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
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.