open | haunted by the ghost of you

[whitestonelives]

CHARACTERS: Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III (please just call him Percy) and you!
LOCATION: On the station, all around.
DATE: midway through February
CONTENT: Percy has some lingering trauma to work out. In the absence of something to shoot at or Vox Machina to talk to, he works it out by locking himself in the science lab.
WARNINGS: grief, some PTSD symptoms, mentions of family massacre, mentions of horror and undead, guns, mentions of demonic possession, spoilers for Critical Role campaign one if you’re watching TLOVM

[one: the fighter still remains || laboratory/tech storage]

[My entire family died when monsters attacked our home, Percy had said to Welford Branson, and it had been perhaps the first time, the very first time, he had ever said it out loud where other orbers could hear. Even saying it, it had perhaps been obvious just how much it hurt to still talk about. I know how that sits on a heart. I’m sorry that you know too.

Now, after the orb, that smug fucking thing, has been taken to the north wing, Percy goes to the infirmary to get dutifully checked up on, then, the second he can, slips away to the laboratory and starts working, casting new ammunition of different kinds and creating new bombs and taking apart some of the weapons in tech storage, drawing up plans based on them. If you happen to need the science lab for whatever reason for the next, oh, 24 hours? Percy is right there and he will not leave.

Someone…may need to coax him back out of the lab.]

[two: i am the only son || training room]

Bang.

The sound echoes around the training room. At the shooting range, where the targets have been set up, Percy is standing some distance away from the target, wearing a mask reminiscent of a plague doctor’s that conveniently keeps his face hidden. But anyone can see the bits of black smoke curling off his form, clinging to his ankles, and the white-knuckled grip he’s got on his gun.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Click.

Percy lets loose a frustrated, wordless scream. He backs up to reload Animus, taking his mask off as he does so, and some of the black smoke is leaking out his mouth as well. But no matter how angry he gets, the smoke isn’t getting any worse, any bigger—it’s only the remnants of Orthax in his soul, not the monster itself. There’s no real power here, just a man who lost his family and, apparently, hasn’t quite been able to deal with it just yet.

Interrupt him, and his eyes flick up from his gun. “What do you want?” he asks, hiding that hurt he talked about to Welford under a layer of irritation.

[three: wild card]

[If the above prompts don’t catch your interest, leave a starter set anywhere else on the station below! or hit me up at mollymauktealeaf and I’ll write a closed starter based on what we hash out.]

Comments

[ One: laboratory ]

[spacedisaster]

[ Peter had never interacted with Percy before this mission, but as one of the people present when the man spoke of what happened to his family, he could sympathize deeply with his loss. The Guardian too had lost more people than he could count, from a very young age, and he was well aware of how those experiences shaped you, the scars they left. That is why he won't talk to the other orbers about what transpired between Welford and their little group. 

In fact, Peter isn't talking to anybody because he's avoiding everyone he knows. He also looks like death warmed over when he steps into the laboratory, wearing a hospital gown and little else: there are dark circles under his eyes, his cheekbones are flushed from having a slight fever, there's some blood in his right hand from Peter tearing of his IV catheter, and he is holding his left arm close to his chest. The bandages peeking out from the collar of his gown indicate that it is not his arm that's injured, but his shoulder. 

He looks a little bewildered as he walks into the room, but lets out a relieved sigh after hastily closing the door and leaning against it. It's only then that he notices that the room isn't empty. He winces, then gives Percy a sheepish look. ]

Uhm...if McCoy shows up, I am not here.

[whitestonelives]

[It's sort of hard to tell Percy's expression, because it's hidden under the plague doctor's mask he's wearing to run experiments. But his hands stop working, and his eyes are on Peter. He recognizes him, as one of the others who came to talk to Welford, and certainly as the man who shot the Bouldersnake's leader dead, quicker on the draw than Percy had been, then.

He pulls the mask back up, pushes his glasses up his nose, his fingers leaving traces of soot on pale skin.]

If you're hiding from McCoy, there's an alcove there. [He nods to a convenient alcove beside the tech storage, hidden from view of the entrance.] I'll tell him I saw you heading to the sunlight room.

[A pause.]

You do realize that I'm the least equipped to patch you up here, though, right?

[spacedisaster]

[ Peter himself wears a helmet on occasion, and he's used to people dressing up in all sorts of strange things, so the plague doctor's mask doesn't even get a raised eyebrow. It's a cool mask, too, and he will point that out to Percy once he's in the right state of mind to do so. ]

You're a lifesaver, thanks. [ His focus goes to the spot Percy suggested, and he moves towards it, happy to put more space between the door and him. ]

Ehh, good thing I don't need any patching up. [ Peter gestures at his already bandaged shoulder. Alas, he does it with the hand that is stained with small droplets of blood, so the 'I'm fine, worry not' look he was aiming for falters a little. Okay, maybe some explanation is in order. ] I hate hospitals. A lot.

[whitestonelives]

Try not to bleed near the workspaces, I have a couple sensitive projects going. [But he doesn't go back to work yet, instead fully turning to eye up Peter's shoulder. Okay, now he's even more concerned, and he honestly considers just going to find McCoy anyway, let him know his patient's escaped.

But that's a good explanation.]

It can't be that bad there. I've looked in on the infirmary, the kind of medical supplies and equipment there are far beyond anything that could be achieved in my lifetime, where I'm from.

[spacedisaster]

Can do, I'll try to keep it to a minimum. [ There's something about Percy that reminds Peter of Rocket, with the added plus that Percy isn't furry or trying to bite off his fingers. For that reason alone, Peter is inclined to like him. Well, that and the man not ratting him out. ]

It's not the equipment or that I don't trust McCoy , it's just... [ Peter rubs at his tired eyes, then runs a hand through his hair and lets out a long sigh, clearly exhausted by trying his best to hide it. Any place with doctors brings back the bad memories of his mother's suffering. Of watching her waste away in a hospital bed for months. ]Like you, I too lost someone important when I was young. Hospitals remind me of that.

[ He doesn't want to bring up Percy's family, but he's hoping that the other man would understand if he gave him more context. Peter isn't inclined to offer much more context than that, alas. ]

And, uhm, what are those projects you are working on? You got me curious and since you said that the stuff here is more advanced than the one in your time...maybe I can help with something? I know my way around tech pretty well.

[whitestonelives]

[Oh. Percy goes quiet then, eyes flicking away from Peter to train on a spot on the wall just down and to the right of him. He knows how that grief feels, how it marks certain places forever in your mind. It took Percy a while to go back into the rooms that used to be his siblings', where before he would've entered them with impunity just to bother them. His parents' bedroom...

He hasn't gone yet.]

I'm...sorry. [They're in a better place, might've been a kind thing to say, but Percy knows what he would've done had he heard that in the throes of his own grief. So instead:] Well, if you can't be treated in the infirmary, you ought to speak with McCoy about alternative arrangements. Maybe he can treat you somewhere else if it's just the location that's getting to you.

[Practical matters first.

He gestures Peter closer, to show him what he's working on. It looks like a crude prototype of a shrapnel bomb, except smaller and with some type of timer in place.]

I'm trying to rig up a time bomb, in case we need time to get away from something we're blowing up. [He nods to the other project, a disassembled Tommy gun. Beside the parts are some preliminary sketches of a slightly more archaic-looking version, with the very quaint working title of "The Drummer".] That, I was thinking of making a much better version of. If you want, you can take a look at it, you've likely got more experience than I do.

[spacedisaster]

[ It's exhausting, this sort of pain. No matter how many years pass, how many decades, some things never get better. The wound might be scar tissue now, but it's there to stay, and some things make it hurt again. ]

Thank you. [ For understanding, it goes unsaid, and Peter means it. The words don't need to be left out in the air and make things more painful for both of them. ]

It's fine, I usually heal pretty fast, and he's got trouble on his own.  I might not have celestial powers anymore, but I think some things are just part of my biology.  I also have a higher tolerance for pain, so, eeh...

[ It's mostly the fact that he's fighting a light infection that leaves him exhausted, and the fact that he hasn't eaten properly in a month. Walking over, he peers a Percy's projects, hoping that the distraction will also stop his mind from wandering towards more upsetting memories. ]

Ah, my team had used those in the past. What are you using as an explosive charge? I don't have it here, but the Cybertronian's food, the Energon, is highly explosive. I've filled some small bombs with the liquid, and they are very effective. 

[ His eyebrows raise at the Tommy gun parts, immediately recognizing them for what they can become, and Peter gives a low hum, studying them. Not his favorite type of weapon, but he's used something similar on a couple of occasions. The sketches also catch his attention, and he smiles at the name. ]

I might be able to give you some pointers, yeah, but this is already a good start. Do you favor classic ammunition, or would you be willing to try something a bit more futuristic, like blaster fire? My guns have a dual-barrel, I can fire an electric shock that isn't lethal, a blaster bolt that can kills most thing, or both at once. Maybe you'd like to have a non-lethal option as well, just to incapacitate targets.