steve rogers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
decommission) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
station722017-01-25 09:47 pm
decommission) wrote in station722017-01-25 09:47 pm
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
RECREATION
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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[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.
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[ 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. ]
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[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?
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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.
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'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?
mental link bleedover
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. ]
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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. ]
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[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.]
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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. ]
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[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...]
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