station72 | 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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ -- 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.

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

exercise, b.

hi yes i'm here

welcome back friendo

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