revivalproject | 03 | The stairs creak as I sleep

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03 | The stairs creak as I sleep

WHO: the Soldier (

sinistral) and you
WHERE: network and out and about on the planet
WHAT: ~~remembering how to rp~~ ~~celebrating final exams being over~~ out and about doing totally normal former-but-maybe-still-kinda assassin things
WHEN: ~~whatever passes on this planet for~~ December
WARNINGS: none; will update if that changes

TEMBA
→ Flood Plain;

Though he hasn't explored it for himself, he's been told of the ruins beneath the waters. And though he knows they're too far down to actually make out any details he's standing at the edge of the water regardless, almost glaring at the surface as if stubbornness alone could raise said ruins from their watery resting place.

It's a lot to think about, still, the apparent relationship between the Agrii and the Atroma. Certainly they had come back with a lot of information and certainly he's turned it all over again and again, but the pieces still don't settle right in his mind. Too much and not enough all at once, and the fact that the Agrii are apparently content to keep their distance from any real danger the planet presents seems a little too convenient.

Something bigger is going on and there's far too little information. The Soldier shakes his head in response to his own ruminations; the sad part is that he's getting used to that.

→ Amphitheater;

What may have been some sort of stadium or entertainment center for the Agrii makes a perfect space for working out; the steps are high enough to make running up and down them a challenge, even for long legs. And while there's nothing so formal as a track, running the inside perimeter suffices as a warmup when the Soldier isn't feeling like a tour through the more ruined areas of the city.

At one end of the space he's set up a crude target with a drawn-on bullseye; he flips a knife at it on every lap, pulling it out on his way past. It's not the ideal practice space but it works for now, works because he just needs to do something, to challenge himself to make the throw from further and further away because he may not have had a choice in how he got his skills, but they're his to use as he wants now.

→ Hangar;

The ships had gotten banged up making planetfall; the Soldier is no mechanic but has been doing what he can, when he can in order to make small repairs to the Twin Roses. He'd learned enough assisting Cal for at least that much. And it doesn't take much expertise to right the few things that got strewn about the ship's interior, items tumbling loose in the small kitchenette and other such chores.

Privately, he also wonders if access to the ships will be cut off at any time; could the Agrii recall the ships to space, leaving them stranded on the planet? He's honestly not sure, and checking on the vehicles every now and then is more an assurance that the transports are still present.

NETWORK
→ Text;

Seems like the weather's getting colder.
Or is it just me?

WILDCARD
→ Elsewhere;

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

sometimesamuse or PM for Discord. 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.

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Running laps seems a bit excessive to the Hunter Vanguard as he watches the man from up a few rows towards the top. He lounges on his side as casual as someone might be at home on a couch in front of the television, a hand propping up his head. All that's missing is a bowl of popcorn.

"Is the running part really necessary?" he finally asks. His free hand fiddles with a knife of his own, idly twirling it back and forth between his fingers.

Running laps is a perfectly acceptable form of exercise, thank you very much. At least the scrutiny doesn't bother him; he's rather used to it. And he's definitely not thinking about why he's used to being observed.

"Got the energy to burn," he replies. His metabolism is jacked up just like everything else but even so, he still needs to put the effort into training. There's far too much that he doesn't trust about this place to be caught unprepared, to allow his self discipline in his training regimen falter.

Besides, while there are a fair few of them in this place whose abilities seem enhanced above those of a normal human, not everyone is.

"Fair enough," Cayde says. He swings his legs down as he sits himself up, stretching out his arms over his head before he slowly gets to his feet in the casual manner of an overgrown cat.

"Not bad with a knife though. I'm assuming you can hit something on the move as much as you can something standing still."

Definitely an overgrown cat, and not of the Catra variety, Cade appears more as the lazy-animal-in-a-sunbeam variety of cat. But the thing about cats is that they do have claws, and the Soldier wonders once again why this place seems to need a variety of people who could fit that description. Dangerous describes a fair number of them and sure, those skills have been useful, but why are they really here?

Who's behind the Agrii, pulling the strings?

"It's in my skillset," he shrugs, seeing no reason to hide it. "Though I'll admit caution with my target practice in a place where there's no guarantee of replacing broken equipment."

That is a question he's circled and crossed and probably worn a rut out for how many times it's been revisited. His talks with Tony had really only prompted more questions than narrowed down possibilities. They clearly don't have enough for even an idea of a picture of what they're trying to put together, and it seems like just when they start to make sense of something, someone throws more puzzle pieces into the mix.

"Not a bad skillset to have," Cayde replies. "Funny thing. You're worried about broken equipment and I'm concerned about wasting ammo. Targets aren't a real problem but I guess that depends on what you're using." He sweeps a look around the rest of the amphitheater.

"You could make it more interesting. You got one target, why not set up several around here, different levels? Or I could find beanbags or something and throw 'em at you while you're running."

It doesn't seem like they're going to get satisfying answers any time soon, honestly. For every answer they do get, there are a ton more questions behind it. The sad part is that he isn't even surprised by that anymore.

"I just don't trust that we'll be able to obtain replacements. There are arguments for keeping us unarmed, don't you think?" From a certain point of view they are prisoners — perhaps not of the Agrii directly, but they apparently at least play a part in what's going on — and armed prisoners can certainly fight back against their captors.

He tips his head to the side, considering the offer. "You just want to throw things," he finally decides, a smirk playing about his lips. "I'm onto you."

"Heh! They can try anyway. Those 'death tools' may be rigged for datapoint-only usage, but I scavenged a good half a score of guns that the Graq had on 'em. Obviously they weren't using them- they didn't even know how. Those don't seem to require extra instruction manuals." The Exo grins at the man. "I might be willing to share a few."

And then somehow he manages to smile coyly at the accusation, and one might get the feeling that if he had eyelashes he'd flutter them just to complete the effect. "I really do," he admits. "Can't blame a guy for wanting to make things interesting, right?"

"I might be tempted to take you up on that," he replies, then frowns a little. "I do wonder if it would be tempting fate though. Can the Agrii observe us here? And if so, would they seek to remove such armaments from us?" And could they even do it? He doesn't want to find out the hard way.

"I mean," he says eventually, "what if we encounter hostile aliens we can only defeat by throwing things at them? It's an important survival skill."

Cayde shrugs. "At this point it seems a given that we're being watched by someone. Given the panic the last mission caused, I'd like to think we earned some points in our favor for coming to the Agrii's aid and not killing anyone in the process. Seriously. Even I'm impressed with us on that last note. I was all ready to go on in, guns blazing."

How that metal face can make a convincing grin is anyone's guess, but it may as well be a default expression for how often the Exo manages it. "And it's important to keep up our skills at hand-eye coordination, right? Who knows, there might be some guys out there who will challenge us to a brutal game of dodge ball. Not that dodge ball isn't already brutal. You should see how the kids back at the Last City play, oh man."

The Soldier might have noticed that there's a new face on the Twin Roses. Though Obi-Wan has kept mostly to himself as he adjusts to this whole new experience. However, he has passing through the ship when he spots the man doing whatever it is he is doing. Ship maintenance and repair is something the Jedi is familiar with though.

"Could you use a second pair of hands?" This asked as the Jedi pauses to see what he's doing. If he's going to be here, he might as well make himself useful.

New face, yes. Brief introduction, yes. But the newcomer also seems to value his privacy, just as the Soldier does, and since they're planet-bound for the moment anyway with plenty of room to have their own spaces, there seems no reason to force interaction.

Potentially helpful questions aren't intruding though — at least not at the onset. Besides, a second set of eyes might not be such a bad thing. The Soldier had opened up a panel damaged in the storm, but the wiring behind it is beyond the simple repairs he's learned. He'd planned to mark it down to ask one of the more technically-inclined people, but certainly won't turn down the idea to ask someone right in front of him. After all, he doesn't know if the other man is also skilled in such things.

"Sure," he says eventually, shifting over and drawing his own hands out of the open panel. "Could use a second pair of eyes and a more technical brain, too."

“Ah, well let’s take a look then,” Obi-Wan says as he crouches by the panel and takes a peek inside. His gaze passing over the wires, switches and boards. A thoughtful hum coming from the Jedi as he then reached a hand inside.

“These ships are not quite what I’m accustomed to, but I find no matter where they’re from, the basics are always about the same.” With a yank, Obi-Wan pulled free a metal component with some wires attached to it. The piece was scorched and he turned it over in his hands with a frown.

“This motivator has seen better days. I hope you have some spares.” He held up the part to his shipmate, offering it to him to look at if he wanted. “Did this ship see action recently?”

"You're familiar with space travel, then?" It's still a novelty to the Soldier, and while he's adapted mostly to the general idea of it, the mechanics involved still cause him to just shake his head. Of course, a good deal of that is his own refusal to interact with the data points that grant knowledge of the planet and its technology.

He doesn't plan on changing that any time soon.

He frowns at the motivator; he would have attributed the scorch marks to use more than damage, but then again he also hadn't really known what to look for. "I'm not sure if we do, honestly. I suppose the question should be posed to one of the people who've been maintaining these things." Or the Agrii, he thinks privately, but for him that's a last resort. He doesn't trust the aliens, and doesn't plan on trusting them, at least not without a hell of a lot more answers than they've offered.

"A mostly peaceful journey, then a pretty nasty planetfall. I wouldn't have thought it would burn out a part, but I suppose it overworked the system trying to stabilize the flight."

“Oh... yes,” Obi-Wan says with some amusement. “You could say it’s essential where I’m from.” It was an every day thing after all, and he had been trained in such things when he was young. Though while not the genius Anakin was, Obi-Wan was perfectly capable in flying and maintaining a ship.

“Ah, yes, that would do it. Such a strain can short out a number of systems if it was taxed beyond its means. Good news is, it will last for now.” This said as he unhooked one wire and switched it with another. “But nothing on a ship lasts forever. You can only extend the life of its components. So if there are no means of getting parts, it’s only a matter of time.”

He then reached in and put the motivator back the way he had found it. Making sure it was hooked in properly before looking back to his shipmate. “Best to at least make note and inform whoever would know. Though most here are not where I’m from so they may have an entirely different name for that part.”

Edited (Forgot a quotation mark :V) 2020-12-17 03:10 (UTC)

"Ah," he replies. There are several people he's met for whom space travel is a way of life. The idea of it is no longer foreign to him at least, for all that it still feels a bit fantastic. He wonders if it makes the whole being on an alien planet any easier, but doesn't quite know how to ask such an intrusive question.

"I'll make a note with the guys who are doing the repairs to the ships," he agrees. "It's something they should know, both the need and the location of replacement parts." Hopefully there are actually replacement parts; that brings up an interesting question if not.

He debates with himself for a moment before deciding to voice that thought. "I have wondered that," he starts, "about replacements. I'm not too keen on the idea of having to ask the Agrii for any sort of supplies, but I'm not sure that the means we have here lend themselves to obtaining or manufacturing our own replacements. The thought is worrisome."

"We may not have a choice as far as asking the Agrii. Unless we can find some other source."

Obi-Wan frowns as he considers that while tinkering a bit more with the electronics. Judging the state of the components and brushing off a bit of corrosion here and there. Machines were fickle things, and it quietly made him wish they had Anakin's expertise here. He was far better than he was. Though the thought only made him sad.

"If it comes to it, our only option may be to cannibalize one ship to keep the others running. Which I'm certain no one would be happy about. Hopefully that won't be necessary."

"Yeah," he agrees. "I don't have to like it though."

Not that he's in charge of the ship or anything; they don't seem to have such a hierarchy and even if they did, the Soldier wouldn't want the responsibility. Then again, what they've wanted doesn't seem to be the highest priority to whoever brought them here. On the plus side, whoever brought them here also brought this man who seems more familiar with this sort of technology, and selfishly, the Soldier thinks that could be a good thing.

"I wouldn't be opposed should it become necessity, but I wouldn't presume to speak for others." A beat. "The ships aren't crowded now, but with more people, I could see them becoming uncomfortably close quarters." Not that they're often on the ships, but still.

“Yes, that’s true. But if the options are to lose one ship as opposed to none of them working, I think close quarters would be worth the sacrifice.”

Obi-Wan had no particular attachment to ships. Less so since he hadn’t been here long. Though he doubted that others would feel the same way. Especially some that had been here longer.

“Either way, I would say that would be a last resort. Other options should be given consideration first.”

"Agreed." But ultimately, not his call. And not a call he's sure they'll have to make, though no one can truly predict what might happen to them in the future. "Though from what I am given to understand, they don't go off planet that often."

Ideally though, one of the more technically minded people would be able to assist with repairs. Or that's what he's hoping anyway; in his mind, the more self sufficient they can be, the better — though that might be what the Agrii want from them as well.

“Really?” Obi-Wan gives the man a surprised look.

“Then what is the point of having them here?”

Surely if there are ships they should be used! Obi-Wan had no desire to remain on this rock and he couldn’t imagine anyone else would either. And this came from a man who didn’t like to fly.

The good news was that there were engineers that were trying what they could to help fix the ships that didn't have dedicated engineers. And that was why he was here now, knocking on the door after he had seen someone go in.

As a resident of another ship he can't come on without being allowed. But he intended to try anyway. Maybe someone would let him on so he could inspect the upgrades he'd helped install on the thing.

It does take a minute to respond to the knocking, and that mostly out of disbelief that anyone had been in the hangar and would actually want to request entry — and that's a fundamental difference from when the ships were under Atroma control, in that visitors can't just come and go as they please. But the Soldier makes his way to the entrance where he sees the other man waiting.

Recognition takes a moment more; he's seen the other man around, mostly in their efforts with the Agrii ship, but their acquaintance remains casual more than anything else.

"Can I help you?" he finally asks, doubting that the other man is here simply for small talk. Maybe he needs assistance with some heavy lifting; certainly the Soldier has made himself useful more than once in that vein. Or maybe it's something else, he's not soo sure.

Casual was definitely the best description of what they were. If even that much.

Reeve saw the man, the one that Steve had been concerned over? He doesn't know. He doesn't remember. But he seems like it. And he bowed lightly to the other man.

"I believe your ship does not have a standard engineer, yes? I have been trying to find someone available to allow me to inspect your internal systems because of that. May I?"

The bow makes him cock an eyebrow but hell, they have a walking, talking turtle around here, weird seems to be par for the course. At least there's a reason behind the visit, and the Soldier easily stands aside and waves the other man on board.

"Sure, come in," he confirms verbally, in case the ships need that too; he's not sure what counts as an invitation to board. "Been trying to clean up some of the stuff that got banged around, but I'm not the guy to do technical repairs."

All that he likely needs is the door opened.

"Technical repairs are my specialty, when I'm not being distracted by Stark," Reeve admits as he steps past Bucky. "Every little bit of work helps, inside and out."

Don't say that too loudly. Knowing this place, an open door will lead to being locked in with no way out.

He echoes the statement with a quiet hum; having met and spent time in relatively close quarters with Stark, distraction does seem right up his alley. Or something like that. "I can take direction well, if you need an extra set of hands." A beat. "Or if heavy things need lifting."

Perhaps this place would be like that. It has done so before. But he is willing to keep trying anyway.

"Heavy lifting is always welcome. As for hands, as I'll be in wiring, it's better not to have extras."

He moves right toward the cockpit, ready to review things.

"Especially not conductive ones," he agrees; arcing any kind of charge along the metal of his fingers is likely to be painful for both of them. "Just let me know if you need me anywhere."

He'll stay close enough for conversation but hopefully not too close to crowd; there's still plenty of work to do just with basic cleanup from the tumble through the atmosphere. Privately he thinks they're lucky that the ships didn't sustain a lot of structural damage.

Conductive ones. Reeve shuddered to think about what that would do to the man.

"I'm Reeve, by the way. I don't know that we've met before."

He moves to take a panel off of a console and sits on the ground to look into it.

He'll skip the description of what it feels like, but needless to say, it's not pleasant.

"The Soldier," he returns the introduction simply, taking the panel covering from the other man and setting it aside so that it's not in the way while Reeve works. "We haven't really met; I keep to myself."

That's... not a name he was expecting. Reeve paused in taking off the panel to look up to the man.

"The Soldier," he says, frowning. "Well, I can't say your parents weren't a bit different than most with that one."

Simple, yet effective. Not every training facility has to have the best technology, and this isn't even an actual training facility.

Echo wonders how he's missed this area while making the most of his rounds of late. He's also missing a routine to follow, spurring him to approach the Soldier whenever he looks in his direction. "Mind if I join in?"

They have to make do with what they have, and what they have is a big, mostly empty amphitheater. It works. ~~They are not putting on a show, stop that.~~

He'd slowed a little when the newcomer started to approach, his brain automatically cataloging all the ways this could be some sort of a trap; old habits are still very, very relevant. But nothing about the other man speaks of a threat so the Soldier tries to keep his own posture relaxed and open. "I don't mind at all," he says when they're close enough to converse. "Plenty of space for running, but the scenery does get boring."

~~But the possibilities~~

As he holds up a hand, raised halfway before dropping down again, Echo nods. "That's fine by me," he replies, setting his blaster down in one of the rows. "I can use a little boring right now."

He'll follow suit once the running gets underway again, but he does add, "I'm Echo," as a means of introduction, keeping it simple.

~~Right?!?~~

"Don't mind if you wanna hang onto that," he says, nodding toward the blaster. "You're not gonna make me uncomfortable." And the small, paranoid voice in the back of his head can't help wondering what might walk off with the weapon while they're otherwise engaged. He doesn't voice the thought though, well aware that it makes him sound paranoid.

"The Soldier," he returns the introduction, tipping his head toward the track before picking up with a jog. The other man should be able to fall right into the pace; he figures it will likely take them a few moments to find a speed that works for both of them.

"You sure?" The clone checks, but he eventually does reach for the blaster. Can't have another round of losing it on purpose on his recent record, after all. "Usually everyone's wary– which is understandable, now that I think about it."

Hefting the weapon in hand, he holds it close, nodding as he gets a name (alias, a nickname) in return. It takes a little bit of time to get into the rhythm, but he's able to keep up for the most part, working up to the speed The Soldier sets.

"I'm sure," he confirms, nodding when the other man picks it up again. "Should I be wary? That looks like it's more of a ranged weapon, and if you've got a close-quarters weapon on you, you've hidden it well enough that I can't see it. And I'm pretty good at that kind of thing. So if you were planning on attacking me, I don't think you'd get this close before taking a shot." Warning? Threat? Statement of the obvious? All of the above?

...None of the above?

With the other man seemingly settled, a jog turns into a slightly faster run — not full out, because he doesn't know if this guy is enhanced in any way or not, but something they can still claim as a workout. "Recent arrival?" he asks eventually; having decided that no, he really doesn't know this man.

"Maybe? I mean, you don't have to be," Echo shrugs, "but it looks like you know what you're talking about." Because what civilian can come up with a similar vein of thought? He'll take the 'all of the above' option. "I'd say I was biding my time, but you have all your angles covered."

Oh, they're going faster. The clone keeps pace, focusing long enough match The Soldier step for step. "Kind of," comes a delayed reply since conversing while exercising can be tricky. "It's been a few months, I think. Started out on the large ship before we all boarded the shuttles and crash-landed here."

"That's one way of putting it." He shrugs. At least this guy seems decently comfortable with his weirdness, by which he means it's a far cry from the discomfort most people express. "Almost all my angles. The one I can't figure is why we're all really here, and because of that uncertainty, I don't really like leaving my own armaments untended." So far nothing had disappeared here — not that he knew, anyway — but that doesn't mean it wouldn't happen. Better to not tempt fate.

He slows just a little bit, to give the other man an easier time of running and talking, the pace somewhere between where they'd started and where they'd ended up. "Recent enough," he agrees. "I got here somewhat before the shuttles left this planet in the first place. But it sounds like you've already experienced most of the fun there is around here."

Echo's head tilts, but he nods. "That must be a question on everyone's mind," he shrugs. "And it's better not to leave anything like that lyin' about. Never know who's gonna try picking it up or keeping it for themselves." He's already had someone try to keep his blaster after he had to go and find it, so he doesn't want to have a repeat of that situation again.

In switching the pace, it's easier to think, easier to talk. It's also nice to know that he's relatively new in comparison. "Boy, did I ever," the clone exhales a laugh, although it isn't as jovial as laughter usually is. "After going through that, I think I prefer the ship."

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03 | The stairs creak as I sleep

Amphitheater

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Hangar

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Amphitheater

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