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Post by Nate Heywood on Aug 21, 2019 16:28:50 GMT -5
It bothered him that there weren't windows.
He understood the practicality. For one thing, there was a whole lot of mountain over their heads right now, and windows weren't often a fixture of secret underground military facilities. There were security considerations to consider, too, and as Chief of Security here at Project Tartarus, considering them was part of his job. No matter how strong the glass, windows were a structural vulnerability that people could use to get out when they weren't supposed to. Sure, the cells here at Tartarus were made from that see through scifi plastic stuff that a smart person could probably have made windows out of if they really set their minds to it, but that didn't alleviate the issue of people getting in, or seeing in, if that was what they wanted to do. And that didn't even scrape the surface of the prisoners here who could teleport along line of sight, or transport themselves into light beams and fly through transparent things, who were always important factors to think about, even if that did inevitably lead you down a rabbit hole of wondering what might happen if one flew through a prism: would they be fractured into constituent parts of their personality like some kind of transporter accident, or would it just transform them into the ultimate Pride Month form of themselves?
But just because he understood it, didn't mean he didn't like it. He found it difficult spending a protracted amount of time down here in Tartarus, and the only thing standing between him and open skies, and the wind in his hair, were a few security protocols and a short ride in a golf cart. A lot of the people here in Tartarus couldn't even see the outside world if it wasn't conveyed to them via a TV screen. There were murderers on death row less shut-in than that, and while sure, the clear and present danger that one of your charges might whoosh off into the sky if you let them out for a little fresh air changed the rules quite considerably, it didn't address the fairness balance that Nate felt like he was on the inappropriate side of. After all, while some of the prisoners in Tartarus were world-conquering murder addicts, others were just terrified refugees waiting out their statutory quarantine period before ARGUS deemed them safe enough for resettlement and relocation. They treated their best as if they were their worst, and something just felt inherently wrong about that.
It was why Nate never graced the lower levels with his presence while still garbed in his outside clothes. Not that he wandered the halls and tunnels naked or anything; but his uniform stayed as close to the surface as the facilities would allow, exchanged for a comfortable set of BDUs at the earliest opportunity. After all, some of the Novembers down here had a truly uncanny sense of smell: it was the least he could do to scrub, shower, shave, and switch out his outdoor-smelling clothes for something a little less taunting. Today, it was apparently the blue set's turn in the rotation, that faded navy shade that made it look like you'd taken a regular Air Force uniform and washed it a few too many times. It was objectively his favourite set, somehow more comfortable than the others despite being made of exactly the same stuff. He wondered if perhaps it was psychological, something that made him feel a little less threatening and a little more at ease with himself than if he'd been wearing soldier green or specops black.
Whatever the reason, it conspired with Nate's body language to transform his locomotion into what might almost be described as a casual jaunt, a carefree amble along the familiar path towards the Green Zone. Technically, it wasn't officially called that, though as Chief of Security, Nate was willing to argue the point that him choosing to call it that made it official. Nate called it that because of the green stripe painted along the facility's concrete floors that led you in the appropriate direction. Red took you towards the exceptions, the folks where the baseline precaution of being locked in a bunker half a mile underneath a mountain just wasn't enough, because they were sentient computer viruses, or psychic gorillas, or shark men, or some such craziness. Blue was an obvious one, if you were old enough to remember all the military chit-chat about blue-on-blue in the Gulf and the 'stan: barracks, commissary, offices, armory, and everything else befitting those the Tartarus decorators had deemed "allies". Then there was green, for everyone else: the asylum seekers, the low-risk offenders, or the folks who, while definitely assholes, weren't the punch through concrete and shoot lasers from their eyes variety of asshole. The Green Zone was gen pop, essentially, to borrow the parlance of the uncomfortable assortment of prison show DVDs that some malicious bastard had decided to stock the rec room shelves with.
Nate liked the Green Zone better than the Red. It wasn't to do with the occupants so much as the facilities itself. Red Zone prisoners needed careful monitoring, which meant vast sheets of clear pseudo-glass, offering line of sight to every nook and cranny of the cell; and every nook and cranny of the occupant, as well, if you were unfortunate enough to be looking the wrong way during a private moment. It made sense, no one wanted to lose track of King Shark only to have him chew off your legs when you stepped in to check he was doing okay, but it had the unfortunate effect of making the zone feel like a zoo; doubly unfortunate, considering some of the prisoners there. The Green Zone wasn't like that: there were doors with locks on, sure, but they were opaque, with solid walls, and proper rooms beyond. Private bathrooms, even. They weren't even locked all the time, either: those who weren't a danger to others could move freely - within security-restricted confines, of course - and interact, enjoying rec spaces and activity areas. It reminded Nate of a psychiatric hospital, or at least, the television version of one: a bunch of folks all there because they needed to be, some voluntarily, others not, all milling together under the watchful eye of authority figures employed to keep them safe; or, if necessary, to keep the outside world safe from them.
Captain Heywood counted his way along the doorways as he passed, until he reached his destination. Room 26. Well, Cell 26, technically, but referring to it as Room made things feel more like a hotel than a jail, and Nate felt a little better about himself that way. He hesitated for a moment, a slight shuffle of his shoulders and clearing of his throat before he rapped his knuckles against the closed door.
"Hey Star, you in there?"
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Post by Kori Anders on Aug 22, 2019 16:56:58 GMT -5
"Should I be?" The question, in all it's honesty, curiosity, and perhaps even naïvety came not from behind the closed door, but rather behind Captain Heywood - or, as Kori preferred to call him, Nate of Earth. It came from the lips of a girl, not quite a girl, but not necessarily old enough that most would have referred to her as a woman, either, even if it may have been the more correct term if age of those who were born on Earth was the only considered factor. Kori looked for all purposes what could have passed for a normal human. True, her skin was tinted just slightly gold in a way that wasn't tan, but it wasn't overly noticeable unless you were really looking. Even how she stood with hands clasped behind her back, her wondering gaze intently squared upon Nate, looked normal. Well, except for the way she rocked back and forth from heel to toe in a manner that, once again, when looked upon closely, proved that the touch of her feet to the ground was just the barest minimum and definitely not within the gravitational rules that should have applied.
Many rules didn't apply to Kori.
"I can go back within if necessary; however, the door was not locked and I made the assumption that a walkabout would be good. Even if I did not find many places to walk about. That is the trouble with this place, no where good to walk about."
Her head nodded with each statement, agreeing with herself since if you were going to disagree with yourself then what was the purpose in speaking it aloud to another?
A new thought formed within her mind though and the smile that was near-etched onto her features faltered.
"I am not into trouble, am I?"
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Post by Nate Heywood on Aug 22, 2019 20:45:22 GMT -5
It was one of her superpowers, Nate was sure of it, not one of the ones officially listed in her file but existant all the same: Kori's uncanny ability to both make you smile and break your heart in the same sentence. There was a whole pantheon of unrecorded abilities that Nate had observed over the time that she'd been here, caught up in the lengthy process of transforming from asylum to citizen, refugee to resident. For example, the Captain was pretty confident that she possessed the same kind of emotional manipulation powers as the cat with the hat from the Shrek movies, complete with the uncanny ability for her eyes to get real big and expressive when she needed them to. Then there were the awkward, embarrassing specifics of how her Google Translate superpowers worked, strategically downplayed in Nate's report to keep himself out of trouble.
"Not at all, Kori."
Nate's response was pleasant, and light, taking advantage of the positive half of the mood she provoked. It was the kind of tone that he usually found readily available to him, and also one that he made efforts to specifically cultivate. Sure, some of the people here at Tartarus were space murderers, who deserved to be trapped in whatever box they found themselves trapped in. But a lot of them were just people, folks who couldn't help the fact that Earth's sun gave them extraordinary abilities that they hadn't yet learned to control, or that American society wasn't evolved enough to accept and accommodate their innate capabilities without them learning to be a little more subtle about it. Nate tried his hardest to be understanding, something that seemed to make him an exception among the military personnel here at Tartarus, but it was a level of empathy that the human experience made difficult. Nate had a headstart over his peers, his transhuman enhancements giving him the ability to relate, just a little bit, to how people here might feel about the involuntary powers that set them above the level of humanity, but his gifts were something new, something forced upon him, something that hadn't been an intrinsic part of his entire life. He couldn't imagine what it was like for someone like Kori though, having spent a lifetime with her powers only to arrive on Earth and have people tell her she wasn't allowed to fly.
"I know it must not feel like much of a difference, but you're in quarantine, not a prisoner. You're free to move around the Green Zone as much or as little as you want. If the door isn't locked, you're good to go."
The urge to fold his arms across his chest tugged at the muscles and nerves in Nate's limbs. He fought against it, casually jamming his hands into the pockets of his BDU's instead. It made the shrug that followed a little awkward to execute, but Nate merely converted it into a full-body experience, shrugging with his knees as well and throwing in an awkward little twist for good measure.
"Your room just seemed like a good place to start looking for you, that's all."
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Post by Kori Anders on Aug 22, 2019 21:14:37 GMT -5
"Oh." It was a lot of emotion to project into one single syllable, probably too much to be fair to it, but saying more just didn't seem right just then. Not when the simple version did it all for her, anyway; it conveyed understanding, confusion, agreement, and questioning all in the right proportions.
Her eyes had wandered to the door to her sleeping area, her room. It wasn't much of a room, but it was better than anything Kori had been allowed for a very long time and so that made it a very good room in her opinion. It could have used a window, though.
Another few moments were given to contemplate the space before she turned the fullness of her attention back towards Nate of Earth.
"I do not think I am not a prisoner, though. While I am not a criminal, I am somewhat captured, and I am certainly confined by circumstance, I think. But, then... so are you in that way, so I am not in much bad company. And since this is a prison and I live here, then I am a citizen of prison, which makes me a prisoner."
The term didn't seem to bother her one bit if the practically beaming smile was anything to go by. After all, there was a very big difference between prisoner and convict. There was also a difference between both of those things and a slave. But none of those things were very fun to think about, so Kori chose not to.
"So why did you wish to seek me?"
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Post by Nate Heywood on Aug 22, 2019 22:26:12 GMT -5
There it was again, that bittersweet cocktail of Koriand'r's lyrical tone with the sadness of its content. Worse, Nate knew the sadness it inspired was selfish. What she said wasn't wrong. She was a prisoner, and no amount of sentiment or phrasing could change that. It was Nate that wanted it not to be true, because if it was, that made him her jailer. That made him complicit. Guilty. It was all justified, he kept telling himself. Necessary. Unavoidable. But the right thing wasn't supposed to need justification, only the grey things did. And Kori? More than anyone else in this place, she was too colourful to be rendered in shades of grey.
"I, uh -"
Had Nate been the one in charge of formulating the Tartarus security protocols, there would have been a security pass that he could brandish at that moment, some old school magnetic swipe card that would have served as a key from one section of the facility to another. It would have given him something to brandish at that moment, a convenient prop to wave around for visual effect. Sadly, Nate hadn't devised the security protocols, he was just in charge of enacting them, and someone, somewhere, in their infinite boring wisdom, had decided that physical keycards were too easily stolen, or misplaced, or replicated, or spoofed. There weren't even expensive and futuristic biometrics that let you feel like you were in a spy movie: nothing networked, nothing interconnected, nothing that a cybernetic transhuman or a metahuman technopath could potentially subvert or exploit. Security at Tartarus was the low tech kind of high tech: a room full of switches, and a walkie-talkie to ask the Airman in the control room to flip the appropriate one. Sure, it made them the Battlestar Galactica of prison facilities, and being safe from Cylon attack was cool in its own way, Nate supposed, but still. Boring. How were they supposed to convince the Citizens of Prison, as Kori put it, that they were cool and awesome, if they weren't allowed to do anything cool and awesome?
I mean, come on. They were on the outskirts of Area 51, basically. Where was Nate's goddamn keycard and retinal scan?
"I got you something!"
The context allowed Nate to put a brighter spin on things, at least for the moment. Prisoner or not, gifts were never a bad thing: not cancel out the fact that I'm part of the oppressive government regime that is holding you captive pending the process of your asylum request levels of anything, but still, it was a start. A very slight tug of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, a thumb retrieved from his pocket and jabbed over his shoulder, stumbled across as a makeshift alternative to his lack of security props.
"I left it down in the commissary, if you're still in the mood to do a little more walking?"
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Post by Kori Anders on Aug 25, 2019 16:56:38 GMT -5
"Of the course I am, Nate of Earth!"
The response was swift and came with her hands quickly meeting each other. Rather than make a loud clap, though, they met softly and clasped before her as her entire body seemed to bounce with excitement over it all. It was probably a bit much as far as a reaction should have been, but Kori was starting to learn something very important about her new home, or at least, this temporary place that was going to be her home until the governments of Earth decided otherwise: It was kind of... well... boring.
Not that anyone could be made to blame for such at thing! It was probably just the nature of being confined and only having a set amount of things that someone could do in a day. There were schedules too. Lights on, food served, leisure time, more food, more time to do as you pleased, and then one final meal and then the lights went dark again and you were expected to return to the lands of dream. That was okay. It wasn't bad. Not when you really stopped and thought about it in a larger context that the exact same routine could be applied to most days of your life no matter where you were if things were going good.
The things that made life exciting though, those were unplanned, unexpected, and... Okay, maybe exciting sometimes was not a good thing. Too much unplanned, or not being able to have a say, or too much upheaval was not good; Kori knew that very well. But small surprises? A gift of some sort? Those were always welcome and should be celebrated.
"Will you tell me what this thing is, or shall I make guesses until we reach our location?"
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Post by Nate Heywood on Sept 7, 2019 9:52:29 GMT -5
As soon as the words left Kori's mouth, Nate began to worry.
In Nate Heywood's humble opinion, gift-giving was one of the most stressful things that a human being could be asked to engage in. For something that was supposed to be about joy and generosity, there was so much negativity involved in the process. At its best, gift-fiving was a carefree, impulsive affair. The I saw this and thought of you gift was the best kind of gift, because it came as a surprise. You couldn't disappoint someone's expectations if the gift was unexpected, and you didn't have the awkward agonising task of choosing from an array of uninspiring options when the gift-giving was mandated by a birthday or Christmas. But in this moment, Nate had played himself - as he so often did - by taking what had been an impulsive, carefree gift, and then letting the other person know about it too soon. As soon as you told someone that you'd got them something, left them something, mailed them something - all perfectly reasonable and considerate things to say to another person - it was like a clarion call, summoning the dangers of expectation and disappointment that you might otherwise have managed to avoid.
With Starfire, the process was somehow even worse. Her every emotion seemed amplified, her excitement unparalleled, and her sadness utterly devastating to witness for anyone with even the smallest shred of empathy. Couple that with her quarantine, and with Nate's own knowledge of the things she had gone through in her past, and frankly Nate might as well just march over to the Red Zone and surrender himself to captivity, because there were supervillains who had done less heinous things than make Koriand'r sad.
But a tiny glimmer of an opportunity shimmered amid the ashes of Nate's attempt at benevolence, and Nate grabbed it eagerly with both hands.
"Which would you prefer?" The question was asked with an offhand shrug, but the intention was anything but casual. Every aspect of Starfire's current existence was a decision made by someone else; the opportunity to let her make a decision of her own was a gift in itself. "Do you have any special traditions about gift-giving back on Tamaran?"
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Post by Kori Anders on Oct 12, 2019 8:24:53 GMT -5
Kori hummed out a long note, soft and at the same time flavored with all sorts of consideration. It wasn't a difficult question, but it was one that required a bit of thought, and apparently for her to rise a few more inches off the ground.
"Well, we do love surprises as they make for the best sort of unexpected giving of the gifts, but there was this one Blorthog where I had to solve many a quest riddle that took me from one place to the next until I arrived at the final location which was a great meal with many a friend present! It was most enjoyable!"
Her eyes had gone wide in remembrance, a wistful sigh accompanying the moment before she suddenly turned towards Nathaniel. The wonder on her face was replaced with sudden worry.
"But do not think you must go so such endeavors! As I said, a surprise is entirely appropriate and I enjoy those just as well!"
There, she felt she had repaired the potential accident of making him think that whatever he had come up with for the surprise was not sufficient. Or, at least, Kori very much hoped she had.
"Come then, to the commissary! I can even close my eyes if you wish it!"
Her hands raised and spread across her vision, fingers shut tight together as they covered her eyes. The right hand however, allowed for a momentary slippage, the index choosing to go it's own way and separate from the others just enough to allow her to peek through.
"Or I can also not," Kori said with an air of mischief.
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Post by Nate Heywood on Oct 12, 2019 15:58:42 GMT -5
There was something about Koriand'r, something that made you smile, even if for some reason you wanted not to. There was something about the way she seemed to radiate happiness, about the way her stolen, near-perfect command of the English language occasionally tripped up, or slipped in a stray Blorthog. There was something about the way she took the idea of a scavenger hunt, a concept not alien to Nathaniel at all, and made it sound like something magical and exotic. Tartarus had records of metahumans who were capable of empathy, of perceiving the emotions of those around them; but Nate half wondered if Kori was somehow capable of the reverse, letting those around her feel what she felt instead.
It would certainly have explained the twist in Nate's innards as her emotions had altered slightly, and why her insistance that he need not make that kind of effort made him wish even more that he had.
Nate's involuntary but welcome smile became a grin as Kori peaked out from behind her hands. It must have been how small children felt during a game of peekaboo, he supposed, but there was nice about the infant-like innocence of that. There were to many reasons in the world not to smile, especially these days. Even if you could ignore the politics, the attitudes, the way people clawed and raged and hated at each other like rabid animals over the most trivial of things, right now they were in a goddamn super-prison. Even with the most positive spin on it, even if you managed to convince yourself that this was quarrantine and not captivity, the offworlders here were refugees, fleeing for their lives, coping with losses, and hardships, and who knew what else. And here was Kori, in the middle of it all, like the sun shining in the cold empty void of space.
For a moment, he wondered just what her story was. She'd been interviewed by the staff here, of course. There were always security concerns, and America needed to know what it was getting into when it granted asylum to someone extraterrestrial. But the State Department had people who did that, people who'd apparently watched Men in Black and the X-Files a few too many times and decided to make every day a casual cosplay Friday. Nate had access to those files, of course, in the interests of security; but out of respect for people's privacy, he restricted his attention to the risk factors and priority points. He knew nothing about Tamaran that Kori had not told him directly, and had not probed for anything she had not freely offered. He wondered if that was the right approach; wondered if that was the way things should have been. Was it respectful to her, to let her reveal what she chose to on her own terms? Or was he merely reinforcing the separation between them, avoiding the risk of becoming to invested and attached to the nonhumans and metahumans in his charge?
"You can peek if you want," he assured, continuing to lead the way to the commissary. "But no x-ray vision. I'm not sure if you have that, but if you do, that's cheating."
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Post by Kori Anders on Oct 13, 2019 8:10:18 GMT -5
"I assure you, Nate of Earth, I cannot see in the x-rays or any other rays outside of the visible sort. Well, okay, those that are considered visible to those of your planet. Well... the humans. I have seen a page on your internet about a very colorful shrimp that can see in many colors and I am lead to believe this creature can see more than you can, maybe more than I can. It can also punch through very thick glass even though it is very small, but I do believe that both of us are capable of that though we are much larger so it is not as impressive. That, and we are not shrimp."
She paused a moment in her energetic explanation as they made their way through the halls. When she spoke again, it was softer, almost a whisper.
"It can also move faster than sound can on your atmosphere. I am beginning to wonder if it is some sort of meta-shrimp. That would most certainly explain why it is so colorful. Do you think they should be brought here with us to be safe?"
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Post by Nate Heywood on Oct 13, 2019 14:35:32 GMT -5
If Nate had been a married man, or at least in some sort of romantic relationship, he might not have understood what Kori was talking about. Fortunately, Nate was chronically single, to such a degree that he had a cable subscription that included the Discovery Channel, and spent a probably inappropriate amount of time watching and often falling asleep to nature documentaries. There was one British guy in particular, a guy whose brother was the guy from Jurassic Park, and his voice was super soothing. True, sometimes Nate felt a little bad about falling asleep when the guy was talking, especially because he was all smart and important and stuff, but the guy had narrated a lot of stuff, and Nate had watched enough reruns that he figured it all probably averaged out as a net positive. "There's actually a whole bunch of animals that can see more than humans can," he countered, as they continued to meander their way through the facility. "Most of the time it's ultraviolet, I think. A lot of insects and birds can see UV, and so a lot of flowers reflect it as a way to be all kinda yoohoo at them, I guess? There's reindeer too, who can see ultraviolet because there's so much snow or something where they live, I guess? Oh! And there's scorpions, which glow in UV, but scientists have absolutely no idea why."
He offered a shrug and a smile, wondering if there was any way he could cultivate this newfound passion of Kori's that he'd stumbled across. It was a complicated situation. His purview was security, not the wellbeing of the people here at Tartarus. Yet, to his mind, the two were intertwined. After all, these weren't all prisoners. The more comfortable their time here, the more smoothly things would go, right? But it wasn't as if you could just spend taxpayer dollars buying cable subscriptions and creature comforts for what were supposed to be temporary guests. Nate's brow furrowing into a frown. It was a shame he couldn't just invite Starfire to come watch Netflix back at his place -
A sudden hint of pink surged it's way into Nate's ears as the social context of that notion settled into place, and his hands dug a little deeper, his attention fixed intently on the floor in front of him and absolutely nothing else. "If you, uh, like that kind of stuff?" His brow furrowed deeper as he tried to will his ears back to their normal colour. It wasn't helping. Worse, it probably looked weird. He turned his attention back to Starfire instead, summoning back the same smile he'd had earlier. "I can probably arrange to add some documentaries to the video library in the rec room. They're kinda like those internet pages, you mentioned, except turned into a movie." A new frown formed, but a thoughtful one this time. "There's also a heck of a lot of penguins involved, now I think about it."
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Post by Kori Anders on Apr 30, 2020 17:05:26 GMT -5
"PENGUINS?" Kori practically squeaked the word and she surged another few inches from the floor, enough that she was actually looking down at Nate of Earth and that was not so proper to do - or so she had been told - and so she brought herself back to floor level and allowed her feet to barely make contact once more.
"I do like your swimming flightless birds. The way they walk..." She rocked herself side to side just enough to briefly, slightly emulate the characteristic waddle and stopped herself with a genuine, if not slightly controlled, giggle.
Kori looked to Nate with eyes wide and excitement that never really had left her since they had started their journey still squarely focused on him. "I would like that very much. I am not sure how the others that share the rec room will, but I hope they will like it as well! I have yet to meet someone who does not like penguins, though I do not ask many if they do or not? Do you think I should? That is good... What is it called... Little speak? Yes?"
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Post by Nate Heywood on Apr 30, 2020 18:27:55 GMT -5
"Small talk," Nate countered, with enough positivity to make it sound like a gentle nudge rather than an all-out correction. After all, neither combination of words made all that much sense when you really thought about it, though little speak did have kind of a language of Hobbits vibe to it, he supposed. Either way, it was one of those language things that you just had to learn how to use. Idioms, or whatever. Like how the French didn't have a jacket potato, they had a potato in a uniform, except because it was French it was padded out with a few extra words into pomme de terre en robe des champs. You could understand the individual words, but figuring out how an apple of the earth in a robe of the fields translated into a goddamn jacket potato just took time, and experience, and a lot of intense boredom stuck in rooms where the only distraction was a French-to-English Dictionary.
For a moment, Nate wondered what the German word for a jacket potato was. He was pretty confident it was a word, singular, because that's how German worked. And then there was Russian, who even knew how that language worked? Well, linguists, obviously. And Russians. But then -
He let his thoughts trail off, watching them flitter away into the distance on a tangential mental breeze, before turning his attention back to the levitating Koriand'r and the imminent topic of conversation. "Honestly? I probably wouldn't lead with penguins? But if someone doesn't want to talk about penguins eventually, they're probably not someone you want to waste time having a conversation with anyway."
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Post by Jace on Apr 30, 2020 19:01:32 GMT -5
"I hate penguins."
The voice was a gruff explosion of noise, a coarse sandstorm of grit and machismo. It curled in elegant whisps from within a strong and stubbled jaw, past full and grimacing lips, past clenched teeth and crusted bread and lovingly cut slices of lettuce and tomato. Artisinal mayonnaise slicked across a powerful tongue, carrying crisp shards of gourmet bacon towards the Viking funeral of a throat, and gullet, and all that lay beyond.
The man himself was as robust as the sandwich clenched in his gloved hand and manly jaw. Tall. Broad. Battle-scarred, and battle-worn. Steely eyes, and a steely gaze; bronzed skin, a living colossus. Though his armour had been stripped away by the flying pigs of this Air Force stockade, he still moved as if he wore it, the confident, precision strides of a warrior, and predator. Chronos, they had called him. Temporal agent. Quantum assassin. Time Hunter. He'd been known by other names, before, during, and since, but none of them mattered. Chronos was who he was, and Chronos was who he would remain, from skin to skeleton, and deep into his soul.
Yet here, they called him Mick.
It was meant to humanise him. That was their tactic, their strategy, their elaborate plan to take a lion and file down its claws. They took a monster, and they shackled it with normalcy. Give the monster a name, and you take its power. Chronos. Parasite. The Joker. King Shark. Those were beings to be feared. Revered. No one trembled at the approach of Mick, the name that the jailers had decided belonged to him. He didn't want it. Didn't belong to it. Yet he was forced to endure it all the same.
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Post by Nate Heywood on Apr 30, 2020 19:19:53 GMT -5
"Where'd you get the sandwich, Mick?"
Nate's words were cold, and his demeanour shifted to back them up. Gone was the amicable companion concerned with the wellbeing of those under quarantine at the Tartarus facility, and in their place stood a soldier. Three generations of soldier, in fact; three very specific generation of soldier, a dynasty if you will, three generations of Heywoods who would set aside their family name in exchange for the monicker: Steel. He conjured his grandfather behind him: Commander Steel, Henry Heywood Senior, war hero and superhero, and the crowning achievement of Project X. He conjured his father beside him: Sergeant Steel, Henry Heywood Junior, lawman, government agent, protector of the peace and guardian of liberty. He even conjured his jackass of a cousin, Henry Heywood III, whose celebrity came more from his sporting career than his heroism; but hey, it had been the Eighties, and the world hadn't exactly been rolling in alternatives at the time. Three generations; four Heywoods; a whole lot of Steel, all squaring their shoulders and tilting their jaws towards the thuggish brute of a man who was quite blatantly chomping his way through a sandwich that was not his.
Chronos wasn't phased. Nate hadn't particularly expected him to be. He almost wanted him not to be, truth be told. As Mick tried to move, tried to take another step down the corridor that Nate had just traversed, something shimmered beneath Captain Heywood's sleeve, a chilling wave of icy biometal coursing its way across his flesh like ice across a lake. The arm, now sleek and mirrored, reached out and with minimal effort placed a palm against Mick's chest with exactly enough force to arrest the man's motion and bring him to a halt.
"That wasn't for you. What do we keep saying about taking other people's stuff, Mick?"
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