exhale [open]

[firstroar]

CHARACTERS: Blue, any
LOCATION: infirmary, mess hall, sun room, Blue's dormitory
DATE: post-mission
CONTENT: downtime (+dream/memshare option)
WARNINGS: mention of terminal illness, medical treatments/needles


Disorienting moments blurred together in the chaos in and outside of himself, with the context left only to his physical senses and the alarming news coming in from the earpiece. Blue can only hold on and endure as the train is rocked, as the car he's trapped in slows to a crawl, as the noise keeps coming in over the signal...

Until he doesn't. Until his eyes have to wince to readjust to the reflective surfaces and glaring light of Ximilia, until he must shudder and brace against the feeling of his psionics flooding back to him, bringing forth the anguish, fury, confusion, and betrayal flooding the place as much as the bodies. It leaves Blue in something of a shock - one that's well and fine to be ignored, since hard focus on him would likely just rattle him more, and anyway, his own attention keeps getting forcibly redirected toward a fairly unified notion.

Newt.

Newt, monsters...the roiling, gnashing form that bit back when he reached out - is that? What happened? He doesn't know. He just sees Newton getting carried away while he and the rest are left to linger undirected.

---

The exhaustion creeps back in steadily, bringing with it the old awareness of a failing body that must work harder for less of what's necessary. He puts up no audible fuss about having to be ferried to the infirmary, about getting pinched yet again with needles for fluids that compensate for what he can't intake himself, but his insides are raging. Bodily, he aches. Mentally, he is caging lions: Frustration bubbles over in the face of how unfair it is that he had been given time and means to stand on his own two feet and move about as a hale body, only to have no means or power to do much more than rummage a few suitcases. This isn't how Soldier Blue could help. Why did he have to have his psionics taken away.

It's infuriating to ruminate on, and that fury, while muted externally, still informs the way his brow knits, the way he goes still and quiet, bracing against shuddering, aching waves of discomfort. Now and then, it makes simple objects near him rattle or lift off surfaces just barely when his psionics are up and lacking any other means to vent.

It's worse when those psionics are off, when he feels himself alone in his own mind - that's when he tries to gravitate toward populated spaces: The infirmary, the mess, the sun room...somewhere with familiar-seeming people in that unfamiliar-seeming state of mind. The frustration remains, but at this point, that's familiar, too.

In those spaces, at least, his focus can be pulled outside of himself and toward others, regardless of if their feelings of frustration resonate with his or not. Sometimes he wants to commiserate...and sometimes he wants to simply try and take care of the burdens of others, to feel as though he can leave some good behind despite the decay he's saddled with.

That orb never did respond. Nothing changed. Not for the better, anyway. What else...is he supposed to do? It can't be to just die quietly; he won't allow that.

---

Just as before, more and more time will be spent bedridden than he'd like. In sleep, should there still be hours left with his psionics active, his mind can be pulled out and toward others at rest, too, and he may find himself walking their dreams just as much as his own. The bleed over doesn't even have to be terribly seamless, since to a sleeping mind, anything and nothing can make sense anyway.

He's just...there, now. There, somewhere with someone, be it happy or sad.

Comments

/slams into this jam

[attackbrows]

The crew’s return to the station is sombre. Another bittersweet victory with betrayal at the forefront of everyone’s minds. There are still so many unanswered questions, yet everyone is on edge with sleep deprivation weighing heavily on their eyes. As a time lord? This isn’t exactly a recent phenomenon for him. It does, however, lead The Doctor to dwell over their purpose of retrieving the orbs. Is this an intrinsic good? Does their regret equate to their long journey throughout the universe?

All these thoughts lead him to the sunroom. Head leaning back against the sturdy fern tree by the river. It was a poor attempt at meditation, a way for him to recollect the past events. He turns his head to spot Blue not too far.

“Looking for something?”

shoves my whole ass in here

[coordination]

[ Yzak and Blue had gone their separate ways when Newt unleashed the kaiju (also what the fuck, Newton. and what the fuck, a kaiju!?) Despite Yzak lacking his usual edge from being a Coordinator, he still insisted on going to help the others. He's still a soldier, after all; trained, knowledgeable, prepared. He'd just have to be careful not to get in over his head or forget that he can't endure certain things as sturdily as he usually can.

And it goes well enough. Against a kaiju? A few cuts and bruises are vastly preferred over many of the alternatives. And a few cuts and bruises are all Yzak gets out of the fight, thankfully.

It's strange, coming back to the station and suddenly feeling like himself again. The smattering of harmless but still freshly stinging injuries feel a little more tolerable to endure once he's back to his usual Coordinator self. So Yzak takes those few precious seconds to look around while he gets his bearings. Some are hurt pretty badly, others are confused, angry, Newton's being carted away... ]

Blue...!

[ And not just Blue, but Blue looking like he normally does again - Yzak had been unconsciously seeking him out as he'd seen him just before things went even more south. ]

slides in here

[homeostatic]

( The hours after returning from a mission are always busy. Even as the mood is low and the pace frantic, the ritual and routine are the same for Leonard, a retreat into the familiar; grounding himself in work, in the way each crew member crossing his orbit is a connection restored to him with every mended wound, every departure from the infirmary made on steady feet.

In the later hours as things have settled, it's the quiet that betrays Blue: McCoy hears a cup rattling softly against the cart beside his bed, the soft tinkle of crushed ice, the gentle clatter of a spoon. )

Hey, ( he begins softly, tucking his datapad beneath his sling, toeing a stool to the Mu's bedside, ) Something on your mind?

late but touches your face again anyway

[hatejakku]

Honestly, Finn's pretty happy to see Blue's abilities coming back to him, even just temporarily or sporadically. The frustration he can feel from the Mu is... understandable, so it shouldn't be all that surprising to see some cutlery gently floating around in the mess and Blue by himself.

He, uh- He makes his way over, gently picking the sharper objects out of the air as he goes.

"Hey." Just a casual greeting for now as Finn approaches, not wanting to startle him or anything.

Dreamwalking | Waltzes in here with terrible things

[spacedisaster]

[ Peter feeling like absolute crap post mission is nothing new. He's gotten hurt in some way in all of them, but the last one takes the cake. He pursued Newt on the train, got his ass beaten down by the possessed man using magic talismans against him, and came back to the station a bloody mess. Finn and Rey had helped him heal, and after that, Peter has focused on Newt's condition, either standing guard in front of his cell to make sure no one tried to kill him or trying to find a way to get the aliens out of his friend's mind.

All the stress isn't enough to stop him from eventually falling into a restless sleep once he stops by the common living area and sits on one of the couches. He only wanted to rest his eyes for a second, but he ended up falling asleep quickly. His dreams are a jumbled and nonsensical array of memories of the past few days and the familiar faces of his team from back home. Voices and scenes are displayed for only a few minutes and then change to a new one, as Peter is simply an observer rather than a participant. He just lets it happen, no control over the dreams, until something feels...off.

It doesn't register that the new presence is Blue, even if Peter should have known his mental signature by now. He is exhausted, and after what happened with Ego and with Newt, the new presence does nothing but terrify him, prompting Peter's mind to scream. ]

𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐔𝐓!

rolls in late with emotions

[bossily]

It takes Clara time after their return from the mission to make her way out of her room. She's reached a point where her mental state is utterly exhausted, and her physical condition needs some time to recover. She's forced herself to detach from the others on the station. Clara cares for all of the other orbers deeply. She's devoted so much of herself to taking care of everyone else.

Now that she needs taking care of, she's reluctant to trust anyone enough to reach out.

But she does eventually emerge from her black hole of depression she created for herself in her room. She tries to just walk the halls, keeping to herself and avoiding others. When she wanders her way into the sunroom to find Blue just there, she's drawn in toward him despite her resolve to stay alone. Ache and longing can recognize the same in others, and Clara isn't ever one to let someone hurt on their own.

She sits next to him in the grass, not saying a word. Her hand reaches out to press over his, a quiet and reassuring gesture. Whatever is going on, whatever he has on his mind. He's not alone.

finally slamming in here!!!!

[calmness]

[ xichen is used to quiet afternoons with blue, to moments shared in the simulated fields of his home. blue's company is comforting, a welcome presence as the energies on the station shift and turn sour after they return.

newton's betrayal rings deep, has cut many of them. it is not the first time xichen has felt such a thing, known the effects of it but it does not make things easier. the second time does not ease the blow, it seems.

xichen seeks blue out a few days after their return, rested from the battle and after having spent a few days trying to understand alone. it is almost like the seclusion he would have imposed on himself at home, but it does not ease. so it is company he seeks, a sense of home to balm too familiar aches.

he finds him in the sunlit room, settles down beside the mu where he is seated. ] Blue. [ a gentle smile as he greets him, warmer than the mask he wore when they first met. he watches him for a moment, notices subtle tremors that have him worried. ] Are you alright?

wildcard as fuck

[garbagepilot]

She doesn't actually mean to perform a breaking and entering, but it does end up happening one night when she finds there are already people in the Sunlight room when she goes there to set her hammock up and get some rest. It isn't the first time she's had to leave to find an unoccupied room to make due with, and when she tries a door and it opens easily up into something that feels vaguely familiar but is, as far as she can tell, entirely unused, she decides this is as good as anywhere to pass the night.

It's only ever one night in the same room, so what could it hurt? She sets her staff down, shucks off all the belts and leather cuffs so she'll be comfortable and toes her boots off, leaving it all in a neat bundle by the foot of the bed. The lightsabers she rests on the nightstand and, aware that she'd only get too hot in the night, makes the blessed decision to simply sleep on top of the blankets rather than in the actual bed.

Once she's settled in she's out like a light despite the mattress feeling far too soft, and that's how she'll stay until her internal clock tells her the sun is only hours from rising or, of course, until the rightful owner of this room discovers her.

Oops. Nice to meet you, buddy.

dreamshare;

[blackfire]

（ he recognizes blue, at the edge of his awareness. the signature of an energy, known now for some months across worlds, and for the time lived in a blink of tsukuyomi. where before he has been resistant and cold, now he simply observes, allowing the intrusion.

the dream is a pleasant one. an evening on the engawa of his family home. the air thrums with instincts, and the sun is heavy and low above the mountains. he is eating a popsicle — and while he should, by rights, be no older than thirteen in this place, dreams have a way of altering one's perception of reality in strange ways. he is himself, a man now nearly twenty-two in the garden of his heart's home.

he pats the wooden planks beside him, gesturing for blue to sit. ）