( 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

[frakkincylons]

Hm. Maybe. [ sam frowns down at steve's legs, not sure what else to try, so waiting seems just as well.

wandering over to one of the weight machine benches, he settles himself down, blinking up at Steve a moment later, as he poses the question about what he was up to the other day.

uh. how to explain this. ]

I was, um. Trying to get some answers. [ trying to see if he could spit out anymore robot prophecies?? something like that. ] I do this insight thing sometimes. It's tied in with the symbiote now.

[decommission]

[ Insight?

He remains standing, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. ]

You find what you were looking for?

[frakkincylons]

Sort of, sort of not.

[ sam's mind wanders a bit, back to when he'd been listening to the recording Ilde had made of him, closing his eyes and trying to let his mind take him back to where it was when he'd spoken the words originally, albeit not terribly successfully.

but he'd been thankfully lucid enough at some points for clarity. ]

Enough that I think I know what I'm doing now.