization that the technology he was use to seemed a little redundant in this place.

In such a room that was so alien to him, it was nice to see something that was kind of familiar, Remy's attention going to the image of the garden.]

[unbearablynaive]

[The garden looks a little different than its current form. An observant person will notice it's the old form of the garden, the one that was there when it was still the Windrose. When it's focused on, the scene enlarges to cover several panels and plays out in a three-dimensional hologram, from the first person perspective. And it features an old friend that might be familiar as well....

I can't help a smile when I see Misty's astonishment. I've built her a miniature swamp inside the cargo bay, which had taken quite a bit of time and effort, but that expression is priceless.

"Captain! Did you build all this!?"

I explain that I had help, but she's so excited she jumps me for a hug. I should have expected it, but I still freeze up for a moment. "Er, well, it is a natural extension of the gardens project I'd already begun. I'm glad you like it."

Sometimes people ask why I bother making a garden in the first place. I don't eat, I don't need to breathe if I don't want to, and the space could be used for something more profitable or productive. But I've found myself in the position of being a captain, and that means keeping up morale. Little brings better morale than greenery and fresh food, and it gives us some valuable trade fodder as well.

But most importantly, it makes my crew happy.]

[coinstability]

It's unnerving. That's Connor's first thought in this space when he feels that undefinable something at the edges of his senses. None of the room is familiar to what he's seen before, even within these strange mind-dreams. He finds himself backing up unconsciously until he's near the panel of the armored figure - getting a better view of things, he tells himself, not panicking.

He finds it somewhat relieving when he turns around and sees that the panel is some form of hologram. That's something easier to comprehend than the energy pulsing around him. He's never seen one this intricately interwoven though, image upon image laid over each other. It makes it richer... but Connor's perfectly able to see the threads holding it all together.

[unbearablynaive]

Unlike most of the other visitors, Connor will be able to pick out the individual lines of code as well. Each layer is made of tiny strings of an unfamiliar code, half Tony Stark's programming language and half pulled straight from the matrix of the mind Stone itself. Each image is only a visual representation of a full data memory, complete with sensory input and information logs. Take this one of the man falling - the image rewinds a little bit to show the image from the first-person perspective of someone on the ground.

We're at an airport surrounded by destruction; I've caused a great deal of it, but then, so have the others. Wanda's laying on the ground in front of me, and I'm checking frantically to make sure she's all right. Sam and Rhodey are chasing each other in the sky, and I'm barely paying attention to them until Tony shouts a command. I look up and make a split-second decision I'll regret for the rest of my life.

I fire a beam at Sam's power pack to try and destabilize him, but I miss. Rhodey's hit, and he's falling for what seems like forever as I'm trapped here on the ground. They try to catch him--they all do, even Sam who was just moments before fighting him--but War Machine crashes to the ground with a sickening thump.

Flash forward to a surgical suite observed from the outside, time ticking by both too slowly and too fast. Tony turning away from me in grief and anger.

A doctor gently tells me that Rhodey will live, but that he'll never walk again.

Each moment is rich in data. The exact strength of the beam that was fired? There in kilojoules for Connor to read. The medical file of the injured man? Complete in its distressing documentation. Even the sensation of feeling Wanda in his arms is annotated extensively with the heat against his skin, the wind strenght and direction, the calculated probability that she's been hurt.

Harder to quantify is the immense sense of guilt underlying the entire memory.

[dothelokimotion]

[ he really didn't want to be here. but it was a golden opportunity. if he could take a good look at that stone, perhaps he could neutralize it here. or destroy it completely. magic dances at his fingertips. the atroma may have thrown them into these mindscapes, but loki still has his powers. and people forget that his abilities reside here, in the hearts of all.

he heads towards the yellow sphere. ]

[unbearablynaive]

[Given that the Vision knows for a fact that Wanda's magic, at least, can affect the Stone, Loki might be on to something. Or the magical signal might be too different to react in the same way; it would be difficult to tell without some further experimentation.

The sphere reveals itself to be a bundle of code, though, and not the solidity of the Stone. Inside it is a series of disjointed images - security footage of Tony Stark's Malibu home; flashes of confidential files from Stark Enterprises, SHIELD, and other sources. Conversations, half audio and half text with dialogue trees, scroll by. Nascent emotions of relief and satisfaction accompany images of Tony himself slotting in more hardware to a massive cooling tower. And then, oddly, the disjointed images fade to be replaced by a grainy video clip of two small robots, dancing in space. If Loki's been taking advantage of the video selection in the lounge, or chooses to research it later, he'll recognize WALL-E.

The dancing blue light seems to be interested, though, and moves closer to where Loki is.]

[therewerefifty]

[She's not a hundred per cent sure this is Vision's room, but she has a suspicion it might be. It is, at the very least, the room of someone on board the Twin Roses.

...the pink hair is a sight she hasn't seen in a long while. Is it...? Makie drifts in that direction.]

[unbearablynaive]

[It sure is. The image enlargens to show Wrath with her little arctic fox, Officer Snuggles, at her side. They're in the cargo bay of the old Windrose - the shape is slightly different, but it's most noticeable for the icon on the shuttles. There are other people around, but this conversation seems to be between Wrath and the holder of the memory exclusively. Wrath looks troubled, and it plays out in the first person.

"Do you feel comfortable explaining it to me?" I ask. She looks troubled, but if it's not something she wants to get into, I don't want to force her. I trust Wrath, and I want to show her that she can trust me as well.

Wrath stares down at her hands for a minute, trying to think how to put it into words. "I'm a soldier. I'm good at my job. Only the mission matters. The mission is to protect Proles at all costs. The mission is to be loyal. The mayor saved us. He wants what is best for us." And she takes an unsteady breath. "He's a lying piece of shit and I fucking hate him. How are both those things true?"

I reach out to rub her back, because she's starting to turn a peculiar shade that humans get when experiencing vertigo. "Please, take three deep breaths. You're safe here, Wrath. See, here is Officer Snuggles." I gesture for the fox to come over, and it seems to help her stabilize to have something warm and fuzzy and friendly to hold on to. She clutches him tightly and breathes into that fur.

"Is that better?" I ask, and when she nods, I continue. "You've come up against a contradiction in your mind. It's as if someone were to insist to you that Officer Snuggles is red. You know he is white, that he is a naturally white fox from a planet known for white foxes, and that he has always been right. But if everyone around you insists he is red, refers to him as red, and tells you that you are wrong when you insist he is white, you may begin to believe he truly is red. When you look at him, you get a headache, because you see he is white, yet your mind tells you he is red." I pause to make sure she's following. "Does that analogy make sense to you?"

"Yeah, I get it," she says, still looking unhappy but at least not looking like she's on the verge of a breakdown any more.

"That's part of the damage that was done to your mind." It makes me angry, as so little does. There are ways to repair the damage, but none are easy and all come with risk. I want to help her, but there's only so much I can do.

She deserves to be treated fairly.

The image fades out, but others flash by, including Wrath painting a brilliant sunset onto the mural in the Iskaulit. There are a lot of memories here, mostly tinged with fondness, but the underlying tone is the sadness of a friend he may never see again, coupled with the gratitude (if that's the right word) that he got to know her at all.]