OPEN - I wanna know who you are

[cruelyethuman]

CHARACTERS: The Darkling and YOU
LOCATION: Around the station during downtime
DATE: Every date until the next mission
CONTENT: Meh, Darkling doing darkling stuff- but in space!
WARNINGS: None? Morally grey stuff?



i. Returned. Infirmary

[The transition to the station is less smooth this time, and the Darkling stumbles away from the drop-point, letting go of Alina's hand as he takes an unsteady step to avoid the utter disgrace of falling flat on his face.

What's left of his clothes has been dried out from the heat of Alina's Light, but it's still torn and covered with plaster dust, sticking uncomfortably to his skin and the blood has dried out in to flaky maroon.

He walks slowly towards the infirmary, right hand clenched around his side to stop the bleeding. Once inside, he rummages through drawers and cabinets, pulling out clean gauze, water and alcohol. Needle and thread, in case he needs it, putting it all out in a neat row. Slowly, carefully, because most of his left side feels burned, skin pulled too tight and near-blistering from the Small Science that seared what was left of the poison out of him before the fall through the floor.

The Darkling peels off his shirt, trying awkwardly to reach around on his back where a piece of glass is sticking out.]

Excuse me? If you could just pull on that for me.

ii. The Sunlight room

[The days drag on the station. There's nothing to do, except fall in to his own mind and work on the block that Rhysand seems to think is possible. Unless that too is a trick, another lie to worm his way closer.

The Darkling sits under a tree with the false sun shining on his upturned face, letting it warm him in ways the blankets and the heating of this place never could. It might be a simulation or something equally mysterious that powers it, but the rays are heated against his skin and it's something else to look at other than Kovacs or the pale walls in their room.]

Move.

[And without opening his eyes, he adds a-] please.

iii. Kitchen

[Without a mission, or even a clear goal to plan for, the Darkling drifts through the station, watching the other orbers go about their business. The careless way they might interact, who talks to whom and which rooms people go in to.

There's an idleness to this that grate on his nerves. That makes his skin itch, and he heads off to the kitchen to find something to eat, now that most people seem to have had their fill, thus leaving it mostly empty.

Sliding in to a chair, he grabs the tray of food, stabbing it as if it had personally insulted him.]

iv. Training

[The sense of boredom grows with every day, his body unused to this life. Sitting for long periods of time without anything to plan for, or to do, makes him restless, and the Darkling finds himself in the training room again.

Trying to burn off excess energy by punching a bag that hangs from the ceiling. For once, the Darkling isn't covered from head to toe in black, but has opted for a white shirt and loose dark pants that might once have been pajamas, his hands covered with black leather gloves and sweat making his hair stick up.

Punch after punch, hitting the bag until he's breathless and panting, muscles aching and mind a little less loud in the quiet of the room. When the door opens, he glances over before nodding at the row of weapons.]

How are you with a sword?

v. WILDCARD

[Throw anything at me, as the Darkling is lurking around in the shadows on the station when he's not in his room. Or hit me up at ireth

Comments

[cruelyethuman]

I know how to waltz.

[As if that answers Peter's question about having fun. Formal dancing was taught at the Little Palace, if only because the tsar demanded that Grisha were able to present themselves according to their station. To give performances like trained animals at the whim of a bored and lazy despot.]

I think we've already talked enough about what might be on my mind, thank you very much. But if you'd like, I am very good at listening.

[The small confession about Daisy, despite how it was to fulfill his own personal goal, it had not been a lie and the advice had helped. A little.]

I suppose being hard to kill comes in handy when you're off saving the galaxy. [Most of the people on the station seemed to be hard to kill, with few or hardly any weaknesses. Tough people, handpicked by a machine to find the orbs and make them whole again.

It could be worse. They could all lean to the side of being a very fragile and easily killed piece of bait, like the pretty young woman.] I'm- familiar with the room in question. And the room after that. For all their shortcomings, they did make very inventive traps.

We have talked.

[spacedisaster]

Fancy, but now what I had in mind. I do know how to slow dance, but I never tried the Waltz, what if you teach me how to dance it and I show you what disco is about?

[ Peter would pay actual money to see the Darkling disco dancing, no lie. Maybe just introducing him to some good songs would be enough of a cultural shock and not a bad start. ]

Duly noted, thank you. I can't think of anything important to share about myself, if something comes up, I'll tell you. You seem good at keeping secrets. [ He's rather relaxed right now, and while Peter has a list of issues longer than his arm, those can wait for another day. ]

It does. You don't know how many bad people we manage to piss off on the regular. Comes with the territory. [ There's casualness in Peter's tone, and he doesn't sound at all worried. He's used to being a wanted man, for good or bad reasons ]

That they did. I couldn't get past the laser grid, not without getting cut in half, so I was looking for a way around that particular floor, went back on my steps, and I met Daisy. The rest is history...[ Peter is silent for a moment, shifting to have a better look at the man's face, looking more curious and concerned. ] Did it go well?

[cruelyethuman]

What is disco?

[A slow shrug that brushes their shoulders together, sitting as close as they do under the tree.]

I can teach you how to waltz. I can even teach you how to lead.

[The only place on the station that doesn't feel entirely alien, the sunlight room. The sun on his face and hands, the warmth of it seeping through his dark clothes.

Secrets, and holding confidence, when secrets were worth more than gold. at least that's the way in Ravka, and the Darkling suspects that this aspect of human nature is a constant.]

I am, yes. How do you decide if the person you piss off is a bad person or not. Because they are not the one paying you, or how does that work. From a practical point of view.

[When morality is painted in all gray, trying to find out who might be the worse choice becomes harder.

What Peter sees might be the Darkling, head tilted back against the trunk of the tree with his eyes closed. A pinched line between his eyebrows and the thin line of his mouth.]

We talked. Briefly. She seemed- fine.

[spacedisaster]

Only just about the most upbeat genre of music you can imagine. It's a bit outdated now, I've been told, but some songs are just pure masterpieces. I need to play for you the song 'September' from a band called Earth wind and fire, it's fantastic.

[ A lot of people have Opinions™ about disco music, some not very good ones, but 'September ' is one of the greatest songs of all time, and only those with bad taste don't like it. Peter has faith that it would be a good introduction to disco for the Darkling. ]

Ey, I do know how to lead...most of the time. But sure, that sounds good. First the butter churning, and then the dancing. If we met a third not!date, I might have to give you a kiss. [ Peter's teasing, of course, his tone light and cheerful, but he figures that the Darkling will get it. ]

We're not mercenaries, we don't take any jobs just because we get paid for them. We're trying to leave the Galaxy better than we first found it. We do like to get paid every now and then, because we need to eat and maintain our ship in good condition, but he wouldn't turn our backs on someone who needs help just because there's nothing in it for us.

[ They might not be perfect, in fact, a lot of people often question the Guardians' sanity as a whole, but they do have more. they all have suffered at the hand of crueler people or were abused in some way, and they don't want that to happen to others. ]

The Guardians answer to distress calls, help protect important places or people from monsters, and we occasionally deal with assassins and slavers. My.../There's a very brief pause, as if Peter is trying to decide if the words are right before he decides it is.../ my adoptive dad used to be a child slave, and he had no love for those who traded people like they were nothing but valuable cargo. [ Yondu still stole children out of the fake belief that he was returning them to their parent, Ego; and when he figured the truth he kept Peter, but that's a too complicated subject of conversation for today. ] I also want to point out that both Nebula and Gamora are very good at investigating people and finding out their real intentions, and that another of my teammates, Mantis, is an empath. She needs to touch people for her powers to work, but she can tell when someone's being dishonest.

Peter looks at the Darkling with concern showing on his face, even if the other man isn't looking.

She seemed fine but are you happy about your current situation with her?