station72 | didn't I teach you right, didn't I

Entry tags:

didn't I teach you right, didn't I

CHARACTERS: Steve-o and you
WHERE: All around the Station
WHEN: Day 4 and forward
SUMMARY: A few general prompts for downtime, hit me up if you want something more specific!
WARNINGS: Will update if needed.

EXERCISE

[ ( a. ) Early every morning Steve can be found running laps in one of the larger halls in the training wing. Depending on what time you find him, he'll either just be starting or his face will be flushed as he walks slow circles with even breaths.

( b. ) Or you might find him pummeling a punching bag like a (less than) half trained boxer. He's got his thumb outside of his fist.

( c. ) It's later in the day that he'll retreat to a slightly more secluded section (as secluded as you can get without doors). The sharp ring of metal striking metal an be heard - ]

Heads up!

[ A disc-shaped blur hurtles across the room and over Steve's head as he ducks, striking an empty equipment rack before finally hitting the floor. With a scowl Steve jogs over to retrieve it. Both of his arms appear to be covered in a dull, silver metal, almost matching the material of the disc - or shield, as it is. ]

RECREATION

[ Bats, gloves, baseballs.

It's been what feels like a century since he'd last seen this stuff, last spoke with Lexa about getting folks together for a game. He's not really sure he's up for it at the moment, but he gravitates to the reminders of home all the same. ]

If you see any more of these, lemme know.

[ Spoken to any passerby as he indicates to the mismatched array of baseball equipment. All of it looks used, some more battered than others. There's a pair of aluminum bats and a sorry looking wooden one with a splinter down the middle, three grass-stained baseballs with their threads loose, and an array of leather gloves. One of the mitts is on fitted on his left hand, the leather dark and roughed up from use. He's never known a stiff glove, and isn't too sorry not to find one here. ]

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[Okay, after the whole drunk-texting (so to speak) nonsense, he's been looking for an alternate way of keeping down his stress levels. Exercise seemed like the perfect route.]

[He should have expected someone else in here. And he'd meant to just keep to himself while he wore himself out -- but there's something about the way the other man that's familiar.]

[Steve, he remembers. From Sam's shared memories. Except he's looked different.]

Hey. Did you want to be alone?

[He'd understand if that's a yes.]

[ His fist pulls back as he turns to face Shiro, both eyebrows raised. Steve doesn't have the same mental reference, but he does recognize the Host from Concordia rather than one of the new folks.

A glance around the training room, then back to Shiro. ]

Room enough here for both of us. [ He wasn't seeking company, but he's not about to ask the guy to leave. He cocks his head at the punching bag. ] You want a turn?

Fair enough.

[He figured he should ask. Since there are a lot of people here who do want privacy. Himself included, a lot of the time. At the offer, he shakes his head.] Not unless you're finished.

[There's a pause. Before he adds:] Steve, right? You know Sam Wilson?

[ A half shouldered shrug. ] I've been at it long enough to take a break.

[ Then, a nod. It's not so strange for people to get to know names and faces second hand. Especially not here. ] Steve Rogers. [ He extends a hand, eyebrows raise. ] And yeah, I do. We come from the same place -

[ Sorta. ]

Been in here a while? Sounds like me.

[When you need to introduce yourself? Make use of your awful sense of humor. He nods, and, after a moment's consideration, takes that hand. Metal fingers careful around the other.] Shiro.

He's mentioned you a few times.

Gotta be ready for the next mission.

[ So, lots of training, among other reasons for being out here by himself.

Shiro'd be the third person here with a metal appendage. There's not hesitation in his grip, he gives a good firm shake as he would with anyone else before letting go. They did speak at least once, he recalls, though only mind to mind.

His head tilts to one side. ]

Yeah? Sam's a good man. [ And a good friend. ]

Any idea when they're dropping us again?

[It wouldn't hurt to know. Just in case. To see how long they had to prepare. Even if Steve doesn't know, it can't hurt to ask.]

[He's relieved, internally, when there's no hesitation. It's nice. No pause and no questions. Now is time for casual conversation, right?]

I've noticed. How long have you known him?

[ He shakes his head at the first question. Steve's got about as much as a clue as Shiro does right now. It's hard to even remember how long they had between the first mission and Concordia, time isn't easy to keep track of on the Station. ]

Only since Concordia - [ A small frown at that, his hand lifting to rub at the back of his neck. ] - but he knows me from back home. It's... complicated.

[That, he understands. Time is weird in space. Even weirder when you're around a people who have totally different timekeeping methods than you do.]

'Complicated' is as fine an answer as anything. I get it. [Well, not really, but. It means he won't press. Unless Steve offers.]

Want to talk about something else?

[ Has Sam mentioned how much he loves these two lately or how sorry he is that he was apparently unprepared for this risk he was taking, because it's a lot.

The first part of this is clearly intentional, if a little more desperate than the usual way Sam brushes against their minds to get their attention. There's a sense that Sam's fighting to hold something back, to contain it so it doesn't spill over to anyone else - but there's also the sense that he's fading.

Oh shit help is about all he manages to get across, wordless even though the intent is obvious - then the cold, empty hunger of the void in Zhukov's mind breaks through his walls, threatening to overcome everything and swallow all he is. And then - basically all of this. ]

[ Steve opens his mouth to answer when Sam's mind touches his, mouth closing and brow furrowing at Shiro. Speak of the devil -

The concern on his features tightens with pain all at once: rot, salt and a cold that threatens to burn, the painted walls of a sanitarium peel back and fester, his own steel walls shifting under the pressure -

His hand reaches to hold the side of his head, equilibrium disrupted. ]

Sam? [ Gasped instead where he might've tried to touch Sam's mind back. ]

[It hits him at the same time as it does Steve. It's all but nauseating. Disorienting. As much as the help sends a shock of fear down his spine, the rest of it is practically overwhelming. The only saving grace of it all is that it's nothing like his own darker memories -- so there isn't any feedback loop to deepen the hole.]

[One hand reaches out to try and steady the other man, though. Without him so much as thinking about it.]

... where is he? [It comes out strained. A little choked.]

[ The hand on his shoulder draws Steve back into the training hall, his disoriented gaze settling on Shiro. ]

Life support. [ Training. Which means - ] C'mon! [ He shakes his head as if to clear it as he starts to move, a quickened pace that becomes a sprint through the doorless entryway. ]

Right behind you!

[And he is. Following right on Steve's heels. He may be a space dorito, but he's always been quick.]

[God, if something happened -- if it's something they can't fix...]

[ run run run ]

[ Secluded sections tend to be Parker's jam. As far as she's concerned, the further she is from other people the better. At the same time, however, she likes to entertain herself by exhausting her physical limits. It makes it harder to think and easier to sleep, even if it's clear that rest is something she has been getting less and less.

Parker's busy practicing her "does she have a spine?" impression in her corner, minding her own business, when there's a shout. Usually, she would ignore it, but instinct makers her look from the floor to see the shield hurdled in her direction. She acts fast, pushing off the floor and leaping backwards, and it narrowly misses her.

She turns to Steve with a frown, very irritated. Why did she even give him that back. ]

Seriously?

[ Dude. Come on. ]

Sorry. [ He is sorry for almost clocking her, though there's a frustrated edge to his tone. With the shield in both hands he continues to frown, letting his metal skin shiver and fade back into his arms. This isn't working. ]

Can't seem to get the hang of it... [ The - his other self, that guy could throw the damn thing like it was some extension of himself. Perfect shot every time.

Of course, it's only been a day or so, but a small part of him demands that instinct should've taken over by now. That he should be learning more quickly.

Prove that he deserves to be the one holding it, while that other guy is stuck in a tomb. ]

[ There is a curl in her nose when he does his whole skin to metal and then back thing, but she doesn't say anything. She's not as terrible towards that kind of thing as she was when she was younger, but the kneejerk reaction to them is still there. So she says nothing, instead looking at the shield he picks up from the floor. ]

Were you expecting to become an expert at anything in this amount of time?

[ Which sounds a whole lot more aggressive than she means, but everything she says always does - as if trying to make him see how ridiculous that is, saying those things. ]

Are you trying to do things your way or someone else's?

[ She crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes slightly. The tone is slightly accusatory, even if she doesn't mean it. Again, talking isn't Parker's strong suit. ]

Edited 2017-01-29 11:18 (UTC)

[ A flat look, but then he shrugs. ]

Not like I've got someone else to ask. [ You know, considering the original owner isn't exactly up to talking. He could practice with Sam, or Buck when he wakes up, but neither of them have much practice with the shield either from what he knows.

A pause. ]

You still looking for an airlock? [ The one that doesn't exist here. ]

[ She shrugs back at him, tired little raise of her shoulders as she watches him with the shield. It doesn't completely look out of place on him, but Parker doesn't say anything.

Instead, her eyes slowly go up to Steve's face, a little crinkles on her forehead with her eyebrows frowning. ]

Is that supposed to be a joke?

[ His brow furrows. ]

Kinda, yeah. [ ... not a good one. Whatever annoyance he'd felt toward her in the belly of the Station has long faded, he's really not looking to start up again. His mouth forms a line. He flips the shield over in his hands, offering it to her. ]

Let's see how you do it. [ There's dummies set up around the room, the targets he'd been attempting to bounce the shield off of, rather than the equipment rack that became the target. ]

[ Not funny at all. She stares at him for a while longer while he frowny faces at her. Getting people annoyed at her is about as expected as oxygen when you breathe in, so she wouldn't be surprised if he still was. Most often, she just assumes people like her about as much as she generally like people, which is not much at all.

So when he offers the shield to her, she stares at it like she doesn't even recognize what kind of item it is, before slowly looking at him. ]

Why would I know how to throw a shield?

[ steve pls. ]

[ He raises both eyebrows, the shield still held up toward her. ]

Well, your throwing arm's not bad. Could say the same about your aim. [ You did peg that Zero Ball player in the back on the head on Concordia. A shrug, and he starts to lower it. ] But if you don't wanna try - [ A shrug. He can go back to practicing by himself. ]

[Murphy's first thought on seeing the pile is that they're weapons. Shitty weapons, but all the same. It's an impression that fades in a split second, replaced with recognition, old film footage, the same games over and over.]

There was a guy with a ball the first day we got back here.

[Bouncing it off the walls of the living quarters, irritating enough that Murphy hadn't thought about where it had come from. But he's thinking it now, faced with this pile of stuff.]

What are you doing with them?

[ A glance at the baseball in his gloved hand, his thumb running along the weathered thread. Both eyebrows lift again as he answers the question. ]

Taking stock. Thought I might get a game going. [ He inclines his head at Murphy, holding the ball in one hand but not tossing it over yet. ] You know how to play?

[ Genuinely curious. As he found with Lexa, not everyone knows much about baseball. ]

No. Never paid that much attention.

[And there hadn't been room anywhere on the Ark to try an actual game. There probably is here, though. He's given up trying to get an idea of how big the station is, or apply any kind of logic to what it contains.]

What are you thinking, it's gonna inspire some team spirit?

[There's an edge of derision there, though it might just be how his voice normally is. He knows enough of the Nest are capable of getting along not to say it'd be a total failure, but he's also witnessed enough fractures to doubt it would spread.]

[ Hard for Steve to personally imagine a world where baseball exists and yet you don't follow the game. ]

Wouldn't hurt. [ No derision in his tone, he speaks plainly. He's seen the Nest at it's most dysfunctional, been attacked and beaten by his own broodmate - but those aren't the thoughts he lingers on. ] Neither would some friendly competition.

[ Because that's part of the game too. With the baseball in hand, he gives it an underhand toss in Murphy's direction. ]

It may be time to see how we might come together. We've lost quite a few since I last checked. [She's lost quite a few, the ache of losing those connected to her is something she despises. More than that, she knows that she hasn't yet solved the problem of the disconnect between her and Hux. She still hasn't been inclined to change that yet, but will, when she can proceed in a manner according to business.

She hesitates.]

Though I don't know how willing they might be. Unity may not be our strong suit. [It's a layered question, and when she says unity, she clearly means teamwork, but not necessarily when it comes to throwing a ball in the air.]

[ Within the Nest it's not so paranoid to wonder if thinking of a person might've drawn them to you. He's quick to dismiss the possibility before it can grow any roots (doesn't have much room for more of those right now). Lexa gets a soft, distant half-smile, his expression clouding over a moment later, eyebrows knitting together as he frowns at the floor. ]

Hoping we'll have more time to work on that this time. Before we're shipped out again, I mean. [ He lifts his eyes again, lifting both eyebrows. ] You still wanna practice?

[ He very clearly means baseball. Concordia was rough on everyone, even the ones that were benched. He picks up a mitt from the pile and tosses it her way. He doesn't mind talking about the mission or what's to come, but he'd like to be doing something while they're at it. Keep moving. ]

Edited 2017-02-06 04:01 (UTC)

I might as well. [Lexa draws the mitt over her left hand. It's a little too large, in part because whoever owned the mitt before was likely larger than her, but it'll do for now. No matter how much she composes herself like a woman twice as tall, she has always been thinner, more frail than she'd care to admit.]

But there's nothing saying that we can't bring this with us. Depending on what we do there, of course. You made us pancakes. [And that had been a part of bringing himself along. To her, it's one and the same, and they could use recreation that doesn't involve pointless facsimiles of fights.]

[ A light huff, his head tilting to one side - conceding to her point. ]

Concordia wasn't too far off from Earth. [ Which made it easier to find similarities from home, recreate what was familiar the Earthling hosts. He starts to back up, holding a baseball in his mitt. Once he's put some meters between them he gives an easy overhand throw with the ball in her direction. ]

I asked Kellix if he wanted to come with us. [ Back to the Station. He hadn't been sure at the time if it had been possible, he's still not sure now that it would be. ]

What was the result of that? [Lexa wonders if Kellix might count as more of an object. After all, she had been able to find most of her wardrobe and claimed books when she finally woke up.]

[ -- the punching bag arcs, and the Darkling steps into place behind it - slowing it and leading it back to center. Like Steve, he's dressed for some manner of combat or physical activity. He leans his weight into the punching bag, eyes flicking from Steve's fists to Steve's face, his pulse as it hammers in his throat. ]

It is remarkably easy for someone to underestimate you, Steve Rogers.

[ That's his way of saying 'long time, no talk'. ]

Have you tried striking someone who will return the favor?

[ This guy is way too slick. He straightens his shoulders, forearm raising to rub at his nose as he eyes the Darkling warily. ]

Not since I've been back. [ Nodding at him with a frown, the impression of mistrust. ] You offering?

[ It was a hell of a thing fighting him and Ren mind to mind. He doesn't doubt the Darkling makes for a formidable opponent in the physical realm. ]

[ That's an unfair assessment, Steve. You've never much liked him, after all. ]

Of course I am.

[ He's dressed for it, and everything. An outfit that's the stripped-down version of his military dress. Forearms and feet bare. The Darkling steps away from the punching bag. ]

I could learn much from you.

[ Yeah, yeah.

That response gets a flicker of confusion that settles back into wary caution. A slight pause, an internal debate that's over and done with quickly enough. ]

You mind if I ask you a question first?

Certainly.

[ He cannot begin to fathom what Steve wants to ask him about - which makes this all the more interesting to him. ]

[ His mouth forms a line. ]

How did your mother die? [ Not going to beat around the bush. No platitudes, and only just enough respect for the topic if not the man itself to keep his question from turning into an accusation.

Still, it reads: who are you? ]

[ Surprisingly, the question - especially from Steve - takes him back for a moment.

His fingers flex, tightening into fists for a moment. And then he forces himself to relax, inch by inch: ]

She [ "fell" is wrong ] took her own life.

[ That'll make two of them taken aback. Another pause. ]

I'm sorry. [ But his mouth opens again. ] Why bring her here?

[ His eyes narrow - there's some manner of offense taken from that question. ]

She was my mother, Steve. Caring for her remains was my duty.

I meant - [ Now he suddenly stops, holds the Darkling's narrowed gaze for a second before looking away, fixing his own gaze on the floor. He hadn't meant anything. The answer hadn't been the one he'd been expecting and he'd opened his mouth without thinking.

And what had he really expected the answer to be - for the guy to say he had a hand in his own mother's death? He winces. ]

- I'm sorry you couldn't give her a burial at home.

[ Evenly: ] I know what you meant.

[ The two of them are not companions. They maintain a deft neutrality, and the reasons he reaches out to Steve at all are named "Ilde" and "Ren". Steve is on the boundaries of Castor, and with the two that the Darkling favors, he'll be there. Stubborn and brassy. ]

I was hard-pressed for a decision. Live, or die with my world. She was with me, at that moment - so, I brought her.

[ She'd seen him into and through the world, he could see her from it and beyond.

-- there's a fracture, in his voice. Either it is a lure for Steve to grasp, or something honest. ( It was not enough, Baghra said. ) ]

[ The far edge of Castor's boundaries. His distance from his brood's grown acute since the tail end of the mission. Ren he's barely spoken to and has barely any desire to beyond the unconscious pull that binds them, and Ilde - Steve sees what he wants to in Ilde, for better or worse. They meet where they can, but otherwise speak two different languages.

And then there's this guy. ]

- why did she do it?

To punish me, I suppose.

[ The response is thoughtless, something that he has clearly been considering for some time now. A conclusion he has reached, based on the volatile conversations the two of them had held since the parting of the Unsea - since he had broken reality over his knee, and she had begun to look at him with such disappointment.

Baghra had thrown herself to her death, to prevent him from stopping Them - Alina, her pathfinder, her too-clever fox, her ragged army. She had taught him not to be swayed by his heart, and then had used it against him. He burned now, with grief and resentment. A scar within him made fresh by her death, the last lingering trace of true sentiment. ]

She did things for me, when I was small. Monstrous things, Steve. To ensure I lived long enough to see my adult years - and when I took her lessons to heart in defense of my people... [ He fractures for a moment, throat bobbing as he swallowed. Hard, fighting back something that tasted like iron and fury. ]

She called me an abomination. And took herself from the world to punish me.

[ The training wing is innocuously strange. Aspects of it are just familiar to disarm Bellamy's skepticism, but it's not far enough divorced from the rest of the station to completely set him at ease. Even the simple truth that the whole of the Station reminds Bellamy of the Ark isn't enough to dispel his discomfort.

He's not looking for anyone in particular. He's met Bruce here more than once, and sometimes he's crossed paths with other people whose training styles are wildly different than his own. But he hasn't crossed Steve's path yet, though Bellamy barely has time to process Steve's presence before he's ducking to avoid being clocked in the face. ]

What—

[ It's half a question about Steve's arms (Bellamy had never seen Steve's power in action, but suspects it might be bad form to stare) and half a question about what Steve had been flinging his way. And for what purpose? ]

[ Are you ready for someone that has no idea what on earth this variant of sports ball is?

Because Zhukov seems quite suddenly there, in the corner, watching Steve. Though it is through the red lenses of his goggles, the stillness of his shoulders and the way that he seems to focuses on him exactly through feeling rather than direct intention.

He takes his time to speak, to respond, and evidence as to why when he does so, it is pained as much as it is low gravel of ice creaking. ] What manner of game is it?

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didn't I teach you right, didn't I

exercise; b

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mental link bleedover

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( c. )

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recreation;

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recreation

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exercise, b.

hi yes i'm here

welcome back friendo

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exercise c.

recreation