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

[sinistral]

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.

Comments

[deal_me_in]

The Hunter brings his hands up with a shrug. "Hey, if it got me in, then fixing the door to make it more secure's no big deal." Doors to ships are so overrated. Or he's just too used to transmatting off and on his own jumpship.

Implanted chips. The metal man does not like the sound of that at all, shuddering at the thought. "I don't know what's worse, that or the data-things. Anyone comes to me with that intent, I am going to shoot 'em."

Given the trend of things, he wonders if he'd even be aware of such a thing being done, a thought he likes even less. He scowls, fingers drumming over the grip of his hand cannon at his hip.

"Yeah. Well, the sending us back home after all's said and done is assumed, anyway. I think dealing with those storms are the main point, though from what I've heard of them, that's not going to be easy." He gives a lighter shrug then. "So in the meantime I figure we needed a bar. 'cept a lotta good it does us when we're stuck in here."

[sinistral]

"You hope. At this point, I don't know how much I'd trust about anything in this place." A place that he's been in for what, barely any time at all? Cynical much?

At least he can also get behind the idea of shooting, especially if the targets are the Agrii. "Yeah, apparently the idea of actual communication is too old fashioned. Why bother to talk to people when you can just plant stuff in their heads?" Bitter much?

"Oh, we definitely need a bar." Not that he can get drunk, but it's the thought that counts. "Especially if we're here to be a clean up crew for someone else's mess. You know the minute something small gets fixed there's gonna be a next thing, and a thing after that, and a thing after that."

[deal_me_in]

"Eh. True. Still, if it's a possible way off? I'd exploit it." High risk, high gain and all that.

Cayde shakes his head. He sure hopes that's not going to be the trend. Whatever the Agrii hoped to accomplish with this ordeal, gaining trust from their chosen heroes definitely doesn't seem to be it.

The bar would have been nice if there was something around that even he could get drunk on. Unfortunately with the replicator busted, that was going to have to be put on hold. So he'd just have to entertain himself making other people drunk. "Ain't that just the way? And it's not like we can just sit back and not do anything because we're the ones living here in the meantime."

[sinistral]

"Can't say I'd argue that logic." Already he's eager for a way out of here, and he's barely been here at all. A little risk is more than acceptable — not that it'll happen, for this particular case, but there's potential still.

There's also potential that something like that could blow up in their faces, but best not to think about that.

"You gotta admit, pretty smart of them in that regard." Make a mess and expect someone else to clean it up; at least the behavior isn't restricted to just human beings. Not that it makes things any better, but there is something about familiarity that should probably be reassuring. (It's not, but it should be.) "Gonna have quite a list of things I wanna take them to task for, at this rate."

[deal_me_in]

Eh, things blowing up in your face is just part of the risk. Unfortunately without his Ghost around, Cayde's had to be more careful about how much risk he took on short of making him irreparable or dead.

"Sneaky is more like it, although I don't know if I want to give them that much credit yet." The Exo pauses, making a face. "...then again, they did manage to get us all down here on threat of a storm."

He forces a laugh. "I'm sure there's a line for that. They haven't answered my love letters. Maybe I should try pictographs next."

[sinistral]

"It says to me that they're pretty good manipulators, which might be more important than sneakiness or smarts." He wondered too if they would have forced the point; clearly they could bring people to this place, and however they did it, they could aim well enough that the Solider had appeared right in these tunnels. If people hadn't cooperated, would they have just forced the populace down here? An interesting question, and one he's not sure he wants to vocalize.

More and more he's believing that these Agrii must have a way of observing their interactions. It puts him even more on edge.

"You got any artists? If the general opinion is distaste in regard to all this, pretty sure someone might be willing to put that into a picture."

[deal_me_in]

That's always been a hanging possibility, and Cayde only squints a bit at the reminder that their Agrii friends might be capable of more than they're letting on.

"Eh, I'm sure there are some around," he says. "Not something I usually ask about. I'd be surprised if no one's tried to do it already. The Agrii sure like to leave their own doodles. You seen 'em? I'm guessing it's supposed to be a self-portrait, not that it puts you at ease, with the fangs and all."

He digs around for his communicator tablet thingy, swiping around until he finds the picture he'd taken during the welcome home party. A squiggly, childish drawing done in pink paint of a three-eyed smiley face with fangs. The paint dribbled down from the fang points. Intentional or no?

[sinistral]

He peers at the drawing when it's presented, frowning and searching his brain for anything similar. He's coming up with nothing though; the drawing may be childish but doesn't spark recognition with any of the species he'd encountered in his time with the Fleet.

Not that it means much, of course.

Still, those fangs do make him wonder: an accidental dribble, or an accurate representation? And do fangs on the Agrii have the same connotation as predatory teeth on other species?

"Friendly," he agrees, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Certainly the kind of warm, fuzzy, helpless creature I'd jump at the chance to help."

[deal_me_in]

"Right? It's the fangs, they really speak to you." And haven't made him any less convinced that they've been kidnapped by some sort of furry pink vampire aliens. "I'm sure it's artistic license, if they know what that is. People are way more receptive to cute pink things than slavering multi-eyed creatures that might wanna eat you."

Which really just goes back to the whole manipulative theory. Cayde shrugs, slipping the tablet away. "So yeah. Fun stuff." Only not.

[sinistral]

"At least they haven't foisted their fondness for the color on us." The Soldier prefers his combat gear, black and more black, well-worn and reliable. His next choice would be camouflage, and he can think of very, very few places where shades of pink would fill the need to blend into one's surroundings.

"Sounds like," he agrees. Barely been here any time at all and he already hates this place. Just great.

[deal_me_in]

Cayde laughs. "True. Although there are some Guardians who'd probably go for it. I swear, they probably find the most obnoxious colors for their gear on purpose. But hey, maybe they like the challenge of being a walking target."

He sure misses the sight and the sounds of the Tower. Of course you always feel that way about places that you're no longer in. Things had changed a lot back home, and sick of routine as you might have once been, it's different once the routine's been violently broken.

Pushing away from the wall, the Exo rolls back his shoulders and looks around, as though hoping maybe something in their boring environment's changed since they'd last looked at it. No such luck. He sighs.