( open ) downtime catch-all

[decommission]

CHARACTERS: Steve Rogers + anyone
WHERE: Station 72
WHEN: Day 168 and forward, I'm flexible with days!
SUMMARY: Training montage and general roaming.
WARNINGS: Will update if needed.

i. TRAINING WING (GENERAL LESSONS AND EXERCISE)

[ It's not the boxing gym. Wrong lighting, too sterile. The inexplicable moment when he craves a cigarette is when he really notices how there's not a room that he's found in the Station so far with even the faded scent of them.

He's here at least once a day. Running, using the lifting machines, sometimes swimming by the end - or floating. His presence is loudest when he's mid-movement, a pulsing spectrum of rushing blood and exhilaration, winding down to a pleasant humming by the time he's finishing up. He doesn't mind a partner, he's glad for it, usually. Anyone willing to teach is even better. ]

ii. TRAINING WING (CLOSED TO SAM)

Take this. [ They're in a far corner of the wing, standing on the mats. What he offers Sam is an aluminum bat and another brief explanation to go along with his slightly longer one involving convincing lines like I don't know my symbiotic ability yet and well, it worked once before. ]

I'm not gonna move. Aim for my shins. [ In his memory there's water, rain dripping down his hood and jacket. A man (a lizard) aims some kind of weapon at his knees. He focuses on that echoing sense of fear, the understanding that there's no way he'll be able to get out of the way in time to save his bones from being shattered.

His body is stronger, but that's not going to be enough on these missions. This is the safest way of figuring this out.

Option #2 was going to involve finding something tall to jump from. ]

iii. REC WING (THERE'S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL)

[ All the equipment he finds is well worn already. On the one hand, he can't complain about a mitt that's already been partially broken in. On the other hand - there's still that nagging question of what happened to all the people that this stuff used to belong to.

He finds a space in the wing that's relatively clear of miscellaneous junk and faces the closest wall. The mitt's on the ground, he's playing hitter. Tosses the ball up into the air and gives a almost lazy swing. The impact barely rings against his hands, the ball sailing in an arc to smack against the wall. It bounces back, rolling past him.

There's a small pile of baseballs next to his feet, all in various states of wear and tear. Rather than chase after the first one, he picks up another. Rinse and repeat. ]

Comments

iii (with her being aware of i)

[adamance]

[Just as she is without her own ability to relent about anything, she has observed that it is the same in others. Lexa recalls Ilde's near defense of Steve when she had dismissed him as an option to retrieve them if they ran into trouble. She still stands by that, but she also takes note that he is not a man who quickly gives up. Though she doesn't join him today in training, taking to working alone because she has to better articulate the plans she has in mind, she does think to find him later.

When she does, it's in the Rec Wing and almost by chance. Though the looming feel of the Nest tells her that someone is there as she approaches to return a book and pick up another, Lexa finds herself pleasantly surprised at who it is—though uncertain about what he hopes to accomplish.

Just as she had ignored him in the training wing, she appears to set out to do the same here, setting her book back and retrieving three more. But on her way back, she does hesitate, stopping to observe.]

Is that some type of projectile weapon? [she asks. Baseball bats and balls don't really make it through nuclear apocalypses. They just don't.]

[decommission]

[ For how empty the Station is, it's never quiet. Learning to politely tune out sparks of presence as they travel through each hall and wing to do their own business is a basic necessity to living in a place like this. He's getting better at it, inch by inch. Helps when he's so completely focused on a task that everything around him dims just a bit.

He responds to her voice more easily, rising with a baseball in his hand and the bat resting over his shoulder. ]

These? [ Both eyebrows raised, he glances at the pile of baseballs with a flicker of confusion across his expression. Shakes his head, eyeing her. ] Usually you aim not to hit people with them. [ A beat, and he moves his hand like he means to toss the ball to her once before actually letting it fly in a soft arc toward her. ] It's a game.

[ Worlds without baseball. It's the little things that make the Station more alien sometimes. ]

[adamance]

[It may be even sadder to consider that near her home, Nationals Park and Camden Yards lie buried and destroyed, like relics of a world lost. So many places like that were decimated by the nuclear destruction set off a hundred years prior, and now they lay barren without anyone knowing what their original purpose happened to be.

The possibility of knowing about baseball exists for her people, but they have more important things to consider. Like survival.

But she's not clumsy in the least. When the ball comes toward her, she catches it. Her fingers move over the stitching on the ball, considering it. She decides that it's there to help someone grip better (and she's not wrong).]

I believe everything has its context. Taken out of it, you hold something that could be a weapon. [It's not an argument, just the truth.]

Will you tell me more about it? [The game itself. She passes the ball from one hand to the other. If he's so caught up in it, she might have something to learn about it.]

[decommission]

[ That's a telling viewpoint. But he can't deny their alternate use either, chased enough times down the block by kids guarding their stretch of territory, or positioned with menacing purpose behind a counter of certain small shops.

He stares at the ball in her hand, canting his head. ]

I could, but some of it's easier to show. [ The bat resting on his shoulder lowers, and he holds out his free hand for her to toss the ball back. Memory sharing isn't what he means. ] You wanna try it out?

[ She'd probably be a quick study - and, selfishly, he wouldn't mind some people to play with sometime. ]

[adamance]

[As someone who infinitely prefers doing to listening, she's immediately willing to accept this idea. Hardly the most emotive of individuals, a smile still appears on her lips, twitching them upward ... briefly. Always briefly. Lexa doesn't smile for prolonged periods of time without good reason.]

Show me, then.

[She moves to hand the ball back to him, wrongly assuming that hitting it is meant to be handled by one person.]

[decommission]

[ Her confusion isn't picked up, he's planning on trading equipment anyway. ]

You can bat and I'll pitch. [ He returns her quick smile, stepping forward to trade her the bat for the ball, handing the former to her grip first. ]

You saw how I was holding it? [ His batter's stance. If she takes the bat, he'll take a step back and mime what he was doing before again. Feet wide, one shoulder back. He faces her. ] Other way if you're left-handed. The game is played with two teams and however many people you can get to fill each position.

[adamance]

[When she takes the stick from him, she's surprised by its weight. It's heavier than it looked, but no heavier than any of her weapons. She carefully shifts her grip along it, getting a feel for it, and then she moves into the position suggested. If nothing else, she looks awkward.

But she does have good hand and eye coordination. That should ... probably help. Probably.]

And what do the positions do?

ii

[frakkincylons]

[ he'd offered to help Steve with training, and they'd done that, run laps, done push ups, exercise, all that good nonsense Sam knows so much about from being a Pyramid player, before he'd realized he could bench press the goal just by nature of what he is.

and then there's this. steve handing him a metal bat and telling him to hit him with it. ]

You're kidding, right? [ his shins. his skin, human, brittle looking bird leg shins. and he wants the Cylon to hit them with a metal freaking bat. ]

I'm not gonna break your legs, Steve.

[decommission]

Right - I know. That's the point. [ That Sam won't break them.

Theoretically.

One side of his mouth twists downward and he gives a shake of his head. Keeps on holding the bat (will keep it up until Sam takes it). ] Look, I don't know how else to make this work, but I've gotta figure it out eventually.

[ Before the next mission, so that he can make better use out of whatever this is. Learn the limits, just like he's been doing with all his other training. ]

[frakkincylons]

You're sure about this? Absolutely?

[ because Sam's not looking forward to this not working out and ending up with (more) gross guilt for breaking someone's leg (again).

But once Steve's giving Sam the okay, welp, he's asking for it, so okay, here we go. ] Alright. Better hope this works, man.

[ and Sam swings for his shins. Not as hard as he could, but not being too gentle about it either. Please work, please work, please work. ]

[decommission]

[ Another nod. He can truthfully say he's 99.9999999999999999999999999% sure, right up to the moment that the bat swings at his shins and he uses all of his willpower not to hop out of the way. Everything moves slowly in that split second, like right before you fall off a bicycle. A violent shiver begins to ripple across his skin, toes to knees, and a wave of nausea overtakes him. He focuses past it -

CLANK

His eyes had instinctively squeezed shut just before impact, holding his breath. He opens them one at a time, frowning at his legs (covered by his training outfit, he's almost afraid to look at what's changed underneath), then at Sam. ]

Do it again.

[frakkincylons]

[ Clank. Clank is good, right? For a moment, Sam looks terrified, because gods, was that bone snapping or was that power activating?

Well, Steve's still standing, and he's not screaming. So that's good news. And they he tells him to do it again. ]

Really? You just gonna have be keep doing this 'til it stops working? Gods.

[ Okay, welp, he said he would help. Here he goes. This time he tries for a bit harder, something that would hurt like hell, probably fracture something. ]

[decommission]

[ He shoots Sam a wry look, not without some humor. ] You ever hear the one about the pot and the kettle?

[ Weren't you doing something really similar the other day? Something that warranted warning all of them to hunker down?

He goes tense at as Sam winds up swing number two. There's no nauseating shudder across his limbs this time, but there's that same dull strike of impact. Aluminum hitting... something. He can't help wincing at the force of the blow, even if he can't quite feel it. That should be a bit worrying, maybe. This time, he doesn't ask Sam to immediately swing again. Instead he pulls up his pant leg, just a tiny bit.

Where there should be skin stretched over his ankle, there's now a flash of shiny chrome. He sucks in a breath. ]

Jesus.

DAY 171 - CASTOR TRAIN

[erbier]

[ He hadn't answered her, and that is worrying. Even more worrying is how suddenly he quiet he falls some time after. It reminds her entirely too much of how very loud and then painfully silent Sam's thoughts had been when she had overseen his prophecies. Steven had not become nearly so overwhelming in his journey, but... He is also less experienced, less noise to make, more damage to sustain in trying... But what was he trying to do? The anxiety gets the better of her quickly and she goes to look for him. ]

[decommission]

[ She'll find him in his room is Life Support, sitting up on his bed, back pressed against the wall and knees drawn up. Sam had come and gone to check on him first.

The walls that usually surround his mind are brittle and porous, letting things in and out. The core of him stands solid around a fluctuating haze of other, bits and pieces of memory and sensations he accidentally pulled with him as he went traveling through the branches of the brood, she can recognize the faint taste of each of them. Closer to the Nest was where he'd been headed when he abruptly stopped.

He's got a mean headache for his effort. ]

[erbier]

[ She hesitates at the door, not certain if her presence will do any good at all. He is already in flux, already wearing the rest of the brood like wrapping of spider web. The only excuse she has is selfishness as she peeks her head inside. ]

Where did you go?

[ Slipped right past her and she wasn't able to catch hold, disconcerting to her sense of brood. ]

[decommission]

[ Her voice causes a pulse of recognition from him, a completely innocuous sort of reaction that only might seem strange because he never leaves his connections so casually open. He lifts his head to her voice, expression drawn with tension. ]

I wanted to see what's past us. [ Us - the Brood, the Nest. Lines like roots stretch in front of his eyes and he shakes his head. ]

[erbier]

[ She understands the concept of what he is suggesting and she hesitates... She generally finds pleasure in encouraging him, but in this instance... ]

You aren't ready.

[ Well, that part was obvious from the results, but she would have said so before hand. Such things were... beyond them all, as they were now. ]

[decommission]

[ His mouth twists with a stubborn edge and a spike of misdirected agitation. ]

I know. But I had to try. [ To see it for himself. There's only so far he can extend his trust in Cathaway and the Prince when there are so many unknowns about this place.

He won't be trying again any time soon. She's right, he's not ready. He needs to learn how to protect himself better. ]

i

[inflori]

[ He gets the rush of blood. He gets excitement, instinct, the want to do more and release excess energy, so maybe that's what draws him to this place when he senses one presence or another where he would otherwise not bother.

Unfortunately he comes with nothing to teach. He's shit with technique but good at brutality, and that will not do them much good when the time comes for a mission that requires strategy. Unless they're going for a boy-shaped bulldozer? Something to think about it.

Anyhow. He walks on in and watches Steve for a while, arms crossed, pinching his brows together. ]

You're skinnier than I am.

[decommission]

[ Concentrated on his task, he barely notices the presence of a newcomer watching him. A voice alone might've not been enough to break through either, it's the comment itself that gets a quick, defensive flare. He finishes another push-up - and continues on, sweat on his brow and his cheeks flushed from the effort of his exercise. ]

I bet you're right. [ Tone distracted, he's not even bothering to glance over.

What of it? ]

[inflori]

So you're trying to build up muscle. Is that it?

[ yes Petre, your obvious questions are so amazing, have your own clapping entourage. Except everybody hates you. ]

Are you afraid to die?

[decommission]

[ That first question is a given. The second gets him to stop in the middle of another push up for a second, but again - he continues on. ]

Nope. But I'd rather not, if I can manage that.

[ It's almost a joke, a dry hint of humor in his tone. Petre wouldn't be the first person to wonder this about him, though most folks tend to keep the question itself to themselves. ]

[inflori]

[ Of course Petre doesn't believe it. Who isn't afraid of dying? ]

That must be why they brought you here. So you could work for them. The longer you survive, the more you can do, right?

[decommission]

[ In truth, Petre's not entirely wrong. It's only that fear of death is secondary to everything else for Steve. ]

You know, I think they would've picked anyone else if they had a real choice. [ It's a distracted, self-deprecating kind of joke. He doesn't actually believe less of himself, he's just very aware that everyone else does. ]