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

waiting room

[theladyofwinterfell]

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."

[sinistral]

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."

[theladyofwinterfell]

"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."

[sinistral]

"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?"

Calibrations

[brooklyn_boy]

Steve hates the room as soon as he walks into it. It reminds him of something but he can't quite touch onto what that is. All he can access is an itchy feeling of familiarity and the more concrete desire to be anywhere else than here. But that isn't how this works so he walks in and keeps his hands sunk into his pockets to make sure he touches absolutely nothing. Something tells him that the memories here are going to be as dangerous and painful as the weapons on the table.

Still, he walks closer to them. The sniper looks familiar. The knife looks familiar. And, when he finally turns and looks at the tubular chamber, that looks familiar, too. A thought comes to him, then. A sudden, likely insane thought. It's enough to get his hands out of his pockets and hovering by his side as Steve looks wildly around the room. Who's mind was this? Who's memories?

"Hello? Someone here?"

Waiting Roomish or just outside of it

[deal_me_in]

The surroundings save for the rooms they eventually open into look seamless, but it hasn't stopped the Exo from trying to find a loose panel somewhere. It's only because as the days have worn on, he's liked the idea less and less that they've possibly been herded in here for some kind of mental study.

There might not be an actual way out, but it's not keeping him from trying to find one anyway, on the off chance that someone missed a spot. At least that's what he's hoping for, although if it came down to a bet, he's not sure he'd put anything down for it.

He traces the tip of a rather long knife along a part of the wall, probably seeking a catch, but the line he'd thought he'd seen turns out to be just a scratch, not that he hasn't made plenty of his own with subtle defacings here and there.

Network

[backoff]

I was briefly told about that situation. Would you be willing to offer more on the Atroma themselves?

[theladyofwinterfell]

"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."

waiting room;

[hulkintraining]

Teddy tries to stay awake as much as he can, even though he knows that he'll eventually be dragged back into his room and off to sleep by some seemingly unstoppable force. But for now he's wide awake and pacing in one of the corridors near the waiting room. There's not much to do down here but pace and worry about being dragged through someone else's memories, or them through yours.

Then the loud banging that sounds like metal colliding with metal stirs him from his drifting thoughts. He'd thought no one else would be up at this time. He approaches the waiting room, making no attempts to hide his movements, and enters in time to see the man land another punch to the wall.

"While I appreciate the sentiment I feel I should let you know that that won't work."

He may or may not have some experience after enduring his first couple of calibrations. Now he's all but resigned to the fact that for as long as the Agrii want them down here, down here is where they will remain.

[sinistral]

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.

[sinistral]

There's a stirring of shadow in the corner. It's absolutely not at all dramatic, more the result of dark clothing in an ill-lit room. But the figure that comes closer to the table is as non-threatening as one can get while decked out head-to-toe in tactical gear, leather and kevlar and a tight, controlled expression.

"Nobody's here." He glances to the table's contents; they don't exactly surprise him. "Best not to touch anything and wait out the exit."

It's the easiest option, after all: wait, and the door opens. No pain, no mess. No giving up things that should, above all else, be private.

[sinistral]

Apparently he's not the only one interested in looking for weaknesses in the structure, looking for a way out. That's gratifying; he'd hate to be stuck, sheep-like, herded into whatever these Agrii wish and complacent to it. Better to rail and fight; better to look for exits and make plans for the contingency of finding one.

"Any luck?"

He calls out to the searching figure, keeping well out of arm's reach in case he startles the way the soldier startles: attack first and ask questions later. Old habits die hard, after all, and the hyper-awareness trained into him by HYDRA has been useful in turn. The distance also gives him a chance at observation: the figure in front of him appears foreign to his sensibilities, but that doesn't have quite the effect it would have had on him before his first kidnapping by the Atroma. Aliens exist; it's simply a fact. Still, he doesn't think he's encountered one quite like this before.

[sinistral]

Pace, worry, bang on the walls: sounds like the subject of a really bad song. Or one of those stories that's supposed to be an allegory for the human condition and falls far short on entertainment value. Joy of joys.

"Wasn't gonna believe it until I tried it." Though he's certainly starting to believe it now and while he could hit harder, it's only going to put stress on the flesh-and-blood parts of him and risk damage. He'd rather avoid that unless it becomes an inevitable necessity, considering he's not quite sure how he'd repair himself in this place.

How annoying.

He turns away from the wall — not a scratch! — and regards the newcomer. Or perhaps he's the newcomer, to put it more accurately. Anyway, eyes skate from head to toe, looking for familiarity and finding none. Well, that could be either really good, or really uncomfortable; there's only one way to find out. "Speaking from experience...?"

[sinistral]

Was looking more for others who had first hand experience.

[backoff]

No specification on the directory. Only stated if you knew what you are talking about. I do. All I want to know is if you ever saw the Atroma or did they always remain unseen.

[theladyofwinterfell]

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."

[deal_me_in]

"Nnnnoop."

The Exo doesn't start in the least, squinting harder at the wall before he sighs and rises to his feet, his motions fluid as any living being for all that he appears to be robotic, at least if his face is anything to show for it. He flips his knife about between his fingers, sliding it into its sheath at his belt with practiced ease.

"Not a hole or a ventilation shaft to follow either. I mean, I guess there's the drains in the shower but I didn't pack any dynamite."

He shrugs, finally glancing towards the man who'd called out to him, his glowing blue gaze twitching slightly as he gives him a once-over. When he speaks, amber light fills the back of his throat. "I'm assuming you're not having much better?"

[sinistral]

But you weren't a member of the Fleet?

[backoff]

No, I asked someone when they mentioned they have been through this before. I got answers, but I still have questions.

[ He doesn't want to keep bringing up questions to the same person. She's dealing with her own personal grievances. ]

[sinistral]

"No guarantee the drains go anywhere other than a water recycling unit." Which he doesn't want to think about too closely, thank you very much. And yep, there he goes thinking about it. Ew.

At least the — alien? — seems comfortable in its metallic skin, judging by the way it smoothly moves and sheathes that knife. The motions almost bring a smile to his face; knives are comfortable companions and one can always depend on a good, strong blade. Idly he wonders about the rest of it, whether it's armor or something else, but it seems rude to open the conversation with those inquiries.

Not as rude as being kidnapped and forced to relive memories each night, but you know.

"You'd be correct." It's a strange gaze to meet, but strange has become somewhat normal anymore. "Not the first time I've been locked in a place like this, but I don't have to like it."

[sinistral]

Who?

No, the Atroma didn't allow themselves to be seen. What other questions?

[backoff]

Sansa.

Did they use your calibrations against each other at all?

[sinistral]

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.

[sinistral]

I see.

[He'd hoped that she'd be home, not here, but apparently that's not to be.]

If it suited them. All that mattered to them was ratings; whatever made for a good show was fair game.

[deal_me_in]

Metal plates shift here and there in the semblance of an expression of disgust, along with the lidding of his optics. "Yeck. Good point." Cayde imagines there'd be a lot of upset people if that got accidentally demolished too.

Knife at his belt, a gun at his opposite hip. So far no one's had complaints about him carrying his weapons so openly, not that he's had any reason to make use of them in here, but he feels better having them on his person than left in his room.

"You too, huh? I've been hearing similar from some of the others here. Don't think there's anything to like about the whole deal. Especially how we were basically hurried in here on the excuse that a killer storm was going to hit." Yeah, it's obvious he doesn't quite believe that reason, but on this side of the tunnel there's not much to be done for it.