revivalproject | 01 | All lies and jests; still a man hears what he wants to hear

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01 | All lies and jests; still a man hears what he wants to hear

WHO: the Winter Soldier (

sinistral) and you
WHERE: Calibrations waiting room, calibration room, and network
WHAT: midway through the Calibrations cycle, the Agrii decided they needed another ~~victim~~ "he row"
WHEN: 06/28 through 07/10
WARNINGS: Literally every calibration room prompt will have elements of violence and torture (physical and mental).

SECRET TUNNEL
→ Waiting Room;

This is complete bullshit. Complete. Bullshit. The Soldier has strong feelings as it is about waking up in a place entirely different from where he'd gone to sleep. It had happened far too much in his life and invariably makes him tense and irritable; between HYDRA and the Atroma — and apparently these Agrii now — he's just done.

The tunnel looks nothing like the Marsiva or the other ships of the Fleet but has him on guard regardless. He's pretty sure they'd escaped that imprisonment, won their way free of the Atroma. Certainly he's seen no evidence of them in the year since. But perhaps they'd gotten too lax in their freedom, in the rush of exploration and enjoyment of each other's company.

It's possible anyway.

Still, he can't focus on that right now, and certainly attempting to break out hadn't worked. Had the impact of a metal fist against the wall woken anyone? Potentially not, if this really is like the Calibrations he remembers, the way sleepers couldn't be woken once they'd drifted off. Or perhaps people will hear it and come looking. Doesn't much matter to him and he gives it up quickly enough when he sees that it's not doing any good anyway.

Well, whatever.

After a last glare at the tunnel he returns to the interior chamber and proceeds to go over every inch of it. Under the Atroma, it was impossible to escape the Calibrations area until those beings decided their time was up. If this really is modeled after that there'll be no escape, but he still intends to make sure. Perhaps some detail has been overlooked.

→ Calibrations Room;

The room itself is plain, utilitarian. The walls might be grey, or a grimy institutional beige. The only furnishings are a large glass-and-metal tubular chamber in the corner and a metal table in the center of the room with a single lightbulb hanging above it; an old incandescent bulb sheds yellowy light on the surface of the table and not much further.

On the table rests a sniper rifle, a combat knife, and a mouthguard. There appears to be no one in residence.

NETWORK
→ Text;

The Drift Fleet. Atroma. Calibrations. If you know what I'm talking about, speak up.

[That's it that's the message.]

WILDCARD
→ Elsewhere;

Want something else? Have an idea? Hit me up at

sometimesamuse or via PM. Open to wherever, whatever, and though I write starters in prose I'm more than happy to switch to brackets if it's your preference.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sansa has been miserable having to live out her grief with no privacy but there's nothing she can do about it. No amount of crying alone into her pillows will bring Tyrion back and she has to be both a mother and, frankly, becoming of her crown. She's tried to infuse her spine with the steel she's always had to have.

Her hair is damp from showering and the baby is with Steve and Bucky. She's not proud of herself when she trembles at the sight of a man clad in black, weaving in and out of shadow as if he belongs to it. She's been tricked before. It must be the other James, the one who doesn't know her - except.

Sansa draws closer and there's just something about his gait that makes her think this one is the right one. There's only one way to tell. She doesn't draw close enough that he might whirl on her but she speaks softly.

"I haven't done squats in two and a half years."

He's not unaware of someone entering the common space from what he assumes, from the markings on the door, to be bathing facilities. The smell of damp air tinted with cleansers confirms that fact, and he positions himself to observe both the newcomer, and the room at large. Perhaps the presence of another person will change something? He doubts it very much, but he's seen stranger things.

The face though — that gets him. He knows that face, and well, though it too could be a trick. As such he continues his exploration of the texture of the wall while keeping the woman in his periphery. He can be patient, can observe to see if the behavior matches that which he remembers, or if this whole thing will out itself as something even more complicated.

What he doesn't expect is those words, in that tone of voice. It resonates with his memory, the pieces slotting into place: appearance, bearing, tone. What doesn't mesh is the timeline, but that hadn't been entirely out of the possibility of Atroma influence either.

He turns to her more fully, face still mostly expressionless. But, if she's really who he thinks she is, she'll be more than used to that. "Then you owe me a lot more than the twenty from our last training session."

"I'll give you forty," Sansa says, lip trembling more than she wants it to. Gods, but she never thought that herJames would come here but she'd been wrong. Tyrion left and Sansa is here with James; they're even picking up the same banter they had before.

Sansa closes the distance between them in a few steps and tries to hug him as close as possible. She knows touch isn't always welcome but right now, she hopes that it is.

"I'm alone here. I lost Tyrion and I'm having to raise our child alone."

"Fifty," he replies, though it's absent the hard bargaining they used to drive for squats. Sansa's face is one he never thought he'd see again, after breaking from the Fleet, and for her to be here brings a twist of complicated emotions. And complicated questions too, though he puts them aside for now. She looks fragile in a way he's seen in her vulnerable times, and that takes priority over all else. That fragility has his allowing the hug, human arm curling around her back to hold her close.

"You're not alone." Not unless this is a dream or a trick, but the possibility of either seems low and it'd be needlessly cruel to mention besides. "A child now? Yours and Tyrion's?"

"Mine with Tyrion, yes," Sansa says. "But he's gone and I have no one here...well, I have plenty of people here to help me with him but it's difficult to trust people with something so precious. I would rather do it all myself if I can. I know he's safe with me."

Sansa feels better curled into the hug and she buries her face in against his neck, the familiar weave of his tac gear pressing against her skin a welcome reminder that this is him, actually him.

"I missed you so much."

It probably says something about both of them: her that she'd find comfort in his presence, him that he can even give it. He doesn't think this is the time to examine it too closely, given that she's clearly distraught. Still, that's one fact given form: Tyrion had been here with her, and now is not.

"I'm surprised you had time to miss me, what with making, having and raising a baby. I'm given to believe it's a lot of work, and little to no rest." She'll probably swat him — physically or verbally — for the comment, but that's a good thing: it means she's not lost all of her fire, and that the clinging is merely a temporary overwhelming.

Sansa pushes back a bit to look at his face and shoves lightly at his left shoulder.

"Of course I missed you, you dolt. Why wouldn't I miss you? You're half of my heart." Sansa has missed him more than she can put into words properly and even going through the process of having a child didn't change that. Becoming a queen didn't change that. Nothing could change it because he changed her.

"My son is with Steve and...well, what I consider the shadow of you. You don't move while I go collect him and you can meet your namesake."

He almost chuckles at the shove; if Sansa hadn't had any fight in her, he'd have been more worried. As it is she's perhaps overwrought and overtired. He lets her pull away to look over her critically before nodding.

"Go. I won't disappear in your absence." Meanwhile he will try to figure out this namesake business, as he doubts she would have named a child Soldier. And he'll move away from the wall, marking his progress in relation to the furniture to resume his search for weak points later.

Sansa fetches James and brings him close, eager to show him off. He's such a beautiful child even if she thinks she's horribly biased and she bounces a tiny bit on her toes as she shows him off, proud of her child and eager to see what her soldier thinks of him.

"Meet James Stark," she says, smiling bright. "He's a month old and he's the most beautiful child I've ever seen in my entire life. I love him more than I ever thought I could love anyone."

"Hmm..." He makes a thoughtful noise as Sansa shows off the bundle in her arms. He seems to have all the requisite parts, and in good working order; the eyes follow the glint of metal as the Soldier passes his left hand over its face.

The name is complicated, but he only nods at her for it. Just because he no longer uses it, doesn't mean it wasn't his at one point in time, and he recognizes the honor she means by it. She's a generous spirit, even if he knows she would protest the flattery.

"His legs are too small for squats." He lets his gaze travel from the baby's face to Sansa's, a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "You'll have to do double, to make up the deficit."

"If I weren't holding my son, I would kick you for that," Sansa says dryly. "I already owe you forty. I'm not doing eighty - that's excessive. If I do eighty squats, you have to carry me to bed afterward and make sure this child gets taken care of in the interim."

It's all playful. Sansa would do hundreds of squats if it meant that he'd stay here and not leave her. She doesn't trust the Agrii any longer because they took Tyrion. What's to say they don't take her soldier too?

"I missed you. You kept me alive," she says. "I had to fight with a knife to defend myself and I succeeded. I also became a queen. That means you have to listen to me more."

"Do you want me to take him just so you can kick me? Then you'd be kicking the person holding your son." Why does she put up with him again? "As I recall, I carried you to Tyrion's bed after doing twenty. If the carry threshold is now eighty, you'll be doing a lot of your own walking."

He puts a hand on her elbow to steer her over to a pair of chairs, careful not to jostle the bundle in her arms too much. If she is trying to do everything herself — and he has no doubt of it — then she's likely more tired than she lets on. "I had no doubts that you would achieve your throne. But I'm proud nonetheless to have played a small part in it."

"You tricked me into the extra ones," Sansa says, rolling her eyes at him. When he says that he never doubted she'd take her throne, the lightest of blushes colors her skin before it fades away. She's proud of that accomplishment and proud of the woman that he'd helped her become. Without him, she might well have died a half dozen times.

"When we're not stuck here, I have a house," Sansa tells him. "You must come to live with me. I live somewhat far away from everyone else, so you don't have to worry about a lot of people, and you'd have plenty of time to yourself as long as you didn't mind the baby and I."

"A trick less subtle than the intrigue of the court, I imagine. Consider it training." No, that was just him being an asshole. But he's glad that the training they did together did help her, even if he doesn't like the necessity of it. Still, she'd asked it of him and had taken to the lessons with all seriousness; he's gratified to know they did her some good.

"I can, as much as I'm able." She'll know how he feels about patrolling, exploration to determine possible threats in order to get ahead of them. It's not a lifestyle that lends itself toward idleness in any sort of home, but having a home base to which to return would be useful. And he still doesn't know what the living situation in general looks like: will they need to hunt for food or scavenge for supplies? That will of necessity take some time.

"Yes, less subtle than court intrigue. Has it ever occurred to you that I let you trick me for the sport of it? I have to find my pleasures somewhere," Sansa says, laughing softly. It feels good to laugh, to be genuinely happy and not happy only for a moment before falling back into sadness. When he says he'll stay with her as much as she can, she nods her head.

"It would make me feel safer if I wasn't alone," Sansa adds. "And you need a place to lay your head when you aren't pushing the limits of this place. I'll try to make it as nice as possible when you do have to stay with me. I'll do squats and pushups right in front of you so you can assess my form."

"Are you telling me you don't find your pleasures in squats?" One of his greatest victories had been getting her to curse at him for the exercises, but they both know that she's done well by them. While he doesn't necessarily take pleasure in what he had to go through to become the weapon he is, he feels some small gratification that a part of it has been used for something good.

"You know already that I don't trust it here, wherever here actually is." He's barely been here a handful of hours by his estimation, and it's already been far too long. "If there's a chance at finding out anything to our advantage, I have to take it." Which is part of protecting her as well, and he knows that she probably realizes it too. Still, a safe place to rest wouldn't go amiss, especially if she allows him to go over the space until he's satisfied that it's as secure as possible.

But he does take her comments to mean that she'll be interested in training again. "Shall I take up a role as your instructor once more?" This is a man who has no idea what post-pregnancy workout routines should look like; she'll have to tell him when she's ready and what her new limits might be.

"I know you don't trust it. That's why you're going to make sure I can defend myself from it," Sansa says, agreeing to be trained again. "Besides, someone from your world told me that my bottom is huge after having this child and since I can't see it, I have to trust his dubious judgment. I need this weight off if I'm going to protect James."

She's vain, too, but she thinks her soldier will be more concerned with her ability to kill someone than how she looks. She's still got a pretty face, after all, and that's not something that's going to change just because she's gained weight.

"I want you to be hard on me, James. Bruising. Punishing. I need to be in better shape than I was when you saw me last. I have to be able to protect him if you're...if they take you away again. I have to be able to be absolutely lethal."

"It may become necessary." Never a pleasant thought that, but the truth nonetheless: he does not yet know the shape that the dangers of this place may take, but he has a feeling they will exist. Why else would they be here, if not for their skills?

He frowns though at the pronouncement of her physical shape. Certainly she is a little larger than when he last saw her, but it's not unexpected considering the childbirth. And she hasn't exactly ballooned up to huge proportions either. "Who?"

Just asking for reasons. Innocent reasons.

Still, he certainly can put together a program for her, take up the trainer role once more. But he shakes his head to her plea. "I could be that hard on you, but I will not. If you are too sore, if your arms are so tired that you cannot raise them, how will you hold your son? If your legs are so exhausted, how will you run to him? Moderation will serve both you and him better."

Sansa hadn't thought of it that way but it seems natural enough that he had. They work well as a team, after all, and despite all her complaining about certain exercises, he's good at teaching her what she needs to know.

"You have a fair point there about pushing myself too hard. Just hard enough then - hard enough that I can defend us if I need to. I can't always count on you being there to do it for me as much as I hope I can."

To the other, she laughs softly. "Oh, that was Tony Stark. He probably meant it as a compliment. He's always trying to rile me."

"Just hard enough." Because it goes without saying that one day he might not be there. She's experienced it with Tyrion already, hasn't she? He'll not be so crude as to voice it though, knowing it's likely in her thoughts as well.

He frowns at the name. He knows it in a vague way, in the way that one can't look for news articles about Captain America and not find the occasional mention of the other Avengers. But he doesn't know the man, and wouldn't really say that he knows anything about him either. "I don't know him. But if you are bothered by his comments, I can intervene."

"I can handle him for now. If his attentions turn too sharp, I'll be certain to let you know so you can aid me in the situation. I don't think I have to worry, though. He's all talk. I don't think he'd actually...do anything about it. Unless I wanted it, I guess."

It remains unspoken that she doesn't, having just given birth not long before and recently a widow. Tony hasn't done anything remotely close to pressuring her, though, and the teasing seems to be exactly that: teasing.

"He won't hurt me. I know I shouldn't trust easily but it's hard not to trust a Stark."

"Do, yes." Though at least it seems mostly contained to the realm of teasing. They'd known people with the same tendencies in the Fleet, though none of their shipmates were of the like. Still, if she asks him to step in, he will.

Until that point happens, he puts it from his mind.

"Have you adopted him as well? Have I gained a brother?" They still haven't discovered if their worlds are distantly linked or not, if Tony Stark might in fact be related to Sansa Stark. But even a passing familiarity of a name might be cause for comfort, he reasons. "And who else is of interest here?"

“You haven’t gained a brother,” Sansa says, laughing at the thought. “I don’t see him that way, exactly. I don’t see you that way either but there’s no other way to describe what we have. It’s not like anything else I’ve ever experienced.”

Gods, she’s glad he’s back here. She’s missed him so much.

“Wanda is still here. There’s Tony, there’s Tommy and Teddy and Billy. I think those are the ones who share your home, anyway. There’s others from the old place too.”

"Siblings makes for an easy analogy that people tend not to question." Because it's not really a sibling-like relationship that they have, but saying they're as close as usually means no further inquiries. "Plus, what we are to each other isn't anyone else's business."

And not worth expounding on further, at least verbally, in a place where he doesn't know if they're monitored or not. At least with the Atroma they knew they were recorded and knew to speak carefully; he does not know enough about this place but feels it prudent to take the same precautions.

He nods along at her listing; he doesn't recognize any names other than Wanda's, but knows that Sansa knows a little of his memory issues and how a lack of recognition doesn't mean much when it comes to him. But even so, it does seem a mix of people from the Fleet and others, which is important information. "Who else from the Fleet?"

"Lance is here," Sansa says, thinking about who she's seen. "Some have disappeared, though, like Vision and Tyrion. There's a handful of others but I don't know unless I start polling the network. I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment because I'm just so happy to see you."

It's a silly admission but a true one and she's glad for his comfort while Tyrion is gone. If there's anyone who understands her truly in this world, it's James, and it feels as if a part of herself has come home.

"Steve and two copies of you, if I didn't mention them before. I don't know much about the other copy. He keeps himself away from everyone. The one Steve is with is here, though."

01 | All lies and jests; still a man hears what he wants to hear

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