OPEN

[cruelyethuman]

CHARACTERS: The Darkling and you
LOCATION: around the station
DATE: all through december (personal toplevels can be added if you want)
CONTENT: Darkling being the Darkling in the dark
WARNINGS: none yet

Return to the station infirmary

[The return never stops being jarring, the subtle bump as the crew lands on the deck. The eyes of those who've done this several times are dark, as the injured are carried off to the infirmary for help and the Darkling slips away in the confusion.

After picking a rather lovely bouquet of blue flowers, he heads to the infirmary himself, still ignoring the blood slipping slowly down the side of his face from the dream-rock trying to crack his skull open in Kilnan, as he places them on the table next to Alina's bed.

The words that he wants to say, dries up in the face of her injury. Of her stupid, selfless sacrifice, and he leaves her bedside cloaked in shadows. They drop as he nears the doors, wiping his arm across his forehead to clear the blood.

The day after returning Infirmary (for Alina Starkov)

[Newly showered and dressed in loose clothes from the pile of things in the back room, the Darkling walks towards the bed. His hands clasped behind his back as he watches Alina on the pale, crisp sheets. Looking smaller than ever, with her hair fanning out around her face.

The consequences of her actions, the offer so easily made to the inhuman orb and how ineffectively he had been able to shield her from it.]

Alina?

December The Simulation Room [Butter Churning!]

[The cottage in the woods, is lit with only the light of a blazing fire and the Darkling sits on a stool in the only room in it. Bundles of herbs drying from strings hanging from the rafters, and there's a pot of what might be tea brewing on the table by his elbow.

The wooden barrel in front of him rattles as he works the plunger up and down in a pattern only he knows. Staring off in to the flickering flames in this simulation of his old home, lost in thoughts.

About the missions. About the station. The too-raw emotions that every new mission brings him, and the time it takes to lock them all away, elongating and the fear that realization brings.

December The Kitchen

[With nothing else to occupy his days, the Darkling takes to the kitchen and starts trying to prepare traditional Ravkan winter foods.

He can be found making pickled herring, in a variety of flavours, and he will make rice pudding, served with butter and cinnamon sugar. He would welcome any help, as electric stoves are confusing and infuriating.]

December Training Room / sunlight room

[Most mornings, the Darkling will be in the training room, working out or practising hand to hand combat.

Dressed down to a simple shirt, dark pants and his ever-present leather gloves, he will welcome any and all who might want to spar or practice the noble art of sword fighting.

Late afternoons, will have him running laps in the Sunlight room or simply sitting under a tree, relishing the warmth on his face and the tranquillity that can only be found in the sun. Even if it is a fake one, and Jim has already warned him about the additive properties of spending too much time relying on this sun.]

Comments

[peasant]

[ when she stirs from her sedated sleep again, it's to a tauntingly familiar shade of blue. it should be comforting, alina thinks — evidence that her act had fooled him, if only slightly, planting a seed that's begun to promisingly sprout. but they still loom as omens do, warning her of the conversation she had promised him. they still mock her with memories, a symbol of her naivety — when she had let herself foolish fawn over him and the fantasy he had sold her, all while plotting to weaponize her.

blue irises. her favorite. yet another part of her life he's left a dark stain on. still, she finds the energy to request a small vase to encase them, decorating her bedside with a pop of color. he'll enjoy believing his gift has been received generously, she tells herself, and she can't afford to rouse his suspicion.

when he comes the next day, more personal touches have been added: an assorted stack of books on her table, a barely-eaten sandwich she hadn't found the stomach to finish, a pile of blankets atop her sleeping silhouette that have done so little to keep her warm. as though she's a sickly child again, unable to keep her skinny limbs warm, every bite of food tasting like ash on her tongue.

her eyebrows crease when he speaks, burrowing further into the fluffy middle of her pillow. she's never much had the luxury of sleeping in — not in the first army, not even in the little palace — but their stay aboard the station, combined with the fatigue in her bones, has made her more reluctant to part with it. ]

No. [ it's a grouchy half-awake mumble as she tugs the blankets tighter, features pinching. ] Not yet. Five more minutes.

[ a small pause follows as some awareness stirs in her groggy, hazy head. her eyelids flutter, though they make no move to crack open. ]

Aleksander?

[cruelyethuman]

[It shouldn't shock him like it does, his name on her lips and the shiver of emotion is brings, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. But it does.

Having watched her sleeping face, he thought that he might have had more time to bring his thoughts back in to order. That after last night, he would have settled enough of his disconnected feelings to talk without his weakness threatening to spill out at the first word.

The Darkling clears his throat, and inclines his head.]

Yes.

[She's smaller here, not the Sun Summoner but a weary woman. The pile of blankets speaks of care, of someone taking the time to settle her in to the bed and the too-white room. Something ugly twists in his stomach.

With the distance, the mission and everything had happened since their... discussion on the network, the Darkling had time to think.]

You had questions.

[peasant]

[ and you have answers, i assume. he always seems to have them whenever she has cornered him with the truth, always so carefully prepared — speeches preserved in his pockets to pull out, justifications he seems to have drafted with the same care he's invested in his schemes, crumbs of half-truths to keep her hooked on a string.

they've left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, but alina presses it down alongside the sour burn of her snark, her throat working around a bone-dry swallow. with one deep, dragging breath, she readies herself for what's to come — under the guise of readying herself to sit up, weak and woozy as she wobbles into position. her surroundings go topsy-turvy for a handful of seconds, a blur of spinning white, before she blinks the dizziness out of her eyes.

it's a weakness, to be so small and frail in his presence — but it's an advantage, too, isn't it? humiliating as it is to have him looming at her sickly bedside, no one ever overestimates a feeble, ailing woman. and so she doesn't hide her flinch at the ache that throbs through her head, fingers tangling into the blankets to hike them back up to her waist. ]

You're the one who wanted to meet. Shouldn't you go first? [ a quiet reminder, as well as a way to foist the responsibility for initiating the conversation back onto him, to avoid the pressure of grasping at the right words to say. it's easier to let him lead, let him hint at what he wants. she clears her throat, trying to work the hoarse rasp out of it. ] Could you —

[ her finger points to the corner where a water cooler rests, silently finishing her request. ]

[cruelyethuman]

Ah- but of course.

[With quick efficiency, he fills a glass with water and never taking his eyes off of her, he holds it out. It's close enough that Alina doesn't need to take it, she can settle for tilting her head and he will hold it to her lips. He doesn't know the damage she inflected on herself with her offer and the Darkling... feels. Emotions that isn't tied to her place on the pedestal or on the row of saints, a worry for one of his people, suffering.

But the infirmary has more people laying in beds than after the other missions. More people like them, the ones who were willing to give their lives to get the orb. That Alina had pressed on with her own plans, are- a disappointment.

Her promise meant nothing, her wager a lie she told him without even flinching.]

Guilt. You asked me about guilt, and you think that I have none of it.

[For the Fold, for the atrocities he had visited upon Ravka in his quest to build a safer place for Grisha. That he had looked on the dead and felt nothing.]

And what you deserve.

roomie privilege wild card!!

[kovach]

[ kovacs has been quieter since his return, as if a man who typically avoids conversation unless necessary or unless confronted can somehow be any quieter. but while the return from the mission proved successfully, another orb retrieved, it's hard to forget the weight of the dreams they all experienced in that castle, some his own and some belonging to others.

he knows there's part of him now left exposed, portions of his past — of the envoys, of stronghold, of quell — that he'd kept tucked away, now open wounds left to be seen. during the dreams, he'd been caught up enough in the fantasy of it, the illusion he'd wanted to escape to, that his mouth had been a little more willing to voice what was seen.

now? he's avoided any mention of it, like it never happened.

with the recent return, he doesn't actually spend as much time in his room, staying over with clara more frequently since she's explained how little it's ever really occupied by her own roommates (plus, with her broken arm, he's going to be around more to make sure that thing heals right before she throws herself in something else reckless on accident). the one downside is that he's avoided bringing his cigarettes around, making sure not to stink up her place, which means occasionally sneaking back over to his room for his smokes.

this afternoon, he slips inside, instantly making his way to his side of the room to grab the carton at his bedside when he notices it isn't actually empty this time around. ]

Hey. [ he gives an easy, vague nod to kirigan, gesturing to his own side of the room with a point of his thumb. ] Just picking up some things. I'll be out quick.

Always!

[cruelyethuman]

[Returning to the station had been- yet another thing to happen when he was in the middle of something else. The conversation with Alina, the worry about the same. The dreams that had been ripped from him by the curse or the orb, the sickness that had infected too many.

Again.

The very first mission all over again, and once again, being Grisha had been no defense against this alien illness.

In the quiet hours, the Darkling spends his time reading. Leaned back on his bed, legs crossed at the ankles and a book open in his lap, he arches an eyebrow at Kovacs once he enters the room.]

It's fine.

[Sitting up a little straighter, he drags his gaze over Kovacs in a slow and deliberate move.]

You look- different. Again.

[kovach]

[ he doesn't intend to stick around and typically there's no need for them to engage if they're both preoccupied with other things. it's what makes this rooming situation work; they can mind their respective businesses without getting entangled in each other's, something that's too easily bound to happen with a lot of the other nosier orbers on the station.

which is why he's actually surprised by the arising comment. it's not a question, not anything innately inquisitive but there's enough suggestion in it for kovacs to turn his head towards the other man in the room. ]

Same as I did before. This body hasn't changed.

[ technically he's been in the same sleeve the whole time, even if the dream they'd fallen into had suggested otherwise. kovacs sighs, knowing the hidden question in that.

opening the carton in his hands, he puts one into his mouth. ] That was my birth sleeve. The body I was born with.

infirmary

[naloxone]

[ the doors open, but whether they're in response to the darling's leaving, or marta's coming, it's tough to say. not having noticed his egression thanks to his shadows, marta had been content to keep her head down and her focus on the book she'd been cradling in her arm and so does not notice when her path is suddenly obstructed.

at least not until she's run right into him, the book toppling to her feet and her nose just a little red from the collision. ]

—Shit!

[ it's not a loud sound, because marta still has enough of her wits about her to know there are many people resting here, but her her hand flies up regardless, slaps across her mouth, and she stumbles back a few steps to reassert some distance between them. there is a brief look on her face that's almost accusatory, but it gets smothered almost instantly by reflex. as is the apology quick on her tongue, ]

Sorry.

[ she pauses, her eyes zeroing in on the blood still lingering on his brow. ]

Are you alright?

[cruelyethuman]

[Sneaking away unseen should not be that big of a problem for a man like him, someone with the shadows leaping at his every command. Loyal and obedient like dogs at his fingertips, yet-

He hisses in surprise, the darkness slipping away as he watches the woman bounce off his chest and the loud clatter of her book as it slides away on the floor.]

Pardon me.

[Mind already spinning away, making plans for Alina. For what he wants to say, and how to say it. The right combination of words that will keep her defenses down and her smile on her face.]

What? Yes, thank you, I'm fine.

[As he wipes his hand over his face again, fingers coming away wet.]

[naloxone]

[ he recovers faster than she does, and she envies him for it. even seconds after his i'm fine marta is still working on gathering her bearings, stooping briefly to pick up her book lest someone walk over it and she causes more of a commotion.

there is clear doubt on her face at his answer, though her gaze shifts past him momentarily to note the space beyond... surmising that if he hadn't been in there for his own wounds, he surely must have been there over someone else's.

she looks back at the blood on his head. ]

An head injury like that... You may have a concussion, or go into shock if you continue to let it bleed out.

kitchen

[bossily]

[Clara initially had just popped into the kitchen to grab a snack and be on her way. But when she spots his familiar face working at making something, she's too curious to just go. So she watches for a moment before approaching. She may have a broken arm but still knows her way around the kitchen.]

The pudding will ruin if you leave it on much longer.

[She gently points out, sliding over to turn down the heat and remove the pan from the burner. She gives it a little shake to wobble and mix the pudding, trying to judge if it's thickened enough to pour into a bowl and pop into the fridge. Hopefully he doesn't mind someone short and bossy swooping in to help him.]

[cruelyethuman]

Saints!

[With his back turned, it seemed like the pot of rice pudding that sensed the opportunity to rise to boil and the Darkling turns, both hands hopelessly caught in a cloth as he watches Clara and his- experiment.]

Thank you. If you could just- stir it. And keep stirring, I will be right with you.

[As he gets his hands freed, still slightly sticking from the last pot of pudding that he tried, and failed, to make. The burnt scent of it still lingers in the air as the black pot sits in the sink, soaking and overflowing with bubbles.]

[bossily]

[He needs her to stir, so she just gives a quick nod of her head and takes to stirring. ]

If I had known you were into all this, I would've roped you into helping me with my souffles a long time ago.

[But he's just full of surprises, isn't he.

As she stirs, she sniffs at the air. Her eyes slowly drift over to look at the sink. Yep, there's a pan there that probably holds a failed creaton.]

What is it you're trying to make, exactly.

Return to the station;

[flickerandfade]

[ Unfortunately Aleksander, Megatron is also in the infirmary. His primary concern had been Drift and his knowledge of human medicine is still limited, but he's still imposing the duty of nurse and general patient minder on himself to help ease some of McCoy's workload.

When he spots the Darkling trying to leave, blood still on his face ,Megatron moves with surprising speed for a mechanical creature nine feet tall. As gently as he can, h interposes himself between Aleksander and the doorway. ]

You're not leaving until you get that looked at.

[ Truthfully, he's not sure he cares if the Darkling leaves without getting a bandage, but he knows McCoy would be annoyed if it were to happen. Therefore Megatron is also annoyed. ]

[cruelyethuman]

I'm not?

[Still distracted by Alina, by the small lump of her hidden away in the depths of her sheets and the pale wrist he saw poking out from under it. By the strange conversation on the mission and by the conclusion of their combined quest, the words and who could stop me are on the tip of his tongue before his eyes flick over all of Megatron.

Well.]

And if I tell you that I'm fine, then can I leave? Or am I a hostage.

[flickerandfade]

No. You're clearly injured.

[ He leans downwards, one massive hand nudging against the other's shoulder with surprisingly gentle insistence. ]

If you were fine you wouldn't be bleeding.

can't believe it's... butter??

[callada]

[The simulation room is a favorite escape when it's not in use, but when it is, Rosinante is always curious about what he'll find on the other side of the door. People here lead such unusual lives, and like him, they have a tendency to recall those lives at home when in this room. Why not take the opportunity to learn?

He isn't exactly expecting anything in particular, but a cabin interior wasn't what he would have guessed if he'd been trying to place a bet. He hovers in the doorway for a moment before deciding to proceed by walking over and sitting by the fire.]

You smoke?

[He asks as he finds his lighter with one hand, and his cigarettes with the other.]

Oh what a slippery slope we might be on

[cruelyethuman]

[With his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the Darkling keeps working the plunger at a rhythmic pace, the muscles in his forearms standing out in the golden glow of the fire.]

No. Thank you.

[His eyes never leave the flames, even when Rosinante takes a seat on the simulated threadbare couch just behind him. He never loses sight of the fact that he's still very much lost in space. His home long since turned to dust, rotting planks disappearing back in to the forest floor back home.]

Not a vice I've ever found myself drawn to. But- go ahead.

[callada]

[Works for him. He fails the first attempt with the lighter and scorches his thumb instead, and shakes his hand in the air with a hiss through his teeth.]

Cozy in here. This yours from home?

[Second try works out better than the first, and he exhales the smoke slowly as he takes the scene in. Yeah, it's different, but it's kind of nice. A little closer to the sort of thing he'd see in his own world in some of the smaller villages. Quite the contrast from the rest of the station.]

The Simulation Room | Hell yes~

[spacedisaster]

[ Peter knocks on the door of the cottage to make himself known, even if he's probably allowed to walk in directly (they agreed to meet here, after all). It feels only polite. A few seconds after the knock, he peers inside and smiles at the view of the Darkling already working on an activity that, at first, Peter only thought about as a joke. But Kirigan...Aleksander, he has learned recently, promised him to teach him how to churn butter, and who is Peter to refuse? ]

Ey, there. Busy at work already, I see. Now that's some quality wrist game, my friend. Might I come in?

Butter bros, here we come

[cruelyethuman]

[Barely looking up from where he's staring at the fire, the Darkling nods.]

Of course. [His voice warmer in this false cabin of his lost life, a little closer to the one Peter might have heard in the dream world, and less like the clipped tones the Darkling usually uses on the station.]

I've had a lot of practice. [Sitting back, he stretches, rotating his wrists before looking over his shoulder at Peter.] Would you like to try?

They were meant to be

[spacedisaster]

[ Peter beams back at him. The friendly and relaxed tone doesn't go unnoticed, and he is glad that the technology at the station allowed this. Not just them meeting, but the simulations giving Aleksander a taste of home, from when things were better and the ugliness of the world had yet to catch up with him.. ]

It shows in your wrist game.[ He is a very mature 38 years old and said that with a straight face, with no seconds meanings, no sir. ]

And yes, sure, let me just get this off. [ The jacket, he means, easily shrugging it off and then looking for something inside the inner pockets. ] I brought my Zune and a portable speaker, would you like to hear some music while we work? I wanted to show you some songs for a while now.

Kitchen

[laviny]

[Yelena enters the kitchen looking for a bite to eat and maybe a drink when she is greeted with a familiar smell. She sniffs and spots the Darkling working with some fish and moves to approach him.]

Is that pickled herring?

[cruelyethuman]

They will be.

[He's too preoccupied in getting the herring sides just right - the right thickness and without too many cuts in to the meatier parts of them, to pay much attention to Yelena. Or who he is talking to at all, boning knife in hand, and the Darkling flattens another fish on the cutting board.]

Ah- you. Do you know pickled herrings?

[laviny]

Yes, I am familiar with it.

[She's gonna check out the rice pudding, too. Time to be super nosy.]

This smells nice. I didn’t expect you to be a cook.