York Stark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
buildingitsir) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
revivalproject2022-05-09 11:18 am
buildingitsir) wrote in revivalproject2022-05-09 11:18 am
And look at me, I'm tattered
WHO: York & Open
WHERE: York's Calibration Room
WHAT: Calibrations event
WHEN: May
WARNINGS: CW/TW: York's room has the potential to bring up the following situations: gaslighting/manipulation, abuse, gun violence, death, and assault. The items are labeled with warnings.
Waiting Room Post
Mingle Post
Calibrations Room
The room is a workshop that has seen better days. Once a sterile, almost hospital like room, with a black, pleather covered chair for android repairs. Now, the room is ripped apart. Cables and wires have been ripped apart or unplugged from exposed panels, electricity sparking from live ends. The chair is broken in numerous pieces and thrown about the room, covered in oil, grease, and blue blood. There's broken parts, both mechanical and biocomponents, littered about. On the walls in that same blue blood is "I AM ALIVE" painted by hand in a large, bold, Helvetica font. The floor is wet. Shell casings glint in the light from above.
On the floor are items: a black NYC hoodie that smells earthy; a fireman's hatchet caked in blue and red blood [cw: gun violence, death]; a news tablet with a line about robotic parenting [cw: gaslighting, abuse]; and a pamphlet of Bryant Park’s 191st anniversary ripped midway [cw: assault, physical violence against human and android].
Around the items are some wires that haven't been destroyed, and all of them lead into the back of an older looking and taller York, who is curled up on the floor surrounded by the objects. There’s thirium covering his hands. The wires weave around the items, but don't touch them. He is shirtless, with his knees drawn up to his chin to hide himself. He wears black sweatpants as his only clothing.
The whole room feels isolated, full of fear, and strangely enough: it feels too small.
Upon seeing another enter his mind, York is immediately aggressive. "What are you doing in here?! Ģ̡͝E̸̵T̴̢͠ ̶̴̸O̴̧UT̴́͟!̸̨!̴͘" York gets to his feet - his LED is swirling red, throwing light against the open section of his chest next to it where his thirium pump beats. The android moves quick, as though to try getting to the intruder, but the wires seem to reel in, snap taut, and pull him back towards the wall he’s written on. It’s then apparent that York is too big for the room, with his hair almost brushing the ceiling. There's no hiding the fear in his expression as he struggles for freedom the cables aren’t giving. Realizing the vulnerable state, York relaxes and turns away from his intruder, with those tight wires loosening around him. It shows the wires going into the open panels of his back now, hooking somewhere deep within the machinery that moves and gives him life. York wraps his arms around his chest, ducking his head down. His open interior section pulses blue like a heartbeat.
"I̸͠ţ's̶̡ ņ̀̕o̸̶t̸̡ s͘͝u͡p̷p҉ós͏̕͘ed͘ ͟͞t̨̨o ̨͜h̵̸̛u̶͞͞r͜t́́," he whispers angrily, though the room is small enough that the other would be able to hear it anyways. "D̕͜͡ò̷n̨̡'ţ̕ ̡h͜u͢ŗ͜t̢͠͞ ̴͝me̢͟"
[I'll be using a different set of icons for the older version of York in replies, but that face doesn't apply outside of the calibration room. ~Xi]
WHERE: York's Calibration Room
WHAT: Calibrations event
WHEN: May
WARNINGS: CW/TW: York's room has the potential to bring up the following situations: gaslighting/manipulation, abuse, gun violence, death, and assault. The items are labeled with warnings.
Waiting Room Post
Mingle Post
Calibrations Room
The room is a workshop that has seen better days. Once a sterile, almost hospital like room, with a black, pleather covered chair for android repairs. Now, the room is ripped apart. Cables and wires have been ripped apart or unplugged from exposed panels, electricity sparking from live ends. The chair is broken in numerous pieces and thrown about the room, covered in oil, grease, and blue blood. There's broken parts, both mechanical and biocomponents, littered about. On the walls in that same blue blood is "I AM ALIVE" painted by hand in a large, bold, Helvetica font. The floor is wet. Shell casings glint in the light from above.
On the floor are items: a black NYC hoodie that smells earthy; a fireman's hatchet caked in blue and red blood [cw: gun violence, death]; a news tablet with a line about robotic parenting [cw: gaslighting, abuse]; and a pamphlet of Bryant Park’s 191st anniversary ripped midway [cw: assault, physical violence against human and android].
Around the items are some wires that haven't been destroyed, and all of them lead into the back of an older looking and taller York, who is curled up on the floor surrounded by the objects. There’s thirium covering his hands. The wires weave around the items, but don't touch them. He is shirtless, with his knees drawn up to his chin to hide himself. He wears black sweatpants as his only clothing.
The whole room feels isolated, full of fear, and strangely enough: it feels too small.
Upon seeing another enter his mind, York is immediately aggressive. "What are you doing in here?! Ģ̡͝E̸̵T̴̢͠ ̶̴̸O̴̧UT̴́͟!̸̨!̴͘" York gets to his feet - his LED is swirling red, throwing light against the open section of his chest next to it where his thirium pump beats. The android moves quick, as though to try getting to the intruder, but the wires seem to reel in, snap taut, and pull him back towards the wall he’s written on. It’s then apparent that York is too big for the room, with his hair almost brushing the ceiling. There's no hiding the fear in his expression as he struggles for freedom the cables aren’t giving. Realizing the vulnerable state, York relaxes and turns away from his intruder, with those tight wires loosening around him. It shows the wires going into the open panels of his back now, hooking somewhere deep within the machinery that moves and gives him life. York wraps his arms around his chest, ducking his head down. His open interior section pulses blue like a heartbeat.
"I̸͠ţ's̶̡ ņ̀̕o̸̶t̸̡ s͘͝u͡p̷p҉ós͏̕͘ed͘ ͟͞t̨̨o ̨͜h̵̸̛u̶͞͞r͜t́́," he whispers angrily, though the room is small enough that the other would be able to hear it anyways. "D̕͜͡ò̷n̨̡'ţ̕ ̡h͜u͢ŗ͜t̢͠͞ ̴͝me̢͟"
[I'll be using a different set of icons for the older version of York in replies, but that face doesn't apply outside of the calibration room. ~Xi]
no subject
And there was no Gervais here, too.
"Because I don't know what you know about me here. I want you to be someone else, a different man, not the one from that memory." Why was this man acting like this? What did he think York's purpose was? Did York even know what his purpose was at this point?
He shuddered, a little, blinking hard. Then finally managed to get back up to just look at Tony. The chest indicator swirled a golden color as the teal eyes took in the man's look. He was different - mostly in the face. And facial hair. "...Maybe everything is a coincidence here. Or maybe this is the Agrii's way of showing me... telling me, that you're not him. Because I've been avoiding you the moment I heard your name in this shithole of a city."
York didn't even know if he was making sense anymore. His programming was broken anyways, deviated, with unregulated emotions and broken pieces in his shell. What would it be to have another broken thing on him?
no subject
"Nothing is a coincidence--" Tony interrupted, not about to buy that half-assed explanation for anything that happened in this tightly controlled nightmare. So the Agrii deliberately doing something, that got Tony to shut his mouth again, chin slowly dipping down as York continued.
The problem was, that was him. The him that the Agrii or the Atroma or whoever wanted him to acknowledge, or the him from another timeline that Tony was just lagging behind. That was the him that kept on fucking up with Peter and Tommy, and would only fuck up York if he was given the chance. "You should probably keep doing that," he suggested.
no subject
"Where we’re at… it could be. We won’t know unless the Agrii tell us. And I don’t think I can avoid you forever out there.“ York sighed and crossed his arms. "Because if I fucking get hurt where my aid kit can’t repair me, I doubt there’s going to be anyone else with the knowledge on where to even start. Cal, maybe, but he wouldn’t have the parts."
Holding up his hands to show he wasn’t armed, York made his way closer. Not crossing the line of items. The anchor cables kept slack. The protocols seemed to think that he wasn’t trying to escape. The android held his hand out for Tony to see, palm up. The skin melted back, up to the elbow. A pristine, clean shell was revealed, and then a sort whirring sound as panels opened up to show the intricate workings inside.
York was shaking. But he was facing his fear in his most vulnerable place - his brain. "…you can look, just don’t touch me." And he’s watching the man to see what he thinks of the pulse of blue blood running through his manufactured veins. The same type of blood that was staining his fingers from the shell casing.
no subject
Or a less than crisis situation. Just as easily as he was led into the memory, Tony was drawn a curious step closer as York offered his hand, keeping his hands in his pockets like he could draw himself back at any moment. Of course that wasn't true, it never had been, and they were jumping out restlessly with a rhythmic tap to the air like he was counting as York's structure was revealed, and very quickly concluded, "I was trying to remake Jim," not really talking to York anymore. "So you wouldn't have to hide." It didn't sound like it worked.
no subject
Now Tony was the only one who knew why.
"Cal... and BD-1 have been nice." Even if York hadn't really deserved it in the first place with how hot his mouth had been. Being in Tony's presence here, a man York knows could easily reprogram or do anything with him, the android is treading carefully. Even if it was his head, it was a head Antonio had created.
He tilts his head at the words. "...Who is Jim?"
no subject
He looked very intent to memorize what York was showing him, that restless motion of his fingers more obviously drawing, not counting, sketching a schematic that his waking self might replicate, but he found he couldn't ignore this android not knowing exactly which Jim that Tony could possibly be talking about. His hands continued their subtle work even as he answered with a wrinkle of disbelief in his brow, "Hammond. The Torch. The Invaders?" It did make sense, now that he considered it, that this alternate version of him didn't have Cap around to keep him in check and trying to be a good man, but it continued to make his stomach drop when someone else from what should have been Earth didn't recognize what Tony thought were its heroes. "He was the original, a man made by science, won the war, defeated the Nazis. Nothing that came after him was the same. After Ultron, he was still a hero, somehow wasn't ever touched by this machine war. I guess I--I hoped maybe if more synthetics looked like him, worked like him, people wouldn't be so afraid."
no subject
"Never heard of them. I know of World War II and all the information available for it, but not of... Hammond? I don't know of an Ultron, but it sounds... familiar. Like a different model name for the ULT1300."
The remark about people not being afraid gets a laugh from York, a little empty. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but people don't stop being afraid of synthetic humans. My world, they hate us. They made us and now that we're demanding to be treated like humans they want us gone."
no subject
Still thinking, still building with his focus dancing around every shift in York's posture like the movement revealed more of his mechanism to Tony, he offered, "You should come to the hospital. If they let us out of here." With a toss of his head like the door was still over his shoulder, he continued, "I've been setting up a room for the synthetics, for the droids and the Exos and the prosthetics..." He wound his free hand around, et cetera, with a roll of his eyes, for York to pick up on the pattern--there were a lot of different kinds of problems that might need solving in their small community, and Tony could use the help managing the resources before the next problem occurred. Thoroughly understanding how York worked and how to rebuild the parts of him might have been convincingly altruistic, to some people.
no subject
The mention of the hospital has him jerking away. York hated them, how sterile they were and filled with machines that reminded him of that fucking workshop. A workshop that was gone along with his body, he was trapped in this too small space, he looked like a fucking ç̛h̶́͟i̵͘͝l̴͞d͟͠--
"No." Firmly stated but he couldn't meet Tony's gaze. "No, no, I don't want to go into the hospital. I just-- it's going-- f̵u͞c̸̨k̸-- I can't--" York slinks back again, hands bracing against the ragged cables he had torn apart. Over on one adjacent wall a window opens, opening taller until it fills the length of the wall like an open door.
York was understanding what Tony was offering, but would he be able to bring himself to go? To risk being held down on a table and swapped into a different fucking body? So many scenarios started swirling through his mind.
And the only end any scenario had, was that it was going to hurt.
no subject
He was going to have to keep pressing.
"Good talk," he responded lightly, like York didn't sound like he was about to implode, finally sauntering in a careful arc around him toward that widening window. That had to be the way out of this funhouse. Tony lingered there a moment longer, level focus still on York until he knew Tony was watching him; not just now, in here. There were plenty more camera than the one that had captured him at the library. "They're all nice," he said then, like he was just carrying on the same conversation and expected York to have followed the same tangle of wires. "Don't confuse that with naive."
no subject
He finally looked back to Tony, settled a bit from his mind‘s scare of the hospital. Blue to brown eyes. "There are nice people here. Like Richie," he answers back in a careful tone. And Mini, and Reeve, and Cal and the list could go a little more. Humans showed him more kindness here than in his own world that much was certain.
"Softness isn’t naivety." There is some edge to his tone but he doesn’t move to physical aggression while Tony is at the door. Hems already had to essentially relive one of his worst family memories with someone that had a striking resemblance to the antagonist of said memory, he was tired now. York goes from the wall down to the floor, curled up to take up less space in the cramped room.