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ximilialog2022-01-08 12:12 pm
- ! event log,
- ! open,
- altered carbon: takeshi kovacs,
- doctor who: clara oswald,
- doctor who: the doctor (11),
- fear street: ziggy berman,
- grishaverse: alina starkov,
- grishaverse: the darkling,
- gundam seed/destiny: yzak jule,
- knives out: marta cabrera,
- marvel comics: gwen stacy,
- mass effect: kaidan alenko,
- mcu: daisy johnson,
- mcu: shang-chi,
- pacific rim: hermann gottlieb,
- pacific rim: newton geiszler,
- pacific rim: raleigh becket,
- star trek aos: james t. kirk,
- star trek aos: leonard mccoy,
- star wars: finn,
- star wars: l3-37,
- the old guard: andromache,
- the untamed: jiang yanli,
- towards the terra: soldier blue,
- transformers: drift,
- transformers: megatron,
- yakuza: zhao tianyou
MISSION: BAD COMPANY, PART 1
● ● ● M I S S I O N 4 . 1
This time it’s barely past noon when the familiar ping of a message alerts you that a new mission file is finally available: it’ll read Scorpion’s Bend, and the file’s arrival is immediately accompanied by Viveca’s voice.
To help you blend in, I’ve prepared bundles of clothes for each of you, rations for those with special diets, and enough of the local currency to buy you a few nights in town. After that, you’ll have to provide for yourselves. I’ve also divided you into groups, and each group will arrive at the town at a different time… so those in the first group, prepare to live in the town for a month or so, while waiting for the rest of the team to arrive. Make up a good story, and don’t blow your cover.
The instructions are clear: after you’ve familiarised yourself with the file and its contents, you find that, indeed, there are neatly laid bundles marked with a name in the common room providing appropriate clothing to help you blend in better… and is somehow tailored to fit you perfectly.
Unlike previous missions, there will be plenty of time to talk to those in the same group as you, to come up with plans and stories that’ll explain your arrival in town. And as the two days pass, you all gather to the center of the station again, some for the fourth time, some for the first — it is not only Viveca, in her robot body, who is there to see you off, but Degar as well. He tips an invisible hat in your direction.
Having probably seen far too many bad spaghetti Westerns, Degar sends fingerguns in the team’s general direction before blowing a breath off the tops of his fingers and re-holstering said fingerguns into equally invisible holsters at his sides. It’s really all extremely cheesy, and he knows it – made obvious from the slight grin on his face.
The platform hums to life as Viveca, too, smiles at the gathered team — even if there’s some tightness to it.
The increasing noise of the teleportation machine nearly drowns out her words as the light around you grows brighter, brighter —
Until it’s all you can see, and the familiar tug drags you away into nothingness. There, the echoing voices speak to you once more, laying out the goal you have to complete… and then, without a chance to respond, you are wrenched away through time and space.
As soon as the light dissipates and the voices die away, you are left floundering in the darkness — seconds, at most, as each of you is sent to a set time on the planet. But how you arrive will depend entirely on when you arrive.
1.0A: GROUP 1 Awareness returns to you as you find yourself on your feet, suddenly standing in the Mayor’s office with a half circle of twenty other Orbers just as mildly disoriented as you are. Madam Reilly is positioned in the centre, her fierce eyes shining with approval as she looks up to meet your eyes.
She rounds her desk, studying every new arrival with care.
She sounds sincere enough, but the glint in her eye betrays her, telling you that she’ll likely expect that the hospitality be repaid through hard work and the wealth it will bring the town.
So take the voucher, thank the Mayor for her audience with you, and leave to do a little exploration; and as you do, many of the locals will wave at you, though some might eye you with suspicion. As Madam Reilly said — it’s been a while since any previous wagons made it to town. New arrivals are … well. They’re something of a novelty.
1.0B: GROUP 2 The first thing you register when you regain your wits about you is that the wagon you’re sitting inside of suddenly stops, making you jolt. Above you, the steady sound of rain hitting the wagon’s fabric cover with increasing intensity fills your ears.
Without preamble, a youthful voice from outside shouts:
With nothing to do but brave the rain and leave the confines of the wagons, you follow your fellow Orbers out on shaky legs. Once outside, blinking away the rain in your eyes, you see riderless horses pulling the wagons, parts of their heads replaced with metal.
It won’t take long before you realize you are in the middle of the town road, and in front of the wagons stand two people: a large man with an eye-patch, and a smaller, young alien with sparkling eyes.
Deputy Duke speaks with a bright grin — one that the Sheriff doesn’t share.
His one eye scans over the Orbers who are slowly getting soaked in the downpour, and snorts.
Somehow, his cheerful disposition makes the threat not really sound like much of a one.
Still, they both watch you carefully as you walk past them. Where you go next within the town depends entirely on you, but the signs pointing to the Saloon and Inn are clearly visible, and you’ll likely want to get out of the rain. And who knows, there might even be a few familiar faces already here to greet you.
1.0C: GROUP 3 You wake up with your face buried in something rough and dirty, paired with the sensation of someone shaking at your shoulders. As you blink your eyes open, someone’s face is too close to yours, a face you’ve never seen before in your life, and they’re dressed in rough-hewn work clothing. They take a step back, crouched on their haunches, but the relief in their eyes is palpable. With a sigh, they shake their head and then yell:
As you get up, you’ll see others dressed similarly, all miners, rousing familiar teammates around you. Scattered in your immediate surroundings are the remains of several wagons, a piece of a roof cover flapping uselessly against a large rock. When all of you have woken — some hale and hearty, some with scabs and bruises, some with bleeding cuts — one of the older miners approaches you, his gaze taking in all your faces.
One of Rex’s miners shouts and the others laugh, hastily helping the rest of you up on your feet to escort you along the road that leads into town.
Perhaps you’ll let yourself be helped, or you’ll rush to help those who have been wounded in an attack you can’t remember … or perhaps you’ve already left the others behind to go into town, to see what it has to offer and to meet those who have come here before you.
With all the introductions said and done, it’s time to take to the small town of Scorpion’s Bend and scope out opportunities for the remainder of your stay. For those of you from more temperate, wetter climates, you might find that desert life takes a little bit of getting used to. Two suns beaming bright white rise high over the cloudless horizon, soaking the land with hot light throughout the daytime. With the dust and debris and very little lush vegetation, it’ll be easy to find yourself quickly heating up, where the only form of shade in this town is found within the establishments themselves and under awnings. The evenings do bring beautiful sunsets, however, with a spectacular sight of the five small moons of Badrock glowing like dim spheres of varying sizes across the dark, night sky. There are very few stars out and the temperatures drop dramatically when the suns are down.
2.0 A Bed Too Large: In front of Crow’s Tooth Saloon and the nearby Thornbush Inn, you’ll find seating as though these buildings can read your mind and understand the need for quick refuge from the scorching temperatures. This is where you’ll be able to find yourselves beds to sleep on tonight.
Crow’s Tooth Saloon is an especially lively hub throughout the day. Mornings will see a cluster of miners grabbing breakfast before their trek out to Guncross Mountain — small breakfasts of eggs and sausage and the blackest coffee; noon will find the desk-job men and stablehands congregating for lunch and a drink — sandwiches, biscuits and meat pies with alcohol; and by mid-afternoon leading into the late night hours, fathers and sons and daughters and miners will have returned for dinner and a chance to let loose before the day’s events repeat again the next day. The occasional lone rider might be found at a table some nights before heading to the next town over. A couple of miners, both younger and old, keep to themselves, sitting alone with their whiskey at the bar. The pianist, Tommy Jellison, makes his wages by playing the evening into the wee hours of the night for tips, spinning jubilant tunes on the keys with his five hands, and belting out the odd vocal accompaniment. Sometimes there will be games of cards and coins, and opiates and stimulants aren’t uncommon: both to obtain and to use. The owner, Emzi Hanegan, turns a blind eye to most of the latter.
But Thornbush Inn won’t be void of life either. A three-story rectangular building with painted black and white exterior wood walls, Thornbush Inn can easily be found not far from behind the Saloon. This is where travelers, not all that frequent lately, will come to stay during their time in Scorpion’s Bend. The Innkeeper, Terrance Trawley, has been doing this for a very, very long time, and boy the stories he could share, once coaxed, would paint a colourful picture of the town’s history. Rumour has it he’s been known to embellish a few details every now and then, though. "Adds flavour," he says. You’ll be welcome to keep a room while you’re here, but he'll encourage you to keep a roommate if you do — space is limited and so are the coins in your purse, but would you be needing the turndown service at all?
3.0 For a Fistful of Dollars: Turns out the money you’ve received to spend in this town goes out sooner than you’d like. This means making quick work of integrating yourself into the workforce by offering your services and using those airtight backstories to find a position best suited for you and your fellow townsfolk. For those of you who are good with people, you may want to speak with the owner, Priory Halhast, of Scorpion’s Bend General Store; she’s always looking for bright, gorgeous faces to greet customers daily, take their orders (simple and practical items such as hygiene products, toiletries, cleaning products, basic cooking ingredients and the like), engage in a little small-talk, and to offer the occasional home delivery service. If you’d rather keep to yourself, ask her about working as a stockist or helping to keep some of the books in the back in order.
Similar positions can be found at the Trading Post, where all it takes is a quick chat with Lawturn, the gruff, bearded stocky owner in the poncho and black stetson. Dealing with imports and exports between other towns, they’ll be expecting strong hands and quick minds to handle some of the sales and incoming stock for the town. Sometimes this includes spare wagon parts and food and supplies for the animals.
And speaking of animals, for those of you who have a sixth sense with them, or simply want to avoid the chatty townsfolk all together, the Stablemaster, known simply as ‘Horseshoe’ could always use an extra set of hands to help with the grooming, feeding, cleaning, and maintenance of the horses and other animals, as well as the travel wagons. The Stables can be found near the Trading Post; it’s just a quick-ish jog (if you can stand the heat) to the large wooden barn in faded red wood where you’ll be greeted by the sounds of dogs, cows, chickens, sheep, owl-shrews, varkdogs, and flower mantisaurs.
4.0 The Good, the Religious and the Spicy: Over the month, some of you might find that even in a place as small as Scorpion’s Bend, there is disparity between the cleaner, ‘nicer’ parts of town versus the more dilapidated and seedier areas. The town’s segregation isn’t quite as clear-cut with the main street and its numerous businesses acting as a central hub for all of the townspeople. However, the schoolhouse and the church, Celestial Mercy, stands proud on one end, while Sindown, the town’s infamous pleasure house marks its place on the opposite side and are often referred to as the ‘Light’ and the ‘Dark’ sides of town respectively, and not always with a smile.
The schoolhouse is directly connected to the church, and the children in Scorpion’s Bend spend most of their days at their desks learning to read, basic arithmetic, history, science, and the planets. While not exactly off-limits to the Orbers, in order to keep disruptions of the childrens’ education to a minimum, the headmistress, Joella Friegrass would prefer scheduling appointments to speak with her or any of the other staff in school.
Some of these students will go on to become teachers at the school, indoctrinated into the Sect of the Eight Divines, or otherwise find positions throughout the town. While not closed to other practices of worship, Father Alois of the Celestial Mercy mainly preaches the gospel of the Eight Divines and would happily spend time explaining this religion with you. The church itself is a brown wood building with a peaked roof and long, arched windows lining the sides. Above the doors is a small bell tower, used to mark celebrations, funerals, the beginning and end of a sermon, and other special occasions.
If you decide to make a thorough exploration of the length of the town, you’ll inevitably wander over to Sindown, the Bend’s pleasure house. Sindown is owned by Madame Rella, whose brief appearances at her own establishment only ever seem to happen during the latest hours of the night, and only for long enough to check in on her clients and workers, and to ensure the peace. She isn’t a woman to be reckoned with and anyone who winds up on her bad side will find themselves regretting it for the rest of their days. Find someone you might want to have a night of pleasure (or pain) with, book a room within the house (with all of the comforts provided), and be sure to pay upfront. Or simply stick around for the drinking, the drugs, and the nightly card games shared among the townsfolk and vagabonds with higher stakes than those you might find at the Saloon.
5.0 After Hours: When the novelty of the stetsons and ponchos have worn off like the shine of the spurs on your boots, the more observant Orbers might find that the whole town feels just a little off. The incoming stock coming into Scorpion’s Bend never seems to change, and so the food at the Saloon arrives at breakfast, noon, and dinner without a hitch, always exactly the same, and all of it tasting just a little less flavourful the more you start to analyze it. Eggs and sausage and bread, for example, all start to taste like the same thing.
Everyone’s got their routine, including you, and you might start paying attention to those schedules as you continue to work at your job, explore the establishments, and speak with the townspeople — both the regular folks of the day-to-day, and the ones with a little more power and sway in the town. Every now and then, someone’s temper might flare up resulting in a dramatic bar fight amongst the drunk and those who happen to arrive at the wrong place and time; or you might watch as a couple of the Saloon’s patrons challenge each other to a noontime duel. Try not to make an obvious target of yourself as you explore the town, of course, or you might wind up in a bar fight or a duel of your own. Don’t have a gun? It might be time to find one.
6.0 Out of Town: Any hooligans and lawbreakers will find themselves facing Sheriff One-Eyed Wilson and his Deputy before you even have the wherewithal to utter: ‘yee-haw’. The Sheriff might only be working with one usable, clear eye, but he’s always been the fastest shot on this side of Badrock and he protects this town with everything he’s got. Petty crimes and rowdy behaviour will be punished in levels of severity ranging from warnings to fines to nights spent in the town jail.
One night you might wake up to the sound of shouts and gunfire. If you aren’t already awake, or if you never went to bed in the first place, you might be able to make out a group of figures on horseback, hollering and hooting with pandemonious glee as they ride through town, their faces covered by scarves and wide-brimmed hats. These bandits dash for the stores with the intention to loot the town for everything they’ve got before making their way out with their spoils. Remembering that this could be the last of the incoming stock for weeks, you might want to join your fellow Orbers and residents alike to defend the town from the pillaging or face weeks of struggling recovery.
A substantial population of Scorpion’s Bend is made up of miners who have snatched up the opportunity for work and a promise of prosperity while in town. Early in the morning, every morning, those who have jobs at the mines wake up before the sun rises, have their breakfast, and head in split directions: some to Guncross mountain, and others, including you, to the mines located right at the edge of the town, for another hard day’s work. Wagons full of workers make the trek every day, digging for the wealth that lies underground: ore and metal and precious stone used in the formation of construction materials, jewelry, and other treasured items. It’s a lucrative enterprise but to maintain some semblance of order, all workers must first be approved by the Miners Guild, not always an easy feat for newcomers. You’ll learn that to be a full member of the Guild and have access to the mines on Guncross, you’ll need at least half a year’s work within the town, but prove yourself and you may have opportunities to gain some experience at least.
7.0 The Ecstasy of Ore: The wagon leaves just as the moons fade for the night and the barest hint of the suns begins to warm up the sky with light. You’ll be packed in with other townsfolk just like you: eager to get to the mines, or maybe still drowsy with sleep, or maybe a combination of both. During the trek there, one of the older miners might be inclined to share a bit of advice with you, give you the basic 101 in mining. “Keep a lookout for the shiny stuff,” he’ll joke. He looks to be in strangely good spirits for someone up so early.
You’re dropped off by the front with your gear and your fellow miners as the sun continues to rise. Soon it’ll be scorching hot but until then, you feel comfortable, maybe even a little chilly. You’ll be working alongside people who look human, and an alien race called tunnel hounds who have a particular talent for this sort of work. If you want to learn quickly, you might want to speak with one of them.
The tunnel is carved deep and bright lanterns lighting the way inside, hung on a long line of rope every six to ten feet (1.8 to 3 meters). As you work your way deeper, these lights become more and more sporadic, however, so it may be a good time to turn on your torchlight and continue with the group. The reflection of your light will inevitably catch on a shiny surface lodged into the tunnel around you and in crevices further in. It’s this metallic ore that you’re meant to be harvesting; this is the 'shiny stuff'. As you get to work, sweat forming along your brow, the rhythmic sound of your pick-axe pinging against stone, you may or may not hear a silent hissing sound in between. One of the tunnel hounds will suddenly reach out to stop you with sharp claws, and then make a silencing motion before gesturing to the flame-coloured serpent coiled near your foot, too close for comfort. This is an embera, a reptile that can infect their victims with a fire-hot venom that burns the blood in your veins until the heat of it kills you if the pain doesn’t first.
Avoid getting bitten by these creatures that seem to make the tunnels their home; and if you do, there’s still a chance you can seek help if you do it quickly. The effects of the venom are slow (but still painful) and will be at its peak in a few hours.
8.0 The Countdown: Anyone that decides to explore the Scorpion’s Bend past the mines and tries to head to the desert or towards Guncross mountain may find that their long walk forward only leads them back into the other end of the town, strangely like they’ve somehow walked an entire loop. No matter the trek, this trajectory never seems to change. You might try leaving from the east, for example, only to wind up entering directly into the west side of the town.
Of course, you could try and ask around for an explanation to this bizarre occurrence, but even the most sensible of townsfolk will look at you with reactions spanning anywhere from sympathy and pity to amusement and disgust. Most will laugh and think that perhaps you should lay off the whiskey, maybe grab another black coffee. Others will simply think you’ve been out in the sun for too long or you've been chewing gravel. Either way, it might make you think; after all, that lone rider from the other night had left by the next day, hadn’t he? And what about those bandits chased out of town?
F Y I
• If you have questions about any of the prompts or the mission in general, please direct them HERE.
• To submit a search request speaking to any NPCs mentioned in the log, trying to overhear conversations, or exploring any specific place during any of the prompts, please do so HERE.
• And finally, have a soundtrack for this log! ♪ ♪ ♪
open - bandits
And that's the story of how Clara winds up in a shouting and tugging match with one of the bandits, barefoot and wearing only her nightgown. She may be playing the part of a lady, but she's definitely not acting like one as she stubbornly refuses to let go of a burlap sack. She doesn't even know what's inside. She just knows she isn't letting this particular bandit get away with it.
It's about when he starts dragging her along to get on his horse that she realizes she just may be in over her head here.]
You wouldn't dare!
no subject
Following what could have just as well been the sounds of two alley cats fighting, Drift comes across Clara first. He spotted her from where he stood between the two buildings giving one of the bandits the tug o' war match they were evidently unprepared for.
One moment the bandit is twisting the burlap sack, trying to reel Clara in towards his horse. The next, something had smacked against the horse's flank, spooking it. The bandit only had enough time to process his horse bolting, and the rock on the ground where his mount had just been before it all went black. Drift wasn't one to draw out a fight if he didn't have to—much less to give an enemy time to fight back.
Death, especially in the heat of a fight, was often underwhelming. There was no dying gasp or last-ditch effort. The bandit was standing there until Drift drove a knife through the side of his head with all the abruptness of a sentence encountering a period. The hollow thud of dead weight dropping onto the sand was the only sound during the whole ordeal.
Blood spray flecked across his face, Drift stepped forward, picked up the sack, and said: ]
I preferred dancing with you.
no subject
I'd much rather have run into you again dancing.
[She admitted, frowning as she finally regarded his face. He had blood all over him. Without thinking much on it, she stepped in to try and use the end of the sleeve of her nightgown to wipe at and clean his face.]
Are you alright?
[It was obvious it wasn't his blood. She was more or less concerned about the mental state it must take to slip into the mode he was in to kill someone the way he just had.]
no subject
Killing organic life always made his internals churn unpleasantly. They never went down cleanly and suffered the unfortunate side-effect of rot.
Snapping out of it, Drift registered Clara's silken sleeve against his cheek and stiffened. Relaxing when he realized what she was doing. ]
Fine. Why was he trying to take you?
no subject
[Her nose wrinkles up as she keeps trying to clean his face. She gives up with a sigh, turning to glance back at the body on the ground.]
Oh, I wouldn't let go of what he was trying to steal.
[she's too stubborn for her own good, and won't back down even from bandits while she's barefoot and in her nightgown. It's a real problem.]
I think he was only trying to take me because I was small enough to lift.
[trying for a laugh, she shrugs her shoulders. she appreciates that he's just come to help her, but feels awkward because she doesn't want him thinking she's some kind of weak liability. she feels like that too often with other people on the team, and hates it each and every time.]
no subject
Well, he was right about your size I'll give him that.
no subject
I'm sorry.
[It's all she can say at first.]
I wasn't thinking, and -
[Apologizing for her mistakes is hard, particularly with the commotion still going on around them. Here she is, out in bare feet and her nightgown, causing people to have to save her. It's pathetic, honestly. She sighs and glances down to the ground, nudging the dirt with her toe.]
I should've tried fighting him off on my own.
no subject
His shoulders sag, and he shakes his head. ]
Adrenaline. Crazier things have happened because of it.
[ With the thought of clothing now at the forefront of his mind, he regards Clara in her nightgown and remembers two things. One, the desert was cold at night. Two, humans and extreme temperatures were historically terrible bedfellows.
The worst of the commotion had moved further into town, where the others were handling things. With the matter at hand to deal with, Drift looked around and noticed the bandit's horse was still nearby. Strange — the animal was oblivious to everything, even its rider dead in the streets. Scarcely acknowledged Drift's presence as he removed the blanket wrapped around the saddle's bedroll.
Heavy wool fabric snaps as Drift unfurled it into the cool night air before draping it gingerly around Clara's exposed shoulders. ]
Next time just try to dress for the occasion.
no subject
Clara sniffs at the blanket before looking over to the horse, only a little unnerved as it just stands there. Like it's completely unaware it even exists. It's too weird. Her eyes look back to Drift, and she gives a nod. Yeah, she'll dress the part next time around. She promises. ]
I'll be sure to ask any bandits to come through when I'm completely dressed.
no subject
Its mission may be to comply with the cover story. To pretend that it is human. A cousin of its handler. But while there are fights going on in the streets, it knows that there's a secondary mission to enact. That the safety of its handlers cannot be ignored.
It will protect. And it will remain unseen while doing so.
It's that familiar voice that gets its attention though. That has it slipping through the shadows to get a closer look. Oswald is facing off with an attacker, yet she's allowing him to remain standing. Is allowing him to continue to fight for possession of whatever it is that's in that sack. But the only explanation it can find comes in the form of the various people still fighting around them. They're all working under covers. And it knows what it means to fail a primary mission.
So it unsheathes a knife. It takes aim, and it lets the blade fly. Even with the man moving around, with him still fighting Oswald's hold, the knife hits its target cleanly. A single strike to the temple, and it's more than enough to have him drop where he stands.
At least Oswald will get the sack back again without needing to break her cover.]
no subject
When she spots him off in the distance she smiles and lets out a sigh of relief. The bag she had just been fighting over is momentarily forgotten as she pulls her feet out from under the dead body to step around it carefully. And she hurries over toward him, looking very much like she might try to leap and tackle him at any second.
But then she notices something is off. Something isn't right with the look on his face. She skids to a stop before him, heart beginning to race as she wonders if this is part of who he's taken on as a persona here. Or if this is what he's warned her about not long ago.]
Bucky?
[Uncertainty and worry is thick in her tone, as she tiptoes in a little closer. There's his warning in the back of her mind the entire time, but she doesn't feel the need to run.]
Were you guarding me?
no subject
That isn't the name it was told to use. Not when Belova laid out the rules. It has a cover story. One it's meant to stick to, no matter what. So having a sudden change like this catches it off-guard. Objectives may change, mid-mission. But nothing about this deployment has made any sense to it so far. Not when it knows it's a weapon. That its sole purpose is to destroy whatever target Hydra lays out in front of it.
Undercover missions, false names- It isn't designed for this. Doesn't know how to act human when it has no experience doing so.
The question is met with a nod, regardless. Its secondary mission will always be to protect its handlers. So with Oswald needing to maintain her cover while fighting off her attacker, it'd had no choice but to intervene. To kill. The one task it knows how to do.]
Query. Is 'Bucky' overwriting 'James'?
[Because not knowing won't be considered a viable excuse if he fails this mission.]
no subject
Only for me. And only where others can't hear.
[She doesn't think much on it before speaking, not wanting him to be concerned with something like a name. The second the thought passes through her mind, she realizes just how valuable a name is to someone who's been conditioned to be a weapon. It's his identity, who he chooses to be. And that is everything.
Very carefully, she moves back to the body to pull his knife out of the body. It feels important to not leave it here, to not let it be linked to him. She wipes the knife off on the back of the bandit, leaving a trail of crimson behind. With the blade cleaned she makes her way back to him, holding the knife out hilt first for him to take.]
Come with me.
[There's still the commotion of the rest of the bandits looting and fighting. There's chaos going on around them. But she doesn't want the others to see him like this. She knows Bucky wouldn't want it. So she uses a tone that's firm and a gentle command. Go with her, hide out for a while. Maybe this programming he's under will just go away after a set amount of time. Her stomach lurches at the thought of him not going back to how she knows him. But they'll figure this out. It's going to be fine.]
no subject
(This isn't Hydra. Isn't the same group, with the same drives. But Oswald is still a handler, so it won't go against orders. It knows what happens when it tries.)
So it only nods at her words. Accepts them without question. The Winter Soldier. The Asset. The New Fist of Hydra. James. It's already called multiple names, so adding another to the list is easy to do. Even with the addition of it being a name to be used in private.
The blade is accepted, tucked back away in to one of its many hidden pockets. The fact that she took her time to collect the knife, to clean it off, leaves it confused. But that confusion is something it knows better than to give voice to. Which is why it only follows after her in silence. Why it keeps those thoughts to itself. If she has another mission to assign, then it isn't going to waste time in finding a secure location for the details to be shared.]
no subject
She sets aside the sack full of things she had fought so hard to hold onto before circling back around to him. He still is Bucky, even if the look in his eyes is different. He's not a weapon or a machine simply made to kill. He's her friend, someone she cares for deeply.
The thought of anyone here using him against his will is something she won't stand for. But she doesn't necessarily like the idea of telling him commands either. It feels like breaking his trust somehow. But if she doesn't do it then perhaps someone else will.]
I'm going to leave the window unlocked.
[She points over to it, the lone window in the small room. They're on the second floor of the saloon but she knows he'll be able to get up here with ease.]
You can climb through every night and tell me what information you've uncovered. Tell me who you've spoken to. What you've observed other people in town doing. Information is important to this mission, Bucky.
[She reaches out to take one of his hands in both of hers.]
You don't have to fight or kill. Not unless you want to.
[Though she always prefers it if people don't want to kill, she's more or less desperately trying to get the message that he doesn't have to be a weapon through to him.]
no subject
It's the first and only thought that comes to mind as her orders are laid out. Keeping an eye on others, reporting back to Oswald- Though as simple enough terms to follow. But it's the final point that stops it short. That allows the briefest hint of confusion to cross its face.
Not unless you want to.
'Wanting' something is a foreign concept. Something meant for those who give the orders, not the ones who take them. Not the ones who aren't meant to think beyond the mission. Which means this has to be a test. There's no other explanation for it. Another trial to ensure it's loyalty is sound. That it isn't going to start resisting all over again.]
...I don't understand.
[It's a risk, laying it out like that. Making it clear just how little sense this is all making. But it knows that it's a risk that needs to be made. That waiting until later, until after it makes a mistake, will only lead to a more intense punishment than anything that could be met out right now.]
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I'm telling you that you don't have to kill. Not unless it's necessary.
[She chooses to rephrase her words, to try and make them sound like an order. It kills her to have to do it, and tears fill her eyes. But they don't fall, she refuses to let them fall. Clara's heart may be breaking for the state he's in, but she doesn't pity him. She just wants to make sure no one uses this programming to their own advantage. She has to protect him.]
You'll pop in and let me know things you've seen and heard, won't you?
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( he says, not to clara, but to the man currently assaulting her. confused? so is he, for a moment, which is just enough time for rhys to punch him squarely in the jaw, teeth clattering to the dust floor as he is Kindly Removed from consciousness. good. that settled —
one strong arm winds around clara, effortlessly lifting her up and onto their brand new ( stolen ) horse. rhys follows shortly after, keeping her cradled to his chest, arms wrapped around her to block her from the general carnage of the bandit attack. as one bandit approaches them, rhys kicks him squarely in the jaw, starting up a new collection of teeth apparently, as more dislodge. almost casually, he shouts out to her — )
Well, well. My little Clarabelle, what am I to do with you? I just knew you were going to be trouble. ( but it's almost said fondly, like trouble is not something rhysand really repels at all.
do you know what huge, beautiful, muscular fae arms cannot protect from? the list is short, but gunshots definitely makes it — in rhys' hurry to get clara away from all the action, he seemingly forgot he wasn't bulletproof ( guns are a new concept for him, okay ) and as one fires off and lodges somewhere in his shoulder, he lets out the weak fizzle like air leaving a balloon ) Oops. Again. ( before tapping clara on the hip. ) Take the reins.
( he's just going to. sloooowly start slipping off. goodbye. )
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And wait -
is he calling her Clarabelle?
Is he?
Oh my god. He's just been shot.
All of the confusion that Clara is feeling quickly is pushed to the side. She grabs the reins of the horse with one hand, and reaches back to grab hold of his shirt with the other.]
Where do you think you're going? Stay on this horse, do you hear me?
[that is not a polite request. it is a shouted command, given as she extends her leg to kick an approaching bandit right in the face. That is definitely a laugh of victory she gives off as her foot connects and she winds up knocking him down to the ground.]
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as if pulling from the bottomless well deep within him to be a Good Boy at all costs ( somewhere, in the distance, alina will argue this, he's sure ), rhys pulls from a reservoir of strength to lean forward, tangling an arm around clara's waist as an anchor to keep himself upright. his nose butts into the back of her shoulder briefly, nudging himself harder and harder, as if a bit more pain is the thing to keep him conscious.
and — it works, so. lucky, that. )
Yes, ma'am.
( clara's laugh is infectious, though — with her violent delight, rhys grins too, despite all the blood now painting his shirt. )
How delightfully devious. ( someone who gets too close to clara's weaker side gets very inexplicably lashed with shadows, which dissolve as soon as they reached out. very odd. raising his good arm, rhys points towards the stables. ) There.
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It doesn't take long to get there at that speed, and one of Clara's hands reaches back to grab hold of his arm as best she can in their position. It's not going to stop him from falling off, but with the way he's leaning up against her he at least has that to keep him relatively balanced.
As soon as the horse skids to a stop inside the stables, Clara is quick to slip off the horse and dismount. Her attention is focused squarely on him, and she spots the blood that's staining his shirt without any real issue at all. Panic threatens to rise up in her throat, but she knows what to do here. She can handle this.]
Get down and I'll take care of you.
[Her voice is calm, acting like everything's fine. As an added thought, she firmly insists:]
Carefully.
[Please don't fall off the horse and land on her. Though her arms are outstretched like she's preparing for him to topple right on top of her. Like she'd actually be able to catch and carry him.]
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well, the proverbial horse already left that particular stable. like more of an idiot, in any case.
despite the blood and the shooting pain, rhys doesn't seem horribly effected by having just been shot. he offers her a charming smile in the place of any curses that swarm up into his head and, ignoring any pressure he puts on his wound, uses his chest to slide off the beast's back and onto his feet. see? no problem. )
I wouldn't ask it of you if I didn't need your help.
( rather — had he been shot in the front of his shoulder instead of the back. like this, he couldn't hope to reach the wound himself, let alone fish out the lead bits of a bullet.
taking a few steps away, rhys unbuttons the front of his shirt, pulling it out from its tuck into his pants with a cringe, as he weathers through the pain. rich, tanned skin gives way to the whirling black lines of tattoos which artfully decorate his muscles, across his chest and down his arms. he keeps his back pointed away from clara for the moment, balling his ruined shirt up in his hands before he levels her with a strong look, all his energy put forward into it. )
If you're not up to it, Alina will be here soon. Okay? ( it's better to admit fear than end up ruled by it. violet eyes flicker between each of clara's, reading her expression and what lays behind it — shadows are not the only ability this fairy has tucked away in his arsenal, and he works his second with as little invasiveness as possible. reading clara's thoughts. tasting her fear, and behind that, an overwhelming sense of resolve. rhys nods, having found whatever he was looking for, turning his back to clara to show off the high points of his tattooed shoulder blades, the flowing line interrupted by a bloodied gouge, dripping blood steadily down his waist. ) Okay.
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[She doesn't mean to sound offended by the fact that reinforcements have been called out. Clara absolutely adores Alina, and she trusts her completely. If there was anyone she would've called to assist with this, it would be her beloved Alina. But she's responsible for getting him into this mess, and her pride won't allow her to stand back and let someone else fix the situation.
Her eyes meet his with a determined look, and she gives a quick nod of her head at his consent for her to try. Not wasting any further time, she moves to take the shirt from him.]
It'll be easier if you sit. [He's too tall for her to do this standing up.] Come on.
[If he doesn't comply right away she takes hold of his hand to guide him downward to sit. It's a gentle but firm direction, and she has no problem reaching up to push down on his good shoulder to get him to comply. There's still the issue that this isn't sanitary and she doesn't have the proper tools on hand to fish out a bullet.
But they're in the stables, and there's bound to be supplies here somewhere. She leaves him sitting there bleeding out and runs off to look around. There's not anything like bandages or medicine, but there is a bottle of whiskey and a little kit that contains some cosmetic supplies for caring for the horses. Among those items are tweezers that are probably used to pull bugs and burrs out of the horses' hair.
It's just gonna have to do.
She opens the bottle of alcohol and douses the tweezers in it, hoping it's enough to sanitize. There's no warning that she's about to dump a little right on his wound either, though she does press her hand firmly between his shoulder blades to reassure him that she's right there with him.]
I've got to get the bullet out before I can heal you.
[She calmly explains, voice soft despite her concern. With a shaky exhale she brings the tweezers to the wound, trying to keep her hands from shaking as she dips them inside to try and grab at the metal that's still inside him.]
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( he decides with a reigned bit of authority placed pointedly in clara's deserving hands. your might think rhys was a terrible patient, which is probably true — but he's more than a little bummed by his own failed attempts at valiance, and is therefore on his best behavior with clara to earn a few more good boy points. following her guiding hands, he sits crosslegged on the stable floor, flickering pieces of hay around idly as clara searches for supplies.
their stolen horse huffs at him, and he huffs back. )
I know, right? ( he says to the horse, blowing his lips out as if dolling up a horse face will make them more kindred spirits. ) I can't say I'm a fan of guns either. Too scary. At least one didn't clip you in the ass — don't huff at me, you villain.
( and otherwise occupying his time as clara fetches tweezers, sticking hard bits of hay up the horse's nose and giggling animatedly as it arches in to chomp at his fingers. blood loss, maybe, or maybe he's just an idiot.
in any case he hisses once the whiskey stings his wound, a hand skirting backwards instinctively to grip clara's ankle, as if needing something to hold onto. still, rhysand doesn't make much more than a wayward noise of discontent as she sees to the wound — the body never really gets used to pain, to torture, but rhys has lived with and in it long enough to know how to compartmentalize pain. clara doesn't mean to do him any harm at all — sometimes that point makes all the difference in what stings or not. )
You're a healer? ( he asks after a second, squeezing her ankle. ) Many bullet wounds in your line of work?
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[How to best answer that? She's riding high on the fact that finally, someone has admitted she's the boss. Her confidence is up, she's attempting to get the job done quickly and accurately. And then he goes and asks that. It's enough to make her pause as she debates on how to best answer. Her eyes glance down to his hand at her ankle, and she wishes she could lie smoothly with how concerned she currently was.
Honesty is probably the best policy here.]
This is my first attempt at healing someone. [There's an awkward pause before she presses forward, carefully working with the tweezers as she finds the bullet.]
But I know what I'm doing.
[For the most part.
It's not like she's going to kill him or anything. Even if she doesn't exactly have the experience or credentials to be doing this.]
I'ma teacher. Or was, before I ended up on the Ximilia. [With great focus, she pulls the tweezers upward, carefully removing the bullet. It's dropped onto the floor next to them. There may be remains left inside, and she washes the area away with more alcohol before dipping the tweezers back inside.]
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