station72 | stranger danger

Entry tags:

stranger danger

CHARACTERS: Steve and you
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: DAY :050-52
SUMMARY: Open downtime stuff
WARNINGS: None yet

DUMPSTER DIVING

[ An intrepid explorer moves around the rec wing on some days, moving from one grey room to another.

(a. ) One morning he can be found in the library, hunched over a book. It's got a beaten up covering of plastic and a illegible label torn from the bottom. The title reads Treasure Planet, the author L. R. Stevenson.

( b. ) At a table that grows out of the ground, he studies an odd board game.

( c. ) That same table will have cards spread across it another day. They're about the same size as a playing deck with slight variations - likely because they all appear to be from completely different decks, as though someone had stolen them for this collection. Every single one of the seventy cards depicts a different version of a tower. ]

MENTAL FINGER PAINTING

[ He sits cross-legged on his bed, back pressed against the wall. Deep breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. In and out. His eyes are closed, makes it easier.

While his body is silent, his mind is active, shields porous to let in a passerby without letting anything slip too far across the spidery links connecting them.

He paints a forest, tree by tree in dark greens and browns and the scent of pine. In the far distance the clack clack clack of rails invades the scenery, never far from the city.

He paints a park of flashing lights and amusement, ocean salt in the air mingling with fried foods. A young woman shrieks with laughter at her companion, a faceless child cries and tugs as his mother drags him along. Disconcertingly, the faces of the passing crowds are vague, unfinished impressions, their voices garbled together as background noise.

He paints a battlefield. Shoulder to shoulder, pressed against the crumbling brick - the image shudders and tears, leaving behind the unpleasant scent of unwashed bodies and blood. ]

(OOC NOTES: The second collection of prompts is open to anyone looking to practice mental powers. Feel free to come straight in and distort/add to the scenes. )

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[Nyx's form of focus isn't quite so... involved. Deep breath. Recenter. Find the target, and have it. He'd never been quite one to so deeply meditate like some of his comrades. Then again, he had a talent for keeping collected.

Now the urgency is different. Now it's to make sure people don't sit in while you remember the horrors of war, or accidentally let slip something that shouldn't have been said.

There are images, ones he can recognize in some manner, but then again, not quite. Familiar enough to get the details but not the whole picture. The forests of pine somehow seem to mix and morph into the forests of Galahd that he's reminded of, covered in willow trees and clear rivers cutting through the landscape.

Odd images for him, considering his present state of being is knee-deep in images of the past that aren't even entirely his own.]

[ !

A quiet jolt when the scenery begin to shift, the addition surprises him. Not unwelcome, though. Kind of hard to practice stretches his brain muscles when he's only working by himself, this work demands a partner now that he's committed to working on a bit more than keeping up his shields. He lets the forest slip from his control to Nyx's, watching the greenery shift from creation to recreation. The noise from the tracks fades into the distance, the silence in its wake waiting to be filled with the sound of rustling leaves and bird calls. ]

( Your home? ) [ With the metaphorical reins handed over, he doesn't inhabit the space, looking on at it like he's staring at a painting in a museum. Waits for Nyx to add more details. ]

Edited 2017-06-25 07:43 (UTC)

( Last I remember it. )

[It's been a long time since he's been home. It's half gone by now, more than likely. The images are ones Nyx can't quite bear to think about, but the hazes of brown and black, soot and smoke shooting into the air seep into the scenery. Flecks of glowing red are interspersed between trees, as if eyes were watching him.]

( Probably looks more like that now, if I had to guess. )

[ Heat presses against his face, smoke scratching at the back of his throat. ]

( I'm sorry. ) [ It had looked beautiful. A pause, and he pinches the connection, closing it a bit - the burning landscape begins to fade from his vision. His own shields are strong enough by now to keep out anything that might slip through by accident, the kind of emotions brought on by imagining your homeland being destroyed. Were Nyx to brush against his mind now it would feel walled off, the rough touch of brick. ]

( You weren't there? ) [ When the forest burned. ]

[Nyx doesn't push, not too far at least. It's more of a slight surprise to have the connection suddenly walled off like that.

He doesn't know if that's something he'd really want to do himself. It makes him... almost more uneasy than having the connection constantly open. He has to control what he projects, that much he knows, though.]

( The last day I was in Galahd the Nifs came in and destroyed everything. We kind of had no choice but to leave. )

[Nyx forces the scenery to shift. There's a world of hurt there that he keeps around as fuel, but not enough to let it drag him down. There's only forward and tomorrow.

There's only the Citadel, the training grounds, a vast expanse of ruins and broken arches, tall columns covered in scaffolding and the ground a layer of fine dirt and rough sand. The buildings all have a grayish tint. In the distance there's cars whizzing by, the shouts of Glaives forming up for training.]

( How did you do that? The... wall thing? )

( Where did you go? ) [ With Nyx choosing to hold the connection, Steve allows his side to widen again, taking in the shift of scenery that brings him to a strange city - the answer to his question. His mind hums in neutral tones, his demeanor somber at the thought of more war across the universes. ]

( This? ) [ The bricks of his wall disassembled while they spoke more - he builds them back up again, and just as quickly pulls them back down. ] ( Well - ) [ He stops, gathering his explanation. ] ( Part of it is just that, I think about a wall that separates me from the rest of the Nest. )

( That easy, huh? )

[Like anything, Nyx imagines it's really not all that easy. Some trick, some technique, something to make it more solid to keep them out.

That's the thing, though. He's been using himself, his own emotions, to steady and anchor people. When something's off, he puts himself squarely in place, unmovable.

Putting up walls is going to be different.]

( We're all so connected here and all people want to do is cut each other off.
I have no idea if I'll be able to do it. )

[ The sense of wry humor at that comment hums along the link. Not easy, no. ]

( The way I see it - it's not about cutting people off. It's about holding on to what makes me me. ) [ Finding a balance between learning to use their new powers and protecting his own mind from influence - and more permanent change. The Prince managed it, so the path isn't an impossible one. ]

( Anyway, I can try to show you some of the stuff I've learned. If you're interested. ) [ This is the time to train, in between missions. ] ( Might have to keep it short today, though. )

( I'll take anything at this point. )

[And it's true. He's got a lot to learn around here, and enough on his hands to try and get to at least figure out how to work with the people he hasn't pissed off yet.]

[ Silent agreement. ]

( Well, I guess to start - can you see the Nest? ) [ The visualization is slightly different to everyone. To Steve it's like a bunch of webs attached to larger webs. There's a word for it in nature, the way patterns form bigger patterns, but the name of it escapes him. ] ( The threads that are closest to you are your broodmates - they're always gonna be the hardest to shut out, and the ones that'll influence you the most. ) [ Whether they mean to or not is the unspoken sentiment. ]

( Those threads are always humming with noise. When I wanna start to shut them out, I imagine... pulling away from them. Closing any openings between us, making sure I'm not brushing up against anyone. It's harder if you've been keeping yourself open for a while. )

Edited 2017-06-30 21:00 (UTC)

[What he sees isn't quite a spider web. What he sees is a network, his own brood clustered tightly in the center, as one, with others spindling away and apart. All the connections cross each other multiple times, but it's his brood that seem to shine brighter than the rest.]

( Can you block them out completely? )

[Not that he really wants to do that, but it's better to know in case something happens, as a safeguard more than anything else.]

[ His thoughts darken with the question, giving the impression it's something he's attempted. ]

( Temporarily. Depends on them too. ) [ If they're trying to force their way in. ] ( Also the longer you're working together like this, the harder it gets. ) [ The danger in using this power. ]

( No wonder half the people here don't want anything to do with teamwork. )

[But maybe it's his lack of concern for himself that makes him slightly unique in this regard: he doesn't care to get lost if it's what it takes to get everyone out alive.]

( We made that bad of an impression, huh? ) [ There's faint humor in his tone, though the topic is somber. They've lost people on missions before. ]

( It hasn't been a good impression. No one likes to hear anything besides themselves for the most part. )

[Helen finds him in the rec wing with a deck of seemingly mismatched cards. The quiet has been wearing on her. She's never been good at sitting still. It makes her feel useless.

Her approach is quiet, her mind calm and her step light, and when she speaks her voice is equally gentle.]

Would you mind some company?

[ His lifts his gaze from the cards, furrowed brow smoothing out as he recognizes the newcomer. ]

Sure - maybe you can help me figure out what these are. [ An amiable half smile, and he nods at the spread on the table. Some are printed in colors, while others are black and white. The crease at his brow returns. ]

You'll find a lot of stuff like this around here. [ Things left behind by someone who once lived on the Station. Things that are almost exact replicas of items from home, and just as many items that are close in all but one alien way. The cards are like that. He thinks they might be from a fortune teller's deck, but some of the ones with words on them aren't in any recognizable language. ]

What's left behind. [ She can't help thinking that one day the remnants of their own lives here will be all that's left for the next group of individuals pulled onto the station. At the same time, she wonders about the fate of those who came before them.

Sliding out a chair, she sits across from him, reaching for a nearby card to get a closer look. ] May I?

These look like tarot cards. [ She frowned slightly, shaking her head. ] But not a proper deck.

[ Admittedly, though, she's never practiced the art herself and her knowledge is limited. ]

[ A silent nod as she reaches for the cards, arms crossing over his chest. ]

Every drawing means something, right? [ The images stand for something. More than half of these towers are burning. He's not sure what might compel someone to gather up so many of the same one though - his frown deepens. ] Must've taken them a while to get this many of them.

[ Could they each have been from a different world? ]

[ She hums her assent. ] But these look like variations of the same card.

Maybe they believed it meant something. A warning, perhaps?

[ But a warning of things yet to come or for some event that's already passed? ]

Maybe they hoped to find something different.

[ If the cards did indeed warn of something, perhaps whoever had gone to the trouble of collecting them had hoped to change it. The images do seem rather violent. ]

Maybe - [ The word trails off and he shakes his head. The longer he looks at them, the spookier they get. ]

You believe in this kinda stuff? [ Omens, fortune tellers. He wouldn't consider himself superstitious. It already felt like there were too many forces out of his control, he didn't have time to give weight to any more. ]

[ It's been a while since Clint's sought out Steve. It's still a bit awkward sometimes, not knowing where you stand with someone whose future you once and still trusted wholeheartedly. But -- Clint can't help it, he likes Steve. So when he spots him hanging around the rec, it's not hard to sidle over.

Which mostly means he catches Steve's attention with a low whistle, something faintly impressed, even as Clint plucks a card from the deck spread across the table. The edges are worn, well used, but the colors still bright. Tarot wasn't something he'd see out here, but this place always proves him wrong.

Still, it's a bit unnerving to see so many repeating cards. ]

A warning if I've ever seen one.

[ The whistle gets Steve lifting his gaze to Clint's, head cocked to one side. ]

Seen these before? [ Nodding at the cards.

It strikes him again how little he knows about Clint. Steve's gotten to know Sam - first through the shared desire to help Bucky through his issues, then on his own, and Steve's had to get to know a new version of Bucky. With Clint he's stayed on the periphery. They worked well on the mission together, and Steve would say he trusts the guy just because Sam does, but he hasn't gone out of his way to seek Clint even for training. He can't say it's a conscious choice, but it doesn't change the fact that they haven't spent much time together. ]

Tarot cards, yeah.

[ Clint puts down the card he was holding, poking through the others idly. Yup, all images of the Tower, interesting. ]

You just found 'em?

[ Very casual, but that's what Clint does best. Right now he's blithely ignoring the fact that the last time they talked it was after fighting their way out on that rescue attempt. Surprisingly easy to do if you're used to the spyssassin life. So, he looks over, curious and purposefully relaxed, letting Steve control the flow of the conversation. ]

What's the building for? [ The repeating imagery.

His gaze follows Clint's hand as he sifts through the laid out cards. ] They were in a book - [ He scans the table, momentarily forgetting where he placed it. He circles around to the other side of the table, finding it sitting on a stool that looks as though, and probably did, grow straight out of the floor, the same material as the walls around them.

It's a thick tome, a dictionary for some language he's never heard of before. He opens it, holding it out to reveal the center was cut out to hold the cards. ]

[ Steve stands, voice trailing off, and Clint follows after him, loosely holding another card. His brows raise at the careful hiding place, and though the words are some form of what he assumes is Cyrillic lettering, a single glance isn't enough to tell him what language it is. More interesting is that the owner of these cards thought they needed a hiding place. ]

It's the Tower. [ His tone is somewhat distracted, brow furrowing, before looking back at Steve. Thoughtful, and some flicker of memory ebbs at his shields. A dimly lit room, long fingered hands flipping through cards, a Cheshire cat smile. ] Been, uh, a while since I've dealt with Tarot. But this card isn't hard to forget.

[ He holds it up again, thumb stroking over the small shape of a person falling. ]

Destruction, turmoil, even war if you're a pretty alarmist reader. [ He shrugs a shoulder, mouth curling ruefully. ] I tend to think that's too literal, though.

[ Most everything in this part of the Station seems like it belonged to someone else once, now left behind or forgotten. He should probably feel guilty for messing around with someone else's stuff, but they did leave it out in a public area instead of their room.

They might've meant to, and just never came back. The dark towers give some credence to that morbid thought. ] Not too literal around here.

[ Given the circumstances.

Clint's memory licks at the edge of the connection. A faint quirk of his mouth. ]

So you're a spy, assassin - and a fortune teller?

[ Remnants of Broods long gone, and they're left to reinhabit the space. Should be unnerving -- and it is, don't get him wrong -- but it also reminds Clint of some of the SHIELD safehouses he'd once used. Shitty, out-of-the-way places made slightly better by personal touches. A deck of cards, clean clothes, the weird vaguely patchouli scented soap Nat liked to squirrel away. Sure, living in a place that was clearly inhabited once before is eerie. But it's also familiar in a way.

Except, Steve's not wrong, and from the rueful look on Clint's face he's well aware of it. Destruction? More than likely given the way things go around here. And the other meanings -- revelations, change, the up-ending of one's understanding. That seems par the course here too.

So instead, Clint chuckles, grinning easier at Steve. ]

Not really, but i did grow up in a circus.

[ Because his backstory is ridiculous, of course. ]

[ For the more observant, the fact Parker is an actual bookworm shouldn't come as a surprise. She can be usually seen writing or reading, and during those times, she has the tendency to not to be the ball of unjustified and unwarranted anger she usually is. It could be a clue.

So when she comes across Steve and he's hunched over one of her favourite classics (of course she likes the classics), she stops, doubles back, and tilts her head to take a better look at that sweet vintage edition. ]

Where did you find that?

[ Books kept him company when he was younger. All kinds - mystery, science fiction, history and biographies. The library in the Station might be small, but it's one of the places he feels most comfortable. Might be the familiar smell of pages.

He glances up at Parker, eyebrows raised. Gives a nod toward one of the bottom shelves. ]

Been working my way down. We have this one back home but it's... kinda different.
[ The title and author are what caught his attention. The cover isn't any he's seen before for this story. At a closer glance the embossed compass on the cover is actually a globe - the ships that surround it have both sails and engine attachments.

A beat, and he offers it to her. ]

[ She looks behind herself as he points over the bookshelf, one hand on her hip. He can't see it, but there is a flicker of something akin to peacefulness on her face when she looks over the many books. She hasn't been keeping up with her reading, on the account of being in a comma. ]

Yeah, I think we've established we're both from Earth. [ She says distractedly, looking over the books that are there on that lower shelf. She's still going through the lone copy of Allegory of the Cave, probably out of irony's sake.

When she turns around, she has him holding the book out to her. She makes a sound that could be a thank you, but isn't, and looks over the slightly different cover. ]

Uh. Look at that. [ She hands it back, before taking the seat across from him. There's a beat. ] Where's your shield?

[ Not the same Earth. There's a flicker of disappointment when she hands the book back without much interest. He sets it back down in front of himself. ]

In my room. [ His thumb traces around the circle of the compass on the book's cover. ] Still working on getting the hang of it.

[ Holding the shield's no problem, it's the throwing that he struggles with. Whenever he's got it in his hands he can't help thinking that it's balanced for a guy nearly a foot taller than him, with a hell of a lot more power in his arms. He knows he's got to do better. ]

[ Well, she doesn't want to take the book from him when he's still reading it. It's rude and it might be the only polite etiquette Parker will ever show following.

She watches him silently, leaning forward slightly on her arms. The wave of pangs and metallic pain is deeply contained in her, but there's still-- a brush from it, like the sensation of a bug crawling on your skin but when you look at it, it's not there anymore. She pushes it further down every time she feels it coming back up, like keeping sickness at bay on a fast moving train. ]

Are you practising? [ There's a pause. ] Do you want to? [ She says, with a shrug. It might not be direct, but it never is with Parker, having to be read between the lines. And it says she is offering herself up as a practice point. ]

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stranger danger

put that art on the fridge

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Option C

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c, if you don't mind!

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feel free to make up whatever details

u got it

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( a for aaaaaaaaaaahhh )

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