worthallthis | IC Inbox: In the Night

Associate here wants to know----what is your name?

Soldat.

[Which Crowley, being a demon, can probably tell means "soldier" in Russian. And thus, given the username and military stuff he's already picked up, means it's probably not actually a name.]

[An alias, then. Crowley can handle an alias, he's had more than a few in his time.]

I'm Crowley.

Did you find somewhere to hold up?

Nothing permanent yet. But there are options. You are secure?

Yeah, I'm in Miner's Castle #3.

If you need somewhere to stay, you can crash on the floor, my flatmate won't mind. Til you find something better.

[There's a full minute's pause before the response comes. Then, when it does, it's more of an offer than an acceptance.]

I could keep you both safe.

Right, then, come on by. We'll be ready for you.

( Shortly after this interaction, the Soldier will get a message on his tablet. )

Meet me at the rec center. There is something I wish to speak to you about.

[It takes a few minutes. The Soldier has to have a little panic attack before it can (they can; just got a brand new pronoun earlier today, and it's still very new-feeling) actually leave, and then it has to pace a little and fret about what Crowley said to its (their) handler.

Because this is obviously about that text Crowley sent. Crowley didn't have it along like it (they) requested. Dammit, Crowley.

But then it answers,]

Coming sir.

[And then they make haste to the gym, prowling up the path and trying to keep its expression neutral and not anxious. It's very anxious but thankfully good at keeping that from being obvious.]

( Javert's just inside, seated on one of the bleachers with his tablet placed on his lap, working. He doesn't look upset, at least, and that should be a good sign if the other man cares to recognize it. When the Soldier approaches, Javert looks up and inclines his head to the side. )

Sit. It's not my intention to admonish you.

( He waits until the other man does as he says, closing his tablet and setting it aside. Then, after a moment, he asks, )

Do you truly wish to leave this place?

[Crowley isn't here. There's no blood anywhere. Javert looks calm and unruffled. No one needs rescue or defending. And they're being reassured. (That doesn't always mean anything, but the Soldier chooses to accept it for now.)

It sits.

It considers the question, one of the ones it anticipated. Answers after a brief pause:]

I don't know. It might not be possible.

( It's a sensible answer. Javert seems pleased by it, even though it is a little difficult to tell, what with how subdued his expressions are. Then, since he can no longer ignore the elephant in the room, he admits casually, )

Your friend seems adamant that it is. He was also adamant that he would not leave without you.

( There's no accusation or anger in his words. He's just delivering the facts, and watching the other man's expression as he does so. )

[Torn between being touched at Crowley's loyalty, and embarrassed at how he goes about showing it, the Soldier looks aside. Its expressions are also subtle, particularly around its handler, but Javert has worked with it long enough to recognize the sheepish cast.]

He may be able to return when the rest of us can't. He has powers. I don't understand them and how far they extend.

[And as much as the Soldier would love to believe Crowley can protect it... protect them... HYDRA is also powerful. Going back is a risk. They look back, at Javert's face, if not his eyes, this time with less expression than before, just a hint of what could be exasperation.]

Crowley is my friend and he cares about things very much. But he's also a dumbass. And couldn't strategize himself out of a paper bag.

That is the impression I got of him as well.

( He answers with a scoff. Perhaps that is why Javert doesn't have a high of an opinion of him. He doesn't think things through, nor does he seem particularly remorseful about what he has done. The inspector frowns as he thinks about it, grumbling, )

If it's possible for him to leave here on his own, I wish he would do so soon. We don't have time to clean up his messes.

( He looks as if he wants to say more, but he bites it back. Clenching his jaw, instead, he says, )

I told him if he doesn't try to steal the ferry again, I will release you from your orders. You may go with him, if you wish, or you may stay here. It makes little difference to me.

Edited 2019-11-10 20:25 (UTC)

[He's remorseful! Just... in his own way. In a different way than most people. The Soldier is absolutely certain of that-- they're sure Crowley requested to be a friend rather than a handler out of remorse as much as out of how terrible he was at it. They're sure much of his glum certainty that he'd be killed or run out of town was an expression of that remorse. That's personal, though, and they're not going to share that with a handler. So Javert can continue to think poorly of him. At least some of it is absolutely deserved.

The offers is... well, partially expected. It's the outcome that made the Soldier almost the most nervous (most nervous being having to rescue Crowley from a handler, which it's not sure it can do). Without orders, there's no excuse to stay here and help, to go against what their friend wants most. It puts the decision back in their hands, which is not an easy decision to make, especially when one is not really accustomed to having to make big decisions.

So for a moment, they stall, very carefully not fidgeting though a few plates in its arm buzz and shift. It repeats:]

Little difference.

I will have to find a new instructor, of course, and someone who will be as diligent as you on patrols. But it is not an insurmountable task.

( It may sound cold, but that's just how Javert is. He's never placed much reliance on others, whether they be soldiers or acquaintances. He's used to doing things on his own. He understands the other man's difficulty, though, on making this decision, and perhaps that is why he answers softly, his voice steady and eyes unwavering. )

You are on no obligation to stay. That is all I meant by it. Are you truly so afraid to think for yourself?

[What an absurd question.]

I get punished for that.

[Which is to say: yes, yes it is afraid to think for itself. It's learning-- they're learning-- to do it, for some things. But it's a slow process, and that's a big decision. With lots of consequences, pros and cons on each side. How do you weigh one friend against another? Or one insurmountable threat that's unknown against an insurmountable threat that is known but is also much more real and immediate?]

And who do you think would do such a thing here?

( Not his superiors, certainly. Javert understands the other man's hesitance, though. It's a tendency, and like all tendencies, it's hard to break. Javert, himself, is having a difficult time following his conscience, and making decisions based on what is right, not what the law demands. )

[The answer comes readily, as if the Soldier is a little surprised Javert doesn't know this. They are, actually. Javert has done such a good job of behaving like a (decent) handler that it just assumed he knew the rules.]

You. Handler Misty or Eve. Technicians have limited ability to assign punishments, as well.

( It comes easily to him because he's used to doling out orders, managing subordinates, and behaving in a near-militaristic way. He's assumed the role without protest, and he will not to do so here. But he does, at least, want to be clear about one thing. )

I'm not going to punish you for thinking. I should hope the others would not either.

( And since Crowley made mention of it earlier, Javert can't help but ask, )

Does it please you to take orders from me?

[Well-- all right, the Soldier can admit that it isn't likely Javert or Misty would. Misty is always gently encouraging that very thing, and Javert doesn't lie, as far as they can tell. That doesn't stop the looming fear of punishment from actually going away, unfortunately.

Thankfully, that's not what Javert asked. The Soldier's brows come together briefly.]

The. Asset requires handlers for instruction.

[Which isn't really the answer Javert is asking for, but even if the Soldier were allowed to admit to likes and dislikes to a handler, it's hard to even determine liking in this situation. Does a fish like to swim, or is it just what the fish does?]

It's just what I do.

So you would not wish for me to stop?

( That is all he wants to know. Perhaps it was wrong to assume that he might have an opinion about it, but it hardly matters. )

Of course not.

[Where the hell would he get that idea? ... oh. Wait.]

Crowley said something.

[The Soldier doesn't sigh. They don't.]

He doesn't understand. Maybe someday he'll be right. And I won't need handlers.

[Someday in like a century, or something.]

Right now, I do. And you're. Not a bad one.

( Javert doesn't deny it. Perhaps at one point, he would not have cared, whether the Soldier would want him to receive instructions or not. But now? He can't help but be conscious of it, and it feels him with relief to know that he was right. Relief, and a bit of surprise. )

You truly believe so?

( Perhaps that is just a testament to the other handlers he's had. Still, he can't help but feel something swell up in his chest, an emotion he cannot place. He shifts awkwardly. )

I know what it is like to feel lost. To submit to an authority because it is familiar. If it will bring you comfort, if it will help you, then I will do what I can.

[See? Good fucking handler. And maybe that does say more about the people in that role before than about Javert, in particular... but the kind of handler the Soldier needs now isn't that kind, and they know it. It's the kind that cares, that actually wants to help, and at the same time can provide structure and framework. This authority is a lot better than HYDRA, if he's going to ask if this is what the Soldier wants.

So the Soldier smiles just a little, relieved. It might be the first time Javert has actually seen them do that.]

Thank you, sir.

( Javert looks away, overwhelmed. It isn't just him that he's helping. By doing this, he's also helping himself. He's never felt empathy for anyone before, and certainly not for anyone who has done as many dishonorable things as the Soldier has. Javert would not have thought twice about harming him, before — but he is not that man, anymore.

He still doesn't know how to feel about that. )

I believe that it all, then. ( He says, his voice gruff and authoritative. Collecting himself, he looks up at the other man and asks, ) Unless there is something you wish to ask of me?

[Surprisingly, at the invitation, a couple questions do in fact cross the Soldier's mind. It debates for a moment-- escaping is tempting. It's been a stressful encounter. But at the same time they feel... safer. It was given a choice, and even if it couldn't actually make a different one than it always did, this time it did feel a little more like a choice.

And Javert is a good handler.

So they do ask, after a moment,]

What authority do you miss.

( It's not the sort of question he was expecting. In truth, it's not even one that he has ever asked of himself. Does he miss an authority figure, or simply the matter of having an authority to submit to? Rosalind had asked if Javert missed Valjean, and he is just as crippled by his answer now as he was then. Having such feelings is intolerable. He sighs, )

If there is anything that I miss, it is my work. ( That, at least, is something he can admit to. ) Though I do not know if I could ever return to it, were it possible for us to go home.

( It's the most open and human he's ever been with the Soldier. There's no confidence in his posture, no air of authority. Only a broken man, shameful of what he's done. )

[A day of more firsts. The Soldier recognizes that for what it is, too, and takes a moment to just marvel at truth and emotional honesty from a handler. One like Javert, even. (Misty still doesn't quite count, there.)]

Did your work hurt you? Or other people?

[Because you know what, that is about exactly the Soldier's feelings. Minus the programming and lack of personhood. Kind of. They've accepted that some people have other kinds of programming that are sometimes just as hard to resist.]

( He's right about their being different sorts of programming. Javert's may not have been brainwashed into him like the Soldier, but that doesn't mean it was any less harmful. After a moment of silent consideration, and with some difficulty, he admits, )

I did, through my own foolish beliefs.

( That black and white morality that came as a product of his upbringing. It's still hard for him to live without it, though he is trying. )

I never thought it possible for others to change. No, not I. I believed my work to be righteous, and so I never showed mercy to criminals. Surely I would not have been kind to you, either, had I felt that way when we met.

[Which says Javert does not feel that way, now. He overcame his programming, personal though it might have been. The Soldier considers that a moment, accepting it simply enough, then asks:]

What changed?

[Maybe there's a small part of it that wonders if knowing what changed a person as rigid as Javert might help it learn, too. (Not that we. Need to learn. You just keep tellin' yourself that, pal. Well, not how to have mercy. Okay, maybe not that exactly.)]

I was shown kindness. ( He answers solemnly, and with great difficulty. ) By a man that ought not have given it to me.

( Not just any man, but a man Javert had once admired, then scorned, and now, admires again. It irritates him beyond comprehension, and both emotions fill his tone in equal measure as he continues, )

I pursued him. For seventeen years, I filled his life with fear. When he was given the chance to end mine, he chose instead to save it. Why? Because he is a good man. He was not the villain that I thought he was. Nineteen years he spent in the bagne, and upon his release, he stole. Not just the once, but twice. In spite of this, he became a respectable businessman, a mayor. He was my superior, for a time, and I his chief of police. When I found out who he truly was, what he had done, I treated him horribly.

( He sent a girl to an early grave and yet still, Valjean had thought him worthy of mercy! He doesn't understand, and he doesn't know if he ever will. )

He is kind to a fault. For many years, I thought that kindness to be a farce, a tool of deception. So much the fool I was. He is more of a saint than he is man, though I condemned him all the same, and all because he broke the law.

[The Soldier can't even imagine having an obvious threat right in front of them, someone who wanted to take them back to everything with HYDRA, to lock them up and wipe their memories and make them kill people again... and not pulling the trigger. They frown quietly a moment, listening and digesting that story.

But the stupid former target did that. Looked at the threat the Asset posed and, instead of killing it, saving its life and then refusing to fight further. Once the objective had been completed, anyway. Is that what a saint is? Was that kindness? It did, in fact, make a difference, in the end.]

What was his name.

( He'd be relieved to know that he's not the only one baffled by it. When the Soldier asks for his name, Javert falls silent a moment. If this were Paris, he would not dare utter the name. Valjean was dead, as far as the rest of the world knew, and Javert would not dare bring danger to his doorstep when he already decided to let him go. He answers softly, though, almost as if speaking a secret. )

His alias is Fauchelevent. Though his true name is Jean Valjean.

( He spreads his hands out, palms out. )

Now you know. It is possible for men to change, just as surely as he and I did.

[The Soldier nods, looking at Javert's hands, expression thoughtful.]

Thank you for telling me, sir. I'll remember. I'll remember him, too.

[Though in their mind, this Jean Valjean character looks a little like the stupid former target, already.]

There was a man I was ordered to kill. My last mission before I died. He is. Like your Valjean, I think.

A stubborn self-sacrificing fool?

( He supplies with a scoff, although it is not at all dismissive. The Soldier does not speak much on himself, and neither does Javert. He's not going to squander this chance to get to know him better. )

Tell me of it. What happened?

[Ironically, yes. A very stubborn, self-sacrificing fool. The Soldier hesitates a moment, trying to organize their disjointed memories from that day into something safe to tell a handler.]

The mission. Was to protect the carrier ships. And to eliminate Captain America. I waited for him on the third ship. He kept talking to me. "Don't make me do this," he said. When he completed his mission, despite being shot and stabbed multiple times. He stopped fighting me. Said he wouldn't fight.

[They stare fixedly at the ground, arm plates shifting uncomfortably.]

I almost killed him anyway, and he let me. Might have killed him. I died, so I don't know for sure if he survived.

( It's quite a similar situation. The Soldier seems understandably troubled by it, and Javert can't help but empathize. He considers it for a moment, a frown forming on his face, and when he speaks next, he asks softly, )

Why would he not wish to fight you? Is he truly that foolish or is there some other reason?

( He's only trying to make sense of it, and it makes little to him now. )

[That is the exact thing that gets fuzzy in the Soldier's brain. The thing that edges up to the barbed wire gates in their mind protecting knowledge they're not supposed to have. Not allowed to have. Yes, they know why the stupid target wouldn't fight them. But they can't know why.

The Soldier can't make words come out, can't make themselves speak. They just shake their head helplessly.]

Well, ( Far be it for Javert to force anything out of him, especially if it's something he does not wish to consider too closely. He doesn't wish to think of his own memory either, or these newfound feelings he has for Valjean. It's terrifying, and so he answers gently, )

Perhaps it is best not to think of it, then. It could be that he is too kind for his own good.

[Javert, why are you being so good. The Soldier hangs their head a little but nods. Grateful that he's not pushing, a little ashamed that they're stuck on the lack of words again. Not even a tentative agreement on the stupid former target, which feels like it should be easy to say.

Ugh, this was such a great conversation, why did words have to go away now?

Sorry, Javert. Sometimes this just... happens.]

( If anyone should be apologizing, it should be Javert. He was the one who asked an unfortunate question, and now, he doesn't know what to say to make up for it. He sits there awkwardly, tugging at the cuffs of his woolen coat before abruptly standing and saying, )

Let's not speak of it further. We both have our duties to return to.

[There's just so much irony at how soon after being told not to expect human warmth out of Javert that this conversation is happening. The Soldier is even more sure now that the warning was a lie. Javert is like Crowley in this one thing: both of them feel discomfort showing how much they care, but they both absolutely still care.

The Soldier picks themselves up with relief, watches Javert a moment from behind their hair, then offers a small smile before making their escape.

Good talk, even if stupid brain issues got in the way. And now they have things to think about.]

Hey Soldat. If you're, like, busy and stuff you don't have to get back to me ASAP.

I heard what you and the others did for us while we were asleep. I wanted to check up on you and see if you were doing okay. Also to say thank you for protecting us. It means a lot.

[That's kind of unexpected. The Soldier takes a few minutes to respond, half out of surprise and half out of lingering sleepiness. But it's only a few minutes, that's not that bad.]

You're welcome. I'm fine just tired.

[That's what most people are saying, right? It seems like an appropriate reply. Then comes their own standard response:]

Are you okay

[ after a few minutes of hesitation, daylight manages to send a response that he thinks is the truth: ]

Not now but I'm gonna try to be okay.

[ he sends another text soon after, perhaps wanting to change the subject from where he accidentally left it off. ]

I learned a lot of weird stuff while I was in that weird food coma with the others. Way too much stuff in my opinion but stuff all the same. And after waking up and talking to others about it, it made me realise something else.

Soldat- Did you notice that some of the spirits were eating during the feast?

Tell me if I can help.

[Even sleepy, maybe there's something they can do. The second text takes longer to reply to. (Look, they sat down to reply. That logically led to dozing off a few minutes.) But it does get a reply.]

Yes I saw. They fell asleep too. We didn't bring them inside like the others. The attackers didn't hurt them.

Edited (pronouns yay) 2019-12-03 17:54 (UTC)

That's good to hear.

[ the spirits not getting attacked. he knows most of the spirits just want to live in peace and get by- the idea of them getting hurt in the process really upsets day.

okay- but- focus, day, come on. ] Are you up for talking with the spirits soon? I want to know what they know in the wake of what happened. If they dreamed. If this happened before with the others before us. Stuff like that.

Because, in a lot of ways, it feels like they hold the key now.

They probably do. I'm not awake enough right now. Give me a day or two.

[Even if there's no problem at all, they aren't sure they could focus enough to really hold a conversation. As evidenced by how long these messages are taking to type out.]

I need to check on my friend in the woods too. Couldn't find them during the attacks.

[ still working under the very wrong presumption that the tablets have a limited amount of messages one can send per day, like the way the comm. systems worked on the lornful light, day is pretty patient when it comes to getting back a message. gotta make those characters worth it...! ]

Sure! I'll let you know when we can get going. I was thinking of doing this on the 9th, so we have lots of time to prepare and stuff.

And I hope your friend is okay. If you want, we can check on them first before we go to the place I want to go exploring. [ friends first, in daylight's opinion. it's the connections and ties of. ]

I hope they're okay too. I haven't brought anyone else with me before. They might not come if I did.

[If they're even okay. The Soldier is trying not to think of alternatives to that.]

After that I will go with you. okay?

... You sure?

You can think about it a bit longer if you want. Because... Because there's something I really want to do and it might be a point of contention for others if they learn about it.

-I can't tell you now. [ the 'sorry' is unsaid but made evident by daylight's apologetic attitude. ] But I'll make it known to you and others. Soon.

Just... trust me on this? Please?

[Eh. The Soldier is used to not getting all the intel they want on a mission.]

I'll go with you. I will keep you safe if I can, Daylight. It's what I'm made for.

Next time Bucky visits the post office, the Postmaster General will give him a package!

"A small wrapped package containing homemade sweets, including homemade marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate, and homemade peppermint sticks. These are all wrapped in cellophane and put into a clean shoe. A t-shirt with a crown on it is included with a note that says ("For Queen's #2 Fan.")"

The package includes a note that says "Happy Christmas", but the sender is left anonymous.

The shirt gets added to the Soldier's collection of clothing, though it's a little small to actually wear. Maybe they'll wind up modifying it eventually, when it gets warmer. The shoe gets tucked into their chest of weird collected shit, because it's Weird but it's a Gift and so must be appreciated.

The food they munch on and off all day and try to make it last. ... it does not last. It's tasty.

And Crowley gets more fond looks than usual, because it's pretty clear it's from him. Where else would that shirt and the note attached to it come from?

[ When Bucky comes outside in the morning, he'll find at his bedroom door a small parcel with a sprig of evergreen tied onto it. Inside contains a truly hideous sweatervest, and a nice bottle with "aftershave" printed on it that smells like witch hazel and lavender. ]

[The Soldier doesn't trip on it. They don't. They might almost do trip, though, and have to pause and pick up the package in mild confusion. Yes, Misty told them about Christmas, and they do in fact have a load of presents under their bed. (Our bed. Our fuckin' bed. Jesus. In our room. Pretty awesome, I know.) But they really hadn't expected gifts themselves. They're just not that important.

A little bemused, but touched, they take it downstairs to open it on the couch, figuring Aziraphale might want to see. They already got their gift from Crowley, so this must be the angel's.]

[ Aziraphale is in the kitchen failing to make hash browns and eggs when Soldier comes downstairs, though he stops the attempt at cooking to come watch. ]

Happy Christmas, dear.

[They smile back, maybe a little shyly still. They've been a bit better, after all this time, but the gift just kind of throws things into mild confusion. It's a gift.]

I have something for you, too.

[But since Aziraphale got his gift to them first, they'll open it first.

And be very glad at their ability to control their expression. That is the ugliest vest thing they've ever seen. Why does Aziraphale have to have such terrible, terrible taste? But they can still smile, anyway.]

Thank you, Aziraphale. It looks really warm.

[Which is true! It feels nice, even if it's hideous.]

Oh, excellent.

Could you put it on, dear?

[ He smiles expectantly, looking like a parent who'd bought their kid a present they thought was so extremely thoughtful but which the kid finds the worst gift in the world. ]

[Considering how many layers the Soldier wears, actually, it's not that hard of a request. It'll wind up buried under a jacket or two. They strip off the current in-the-house jacket to pull the sweater-vest over their head. It makes a disaster of their already-messy hair, but eh. They're not outside yet, it's just Aziraphale.

(Soldier. Pal. Let me fix your hair. Please. In a minute. Ugh, this thing is terrible. Feels soft, though.)

At least it fits.]

[ As if Aziraphale has the same thought, he reaches over to try and brush through the hair with his fingers, gently so Bucky knows that he's coming. ]

There.

Looks superb on you.

[(It looks like an animal puked on our shirt. Sergeant, it's not that bad. Yes. Yes, it is.) They suppress a twitch at the touch to their hair, because Aziraphale did the right thing in telegraphing it so clearly before actually touching, but the need is more out of surprise than anything else, because that's-- not too terrible, actually. Hands in the hair is not a thing handlers or technicians really did much of, and when they did, it wasn't for anything worse than roughly detangling.

Surprising knowledge. Touch that isn't awful. Better Christmas gift than the sweater-vest thing, and the bottle of whatever the hell aftershave is.]

I should get you yours. It's not one of these, though.

Oh, well that would be so embarrassing, if we'd gotten each other the same thing.

[ Which is his way of saying that of course he'll like whatever it is that Bucky got him for Christmas. ]

You really didn't have to get me anything, you know.

It's Christmas.

[As if that explains why they got Aziraphale a gift. They take the bottle and sprig of evergreen back upstairs, and come back down a moment later with a double-handful of fabric: small pieces, half in a black-and-white paisley and half in Aziraphale's favorite tartan.]

I didn't wrap it like you did. Hope that's okay.

[He offers the collection to Aziraphale, and up close it's obvious that it's a bunch of neckwear. Cravats, ascots, standard neckties, even strips that would be wrapped and pinned into a continental tie. One in each fabric color. Everything is stitched neatly and carefully, but obviously by hand.]

Oh.

--They're beautiful.

[ He undoes his bowtie and picks out a cravat, which he ties around his neck with ease, having worn the style for several decades before. ]

Thank you so much.

Could I-- could I give you a hug?

[There's a slight, almost imperceptible sense of something in the Soldier relaxing at the sight of something other than a goddamned bowtie on Aziraphale's neck. There's still the faint resemblance to that fucking doctor, still some association, and Aziraphale will always be considered a technician for his work on their memories... but without that glaring, hideous, and unique connection, it's so much easier to ignore.

Not quite enough to make a hug sound fun, but it's Christmas, and Aziraphale wants it, and they can... manage. So after a hesitation, the Soldier nods once. Just make it quick, angel.]

[ Too bad, because now there's an angel wrapping his marshmallow arms around Bucky and getting his cotton candy hair all up against his nose because he's just short enough to manage that. He does let go after a bit of a squeeze, looking so happy and satisfied. ]

They're wonderful. Really, wonderful. Thank you, my dear boy.

[The Soldier doesn't actually hug back, though the top of Aziraphale's head gets a slightly awkward pat, and the metal hand hovers around his shoulder as if unsure what to do with it. There's obvious relief when Aziraphale finally lets go, and they step back.

The angel's smile is good to see, even if now the Soldier wants to shiver all over, scrub at their sides to rid themselves of the feeling of being held. Restrained. Trapped. They keep it together enough to say,]

You're welcome. I'm. Really glad you like them. Looks good on you.

[So much better than the bowtie.]

I'll have to come up with reason to wear them more.

[ Like instead of the bowtie, that he loves. He really does love that thing. Definitely not a classic necktie kind of guy, maybe a stuffy lace kinda guy. ]

Shall we have breakfast, then?

[That's why the Soldier made so many options, in order to find things Aziraphale might wear more than once, just to prove that he could. The ascot might work nicely, too, even if the classic and continental ones might not be quite the right style.]

Any reason. Just because they're nice, is a good reason. Some of them one might be warmer, too. For winter.

[They run their hands over their own torso briefly, a motion like flicking water (or in this case, the sensation of touch) away. They can smell the burned hash and solid mass of egg from here. Oh, Aziraphale...]

But breakfast is always good. Let me.

[They know how to make a couple egg things now. They can fix this. Maybe. Or start over.]

Oh! You needn't. I can-- I can cook, please, let me.

[ He's trying so hard to be dad in this family. It's okay, as unofficial dad of this family, somehow the meat has come out okay and he has a talent for making pancakes. Sure, they're more like crepes than the fluffy American kind, but they're still quite delicious.

And trust Aziraphale to be able to make crepes and nothing else. ]

[The Soldier can work with that. If Aziraphale has strengths, they'll play to them.]

We'll both do something. You can make the pancakes and bacon. I'll take over the eggs and potatoes. Then it will be done faster for when Crowley gets up.

[And they're going to start the eggs and potatoes over, because those are ruined.]

Oh, excellent. He's not a big eater, so I don't think he'll want to eat much.

[ Honestly, Aziraphale doesn't even know what kind of foods Crowley likes, because he always just eats whatever Aziraphale wants and then pushes the rest of it over. ]

A small bouquet of paper Soldier Kisses that have been coloured a brilliant shade of blue. They’re tied with a dark grey ribbon and the tag ‘For the silent protector and the strongest of hearts.’ attached to it. It comes with a charming popup card of a cup of hot coffee, a single stream swirling out of it.

Those are perfect. The Soldier lays the flowers on the rickety little table next to their bed, tucks the coffee-card into their broken trunk of Random Weird And Cool Shit, and sets about folding some origami for Daylight in return.

He stops by Daylight's house later that day to present a crane, a lion, a frog, and a multi-pointed star (modeled after one Michelle made them, but much simpler), all in bright colored paper. It seems like a fitting answering gift.

[ Happy holidays! There's a little box of homemade cookies for Bucky even though Midge doesn't celebrate Christmas. She figures the cheer will be needed. There's a note attached: ]

Soldier,
If you like these, I'll teach you the recipe.
Enjoy!
-Miriam

[The plan had been to come thank Midge for the cookies, maybe share one with her (they have two wrapped in a scrap of fabric in their coat pocket), but the candle light through the window on that menorah has them completely distracted. So when the Soldier knocks, and Midge opens, the first thing they say isn't "thank you" or even "hello" like they'd intended. Instead, looking a little wild-eyed, but in a good way rather than a frightened way, they blurt:]

What is that.

Chanel No 5. I've almost ran out of the bottle, so thank you for noticing. [ It's a joke--of course it's a joke (except she really is running out of the bottle) and her gaze follows his to the window. ]

Come in--you mean the Menorah?

[ She's already opening the wider door--she'd be a shitty hostess if she didn't--and holds her hand out so the other can give her his coat. ]

[They make a little face at her for the comedic but unnecessary deflection, but steps inside and immediately over to the table with the menorah for a closer look.]

Yes. Yes, that. I've seen that before. One candle a night?

[And you're supposed to say something. They can't fucking remember what it is, though, or why. The Soldier hasn't been as clear as they could have been with Midge about their memory problems, but it's probably going to come out now.]

For 8 whole days. You Jewish, Soldat?

[ Coat, please, Bucky: Midge is still holding her hand out expectantly. ]

[It takes them a moment to notice the outstretched hand, and that only out of the corner of their eye, but look at it in mild confusion. Nobody's actually asked for the Soldier's coat before.]

I. Maybe? I don't know. I don't remember.

[Javert had said the same thing. It's kind of upsetting, thinking about what must be something important, that they didn't even know about themselves. It seems like more of a thing than not remembering their name, since they don't really want that. Does that mean they want this?]

Coat, please.

[ Midge's voice is gentle, despite being slightly annoyed--not his fault he doesn't know social norms, it's that Midge's arms were getting tired. ]

You don't remember? Hmmm. Well, I need help with hanging something, maybe it'll log your brain. I don't suppose Mezuzahs ring a bell?

Oh-- sorry.

[So that's what the hand was for. Oops. The Soldier ducks their head sheepishly and takes off their coat, offering it. There's still a couple layers of shirt and jacket, but it's just the coat that's the problem, they're pretty sure.

The word isn't familiar enough, but maybe once they see the things.]

I'll help. If you tell me what to do. The dreidels didn't bring the memories back, but I knew how to play.

[Still looking kind of embarrassed, they add,]

I don't have a lot of memories from. Before the war.

[ It's a gamble, it's possible Riku has the wrong place, or got a little turned around in the dark, or Soldat might not even be home, but there's a knock on the door. ]

[The Soldier is not, in fact, in the house. Mostly they're only in the house when making a meal for the day for Crowley and Aziraphale (and themselves), when they're sleeping, and when it's time for a bath. But they are home: out behind the house, throwing knives at a tree for target practice. Riku can hear the thok of each one even from the cabin's front door. Come investigate, Riku, maybe you'll find what you're looking for.

Or else Crowley or Aziraphale can be inside, and point Riku in the right direction. Take your pick.

Either way, when moving around the house, the Soldier pauses, knife in hand and ready to throw, then drops their hand.]

Yes? Do you need something.

[ Riku's been a lot of things. Precocious enough to be called an old soul at five years old. Curious enough to satisfy a scientist a few times his senior. Shrewd enough to survive until self sacrifice was the one thing to do him in.

He seeks out the source of the sound, and finds who he's looking for. ]

Yeah.

[ He leans against the wall, folding his arms. ]

It can wait until you're done.

[They look from Riku, to the knife in their hand, and back. Riku wants them for something?

Huh.

They turn and hurl the blade at the tree they'd been using. It thunks right in next to the last four, completing a star pattern, then they pad over to pull the blades out of the bark. Only one of them goes back into a sheath on their person. The rest get put in sheaths to put away inside. As they put them away, they ask,]

What is it you need?

[ Riku stares at the star-like shape glinting in the dark like it means something, then cuts his gaze away. ]

... Your advice. You've been doing a lot with the spirits.

[ True to form, Riku cuts to the chase. ]

You've noticed there's a cultural difference between some of the spirits. Right?

Sure. There are locals, that are about our size. And forest ones that are smaller. And the green-eyes.

[Those aren't the cultural differences, just how the Soldier names the groups. They roll the four sheather knives into a piece of felt for safekeeping, then move back over to where Riku waits.]

Edited 2020-01-07 18:16 (UTC)

[ He's seen Soldier around, they've on an exploration together, when they found the Armoury. Even if Riku is used to these displays of effortless reliability, that doesn't make him any less appreciative. He nods. ]

Yeah. The ones who are more keen to fight us, I was thinking about how we might connect with them the way we've connected with the more peaceful spirits around town.

[ He came to this possibility quite quickly, but between everything else happening and... some of his own messes to clean up, Riku has only recently had time to try pursuing it. Continuing, Riku says: ]

What about fighting with them? Not to kill each other, but to understand each other better. To recognize each other's strengths and make up for each other's weaknesses.

You get it too, right? [ He cuts his eyes away, looking a little embarrassed. ] That bond between... warriors.

[The what now. The Soldier looks subtly and politely lost. If this were any other warrior, it might be immediately obvious... but the Winter Soldier was a ghost, it worked either alone or with specified backup with which it was not allowed to form any kind of relationship, and no memories. They have never heard of this bond of which he speaks.

They might recognize it of it were described more thoroughly, because they have experienced fighting alongside people here, but the phrase in particular is alien.

Assuming this is a thing that the Soldier is just unfamiliar with, they accept the premise after a moment and attempt to parse the particulars.]

We would need a common goal to fight beside them, and rules they would be willing to follow if we fought against them I'm a controlled manner. And the means to communicate either one.

[ Riku's a quick study, he's sharp. He can tell he missed the mark with Soldier.

It doesn't discourage him. On the contrary, moments like these demonstrate just how easy, how simple the challenge is - even being understood as one person to another can be a day to day hurdle. How much more when it's another sentient being like the spirits? ]

Or something more approachable. Like training. Or... friendly competition.

[The Soldier considers this a moment. It's a thought, they suppose. Attempting to work together would be the best possible outcome, and practice in doing so would make life so much easier if it ever actually came to pass.

They're just not sure they trust the green-eyes to come when called, obey the rules, and stick to the plan. (Not sure, shit. Very sure they won't do any of those things.) The Soldier decides,]

The problem is still of communication. We attempted Morse Code, whatever Daylight's verbal language is, and spirit language. They didn't seem to understand us properly. Maybe if we found a messenger to explain.

[They add, after a pause,]

Maybe try with the more amenable spirits first to see if it helps and they can understand what we want. A test-run.

[ Pursing his lips thoughtfully, the silver-haired man nods. Riku is coming into this idea expecting complications. He's banking on a hitch. It's when things go too smoothly that he misses a learning opportunity. Soldat is right to assume the green-eyed spirits won't play ball, that's highly likely. ]

Sounds good.

[ Nothing about the communication angle is new and that's good, that speaks as much to how good Day and Soldat have been about sharing their discoveries as it does about how well Beacon residents like Riku are paying attention. ]

During your communications with the spirits, any potential leads come to mind?

I really only have the one friend. I don't think they would be interested in fighting games, though. I can ask.

[Owl Friend seems particularly nonviolent, to their mind, but then, it's not ever really come up except in Owl Friend's avoidance of the "job" of attacking the Beacon residents.]

Maybe you should ask Daylight. He has more contacts, I think, who might be more curious. The spirit who keeps trying to take my stuff might have fun.

[The last comes with a more dry tone. They've caught the same little porcupine-like spirit in their things and generally making trouble in their space many a time, now.]

[ Daylight was next on the list of those Riku would ask about this, but Soldat made sense, given the nature of his inquiry and the experience he assumes the soldier has. He again nods. ]

A spirit who keeps taking your stuff, huh.

[ Thinking this might be referencing the spirits who snatched a number of people's personal effects, he doesn't pursue it further. ]

Thanks for your help.

[That's the first time they met that particular spirit. They took one of the Soldier's grenades during the thieving event, and ran off with it. Since then, that particular spirit has taken it upon themselves to harass the Soldier on a regular basis. It might well be some weird kind of affection, but it's still annoying.]

Trying to take it. Only managed once. During the stealing thing. Just shows up a lot to try, since then.

[They shake their head. Back on target.]

It's a good idea. Just details to organize it. Never would've thought of it, myself.

[ Perhaps it's Soldier's story. Perhaps it's what he says at the end of it, something changes Riku's expression in a subtle way, softens it. Riku blinks as he feels the corners of his mouth pull into a small smile, his eyes cut away like that fact embarrasses him. ]

High praise.

[ Coming from a rare source. That makes it more special. He lifts his eyes and his right hand, showing his gloved palm in a gesture of farewell, one that doesn't waste a lot of movement on frantic waving, just a lift, a pause, and a drop. ]

See you around.

[That's a surprising sentiment. High praise? Huh. The Soldier tilts their head thoughtfully, gaze in the middle distance while they process, but focus back on Riku's face, at least, at the wave, and even smile some.]

Yes. Take care, Riku. Let me know if you decide to do the thing. I'll help however I can.

[Attached is a picture taken just outside the church. It's a small army of tiny snowmen (no taller than 5-10 inches) or perhaps more accurately snow sigillaria. If you look, each snowman has an initial on its belly to correspond to the people Jason considers himself close to. Written in the snow are the words: Happy Saturnalia & Merry Christmas.

He couldn't find enough gifts for everyone he wanted to, so he sculpted these an sent out a sort of Christmas card instead. Of course, the snowmen are still there in person for the foreseeable future.]

[Aww. Cute. Next time Jason visits his snowman army, he'll find a few origami animals are set around, made out of in bright colored paper.]

[ rip soldat's inbox because he'll be getting these flurry of messages: ]

Hello?

Hello, Soldat?

Are you there?

Can we talk? Can we talk soon?

Please??

Something's happening and it's important and I don't want to mess it up because I know this is a big thing for the others and you and I'm really nervous since this was Dialup's thing back on the Lornful Light because she's the liaison of sorts and I was just a scout so having tea parties aren't my thing and I know it's just a tea party but it's a tea party with the doctor and she's willing to speak with me on stuff and I don't know what to ask because this is really all of the sudden and-

[ daylight doesn't need air like humans but you think he'll stop at some point.

he does not. ] -do you think it'll be weird if I bring a gift or? I don't know. I don't know what the or would be in this situation because-

[ someone please stop him. ]

[Daylight gets to ramble for a while because there's a momentary panic attack at hearing the word "doctor" and the idea of Daylight going to go see one and no no no no nononononono no doctors for Daylight. The Soldier kicks into protective high gear after like ninety seconds of intense mental static and hyperventilating, but then barrels across the snowy lawn between their cabins to pound on the door.

Not knock. Pound. There's a gun in their non-pounding hand, too.]

[ !!!

this isn't good. daylight quickly hurries to the front door and opens out, peering down with a panicked and flustered expression on his face. (and, hilariously enough (when the two can appreciate things like this), daylight still has the tablet pressed up to his audial like a phone. ]

Soldat-! I thought you were out and-

[ hang on what is that in his hand. ]

Is that a gun? [ daylight knew he had no right to act surprised about the presence of a gun around him, since he had one to call his very own from uncle roderic but- still...! ] Why do you have a gun?

[The gun comes up to point past Daylight, in a covering kind of motion, casing the house behind him. No doctors? No doctors. Nobody at all, actually.

Only then does it come down again. The Soldier has good trigger discipline, dammit, and will only be pointing it at the floor unless there's a reason he might have to shoot it.]

Protection. For you. No doctors, Daylight, no fucking doctors.

What- No! We- I need to see her! She's not even here because-

[ daylight's common sense finally manages to make itself know, pointing out that maybe it's not the best of times to tell soldat with a gun the location of the one he's, er, gunning for.

he tries to calm himself, taking deep vents the way emer had taught him to keep his helm on his shoudlers. ]

I- [ calm down, daylight. calm down. you can use words. ] Let me explain from the top, Soldat. Please? I'm sorry for the wrong impression I gave but I do need your help in something. It's about... It's about Maridel.

[ a conversation they had in the past comes back to day and he tries to seize it- ] Remember? You're the one who first told me about her when we had a chat in the past.

She- She made contact with me.

Maridel.

[They do remember that name. Robin's friend, the original Beacon resident, who was afraid to show herself in case she got killed. They'd considered offering her their protection, if it would help the rest of the village learn.

That was before they knew what she was. They look somewhere between murderous and ill.]

Maridel is a doctor.

[ ... daylight is certain he made things worse, judging by soldat's expression right now.

after a second or two, he nods his helm and quickly tries to explain himself: ] That's what she addressed herself in the card she signed. When she sent me a gift.

[ he pauses now, realising that he could be digging himself (and dr. solis) even deeper. ]

... Can I tell this from the start, Soldat? Because, I swear, this makes... some bit of sense. [ maybe. ]

[It's not like poor Daylight knows about the Soldier's problem with doctors. How could he? They to try to calm down. A little. There's no doctors here. Maridel isn't even here. It's just Daylight, and they're freaking Daylight out. There's time to keep him safe and let him talk.

So. Take a deep albeit shuddery breath, holster the pistol, and say:]

Okay.

[ daylight flutters his winglets and he flashes big cyberpup optics in gratitude. even after all the trip-ups he had been, soldat being willing to hear out daylight's bit is one he's grateful for. ]

Okay... Um... Hang on. [ daylight hurries back to his room for something and he comes back, holding a letter in his servo.

he doesn't hand it over to soldat just yet- first, he's gotta explain the situation and daylight tries his best: ]

I sent some gifts through the post office during the winter holidays. Robin and Rastus and Dr. Ingram and the spirits. Um- When I dropped by the post office to check if I had mail, I got some presents in return.

One of them from Dr. Solis. She signed a card and everything. From the way she responded to me in it, I realised I... I gave her a gift. I had to because it was with all the other things I got. So I tried to figure it out who it was and sent a letter under that name, just... guessing, really.

Then... [ he holds up the letter, indicating that this had been her reply to the letter.

he hands it over to soldat so he can read it if he wants to because, honestly, this is a lot for daylight to believe himself. he trusts his friend with the very important mail and, more importantly, it allows him to properly gesture with his servos again. if only to let out some energy because the big bit is this: ] She's willing to meet me! Over tea. So we can talk about stuff. I can bring someone with me if I want to but only one.

I- I don't know what to do, Soldat. I want to meet her- I do! -but I don't know how to approach this. Intelligence and diplomatic relations aren't my strongest points. [ daylight is friendly, sure, but he's nothing like his mom, who was considered one of the greatest intergalactic ambassadors of her time. he's not cut out for that sort of stuff. at all. ]

[Each time he says Doctor the Soldier has to smother a flinch. Not always successfully. The flesh hand goes into a pocket so they can keep it on the handle of a knife, and that helps a little. Taking the letter in the metal one, it only trembles a little while they read, because the metal arm is more steady than the flesh one.]

Not mine, either.

[Especially since all they want to do is tell Daylight not to go, to stay away where it's safe. Even though this doctor is probably not the kind of doctor they're used to, they can't help the visceral fear at the thought.]

Rosinante might be okay. Better. Smarter about people than we are.

[Also actually capable of being suspicious, and protecting Daylight if there was danger.]

[ for the luck of everyone involved- daylight does notice the flinches now and then. it takes him longer than he'd like to admit to realise what's causing it but, when he does, the lightbulb goes over his helm and.

oh.

okay. he tries to keep that in mind. ] Yeah! That's a good idea. I'll go to Rosinante after this. To see what his thoughts are on D- [ he stops himself just in time, clearing his vocoder in an attempt to act like his vocoder is acting up. ] To see what his thoughts are on Ms. Solis and this situation are.

... Is there anyone else I should look into for this? Because... I don't know-know a lot of people here. [ he's friendly but that doesn't make him everyone's friend. ] Someone who can ask questions would be great, Soldat. Or, um, I don't know- Someone who can look at this with a new angle? Fresh perspective?

[ help?, is basically what day is trying to say here without saying it aloud. ]

[It's embarrassing the amount of relief there is when Daylight audibly manages not to say that goddamn word again. It doesn't entirely make the fear subside, but it does stop viciously prodding it into wanting to snap at everything like a wild animal.

Fear doesn't keep the tactical mind from working, though. They're used to thinking through fear. It's no coincidence that each person they list, still, would be capable of protecting Daylight in some capacity.]

Rosinante still. Marines. Handles me at my worst. Also capable of being an asshole. Kuai was a leader in life, he knows people well, and he can be polite. Maybe Misty, she's sharp and observant, but she's not very social so she might not be interested in tea with anyone.

[Which worries them a little, sometimes, just not in the middle of a planning session cum freak-out.]

Go in with questions. A plan.

[ daylight nods along, looking grateful and relieved when he hears names being given. he's definitely going to reach out to rosinante and huh! he didn't know there was another leader here in beacon. he'll definitely keep him (and misty) in mind when reaching out to personally hear from possible people as his +1 for the tea party.

but then he blinks at the last words and he tilts his helm to the side, looking utterly lost. as if something just occurred to him now. ]

... Questions. [ his brow furrows and he genuinely looks confused. oh dust and rust- was he really going to go into that without anything at the ready? ] Right! Right. Questions. To learn more about our situation and what we can do about this entire... thing.

And a plan. Right. A plan. ... A plan for what, exactly?

[ oh dear. he really was going to go into that without anything at the ready. ]

[The Soldier fixes him with a brief, slightly alarmed, mildly disapproving stare. No one should ever go into any situation without a plan. Even tea with a stranger. (A strange doctor. Quit reminding yourself of that, dumbass.)]

A plan. What you want to say to her, what you want to ask her, what you'll do if she's dangerous or doesn't want to answer questions. What to do if she doesn't show up. Who you'll take with you and what questions they will ask you. What precautions you will take. Daylight. There should always be a plan when you do something new and potentially dangerous.

[Biggest speech they've given in a while.]

[ it's something daylight notices himself, given the way he looks surprised by the time soldat finishes speaking to him. it's not every day soldat does this sort of thing so daylight takes notices and pays attention, hanging on to his every word with the same, wide-opticked expression on his face.

then the expression gives way to contriteness, his winglets fluttering behind him for a few seconds before pulling back and hanging low out of shame. ]

Right. You're right. [ he rubs the back of his neck, looking more sheepish than ever. ] Sorry. I guess I'm... used to others doing that stuff for me back on the Lornful Light since I was the scout and Dialup and Nightbreak did this stuff and...

[ he shakes his helm. right. no. no making excuses. the others aren't here. he needs to make up for that then. ] Go in there with a plan. Right... [ he falls quiet, trying to organise his thoughts and ideas into something coherent enough to share with soldat. ] My plan, I guess, so far is to bring someone with me who can ask questions and dig for info. Then we see if we can learn what we can from Ms. Solis.

[ it's- it's not a lot, obviously, but better than the confusion daylight showed just moments ago. ]

[It's a start, and the Soldier nods approvingly.]

See, you had a plan. The beginnings of one. Just need to fill in details. You're going to have to ask questions, too. Bringing someone to just play interrogator isn't what she's asking for in this.

[They hand the letter back. Tactical analysis helps. Gives them focus. Lets them put aside who they're talking about.]

So pick your person. Write down questions for each of you. Consider contingencies. Daylight. I want you to be safe.

[They also want to hover outside the church with a gun just in case.]

[ daylight smiles at the last comment, clearly touched by soldat's concern. it takes him a second to find his voice again because, funnily enough, his vocoder is suddenly overwhelmed by a rush of static and white noise.

when he finally can find the words again, he manages out a shy and touched, ] Thanks, Soldat. That... That means a lot to me.

[ he falls quiet again as he looks away while his winglets flutter in bashfulness, trying to find a way to express his own wishes of this situation. he thinks what he has now is enough. ] I want to make sure this ends well for everyone.

[ for them. for dr. solis. for the spirits. for those who couldn't get this far like dr. ingram's group and for those helped them get this far at the expense of their own life like winters. ]

We're in this together, after all! Right? [ right, he believes and hopes. ]

[It's a lot to ask, being "in this together" with actual medical doctors. But it's Daylight, the one who trusts everyone and expects the best of everyone. They can't not support him. Fuck. So they say:]

Yeah.

[Let's get back on task, though. So they don't perjure themselves, or something. Or get embarrassed.]

So what do you want to ask her.

... A lot.

[ okay okay okay- that's not very useful, he knows thankfully, he does clarify that bit by explaining a little further: ] I guess the first thing I want to do is figure out what she doesn't want to answer, whatever her reasons are.

Because... How do I push for information? Should I push for information? Should the other person do it? I want us to get along but... at the same time, I know the others will want to use this chance to finally shed light on what's happening to us.

[ because being in the figurative dark has been the sticking point for a lot of people here. not knowing what's happening and wanting the answers so badly is what caused the feast's events to spiral out the way they did. day is trying to keep this in mind the most as he thinks of things to ask and things to do. ]

I think. She'll know you want to know things. If she's smart at all, she'll expect it.

[It's so hard to talk about her as if she's not a goddamn doctor, but they can't upset Daylight more. They have to help him.]

Ask her. Go in with as many questions as you want. But ask her from the start what she won't answer.

[That might be a good place to start. The Soldier does not generally partake in interrogations, except sometimes as a threat or as backup for torture purposes, but they have seen them.]

[ daylight's optics glow at the advice on asking her pointblank what she won't answer. ]

Oh! That's a really good point! Hang on-

[ daylight rummages through his messenger bag/belt and pulls out his tablet so he could open it up and put down notes. he doesn't want to forget any of these details or advice, so having it somewhere stored for him to memorise or look up would be great.

but as he types at his tablet, he slows down a bit when an idea comes to him. daylight looks up at soldat and lets out a breathless suggestion before thinking it through: ] Do you think it'll be a good idea to give her access to the network?

I mean- I still have Winters' tablet and it's here in the cabin. She said she wasn't connected to us... so... maybe she could...?

[ he does hesitate when making his suggestion. from his understanding, there's no real way to. seeing winters' username - since it was on the directory long enough for the first wave of them to remember - popup might alarm others. ]

[The Soldier blinks, momentarily distracted from worry by the surprise of hearing that.]

You're the one who has it. Winter's tablet. We were wondering.

[Giving it away seems like… a really dumb idea, actually. Not without letting people with actual technological skills do some poking around on it, anyway.]

There might be a lot of intel on that. We should find a different tablet if you want to give her one.

[Which is to say, it's not a bad idea, but maybe not that tablet in particular. Surely there are spares somewhere.]

Um... Yeah. [ daylight scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish as he gives a nervous 'yep! me!' smile at soldat. ] I was Winters' roommate in the early days of Beacon. I saw where he usually placed it and... after the lighthouse...

[ it didn't seem right to snoop into winters' possessions, day knows, but he had been curious about the man after his passing. he wanted to learn more about him and, while not a lot, it did inform him of some interesting bits.

like this- ]

I poked around it for a bit and I don't think there's much intel in it. The most notable thing I could find was, um, this conversation he had with Robin. [ daylight tilts his helm on the side, humming thoughtfully as he tried to remember the exact details of the conversation. ] It was about Dr. Ingram. Set before our arrival.

[They kind of doubt that's the only thing of interest, and it honestly doesn't sound particularly useful to the group as a whole, but don't push it.

Especially since there's another "doctor" there, and they have to suppress another flinch. They already know William Ingram isn't that kind of doctor, but the word still brings up terrible feelings.]

Ask Inram if he has others he can spare for her. Or ask Solis why she isn't on it already. If she's the one who puts us together when we die. And the original Beacon resident. She ought to know how we get them and how they work. Might not have one on purpose.

Oh! That's a really good idea!

[ daylight hurries to type that down on his tablet, not wanting to forget anything that's being said.

it would be weird to not ask dr. ingram if they had spare tablets lying around. with how often they get new faces every month, it makes sense to... have a lot waiting in the wings. why hadn't he thought of that sooner?

this is why he's gone to soldat and the others: pieces of information here comes in really handy, be it today or tomorrow. ] I hope Mr. Ingarm is open to the idea of giving them away to others. It'll be nice to keep in contact with Ms. Solis and keep her up to date on stuff more easily. [ because daylight had realised his mistake from earlier and tries to correct that now, careful in the way he addresses the other adults. (sorry, soldat. that was his bad.)

but his excited typing soon begins to slow down when he hears the rest of soldat's suggestions and commentary. day looks at soldat over his tablet, optics wide and his half-seen expression now best described as 'very nervous' for some reason. ]

I think I can answer some of those questions for you if you want... But do you promise to not... you know...

[ not bring out the gun? or have the gum come in any equation. ]

[Promise not to what. The Soldier stares at Daylight a moment, trying to follow that train of thought. Finally they settle on a standard response to a nervous expression.]

Daylight. I'm not going to hurt you. Pretty much ever.

[ daylight smiles at soldat in gratitude, surprisingly touched by that statement.

but- no! day! come on, you gotta focus. ] I know you won't.

It's just... I need you to promise that for Ms. Solis too. Just until we figure out how we can help one another. I know... I know there's a lot of suspicions against her but I want us to get along.

Because we know where she is. [ he takes a deep vent, his winglets wriggling in nervousness. ] She's... She's the Friend Under the Basement.

[ soldat is the first person he's confined this bit of information too. ]

[Okay, yes, that is harder to assure. But at least they're sure they can't take out the person who brings them back if they die... or the original Beacon resident... it's too important a resource. It just is harder to say out loud.

The Soldier huffs out a little sigh, like it's a trial to say he won't shoot someone in the face.]

I won't. I'm not stupid.

[A pause, and then the slightly more openly truthful addition:]

Unless she does something, first. As long as she doesn't. She's fine.

You're one of the smartest people I know, Soldat. You definitely aren't.

... And thanks. For trusting me on this. I know it's a lot- [ and then some, considering what they know and don't know in this moment. ] -but thank you. It means a lot to me.

[ he smiles at soldat, his winglets flicking up in sincere gratitude. ]

Well- I need to get ready and talk to the others now. I gotta inform them and hear other perspectives for this. [ he hesitates for a bit, wondering about something. ] Do you... Do you want me to keep you updated? About this?

[Well, they're only stupid in regards to some few things. Mostly related to emotions. And themselves. And where those two things intersect. Tactically, they're very smart. They withdraw the flesh hand from their pocket finally and pat Daylight's metal arm.]

Just stay safe. That's all I need.

[They pause, and add a look that says clearly "are you fucking with me right now, Daylight, cuz that is a dumb-ass question", and then the words:]

Yes. Please keep me updated.

[Otherwise they'll fret themselves crazy and wind up really stalking the guy instead of the occasional amiable distance-check-in they do now.]

[ 35 minutes after these messages go through, the soldier will receive this message. ]

His lanterns' here. It's broken. THe parade's gone. It's really quiet. I don't think they're gonna come back.

[Sigh. He's safe. ... The other kid is not.]

Take his lantern to the church and leave it there. Solis will fix it if she can.

Edited (he would not write dr whoops) 2020-02-08 03:17 (UTC)

Ok. Is there a time limit? Naminé's waiting for me at the bonfire. I awnan go check on her first.

Don't think so. Quicker is probably better but you can check on your friend

okay

[ a beat before another message comes in. ]

i did the best i could right

There was nothing more you could have done kid

[ a five minute pause before this next one comes in. spoiler alert! he was crying the whole time. ]

okay
see you fridya? Friday
for the chocolate

Of course

[A beat later:]

Get your friend to give you a hug when you see her

[ that actually gets a laugh out of him on his end. that's so good. ]

At long as she's up for it i will
I'll be better off when she's back home and warm i can already tell

You'll be better off when you're back home and warm too

I can walk you back to the Landmark or you can use the couch here instead if you need to

[ Long pause on this one. ]

I'll come over after I drop her off
i'll go home when i wake up

okay

Tell me if you want me to be upstairs when you get here

[Because sometimes Soldat isn't the only one who needs privacy, they're sure.]

i think i want other people there but i'm really tired
is that weird that I want other people around even though i'm just gonna fall asleep

No. I can't sleep in an empty house. I'll be in the kitchen when you get there

okay
thank you

And here comes a knock at the door. Hey, soldier, someone at the door for ya.

Soldat opens the door and greets him with a cup of cocoa. There are blankets and the pillow Sora likes to hug on the couch, folded up neatly for him. Drink you cocoa first, though, pal.

He will gratefully take that cocoa in both hands after he takes off his nice coat and toes off his boots, putting them both to the side. It's nice and warm in here. He'll nod to the soldier in thanks and just plop on the couch, sipping at his cocoa and staring into space. The cold and the time between his last message and now seems to have taken care of his feelings. He just seems very tired. If the soldier leaves, he'll just roll right onto his side and fall asleep, to be quite honest.

If Sora makes an attempt at talking, Soldat will make themselves available, but if all he seems to want to do is sit and drink cocoa, and sleep, Soldat will keep themselves busy in the kitchen to keep an eye on him.

Once Sora does lay down, they'll head upstairs to their own room. Home, moving around a bit, but not right in the kid's face.

Maybe, on some very similar night in the future, Sora will turn around and call to the soldier so they can talk a bit, see if he can pick their brain for one thing or another, or just to work through the things that whirl around in his head, caught under pieces of mental furniture, stuck in the rafters. There's quite a bit of it, after all. For all the knowledge he lacks, he does tend to fill the space with other things. It can get a bit crowded, he finds, if he keeps it all to himself.

But the soldier said he'd done everything he could. Sora's a simple creature. That was enough catharsis for him. So he'll feel around for a coaster or some other small thing to set his empty cup on (definitely not a book, he thinks Aziraphale would flip), lay down with his blanket and pillow (yes, the one he likes to hug - thank you, soldier), and close his eyes. He feels like he could probably sleep forever here. He would if he could.

On their way past to the stairs, once Sora has curled up and closed his eyes, Soldat hesitates just a moment by the couch, bends enough to stroke Sora's hair twice, then hastily continues to their room. Comforting touch is hard, but they're working on it.

Small favor to ask: would you help me pick a rifle at the night market? I know what I'm used to at home but the vendor has a lot more options you might be more familiar with. Don't want to get ripped off.

[Wow, Rosinante, you just made Soldat's fuckin' day. Asked for advice about guns.]

Yes. I've seen his stock. Are you there now?

Sure am. See you shortly?

Ten minutes.

[They gotta scarf down the last of their lunch and then get back to the docks, but then they're prowling in the direction of the vendors, looking for Rosinante. At least the guy stands out.]

[Enjoy this random Important Thing thrown in out of the blue, Soldat.]

You've been working a lot on spirit language, right?

Or-- Owl Friend?

Edited 2020-02-13 03:54 (UTC)

[Because the tablets might not be secure and this is not as silly a conversation as sharing music files about people, Soldat replies with:]

Will be at your house in about half of an hour.

[And then they show up, pretty much right when they said they would, looking kinda curious. And also cold. It's nearing the end of their first "break" time, almost lunchtime, and they're only not here sooner because they were smack in the middle of arm maintenance for the week and it was just easier to finish than stop halfway through. Anyway, food can wait. Or happen here, whatever.]

Hello, Misty.

That half hour has been used to prepare food and ready her pitch. Of course food happens here. She's not a savage. He's ushered in and offered a blanket with the usual promptness, surprisingly free of any extra urgency. There's no rush, she reminds herself, however counter-intuitive it feels. A mild chili with bread set out; easy to make in large batches, and hot.

That there is a mission is clear, however, in that after greetings she proceeds without so much as a bite of food.

"It's not an emergency, or anything. You're just obviously the person to go to, and I'm - I don't know, eager? Curious."

Yep. That sure is plenty of food. Looks like lunch is happening here. (Or at least their first lunch.) Soldat exchanges their coat for the blanket readily enough, settles on the couch with it around their shoulders, and. Waits for her to at least eat, but instead gets words.

They wait on eating first, too, then, brows coming together thoughtfully more than in confusion, for once. "Curious about spirit language. And my friend. They just look like an owl, that isn't. Really their name, or anything. It's actually kind of a long, low hoot, but I can't use that. When speaking English."

They shake their head. That was more words than usual for them, but they're curious now, too. "What do you want to know?"

"But a pretty hoot, isn't it?" Working to her point, here. "Musical, right? Ocarina-worthy. I wouldn't have expected you to have somehow learned it by now, but would your friend be able to...translate? Lead us anywhere?"

She holds up a card, empty save something akin to a QR code. "I got this from Pluto. It turns into--" She slides her tablet between their bowls on the table, and his play. A melody, brief, by Misty's own measure pretty. She clears her throat.

"I spent an...embarrassing number of hours wondering if it was somehow related to something on Songbird before realizing it might just be spirit language."

Oh, now this makes sense. Didn't the purple one have something like that they played on the network? Hell, Soldat has ((or will have?? not sure if it arrives in March or not...)) one of those, too.

"Those go to a place. Pluto said." Soldat settles back on the couch, feeling a little more at ease. "A lot of the spirits could probably work with that. But we can go find my friend and ask them. Since they know Morse, might be able to tell us directly what it means instead of having to lead us themselves."

"Well, being led might be half the point. Dense woods, you know? Knowing there's a Home Depot won't help find it if all I can go on is 'West'." Said, of course, affectionately. This is confirmation enough that now she can peck at her meal. Hit that ground running, Soldat. Ask and lead immediately, one-and-done, get out there and see something uncharted.

"I just don't know which spirits would be the best for it, and I figured one I know is fond of you'd be better than...walking around town playing at any of 'em that'd listen."

Soldat has no idea what a Home Depot is, but they're gonna roll with it anyway. And also lean over to scoop themselves out some chili into a bowl and grab some of that bread. "We know they won't hurt us. So it's a safe bet, if they agree."

Their mouth turns up briefly. "They're getting popular. The giant psychic cat wants to meet them, too." Since they're relatively sure Mewtwo isn't going to hurt Owl Friend, and knows Misty is safe, it's okay. Just have to make sure neither of them are followed to Owl Friend's home territory.

God, the phrase 'giant psychic cat' hardly warrants a raised brow. This is how they're existing, these days. No wonder they're all so tired. "Good for them, I hope. If they like the company, they deserve to have however much of it they can stand. If there's some kind of thank-you act they're consistent about, I'd hate to ask a favor without returning something."

Good owl, presumably deserving of treats owl, particularly if it's shoehorned into guide duty. "Even just nudging us to spirits who do know, worst case scenario, would be great. I appreciate this."

"Coffee and head-scritches," Soldat answers readily, smiling a bit. Then they add, only about half-serious, "Kinda like me." After a couple bites of lunch, they add, "I should teach you their actual name if you're going to meet them. They're very kind about having to use Morse Code for a lot, but like it when I can use their language."

Cute.

"Makes sense," she agrees, not at all daunted by implied complexity. One word. She can tackle one word, assuredly. It'll feel better asking questions the more she can actually offer, anyway. "Not a problem. I can't promise pronunciation'll be perfect, but I'll get it best I can."

"Less pronunciation problem, more actually hitting the note. It's simple, just low for your voice." Soldat can make it, but Soldat is also a baritone. Not that they remember the actual term for it. "But they're understanding. Making the effort is enough. Here. This is their name:"

They clear their throat from the remains of chili, then makes a low hooting noise, rising and falling just a little at the end to make it less monotone.

"Oh, ohhho," a laugh, preemptively, "I'm going to have a much harder time with that."

Ever a believer in good sport, she opens her mouth to mimic. Immediately, the first second after beginning to vocalize, it stops short. The laughter has graduated to nervous laughter. Her ears are pink. "I'll never manage that. The ocarina won't work?"

"Sure. Don't see why not, everyone else does. I just don't know the note on it." Since they can't really use the thing properly, and prefer singing to trying to make the metal fingers do what they're supposed to. Really, Soldat and Daylight are one of the only ones who don't use the ocharina, and Daylight is lucky enough to have an electronic voicebox, so he can make a much greater range of sounds than a strictly human throat. "You'd have to experiment a little to find it."

"Easy trial and error there - I'll embarrass myself a hell of a lot less." Her grin is relieved, as this encounter just got a lot less imminently disastrous. This established, she can focus a little more evenly on lunch.

"I'll start after this, then. And we'll bring coffee? Do they like grounds, or like, filling up a thermos?"

Which means so can they. They've already cleared through most of the chili, anyway, currently using the bread to mop up some of the juices. "Usually just bring them a mug, swing by Invincible before heading out past their territory. It mostly stays warm long enough, if I use the right hand to carry it and keep it close." It's not like Soldat doesn't have body heat in excess if they're keeping active and fueled up.

"Does hoot have hands?" She won't imitate the name outright, but this seems perfectly fair shorthand. Because owls do not have hands, and holding a cup in place while a spirit drinks out of it feels - rude, even if it really isn't.

And, more normally: "Sugar? Cream?"

Hoot. Hilarious. Soldat gives her a (mostly not serious) unimpressed look, but it only lasts for a moment. "Talons, kind of. They look mostly human-shaped. Wear a dirty suit. Just bigger, taloned hands and an owl head. Feathers sticking out here and there. Seem to like whatever kind of coffee I bring, though."

Hey, she calls em like she...is vocally capable of callin' em. This friend sounds spooky as hell, but she'll roll with it. Must be an alright sort, she generally trusts Soldat's judgment of character.

"They napping any particular time, or could we head out whenever I've got the name-note down?"

"Usually I visit on my 1600 patrol. If you meet me at the Invincible at 1750 any day you're ready, we can get their, you can come with me." Routine is nice. Unless there's some kind of emergency, or he's summoned by someone during one of their "free time" periods like this (free time sucks, they always find useful things to fill it with; playing cards in the Invincible for an hour a day while they eat lunch is the most they can manage), Soldat's day is close to the same every day. "They aren't always there, but if we're patient and I keep calling, they usually come."

"Tomorrow's enough time to get the notes down, so I can try for that." Sooner the better, but best to not drop this in his lap. "I can definitely do patient. However long it takes, really, I'm excited."

Something new, seen first. The good stuff. "I won't hog you much after this, just wanted to get something set up. It'll be...I mean, hopefully good. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"You know I don't ever mind spending time with you, Misty," Soldat says. Sure, they have other things to do, but this is technically free time (or rather, "random tasks that need doing" time), and none of their current tasks are in such dire need that they have to get back to them immediately. Plus, lunch that they don't have to make, so they might as well just stay here until it's time to sleep again.

Almost, almost sheepishly, she shrugs, free hand at the back of her neck. "You never let on like you do, I don't think you're just bearing a burden! But you're kind of a man about town, you know. Lots of things to do in a day, lot of people to talk to."

However greedy she'd like to be, there's no sense Soldat-hogging.

"My next patrol isn't until 1600. Most of the time until then I'll be asleep." Hopefully, anyway. There could always be nightmares. It's why they sleep in two shifts, in the hopes that at least one of them was uninterrupted. "I can stay for lunch and talk. Or not talk. Which could also happen."

Military time is something she'd have to think about, so that's out - she'll just assume 'some time, yep' and charge on for the moment. Hard not to grin at the candidness. "Preference, any which way?"

It's easier to use when you can't say "four in the afternoon" or "six in the morning" because there's no afternoon because there's no sun... not to mention easy to remember, when you've been on military time for seventy years. Soldat shrugs with a dry sort of look. "Won't know until we try. Different every day."

[ owl friend is surprisingly pensive whenever they and soldat interact with one another. even the usual cup of coffee seems to not bring their mood back up - though, to be clear, it seems owl friend doesn't seem upset or scared. it appears owl friend is... distracted by something preoccupying their mind, whatever it is. attempts to bring it up will have owl friend fondly pecking soldat's head, chittering in a playful yet evasive manner.

(owl friend also seems to be missing a few feathers though it's not really supposed to be moulting season. (can bird spirits even moult...?) hm.)

another thing to note is daylight's behaviour. already a friendly guy who loves to hang out with soldat when the chance presents itself, day can easily be found trailing after soldat during the day if the chance presents itself. day is more than happy to fill the air with chatter - and questions. lots of questions he tries to coach in opinions and remarks but it doesn't take a genius to realise that day is trying to find out things about soldat like his hobbies and interests and so on.

if soldat confronts day about his behaviour, the big guy will at least have the decency to look embarrassed and explain he's just 'curious!' and say nothing after that. there is a 100% chance day will abscond at the first chance he gets. ]

[Well, that sure is weird. Soldat does not, in fact, put the robot-teen and owl spirit's behavior together. They're a smart cookie, but there's really nothing to connect those two sets of oddities. (Though they have noticed Daylight spending more time with the spirits than usual, Daylight has never been introduced to Owl Friend, and thus, this particular connection is not a thought that occurs. Soldat does have a few blind spots.)

They play along with Daylight's 20 questions with a kind of curious indulgence. Soldat's hobbies include teaching people things, cooking, origami, cleaning and practicing with their weapons, listening to music, and watching people. It's not at all hard to work out.

They are more concerned about Owl Friend, to be honest, since Daylight asking questions in a childlike and transparent manner is close to normal behavior and can have an explanation, but Owl Friend acting weird is new and a little worrisome. Owl Friend gets extra head-scritches during visits, just in case.]

[ Okay, Kal knows he was supposed to keep his distance, but Bucky's going to get a box full of a half-dozen blueberry cupcakes, anyway. The card attached says:

This doesn't even convey half of how grateful I am for the help you've given me, but I hope you enjoy it this day of St. Valentine.

Thanks, Soldat.

Kal

There're hearts drawn on the tops of each muffin, which look suspiciously like they were done by laser. Hmmm. ]

[Soldat collects the cupcakes, sniffs them suspiciously, brings them inside to try.

Well. Fuck. The guy is trying, they've gotta give him that. And honestly, Soldat can be utterly terrified of someone and still like them. And these are really good.

So they track down Kal-El (Kal? Maybe El was the family name) with one cupcake in hand. Holds it up, gives it a little shake as if trying to make a point or perhaps looking for the right words, and then finally asks without preamble,]

Do you have the recipe for this.

Edited (pronouns are hard) 2020-02-14 01:25 (UTC)

[ It's not like it's hard to track Kal down, considering he's most easily found by the bonfire when he isn't flying.

Seeing Soldat is a surprise. The question is even more so.

Kal smiles, then tilts his head in consideration. ] I could write it down.

Didn't know you baked.

Not much. I cook more.

[There's a difference between cooking and baking. They literally only know how to make an Australian survivalist bread and Aziraphale's cookies, baking-wise. There's no time like the present to branch out, though.]

But they're good. Wouldn't mind trying more.

I could get you the recipe now, if you wanted. [ It's not like Kal's got anywhere to be. One of the nicest things about being dead is not having to hear the whole world and all its suffering any more... even if that might be selfish to think. ]

I'm going to have to find paper, but the store should have plenty.

[ That's when he realises: ] Did you finish the whole box already?

Half of it.

[A pause, realizing that probably sounds kind of bad to people who don't know about their crazy eating habits.]

Gave one to Aziraphale.

[That does not really make it better, Soldat. That's still like five cupcakes in the hour since they got the box. Also, they happen to have paper on their person, and a pen too. The paper is folded tightly behind a gun holster in the small of their back, which they reach around to slip out, and offer to Kal. Then, just as wordlessly, they pull a half-sized pencil, obviously whittled down with a knife, from tucked into a knife sheath under a pocket at their thigh.

Soldat would make a great boy scout. Always prepared. (They got tightly rolled bandages and medical grade thread in a pocket somewhere, too.)]

[ Kal doesn't know who this Aziraphale is, and his head cocks as he asks a simple, ] Your friend?

[ But he digresses. ] I'm just glad you liked it, Soldat. [ He hadn't expected a visit, either, but he doesn't say that out loud. ]

Have you got an oven at your place?

[ He's taking the paper and pen graciously, and for Soldat's sake makes sure to write at what is presumably a normal human pace. Kal doesn't even stop to think, though; ingredients and measurements and subsequent instructions are written with the same ease as a computer producing printouts. ]

Housemate. Technician. Decent enough. He liked them, too.

[They step back, giving Kal space to write. The lack of super-speed is nice. The computer-like recitation is only weird in that nobody but the Winter Soldier ever did things like that, in their experience. Nobody else had their kind of memory or, you know, metal hand. Is this an alien thing? Or a training thing?

Watching closely, they answer,]

Yes, we have an oven. Aziraphale likes to make cookies. Badly, most of the time. And I made a roast once.

“Badly”? [ Kal doesn’t laugh at the thought, but his mouth does curve up a bit. ] Ah, I’m sure he just needs practise.

[ But he does adjust the recipe, in that case—Kal’s own flat does not yet, in fact, have an oven, and he’d had to bake using the precision of his heat vision. Fortunately, heat vision isn’t at all necessary for this recipe, and an oven’s a more than fine substitute. ]

Roast is pretty heavy-duty, though. How'd you manage that?

[It's not like everyone has heat vision, Kal. That wouldn't have been very helpful even if Soldat didn't have an oven.]

Not as well as Misty's. But it was my first try. Overcooked it a little. Still edible, but kinda chewy. The vegetables with it were still good, though.

[ Hey, you can bake using pots over stoves… ]

I feel like food of any kind that ends up shared is better by default. [ The recipe is finished, and when Kal hands it over the words are written neatly, uniformly. Each letter is the same height, each line is clean, and it looks very much like the handwriting of an architect who’s anal about precision. Got to make sure Soldat can read it accurately, after all. ]

I’ve never really baked for myself. We didn’t have that on Krypton.

But I like doing it for other people quite a bit.

[Jesus, mister scary alien, you're not supposed to be nice and say things like you like baking for people. You're supposed to be properly scary so they can actually avoid you. Soldat accepts the paper and pencil back from Kal, expression perfectly bland, because otherwise it might have gone sour at that thought.

They're tense, but pretty good at keeping that under wraps-- from standard humans, though, not magical aliens.]

So do I. Cooking for, anyway.

[There's just something satisfying in feeding people. (And themselves, of course.) Makes a nice change from killing them. They stare for a moment at the paper, then, without looking up, ask,]

Why the fuck did you even make me cupcakes. You don't know me, and I'm scared of you.

Right… I was wondering if it was in bad taste. [ What with the fear and all. It’s interesting, though, to hear anyone admit to their own fear so openly—Kal’s not dealt with that often. ]

You were truly helpful, back at that meeting around the bonfire. And the day of St. Valentine is when people on Earth show their appreciation to others, isn’t it? [ Again, it’s no tradition on Krypton, so Kal’s just sort of trying, here. ]

I didn’t want to let the day pass without saying ‘thank you’.

[Soldat is perhaps surprisingly open about a lot of things. All you really gotta do is ask them.]

It ain't even a big thing. I told you things everyone here should know. Most of the people here would've told you the same thing.

I asked you, though, didn't I? [ superman lowkey cannot believe the deal that is being made of this, wow ] And you answered kindly.

I'd like to think it's all right to receive thanks here and there.

But if it makes you uncomfortable [ and now both his hands come up in something like surrender, all I come in peace and other such pleasantries ] I won't do it again, I promise.

[Because, Kal, you're dealing with a murder machine not accustomed to being rewarded for giving a sitrep, let alone with tasty goodies, let alone with tasty goodies two whole weeks after the fact. Soldat is feeling unbalanced, suspicious, and obscurely guilty, like they got a reward they absolutely did not deserve.

Also, you remind them of Captain America, right down to the dumbass name. Doesn't help matters.

The look Kal gets is somewhere between incredulous and uncertain.]

I will never turn down food. Especially not cupcakes. C'mon, pal, I'm not crazy. Just nobody makes cupcakes for a sitrep.

You are on the floor of a very snazzy house in New Orleans. A coven, in New Orleans. Staring upward at an ornate chandelier, just turned on. A shame you've never been to the city and now that you have you've spent all of it here or entombed, but you have better things to do than think about that. You have to focus. This is important.

Getting to hell should be simple for girls with your talents. It's the getting back, darlings, that is the challenge. If your soul hasn't returned to your body by sunup, you will die.

It's as if the air is physically pressing in on you. There's a pit in your stomach, and if you weren't so anxious you might cry. Focus. You turn to the mousy girl on your right, who looks, to her credit, undaunted.

"What do you think it'll be like?" (The exhale afterwards is staggered. God, everything--)

"I was hoping to never find out." Sounds undaunted still. She's kind enough to humor your taking her hand. Or maybe she's afraid too. Permission is given to begin. One final breath. She relinquishes your hand.

Four voices, different tones, inflections, volumes, discordant to the very fucking end: "Spiritu duce, in me est. Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum, ut salutaret inferi. Descensum!"

The frog under your hands twitches, ribbits, clearly wishes to right itself as you pull back. Good. You have eyes for nothing else, hyperfocused, hands folding in your lap.

"Freak." Right, there's a world around you. You look up and into the safety-goggled eyes of a child surely no older than twelve. A whole room of them, busy with their own knives and their own frogs, though only this one seems to be set on you. The room is dimly lit, sickly green. Fluorescent lights flicker noisily overhead. ANIMALIA is the only thing you can make out from the corner of your eye scrawled on the blackboard off to the right, but it repeats. You somehow know it does. Some short phrase filling all available space. Tables lining the left as well as all shelving around the room are lined with preserved frogs. Atypical decorations. You blink. The boy continues: "You're a freak. Mr. Kringley, she did it again."

You muster exactly one, defeated, "No." But it's already in motion. Footfalls behind you, quickening - because he's irritated. Everyone's staring, now.

"Where is the dissection frog?" He asks, sounding frustrated. Your frog has finally turned itself over, cheerfully sounding off its success. Unable to meet his eyes, your head drifts to the left.

"It's right there, she brought it back to life--" "Shut up, Bobby! She snuck a live one in to trick you. The trick's on her. Pick up the scalpel."

"No. Please, don't make me--"

"If you won't dissect a dead frog, than you will - dissect - a live one." He lifts the scalpel left untouched until that moment, and forces it into your hand. He's stronger than a man ought to be, or you're weaker, maybe. His fist closes around yours, scalpel at the ready, and you can't shake it. There is a void behind his eyes.

You're nearly crying already, panicking, who knows how long you've been at this, it's all one rushed, "No-please-don't-make-me-kill-a-living-thing-- please, you can't make me--"

"You'll kill it or I'll have a talk with your parents." He forces your whole arm, now, and try as you might you can't stop it. Try as you might, you can't look away.

The frog is somehow on its back again, squirming, ribbiting, vulnerable. Scalpel slices. Scalpel sinks. Such a small creature but you feel it down to your stomach, the feeble resistance its flesh provides, the heft of tiny organs being destroyed. It's like paper after that. Watery blood trickling steadily over its heaving little abdomen, its sides, down into the crook of its little shoulder, and if the poor thing is still making sound you can't hear it over your own wail.

Everyone is still watching, you know even despite your own firmly shut eyes. Not one pair of lips moves, but they're laughing, somehow. You can hear it, it echoes off the walls, it converges overhead. They're laughing. Focus. Blood has been wicked away somehow when you open your eyes, intestines visible as you cage your hands protectively over and around it. Familiar expenditure of energy. Power like home. You can correct this. (You're shaking.) You are sorry. You're so sorry. It's--

The frog under your hands twitches, ribbits, clearly wishes to right itself as you pull back. Good.

"Mr. Kringley, she did it again."

He's not at your side anymore. There's his footfall.

"If you won't dissect a dead frog you will dissect a live one--" The scalpel in your hand, cold, fingers like clay, unable to pull back, your largely identical weepy babbling - can't kill a living thing you can't make me--

Clearly he can, now. Your hand moves like a limb possessed, despite the lack of his hands on you this time. You press so hard you can feel the blade meet the metal bin the critter's laying in. You wail. Of course you do. The minute control of your hand is restored you toss the scalpel aside, cage your hands protectively over and around it. Familiar expenditure of energy. Power like home. Why is this happening, how long have you been here? You're so sorry. It's--

The frog under your hands twitches, ribbits, clearly wishes to right itself as you pull back. Please. Please.

"Mr. Kringley--" "-- dissect a dead frog, you will--" "NO--" - the slit, the blood, legs to throat, the croak, that helpless squirming, it didn't do anything - "NO--" -- its skin spread, stuck down with pins, tiny, fragile organs so haphazardly disturbed it's like you'd turned them with a fork -- when did that -- footfall behind you -- the laughter and your own screams are almost deafening -- "You're a freak--" your wordless, monosyllabic, verbal ache-- twitch, ribbit--

(It loops. It loops forever. Determining time passed within it in any real time is an impossible task, and if there is a set period after which an onlooker will be located, it's longer than any sensible person would want to. You never stop screaming.)

It takes even longer than the minutes the memory lasts to come out of that, because first Soldat has to relive some throat-slitting of their own. Then because when the memory malfunction clears away, there's nothing left in their head to deal with either memory, there's nothing at all. They come to almost an hour later, crouched in the snow and shivering with both arms wrapped around themselves. Even a self-hug, they realize with a twitch to free themselves, feels like confinement. They're just lucky they're on the tail end of their 0500 patrol, so it's still too early for many people to be out and about, and they're on the largely-deserted path back from the armory, so no one stumbled on them.

The opal is on the ground, melted through the snow with the heat of their flesh palm, looking balefully up at them.

A check to the tablet shows that they're late to visit Misty. She's going to worry. She's going to. She's.

It's another ten minutes of broken mental loop before they manage to creakily push to their feet.

Christ.

They pick the opal up with metal fingers, wrap it in the usual scrap of fabric, but don't do it the service of putting it into a pocket. They'd crush it, but only with Misty's permission. They go straight to her house and knock like usual, but their expression isn't the polite neutral or small smile of usual, it's grimly blank, because anything else will hurt her. Or them. Probably both.

Worry she does, to such an extent she's been cycling through waiting on the porch itself in addition to right behind the door. Tablet in hand, she's halfway through sending her third message in as many minutes when the knock sounds. Nearly throws the thing in her haste to throw the door open. He's one of very few constants, here and in life, and it's jarring when he errs.

The expression is no comfort. Her concerned expression holds fast.

"Are you okay? What happened-?"

They are so not okay it's not even funny. But they can keep a lid on it. The walk here helped some. They hold up the metal hand, showing her the little bundle of fabric, but keep the metal fingers curled around it so she can't take it herself. Not yet. They don't want her to have to relive that unless she insists. "I. Saw the frogs."

Their voice is hoarse, and the grim expression can't hold, it's turning into something that looks like it might cry, but they can't feel tears. It just feels pained. "I'm sorry. I'm. I'm sorry, Misty."

There's a more innocent 'oh' on the tip of her tongue - it's easy to deduce from the raised cloth it's an opal, perhaps something upsetting about the history of the town - but then he speaks, and all the air leaves her in one steady, seemingly endless exhale. Her legs want to give out from under her, but fittingly, the memory makes rest uncomfortable. Cannot sit down, or she may never stand up again. A step back is taken, and her weight shifts from one foot to the other without cease.

"No one was supposed to-- I-- Um." She's livid someone else has been subjected to it, on some level bruised that anyone else has so much as seen it, but it doesn't stick. Her chest hurts and her eyes are shining, and she can't hope to hold a flame right now. It's every effort to not cry immediately.

"You didn't do it." Didn't seek it out. Shouldn't feel any responsibility. "It's just what-- ah. Ain'tyourfault."

They can't do anything. For a long moment, they can't even say anything, just watch her move away, look stricken, look like she's going to cry. Really cry, not just hurt like they do.

What comes out is the flat question: "Do you want me to crush it. I can crush it for you."

She's wary to so much as look at it, which is something of a help. When she finally does cry, she was at least already looking at the floor. Just the nod is all she can manage at first, and after an embarrassingly rough clearing of her throat, "Please?"

They unwrap the opal, tuck the fabric back in a pocket, and roll the opal at optimum crushing position before closing their metal hand into a fist with a hum and buzz of servos. There's a loud crack, then a crunching sound. They shake their hand free of harmless crumbs of stone and dust over the snow outside, then crouch to wipe the plates off on with in cleaner snow.

Then, finally safe from that memory-- it's never leaving their brain, but at least neither of them can relive it-- they step inside and. And. Fuck, what do they do, Misty's crying and it's their fault and she can't cry, that's what they do not her, and it hurts to see tears and hear her breathing wrong and--

--and what they want or need doesn't matter, they have to make that go away. They have to help. They take two steps up to her, steel themselves for a beat, and wrap the flesh arm around her shoulders to pull her in. Misty, you get your first Soldat hug. Apparently what it takes to push past the horror of that much touching is seeing her cry.

An immediate danger removed, for which she is indescribably grateful. It's a lose-lose situation, but over means it can be put far from their minds once the initial shock subsides. No one was ever supposed to see that, especially, particularly him. It isn't beyond her imagining that it might rouse unpleasant experiences from his own life, and she doesn't ever want to be an accessory to that. And it hurts, the whole of it, this ugliest most haunting affair dragged to the forefront when so much of her time is carefully calibrated to keep it at bay.

Nor is it beyond her imagining that he is making a concession on her part, right now. She does what little she can in return - what would undoubtedly be a set of arms coiled around him for god only knows how long is tamped viciously down. One hand pressed into his chest, adjacent to the face she buries into his shoulder.

It's the first anyone's done this that was about That, and nothing else. Perhaps it's that fact, or normal reactions to being reassured in general, but after one great shuddering breath sobs. Once, twice, and then that too is tamped down. The whimpering might be more pathetic. Lose-lose situations. She sets about muffling herself as much as she can against him, to mitigate this all around.

"'m sorry."

Christ, they manage to actually hug her, and she's not even going to take advantage of it. But the lack of arms back is... better. They can keep this up a while if she's only clinging to their front-- that's almost familiar, like shielding a target on the rare protection detail mission, or a partner they don't want to get shot up. So they add the other arm, tucking her right up, both arms to their chest, shielding her from the world, and. Rock a little.

That's familiar too. Not going to chase down how, just yet, but it is.

Instead, they murmur, maybe a little more Brooklyn than usual, "S'okay. Ain't your fault. You cry if you gotta. Okay? I know. I geddit. S'fine, whatever you need." Okay, maybe a lot more Brooklyn than usual. That is some fine New York mangling, right there.

Edited (dammit sorry XD) 2020-02-24 05:28 (UTC)

Soldat isn't a person to take advantage of, however coveted hugs are. However tempting, her comfort cannot be his discomfort. However nice this is. Which isn't to say she doesn't all but fold in on him once the extra arm is added.

Actual output is balancing into merely a steady cry. Every breath is a shuddering effort not to become a sob, but she manages. Encouragement makes it both better and worse. He's going to have an incredibly oddly placed damp spot on this shirt.

"You weren't -- supposed to see that."

Hey, Soldat's got like four layers on. She's just getting their coat wet. It's fine, it'll dry. Her tears oddly make them feel less like crying, themselves, more like they got to be steady for her. Apparently Soldat is not a sympathetic crier-- thank god. It takes enough self-control to stay put and keep their muscles relaxed. This isn't bad, but it's not easy, either.

One hand rubs on her back, the flesh one, since it's the one that they presume is nicer to feel. Warmer and with more give to the fingertips and palm. "Not supposed to see a lot of shit. Still did. Still ain't your fault."

A wise call, as it's very nice. She'll be going another few minutes at minimum, as is simply the law of tear conservation. Next to no indulgence in a cry means dam breakings are...dam breakings. As comforters go, however, he's top marks. No better time to confront some things.

"None of it had to happen. They just-- left me there."

"Fuckers." Oops, did that slip out? That absolutely slipped out. Whoever did that to Misty deserves all the invective and, in fact, all the shooting. "Anybody tries to send you there again, I'll put some bullets in them. You're mine. My handler. Nobody hurts my handlers." That tone of intense certainty come with a couple plates shuddering in the arm, the sound of a few gears tightening, as if they be preparing to shoot someone right the instant.

The flesh hand stays gentle on her back, though. That's the joys of having one arm be a machine: it does shit entirely independent of the rest of Soldat's body, sometimes.

"Thank you."

It's soothing to the substantial parts of her that are, remain, absolutely enraged. There's no room to express it around the pain of sudden focus and the confusing, dizzying pull toward actual comfort, but it's there. The gratitude is indescribable.

Perhaps it's what emboldens her enough to mumble, quietly, "I don't know that I ever left, sometimes. Don't know if it just changed, waiting to spring on me."

Everything out of his mouth thus far has been good. If ever she could voice this, it's now.

You know what. It's not even something Soldat can begrudge her feeling. Every now and then, it still jumps out at them that maybe they're hallucinating, that this is some new kind of cryo, some new kind of torture, that they're going to defrost and it'll be HYDRA all over again. But those moments are getting less and less frequent.

In no small part because they don't think HYDRA could dream up Misty and Sora and Crowley. Or music and food and origami. "Would that place give you somebody who dances with you? Threatens to shoot people for you?" They duck their head to... to press their lips to her hair, just briefly. That's okay. They can do that. "That place was. It was. All horror, all pain, all the time. We get. We get downtime here. And even if it's horror, you still got support. You ain't alone. Yeah?"

Where does he get off, being so perfect.

"Probably not." A begrudging mumble meant more for the him-specific prompting that ultimately answers both. Rest assured, the additional contact is felt and met with remarkable restraint so as to prevent sudden clutching. "'M not used to that. Never been the case before."

Never had a Soldat before, clearly.

"And you've got your own troubles."

"Yeah, maybe, but who wants it to be all about them, all the time?" That gets embarrassing. And exhausting. And-- "That ain't fair. Or. Or equal." She's technically a handler, so "equal" shouldn't measure into it, but... she's her own special category, at this point. They want it to be equal, to be balance, wants to help her as much as she helps them. They give her back a little pat. "I get to fuss sometimes, too."

"Too nice to be fussing," she murmurs back, commentary more than contrary. "Throws me off that you're real sometimes." Arm wrap is tempting. Nuzzle is safer. To his immense credit, flow of tears is steadily being stymied.

Are you ready for a very lukewarm attempt at humor?

"Everything we make for the next week is vegetarian."

(Except she's serious.)

Much safer. They're reaching the limit of their full-body contact time soon, here-- the internal static is getting harder to ignore, and the tension harder to keep at bay-- and arms around them would probably cause a jump and a rapid detangling. The nuzzle's cute, though, and earns her a hair pet instead of a back pet.

They're gonna take her comment as serious, though. "That's fine. I'll learn something new." They'll just have to get their extra protein from meals at the Invincible or Aziraphale and Crowley's house, that's all. Not that much of a hardship. Besides, maybe they can add nuts to things. Soldat hasn't tried peanut butter yet; they're in for a surprise, there.

"Were you okay, finding it?"

Any grip on his many shirts is loosening; worry not Soldat, you'll be released in very short order. Initial wave is passing, and it's followed by burnout. He will be permitted to fuss as needed, but it wouldn't - cannot - negate any serious blows it may deal in the short term. Violence is violence.

Violence is indeed violence. Soldat hesitates, looks vaguely guilty should she look up at their face, and admits, "It wasn't great. Lost more than an hour, after, like that time in the rain. It's why I was late."

And their voice has lost the Brooklyn, at last, which is probably a sign that yeah, they're hitting a limit here. The plates in the metal arm ripple with a little mechanical purring sound.

"Wondered if that was why you felt cooler than usual." Not enough to stray even close to danger, but not the usual warm. "You gonna be okay?"

Reluctantly, she steps back. Will have to curl up on the couch momentarily, but for now, a level if watery proper gaze.

"You ask me that," Soldat complains, just lightly, pulling their hands back too and finally divesting themselves of the coat to hang up. "Yeah, I'll be okay." Their brain continues to hurt, but thinking about someone else's problems for a while was actually a nice break.

Once the coat is out of the way, they give Misty a once over and turn the question around: "You?"

All she can honestly offer is a limp shrug.

"Old wounds. Made it this long. Not sure what I can say past that, really." Nothing that can be walked off or dealt with in any one go, however objectively great his hugs are.

They're just going to take that at face value, because if they don't, what are they even going to do about it? Their skin already feels like it wants to shiver off, now that they're no longer in the moment of the hug. Pushing verbally is not a thing they're great at, and they already said more words at once today than usual, between this, Sora earlier, and Rosinante even before that. It's been a very talky day.

"Okay," they say. Standard remedies, then. "Hot drink, warm food. Both of us. You sit. I'll bring you something for your face." Because crying leaves one's eyes hurting and nose stuffy, and she doesn't have supersoldier healing to get over it quickly.

"That was a help, though. That was better than I'd have hoped for. I really appreciate it." No cure-all, but god, a step up from anything sole conversation would realistically manage. The following directions are entirely reasonable, and met with a nod.

It's some doing to position herself comfortably on the couch, but she manages.

"Thank you."

While she settles, Soldat sets about getting the usual: cocoa since she doesn't need coffee when sleeping will probably be hard enough anyway, grilled cheese, and tomato soup this time because vitamins are important in times of stress. Also, then the grilled cheese won't have to have any vegetables in it, so there's less crunch, which seems like a good idea right now.

"Panicked," they admit. "Couldn't think of anything else to do. Not sure if I can do it again any time soon. I'm sorry." Feels like a terrible thing, not being available to give people you care about a hug, because you're a too full of touch-related brain issues.

"No, don't apologize, that's fine - if anything it'll make me appreciate that more. Important you pace yourself, nothing's worth burning you out too fast. You went to a special effort, and that's all I care about." And is continuing right on fussing, which is pleasant to watch. "You won't have to do anything like that for awhile. Having you around is...a lot. More than I'm used to already.'

Keeping busy is really the only tried and true method of dealing with brain issues that Soldat has ever found useful, even if the "busy" is just making origami animals or cooking someone dinner. Hands and eyes and thoughts at least partially occupied seems to quiet things down.

So they bring over a damp, warm towel for her eyes, or any other part of her face that hurts now, while the pan and water heat up, and return to the kitchen to butter bread and slice cheese. And they ask the dumbest of dumb questions, because it makes no sense to them. "Why. You're a great person. You'd think you would have plenty of friends."

Ever striving for high impact with low effort, the towel is draped wholecloth over her face as she reclines, head back. It reminds her distinctly of Steve Irwin, blindfolding alligators. Blankets over birdcages. It actually does help a little.

"Not a one. Not ever. You and Matt are probably tied for the very first, actually. Something in my blood, I think, that people can snuff out."

"Where the hell did you even live, that nobody thought you were great," Soldat says more than asks, baffled and frowning at the innocent slices of bread, tone bordering on indignant on her behalf. Even they, even it, as the goddamn Soldier, had those... poor kids who looked up to them. Who they trained, who sang for them because they learned, somehow, that their teacher liked music.

"Louisiana." A non-answer, because she understands how useless any answer will be. Would that it were so understandable. "Disliked, pretty much. Weird. Didn't much bother with people when I was little. Snowballs from there, until-"

Well.

"Only one common denominator. Something with me."

Soldat may have been to Louisiana once. Maybe. If they did, it was with the American branch, which means it was during the worst days, and most likely some kind of internal execution. Probably for the best they don't remember it.

They stop to lean both hands on the counter, looking in her direction and saying firmly, "Well, you have people here. Sora and Aziraphale, and Matt. Crowley too, probably, even if you two don't get along at first. More people, too, if you got out more."

She can hear the stance and change in projection, and lift enough of the cloth to peer at him from beneath it. Seems serious.

"I very seriously doubt I have Crowley," she gently retorts. And that makes Aziraphale something of a mid-tier risk. Makes Soldat himself something of a low-tier risk, actually - the lone outlier. Can't knock himself, Sora, or Matt, at least. A tilt of her head that just might be general assent to this is followed warily with, "Doubt it'd increase, too. Place is a powder keg. Everyone'll seem nice right up until you're between them and something. I've been in it before, and it's always me that gets thrown under the tires for traction. Ain't happening here."

Can't happen here. She's so tired.

That's just because you don't actually know Crowley that well, Misty, that's all. Not that it matters if the guy never wakes up. Soldat makes a snorting noise, then turns back to the food, pouring the soup into a pot and taking the kettle off to pour the cocoa. "Of course it's not. You know I'd kill anyone who tried to hurt you, Misty." They were not kidding in the least about how no one is allowed to hurt their handlers. Or friends. Or whatever the fuck she actually is to them.

Also, y'know, sorry for the slightly fucked up morals. They are still a brainwashed assassin, and all that.

He remains, in her head, a glaring threat to everyone present who will cut and run with a substantial portion of the few individuals she can bear to meaningfully care about at the first opportunity, and mock anyone left. It was a very strong impression, and it will prove a hard one to undo.

This said: those twisted morals make her feel safe, and it would never occur to her to complain beyond what influences his own personal comfort. So she smiles, a little more at ease.

"Might be sneaky about it. Also what they do. But I trust you would, and believe me, it's mutual."

"I am a sniper and assassin that nobody knew existed until the last forty-eight hours before I died, no one is fucking sneaking by me," Soldat grumbles, though it's a kind of affectionate grumble, because that was sweet. She might even be able to do so, given the magic thing. They add some chopped tomatoes, garlic, and celery to the tomato soup to spice it up. Also cream, for thickness and flavor. It's gonna be some damn good soup to go with their sandwiches.

The grin widens appropriately. Aw, Soldat.

"We can't all be social butterfly assassins, now," she tsks, clearly without any real bite. "But I'm more useful than I seem in passing. Just happier waiting on the bench."

Soldat's nose wrinkles up at that, though between her towel and their facing the stove, she can't really see it. The grumble turns into something a little more sheepish. "I just like people." And that somehow makes them a social butterfly. (Well, you did count the number of people. And it was a lot. Shut up, Sarge. Oh, what, you gonna call me that now? ... I dunno, should I?) The Sergeant doesn't answer, subsiding thoughtfully somewhere in the back of their mind.

Trying again. "Why would you want to be. On the bench? On the bench. If you could be out playing. With more people." They put the first sandwich on, frowning thoughtfully, and asks a less-dumb question this time. "Is that really what you want? Or is it just safer."

"People waiting to do something mean or dumb won't see me coming. Better position to keep me and mine safe." He is not, however much it may appear so on paper, the sole protector. Symbiosis. "I've tried before, it's not worth getting burned more. Something about my luck. Just doesn't work out, I've accepted that."

"So it's just safer," is what Soldat takes away from that. They shrug a little. "Okay." It's not like they don't understand. Keeping themselves safe has been a high priority for their entire tenure with HYDRA, almost, and it's not like they trust easily. It's not like they're still afraid of the bulk of the people in Beacon, themselves.

But at the same time. Afraid or not, they still get out. Help people. Talk to them. Soldat flips the first sandwich over, frowning at the perfectly golden toasted bread. "Sounds awful lonely, is all."

She removes the cloth entirely, as this is now a full, important discussion, but stares only at the ceiling.

"Always lonely. Used to lonely. Doing pretty good for myself now, all things considered - I have my handful."

And their days are numbered anyway - rinse, repeat.

Soldat can't expect her to sound happy, after the past hour she's spent, but. That really doesn't sound like she's happy, in general. They're very glad to have introduced her to Sora, glad she has Matt and maybe Aziraphale... but if Misty wants more than that, wants love from everyone she meets, she ought to fucking have it. After everything, a lifetime of being alone, feels like she deserves it.

(Mission. No, Asset. No mission. Mission. Down, boy. No.)

They set the first sandwich aside and start a second, stirring the soup to make sure it warms evenly. Then they bring Misty her mug of cocoa. "You still deserve more," is what they finally say, solemn and even.

Though she expected something roughly on par with this, Soldat is too kind for less, it hits hard. Hardly feels like her place to judge as much, anymore. There's the dim, terrifying possibility it is earned. Punishment inherent to unholiness. Risking pride to imagine much more. Her mouth opens, shuts, and she sets about blowing into her mug more to occupy herself than to cool it faster.

"That's life, isn't it? People are dealt some real shitty hands sometimes. You find silver linings." A glance up, implication there being quite obvious.

They refuse to be mollified or distracted by that, and give her an "I know what you're doing" kind of look. "And some of us turn that silver lining into a whole bunch of people to keep busy looking after," they say blandly, before turning back to the kitchen to slip that second sandwich over.

(Mission. Okay, Asset. No. Mission. Look, we get it. We know what you want. But there ain't a mission right now, buddy.) The Asset makes a noise like machinery grinding (ow) and just up and sulks off to the back of their mind. Fucking finally.

"Not that easy when the problem is specifically what happens when you let yourself just latch." There must be vetting. There must be time elapsed. There must be controls to measure against. Otherwise there are only worst case scenarios. Soldats and Soras are exceptions. No sense wasting emotional availability or resources looking after more ingrates.

"That's why it's a silver lining. Can't make more of it, just got to find it and not let it go."

She's got the whole liking-versus-trust thing completely backwards, compared to Soldat, but they're reaching the end of their ability to argue. Maybe they've made a point or made her think about something, maybe not. Maybe they'll just have to keep dragging their friends to see her and hope more of them click. Ellever, maybe. Who wouldn't like Elle?

(Even if Ellever is technically an eldritch being and the antichrist in her world. No big.)

"I'm a pretty pathetic silver lining, Misty," they point out instead. Just enough time left on the soup for a third sandwich, which sizzles while they sip their cocoa. Yum. "Should probably trade me in for a better model." They mean this mostly as a joke, albeit a self-deprecating one, obviously.

It isn't for nothing; he's simply the first to chip at a mountain. He's done more than most could, for so comparatively brief a conversation. That he's joking now doesn't go over her head, but doesn't make her any more inclined to run with it quite yet. Perhaps once he's more thoroughly self-embracing something like being a person, hm?

"Anything but," she replies quickly, firmly. "Ten of anybody wouldn't be worth one of you. Who else dances with and threatens to shoot people for me, huh?" Edging more firmly into amused, now, there we go. "Or makes cocoa as well."

"Sora would dance with you. He'd have to bash someone over the head with his keyblade thing though, or stab them, since I haven't taught him how to use a gun." And they will not. Sora with a gun sounds horrific. Even if Sora would consent learning to something quite that loud and deadly, it just doesn't fit at all.

They do pause, and add mock-thoughtfully, "I'm better at those things, though. And the cocoa. I guess this model isn't too bad."

"But would he offer?" She asks, grinning. He's a puppy. She won't judge capability on that, but she doesn't feel out of line questioning willingness. To say nothing of relative jadedness between the three of them, of course. It's with a hopelessly fond roll of her eyes that she nods along with the latter comment, scooting into the arm of the chair. Enough distance between them he can sit with her when food's done. Hugs are out, but it's proximity enough.

"Better. I'll have you know he's my Soldat, and I'm not giving up however shabby or smart alecky he gets. Cocoa's on the line."

"Mmm. Maybe." Considering it's Sora. Probably yes, if he knew it would make her feel better, though he might stop short at offering to kill people. Kid has that aura of being willing to do anything for anybody, at the drop of a hat, but not quite in the deadly fashion they would. He's worse than Soldat, in some ways.

Soldat, who is busy kind of quietly smiling. They've been different people's soldier, and different people's asset, but not anybody's Soldat with the word being an actual name. Sounds better than straight-up soldier. They take the final sandwich off the pan, pours soup into two bowls, and turns everything off before coming back into the living room. Two sandwiches for them, one for Misty, plenty of soup to go around.

"Don't you maybe me, like I don't know perfectly well what I'm talking about." No making it sound like a rib, between post-emotion tiredness and the otherwise incredibly fond atmosphere. And food. Food smells good. As are Soldat-smiles. "Won't hear any doubt cast on you."

She is, predictably, quick to lunge at her portion. Doesn't fill any particular pit in her stomach, but it feels good besides.

Soldat considers arguing. Briefly. But they'd rather just sit and eat, and set out their tablet to play some music. So they say, "Yes, ma'am." Only about half-seriously. They settle on the couch, looking satisfied by her eagerness for lunch. Even if she's not hungry (or even if she is) it's a sign their cooking is both appreciated and enjoyed.

I received a package and letter from our doctor friend. I won't transcribe it word for word, but I wanted to make you all aware of some information that I think needs to be known NOW.

1. Confirmation of the amusement park. The coaster we saw a flier for does exist and does do what we hypothesized it would...it's a "humane method of suicide." If any of you go exploring and happen across the amusement park DO NOT LET ANYONE ON THE COASTER.

2. She thinks it will soon be time to connect to the network. She didn't give a day, but it sounded like it would be soon. I don't know if we're to wait to reveal her presence then or if you all think we should finally call another town hall to inform everyone else about this.

If you're curious about reading the letter for yourself, let me know.

Thank you for telling me. I think a friend of mine has coordinates to that amusement park

[Because if Sora knows it, Soldat knows it by now. That kid over-shares almost as much as they do.]

I'll make sure to go with him and keep people away from that

Where the heck did they get coordinates from?

Glad you're looking out for someone though. I knew telling the group about this would be helpful...

Robin. She gave him directions there. I don't know why.

[ Last Saturday, Sora suddenly announced to Soldat that he was going to take a short break from his patrols - something like four days starting Friday - and while he'd make it to his afternoon routine and dinner on Monday, he'd probably be out until possibly Wednesday. He and Naminé discussed it and thought it'd be best to put all his memories in his head it a controlled environment! He put it in context with Naminé doing some longterm technician work with him and the opals, but really, it was more like her sitting in his bedroom and putting his memories back while he took a lot of naps. That's how he probably explained it at first.

He's already told Soldat about the amusement park and definitely made sure to promise that he'd touch base with them one more time before they left. Still, Wednesday's cutting it pretty close.

Fortunately, Sora will text them bright and early Wednesday morning! ]

hey hi i think we're all done!
i'll be at practice tonight
i'm kinda woozy but i'll try not to dip out

actually can you meet me at the doors like thirty minutes before javert's practice starts?
i have to show you something before we leave tomorrow

[Soldat has been worried. They have experienced memory regains of many kinds, now, and anything that requires this much time and work must be insanely difficult, dangerous, and more like the full-on malfunctions they experienced at the beginning, and still on occasion these days. So: worried. They might have lingered around in Downtown a little longer than normal on their patrol, looking up at the windows they know belong to Sora's room, trying to see what's going on up there.

So the text is a relief, and also not great for their nerves. Sora. Woozy? Something to show them? You are gonna give them a goddamn heart attack.]

okay. better be an hour early though. Javert gets there early himself.

okay an hour early!!! see you there!!

And lo and behold, that spiky haired teen is there an hour early! Sure he might be charging up the way, snow flying, but he's on time! Looking SUPER excited to see them, by the way; big toothy grin, pep to his step. He spent as much time as he could with them after their spirit friend left, but he had to pull himself away at some point, as unhappy as that made him. He knows that the best thing he can do for them now is look as excited as he is to see them! Sure, he may still be a little unfocused and discombobulated, but Naminé had assured him that it was just a side effect of being unconscious for as long as he was. The entire transfer had been a success, it was just a matter of letting things settle into place.

"Hey! Long time no see!" Yep, that's a run with a happy wave. Sora loves Naminé to bits, but he needs people, man. He is so relieved to see their face.

Soldat is pretty relieved, too. They lift the metal hand to wave, back, already looking Sora over to make sure he looks all right. "Yes. How did it go?" The memory thing. It seems like an important thing to ask, since it's the whole reason Sora's been out of contact for days.

So strange that just a handful of days of not seeing somebody makes them this twitchy.

The soldier looks good themselves, and Sora's doing his best to smile as big as he's able! Sure, he's a little out of it, but he's feeling incredibly empowered by all of the new memories he's gotten in the past few days. It just feels good to remember things. Less anxiety hovering over his head.

"Great! It was kind of weird being asleep for most of it, and I kept worrying about Naminé being lonely, but she said she was okay. I think Hana might have come in a few times to keep her company." Sora swings around, stretching. See? Fine! "Ready to go? We need to be sort of close to the woods for this." There are a few clearings near the gym where he and Link do their outdoor dueling! Sora will turn and start heading toward one farther away from the gym, but still close enough to keep it within sight. He has an idea, but there needs to be as little light as possible for this.

Better than "Close to the woods." The look skeptical, and maybe a little concerned. "What exactly are you trying to show me." But they follow anyway, albeit a little warily. "Be careful. Some forest spirits live in the woods there." Including their Owl Friend. They don't expect the local spirits to hurt Sora, but if they're moving away from the gym, it's possible whatever Sora is going to do might disturb them.

Well... it might come to that. Sora doesn't think he'll do any harm, though. It just has to be dark. Very dark.

He shakes his head. "We won't go far. I don't think it's even going to take that long." Now that the initial excitement of being reunited with Soldat has passed, a little bit of worry has wriggled his way in. He's... pretty sure that this will be okay. The few times he's gone under have been enough for him to realize he understands what not and not to touch, to avoid things instinctively that he'll regret later. It's just that he's never tried this before. Making it happen.

"It's something that I think you should see before we leave. One more power that I have. It's something for emergency situations, so you know what'll happen and what to do." Almost to the clearing. The light from the entrance of the gymnasium doesn't reach this far. The only light comes from their two lanterns.

That's tactically sound. Soldat clearly remembers during the siege, constantly being surprised by Crowley's unpredictable magics. It took ages to get used to moving furniture and randomly appearing muzzles on spirits and things.

But knowing that Sora had to bring them out here to show them makes them nervous, too. They swing their lantern down, opening one shutter to shed a little more light. "Okay."

Sora's going to come to a stop in the clearing and slip his backpack off his shoulders, setting it on the ground. He is going to go through this very slowly and very carefully, because he's pretty sure that if he doesn't explain this exactly right, the soldier will refuse to let him do this.

"Okay. So. You know how bad stuff happens if we leave our lanterns somewhere and go too far away from them?" He looks at his own star lantern's sun yellow, thinking intently. "I think... something extra might happen to me if I do that. So, I'm going to test that out and you're going to help me, because if the thing I think will happen does happen, I might need some help getting back to it."

Deep breath. He puts down his lantern between them, about as halfway as he can make it. "Whenever this happened to me in Locke City," he begins, trying to couch this info in the more recent past than the more uncertain past life, "I transform, and when I do, I don't really think in the same way? I kind of act like a dog. Holly - friend of mine, my little sister's best friend - called the other form 'Darky'. We'd play fetch until I turned back." Sora grins. "You don't have to do that. You just have to keep an eye on me."

A dog. A dog? Seriously? Soldat blinks a couple times, expression going blank with surprise. "Like Link. Only he seemed to be himself. And he was carrying his lantern." Of course, his lantern was red so maybe it was just connected to the changes going on at the time?

It still seems potentially dangerous. Going too far from his lantern could kill him, if they're not careful. "Will you listen to me if I ask you to stay close? Like that?"

"Oh, yeah! Like Link! He's the guy I got the idea from." The day Masaomi died this month wasn't really great, but he did get a lot of useful info out of it. Like this! At least the soldier has a little bit of context for what's about to happen.

Sora thinks for a moment, and then bobs his head. "I think so? It might take a few tries for me to understand it, but I'm pretty sure that I'll stick around long enough for it to go through. I don't know if going back to my lantern will be enough for me to change back right away, but it should wear off quick as long as, um. Nothing weird happens."

So. How much more should Sora say? Maybe... get some initial concerns out of the way and hope for the best? "When it starts, uh. I'll probably start moving funny? Like I'm sick or in pain. That's, uh, normal. Once it's done, I won't say anything, and I'll probably do dog things like sniff around and stuff. That's normal too."

Okay, here's the part that might be a harder sell. "There's also gonna be, uh. A lot of darkness? Just all over? Not like that," Sora adds, waving at Beacon's ever present darkness, but then pauses. "Okay, maybe a little like that. But that's normal too. That's fine." The only thing that won't be fine is if he up and attacks the soldier, which he's about 99% sure won't happen, or if Beacon decides it's going to mess with him while he's like that, and uh. Well, that's sort of a given with this place.

This is sounding weirder and weirder. Is it not a shapechange? Will Sora actually turn into a dog, or just act like one? Soldat nods hesitantly. "Is there anything I can do to help? If it hurts."

Hm! They'll find out real soon! Sora just smiles. "Maybe just. Try not to worry? Not that that'll put you in any danger. It's just so I feel better."

Sora looks back. There's about a twenty foot radius where the light is pretty bright, then it peters off sharply into the gloom. He'll start heading toward that radius and turn his back toward the darkness, facing the soldier. Okay.

"So, I'll keep you updated as long as I can. Just, you know, I'll say if things are still okay until I go under. I'll stop if something really not right happens, promise. The longest I've ever been transformed was like, less than a half hour? So." He nods. Last chance. "Any questions?"

"No. Just get it over with," Soldat says, pretty clearly more nervy than annoyed. "So I can stop worrying and just see what happens." All this lead-up is just making the potential event itself seem worse. God, they really hope this isn't going to be actual!Sora acting like a dog, rather than an actual shapechange. That just sounds fucked up.

Oh, good, he's sold it. Sora flicks up a thumb and, without much further ado, begins to walk backward out of the little circle of light. The flame in his lantern gutters a little, and he feels a little ill, but that's a normal lantern separation thing. He nods, takes a few more steps.

On step three, his foot lifts away from the snow, and there's black smoke rising from the footprint. Sora looks up at Soldat and nods. Fine. That's normal.

Another step. He begins to shiver. The light in his lantern dims even further, and black mist starts seeping from the ground right behind him. "I'm okay," Sora manages. His hands are shaking, his eyes are fluttering shut. His head tilts to the side as though he's suddenly lost equilibrium.

Another step. The shivering has rapidly progressed to a shake, his hands contorted and moving involuntarily. "Th-This is what happens, it's fine," he says, but it's slower, as though he's trying to pull his mouth into the right shapes. On the last word, a tendril of black smoke escapes his mouth.

The snow has disappeared under a slick pool of swirling darkness. "It's fine, it's fine," he repeats, teeth clacking, mouthfuls of darkness escaping and curling around his face. "It's fine, it-"

He stumbles as though he's missed a step off a sheer cliff, falls backward and disappears into the ground.

Then something very fast pulls itself from the pool and launches up to land in a nearby tree.

It's just a cluster of darkness on this branch from this far away from the lanterns, but Soldat will at the very least see two lantern yellow dots somewhere in the tendrils of smoke. Red rimmed, perfectly round, side by side. They sway a little, like the movements of a bird of prey. They do not blink.

That is horrible to watch. Soldat bites back demands that Sora come back right now, fist up both hands to remind themselves to stand the fuck still and let Sora do this. It is not fine. It is awful. Sora is in pain and they can't do anything to help.

Seeing him literally disappear does make them twitch that direction, take a couple steps, but before they can even get out of the circle of lantern light, there's... something? There? "Kid?" they call over, clearly anxious.

The two little lights pop up at the sound of the name, and that should almost be familiar, except perhaps with a slightly more animal edge. Yes, that's the little pop Sora does whenever he's caught in a moment of doglike interest.

The two little globes pause, then swing out of the tree onto the floor, or at least they make it halfway. Now that the initial darkness of the transformation has dissipated into the air, it should be more obvious that some black silhouette is hanging from the tree, upside down, wisps of darkness floating away from it, back arched like a monkey as it continues to stare in Soldat's direction. Its foot is hooked around the branch in a way that should be impossible, as though the darkness has decided to merge his heel with the wood so he can hang, arms curled and hands loose, staring at the soldier. It tilts its head at them. It knows that name.

The spiky haired silhouette should be obvious by now. It's even wearing his clothes. It's as though he's been dumped in ink, but it's clearly him. It may be a bit too dark to pick out his face, but it's there like a mask, eyes replaced with yellow spotlights, unblinking.

It seems to hang there for a moment, perfectly still, and it seems like it could hang there forever. But its head turns sharply in another direction. If it's quiet enough out and the Soldier's hearing is good, they can probably hear it sniff the air. It cranes in that one particular direction, arms reaching out and grasping, almost as though it can take hold of whatever scent it's caught and pull it in its direction.

In the next moment, it disappears out of the tree in a puff of darkness. It reappears in the direction it was looking on the snow, on the ground and on all fours, but it almost immediately rears back, and if things were eerie but relatively calm before, the way it digs a hand into its black hair and smashes its head into a nearby tree trunk is a different matter.

It repeats this once, then twice, leaving cracking indentations in the wood, then starts ramming its head into the ground, launching itself drunkenly away from that direction. It smashes into more trees, eyes still perfectly round and staring. The smoky tendrils billow out and start multiplying. Sora is silent through all of this, even as he throws himself against another tree, leaves and branches shuddering and falling to the ground. His hands and feet claw into the ground as he moves between the trees, leaving deep trenches in the snow, deep enough to dig up the soil underneath. This may probably look like some sort of tantrum. This was almost certainly not what Sora had warned the soldier about at all.

It looks bad, is what it looks. Soldat plucks up Sora's lantern, not wanting to leave it behind, and moves to follow, maybe even catch up. They don't look or sound any less anxious than they were a second ago-- probably, actually, it's more. "No, no. Kid. Hey. Hey. Don't hurt yourself, it's okay."

At the sound of the name, to the rhythm of the admonishments, Sora's body seems to fling itself heedlessly at them, hands in claws rending into tree trunks, scrambling like an animal with a leg in a bear trap in the initial throes of panic. However, if the soldier gets within distance of the darkness engulfing Sora's body, the mass will will bend around them, creating a more or less clear path. Will they get hit with the occasional tendril? Sure, but it won't hurt. (Or if it does, it only feels a bit like razor wire stroked gently across the skin.) If anything, it just feels cold, silky. Tenuous. Not exactly afraid, but definitely lost. Uncertainty in physical form. Like there's nothing else but this. Like there was an exit, but it's gone now. Like that moment right before waking where you don't remember who or where you are or what will happen next.

Anyway, Sora will continue to lunge in their direction if they keep talking. However! If they happen to get within clawing distance, it'll throw itself at them, but disappear in another puff of smoke before it makes contact, reappearing at a safer distance nearby. It doesn't seem to be breathing in any sort of physical exertion, and those eyes still do not blink, but it's shaking with the strain of... something. Of moving, maybe.

Getting closer with the lantern doesn't appear to be working to change him back. The light within the lantern will get a bit stronger as they get closer, but that's the only change. At least it doesn't seem to be particularly afraid of nor attracted to either lantern. It seems more interested in Soldat's voice and whatever it can find to smash itself against next.

It's easy to tell that when they stop talking, the banging of heads on trees picks up, so Soldat attempts to keep it up. Even if it's mindless repetitions of, "It's okay. It's okay, kid. We'll figure it out. It's okay." The slivers of darkness don't really bother them-- they don't hurt, and they've got a metal arm anyway, just in case.

And then there's lunging. Soldat flinches back automatically, arm coming up with a mechanical whir in preparation of launching Sora back off him if need be, except then they've suddenly lost track of him. They whirl, looking for the glow of eyes, a stare at Sora's whatever-this-is. "Kid. The fuck are you doing," they say more than ask, baffled and worried and frustratingly full of useless adrenaline now.

Sora’s head will swing around at their bewilderment, tilting gently. Despite the wild abandon with which it’s tried to splatter itself on everything, there is no strain on its face or in its breathing or, at the moment, even in its body language. Despite the very unnatural movements, the predator-like gait and the way its head swings around and shudders like a bird of prey, it’s all very smooth. Almost serene. Like things are supposed to be this way.

Well, its head whips in the direction where the Problem exists and it throws its hands into the ground and lashes dirt and snow everywhere, but that little moment was nice.

Still, there is eventually a breaking point. If the soldier consistently addresses Sora, it will eventually dig a hand deep into a fallen tree - just slam it in there - and it will not move from there, even if, bewilderingly, it will continue to struggle to move as though it doesn’t remember that it's now trapped and has completely forgotten it can teleport out. Again, there’s snow and darkness flying everywhere, but the darkness will always bend right around or roll harmlessly off the soldier. (They may not be so lucky with regards to the snow.)

It doesn’t seem to be tired, but it’s very much still trying to escape its self-imposed hand trap. Ridiculous. Any thoughts, Soldat? Sora seems to have trapped himself here for a reason.

Snow doesn't hurt, it's just mildly annoying, so. Soldat ignores the snow. They creep closer, approaching with the lantern in hand, trying to make soothing noises. "S'okay. It's okay, you're fine. Just calm down. We'll get you back. Somehow."

What can they do to get him back? What can they do that they can do? Ruffle his hair? Use his actual name? Throw snow at him, back?

"Talk to me, kid. Or. Communicate somehow. Can you do that?"

Sora will turn to the soldier's voice, unblinking. It'll turn away a couple of times, as though to check in That Direction, but having them close seems to be distracting it sufficiently, even if it doesn't appear to be doing much of anything else.

It shivers, but its breathing doesn't appear to go with it. Apparently, it just moves like that. And then it'll... sniff in their direction. At them, and then at their lantern, and then back at them. It doesn't seem to be doing this in reaction to what they're asking Sora to do - it actually just seems like it's being distracted between something very interesting and something almost as interesting. Hmmm.

It's been a few minutes now. Perhaps five. It sits back on its haunches, rattling its hand uselessly within the hollow treetrunk. And that's a pretty hefty rattle, actually... almost as though there's something else inside. Well. You have its attention now, at least. Any minute now, right? Any minute... now....

The adrenaline spike calming enough that it doesn't seem like a touch would result in violence, Soldat holds out the flesh hand, aiming to smooth down the shadowy spikes of Sora's hair. Or what they presume is his hair. "That's it. You're fine. Nice an' calm. I've gotcha."

Sora doesn't appear to notice the petting at first, and nothing changes? It's more like as the soldier's adrenaline dies, the miasma of darkness surrounding Sora melts away, disappearing into the darkness of Beacon or sliding back into Sora, soaking up his feet and into his skin. And as that happens, Sora stops trying to get his hand out of the trunk. No change in expression whatsoever, still on its haunches, other hand limp on the ground. It's not like there's a tail or anything for it to express emotion. (If it has any?) The little tendrils drifting off of him are just that - tendrils. About as expressive as smoke from a fireplace.

Nah. All that happens is that its head starts bumping into Soldat's hand. Is there actual communication happening here? Who knows! That seems to be a thing it's chasing, though. Congrats, Soldat, you've reached dog mode. Things seem fine now! Or as fine as they could be. This will wear off soon, in any case.

Dog mode is better than hurling himself at things and banging his head on things. Soldat keeps up the hair-petting, assuming this is supposed to be normal? The curls of darkness and the lack of communication make the whole thing seem surreal and alien, and actually kind of depressing. There's nothing they can do, Sora doesn't seem to understand anything they're saying, and even the stroking doesn't seem to be doing much.

"Kid," they say wearily, "You're kinda making me nervous. How much longer is this supposed to last."

Congrats, it's been like ten minutes, so now-ish is about the answer! Sora will suddenly pause, then shake his head, pulling away from their hand, and the shake sprays motes of darkness into the air around them. He shivers one last time, darkness wafting off him like a lid lifted from a boiling pot of water...

- and it all drains into the floor, puffs right into the air, and Sora looks... okay. He rolls from his animal squat and sits on his butt hard, his hand slipping from the hole in the tree trunk. He coughs, and a tiny wisp of darkness escapes him, but besides that and maybe the slightest hint of a bruise on his face next to a split lip, he seems to be okay.

"Okay, before you say anything," he says, putting the palm of his hand to his nose and pulling it away to check for blood, "that sort of wasn't fine, but it wasn't your fault, it was mine and I'm sorry." He blinks. Okay, maybe a tiny nosebleed. "What happened, exactly?"

"Yes. That clearly wasn't fine. You were hitting yourself against trees," Soldat says. Almost exclaims. For their general subtle tone, that definitely counts as an exclamation. "And you shoved your hand into that one. Kid. What had you so riled up? It's like there was something out there. That upset you."

A wince. Yep. Uh, yep! Definitely deserved that! He rubs his hand against the snow, looking at the hold in the tree trunk, then casts Cure on himself, glowing green and plants sealing up his lip and melting the bruise away. See? Nothing happened.

He coughs again, and the darkness that comes out is really just a little baby mist this time. Okay, there. That's the last of it. (He hopes.) "That doesn't usually. Happen?" Sora pauses, thinks back. Man, it's so hard picking through his memories in Rage form. It doesn't think in words. It doesn't think. "I, uh. Wasn't." He's about to say he wasn't upset, but that's not true, obviously.

"I was just sadder than I thought I was. I think." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, the last time that happened, it was a lantern thing, and I could still sort of. Steer. Steer isn't the right word, um." He looks at the snow. "I usually don't need to steer. That... I don't. Think that'll happen again." He looks extremely unsure about this.

"We're going to try and keep it from happening again," Soldat says firmly. "You can't communicate. You don't understand when people communicate with you. And you hurt yourself. Not good things. So keep your lantern close to you, okay?" They offer it back to him specifically. Pointedly, even.

Okay. So here's where the willfulness comes in! Because Sora's first reaction is to tell them no, that they can't tell him what to do, that it's his fault he's like this and that he can fix it because even he can't figure out how to explain what happened with his words he knows in his heart what happened and that he can make sure that that doesn't happen again -

And he actually gets that "No" out before he realizes that even if he fixes that one thing, that doesn't fix any of the problems Soldat pulled out. He can't communicate. He doesn't understand when people communicate with him. And even if he does everything perfectly and the form does come out exactly as intended... In order to fight things, the form does need to continue hurting itself. Not in the way the soldier's thinking, perhaps - Sora remembers enough to know that it didn't pull that particular trick out of its pocket - but there is definitely a part of the form that does hurt itself in order to do what it does. And Sora doesn't have any control over whether it decides to use it or not.

He takes that lantern back, but man, this is a really deflating sort of moment. And honestly? He's kind of pissed. Like, with tears in his eyes because he's Sora, but he's still furious in a way that Soldat probably hasn't seen out of him before. This isn't the playful puffing he usually does when he knows he's supposed to play a part. This is just really useless anger. "It won't hurt anyone." That's the one certain thing he is stubbornly holding onto.

Edited 2020-03-15 03:20 (UTC)

Apparently Sora has built up enough trust that Soldat can face an angry Sora and not shut down. It's a near thing, and there's a visible little tremor and ripple of arm plates, a dropping of expression, but they keep their head from dropping and tone from going blank.

Especially because that's a lie. Maybe Sora doesn't think it matters, but there's still someone getting hurt here, as evidenced by the need for a cure spell. "It hurts you," they point out. Slow and careful, but not entirely flat. "If there's better. Easier. Safer ways to do things. Should do those, not this."

Sora doesn't notice those plates go off, but the stilted way of talking catches his attention, makes the blood drain from his head a little. Just a little. It's enough to make him bite back the next thing he says and rethink it a little. Probably not enough.

"It's better than me." Even if he hadn't remembered it from his first life, Helene told him plenty about what he did with it in the second. He looks down at his hand, at the odd knot of scar tissue on his right thumb. Skyler misses her too.

"It's a way better fighter than I am. It doesn't think enough to get scared or anything. It's my heart, okay? It's a little lost, but it wants the same things I do." He drops his hand into his other and grasps them together, locking his fingers. No sleeve picking. "If I start like - panicking, if I break." It's fast. An emergency switch. It's a way to make him worth something, even if his heart rebels so hard that he shuts down.

So Sora's heart wants to hurt itself? Destroy trees? Launch itself at Soldat, but then disappear? If that's really true, then Sora's heart has as many problems as Soldat's brain.

Soldat hesitates a beat, then steps closer just once, carefully putting the metal hand on Sora's chest. "Your heart is right here. And it's fine." The touch only lasts long enough to say that before falling away. But it seemed like the kind of statement that needed it.

Their expression is sober, but it's actually an expression again, when they say, "Kid, I've tried being the mindless, fearless, attacking thing before. It really ain't worth it, I promise."

Well, not precisely, but also, yeah. Maybe a few.

Right. Good like this. Sora is still going to be in a way, but the touch surprises him into silence, and then into a little blank pause for an echo. Hey, when there's a parallel, there's a parallel.

He puts his hand on his heart when the soldier takes their hand away, like he did with Riku. Fine like this. The reminder of Riku is a bit much, especially given the circumstances, but they're both at least comforting ideas. That there's still something there worth fighting for.

He didn't catch the sentence right after, though, and he's gonna look real contrite himself because it felt like whatever they just said was important. He definitely missed it. "Repeat what you said? What that was wasn't that important." And Sora's going to try to commit to that, even if the warmth is... very real.

Soldat would kick themselves for speaking too soon, if it were feasible. They know that look, and should have waited longer. "Said. I've tried being the mindless, fearless, attacking thing before. It really ain't worth it. Promise you that. Better to stay you, be able to think and plan, and stop when you want to, not just when the fear stops or the orders make you."

Right. They would, they would know that. And Sora knows even in the knee-jerk reflex of wanting to say look who you are now, you're amazing, that that isn't even remotely what he wants for them or for anyone else.

The difference is that he wanted this. Not necessarily the power itself - he didn't know he'd come back as himself, at the time - but he'd come to terms with the sacrifice he made for this a long time ago. This wasn't the cyborg stuff; he knows now that that was something that was... violent, and bad for him, for lack of better words. And this is too. But it was his choice. It was always his choice.

Was it really a choice when the other option was leaving Kairi to die?

"I'll. Keep it to myself. But. Only if you think about yourself, too." This makes sense to Sora. He looks up and glares at the soldier. Still upset, still absolutely certain that this thing is something that makes him valuable, still unwilling to let anyone take this from him. But. "I know you're past this, but can you promise me? That you won't think about yourself like a thing ever again?" Something that acts on instinct, that chases things blindly, without memory or thought.

That's not even fair. Soldat twitches back a little from the renewed glare, expression gone a little wary, but at least not going back to nothing. It's progress, okay. "I don't-- that's not something I can. Promise. I don't know. Ever again's a lot." And dammit, it's not like Sora is promising not to use a power that hurts him. He's just promising not to use it around Soldat. They know a weasel promise when they hear one.

Sora doesn't really think in terms of fair! This is what he wants. And geez, Sora's pulled fast ones more than once in his day, but he knows how promises work. No technicalities! Not for him, at least.

"This is something that could save someone's life if I'm careful about how I use it. After I fix what went wrong this time." And fixing what went wrong this time is sort of a goal he'd had outside of this! It just so happens that fixing it will fix a whole host of other problems as well. "I can't make a promise that I won't use it again if it comes down to hurting myself a little in a way I can fix and letting someone else get hurt. That's... just not an option to me. It's not."

When it comes down to it, that form can do so much more than Sora can - and moreover, it'll do it without hesitating or getting caught up in emotion. Of course, it's still not great for his self-esteem, but Sora is only thinking in terms of two years of trying to save everyone, not two years of trying to fix himself. (The idea that he could try to have both is just not occurring to him at the moment.)

The technicality is "not around Soldat" which is a weasel promise, Sora. Well, to Soldat it is.

They don't drag a hand down their face, but they're damn tempted to. The goal is for Sora to not hurt himself. That's the goal, here. That's the only thing Soldat wants out of this interaction.

There are actions they can take. They're gonna take 'em. Soldat suddenly gets less wary and more determined, maybe a little more of the Soldat that showed up at the armory. "Then we're gonna teach you more shit. How to do more things yourself, without using it. So you don't have to. And you're gonna work out exactly why it wanted to bang your head into trees, so we can fuckin' fix that. So if you do use it, it'll do what you want it to instead of hurting you. Deal?"

Edited (clarity and typo fixin') 2020-03-18 05:05 (UTC)

Sora did mean he'll keep it to himself - that is, that he won't let it outside at all. Not in front of Soldat, or Misty, or Jason or Naminé or anyone. He doesn't make promises in halves! He knows exactly how big of a promise he's extracting out of the soldier, and he plans on doing his best to match it. No Rage Form, even if he has control. That is the promise Sora made in his head, he has no idea that the soldier is thinking of what he said in a different light.

Which makes this addendum a little more... bewildering, because Sora thought they were both on the same page of never ever ever again, here. "I'll... yeah. Yeah. That's definitely something I want." Because the point is to never have to use it again, right? "And, I mean, I still need to fix what went wrong just in case, but that's sort of." Sora looks down at the gashes in the trees and ground around them. "I. Needed to work out the thing that made it try to stop itself anyway. By myself."

He looks back up at Soldat. He means it. "You don't have to promise anything because I can't promise anything either. I... just wanted to make a point. This is a part of me. It's saved my life. If you don't want me to use it, I either have to get better than it at everything or I need to ignore that it exists when people need me." And he absolutely will not do that. "I don't know if we have time for me to get better at everything. I'll try. I just can't promise that I won't use it again. "

All the talk of how you need it and how it saves lives and how you can't really promise suggests pretty clearly otherwise, kiddo. But Soldat will take this, at least. "Following orders is part of me, too, but that don't mean it's always a good idea to do it," they grumble. That existed well before the programming, if the memories of the war are anything to go by, and the Russians just made it worse, is all.

"And what do you mean, by yourself?" they add, a grouse, shaking their head. "Of course I'm gonna help, if I can."

At least his point got across, and that's what matters to Sora in the end. (What this conversation is teaching Sora is that he's much more reliant than Soldat on what he considers "part of him" to build a picture of who he is. He's not sure if that's a good thing. He's also not sure if it's a bad thing. Maybe just the parts that hurt him. That opens up its own can of worms, though. More things to put in the slow cooker that is Sora's brain.)

He sighs and looks at his shoes. He's figured out how to put the problem into words by now, so this isn't a matter of him not having the pieces together anymore. No, now it's just embarrassment. "Nah, I." A pause. "You're gonna get real mad at me if I tell you what the problem is." Especially since... they were actually talking about the problem the week before, even if it was sort of in broad strokes.

Yeah, Soldat has spent so long being told what they are, being built up by other people, that "part of them" doesn't apply as clearly as it would for Sora. Being brainwashed, mind-fried, and gaslit for decades tends to make one's sense of self a little shaky. They're still not even sure what their self-image even is, they just go through unlife and hope it doesn't matter a whole lot.

(It does matter. It's just going to be percolating in the background of their brain for a while before actually coming to any kind of reasoning or whole, that's all.)

They narrow their eyes a little at Sora. "Out with it, kid. Can't work on fixing it until you spill."

(Jeez, these boys need to eat some grilled cheese and chill out! Or, like, just the grilled cheese part, at least. Purposeful chilling might be a little more difficult.)

Sora stares into the dark of the forest, then sits down, folding his legs cross-legged. He pulls his sweatshirt cuffs from his jacket sleeves and begins to pick at the already frayed edge.

"It's Riku," he says, and then, abruptly: "Before you say it - yeah, eff him, I know." He doesn't move from the ground, still studiously unraveling his cuffs and pulling out the spare threads. "It's me. It's just my stupid. Me."

Oh. Aw, Sora. that's not gonna make them mad. The suspicious gaze melts into something more neutral-- not a smile or anything, but it's warmer and more relaxed. Friend trouble is not really something they're gonna blame on Sora being stupid.

That'd be pretty hypocritical of them, anyway, given how they're going to be spending the next two week.s

"You're not stupid," they say. "What's goin' on with Riku that's making you want to bash your head around?"

Sora is absolutely not going to look up. He is pretty sure that at some point, this conversation is gonna make them mad. Or frustrated. Because!

"Nothing." Pick, pick. "No, not the. Um. Like, literally nothing." He takes a handful of thread and puts it in his pocket. He'll give it to a spirit later. "I mean, I sent him a message a few days ago before Naminé put me under. We talked for a little while. But, uh, that's it."

Back to his sleeve. "We aren't friends," Sora says, "but my heart keeps thinking we are. And, uh. That's it. That's the whole problem. I just need to get over myself." Somehow.

Soldat is gonna steal your shirts and jackets and replace all the cuffs, Sora, so help them. Or maybe have an afternoon of coming over instead of doing handler tasks and doing the mending at the hotel or something.

That's neither here nor there, though. And not what they're talking about now. "He tell you why you ain't friends?" they ask. "Or did he just kinda do his drive-by 'this is how it is' thing and ghost away?" Riku is unfathomable to Soldat. He seems like a decent kid, seems to have some weird kind of admiration for them, but he's so damn self-contained. Like Bruce. (No wonder those two are friends. And don't like here's-all-my-emotions-at-once Sora. Shut up, Sarge.)

And this is before their talk wit Riku in the church in March... which is kind of too bad.

Yeah, more cuffs for him to destroy! No, not actually excited about that. Sora would probably see the lengths the soldier went to to make sure his cuffs were nice and try to avoid them. Move onto something else. Not sure what.

Sora sighs a laugh. Riku ghosting is exactly what he expected of him, at least. "He hasn't really said anything. I told him as much as I could about what my deal was and he walked away while I was talking. I asked if he'd be all right and he said I was selfish to ask. That I wanted to hurt him and then walk away with a clean conscience that he'd be okay." He blinks slowly at his sleeve, not really picking at it. It's easier now. It's not like a month ago when even the idea of talking about what happened would have set him off. He's not sure what that means. Maybe the memories are helping in ways he doesn't understand.

"Last week, I wanted to ask him if he had any memories that he was willing to share. We talked about it for a little while. I... think he understands my deal." He slowly shakes his head. "He just doesn't care about it, and... I'm scared of trying to share anything real with him. So."

Wow. Wow that is... rude. You don't just walk away in the middle of someone's explanation, no matter how little you want to do with them. Soldat frowns in a kind of consternation, that's getting a little offended on Sora's behalf. "Why would he think you wanted to hurt him? You don't want to hurt anyone. It's pathological how little you want to hurt anyone."

No, they have no idea they he learned the word "pathological". It may have come from a briefing somewhere, or possibly a technician talking over their head. But they know it.

Sora slowly shakes his head. He has no idea what pathological means, but he sort of gets the gist of it. "He needed to be alone. I should - I knew that." Deep in his heart, he knew that that was what he wanted. "I knew that, I did. But I didn't want him to be alone."

So he followed him. Down a beach, toward a hill. "I'm... not. The." He stops, breathes evenly. It's okay. "I think we were. He was confused. I was... kinda. Scared that." It's okay, he repeats to himself, but his words are doing the thing where they follow exactly what he's thinking, which is everything at once. Slow down.

Soldat hesitates, then reaches over to put his hand on Sora's head again, holding there a moment before brushing it back a little. A pet. Two pets. "Maybe you oughta ask him that. Why he thought you wanted to hurt him. Might clear some shit up."

Literally the only things Soldat knows about friendship is "do things together", "care about each other", and "communicate". Everything else seems to flow from there. "Even if it don't make him your friend. 'Least you'd both know the same things. Be more able to work it out."

Sora does everything he can not to lean into the petting. He's not thinking like a dog anymore, he doesn't have to. He shakes his head instead.

"It was. This is my fault." He shakes his head. "I was... I did it wrong. I'm still doing it wrong." He stops, breathes in. Calm. Calm. "I know what happened. I do, I do, I'm just not going fast enough. This is my fault. I can't face Riku until I fix it."

And on that he clamps down his lips and bites them because what he was going to say next is so deeply and purely his problem that talking to Soldat couldn't possibly fix it at all. And there's so much going on and he's already gotten angry at Soldat once today and stressed them out and he doesn't want yet one more thing he cannot figure out how to fix hanging over their heads during the trip tomorrow. He knows if he goes for any longer they're going to miss Mr. Javert's session and Mr. Javert is going to be annoyed and his stupid problems aren't worth that.

He stands up suddenly. "It'll be okay. We should go." Then he strides through the smashed up path back toward the gym.

Though they might have a limited understanding of friendship, in this case "fixing it" seems like something the two of them have to do together. But Sora's right about one thing: class will start soon, and Soldat is not in the habit of being late. They give him a long, kind of wary look, then nods. "Inside, then. But I'm not forgetting any of this, either."

Sora pauses. His shoulders square and he looks back... and this is actually a pretty relieved smile. A little frazzled, a little sad, but not a bad feeling.

"Thank you," he says, and it's genuine. "It can wait." It can wait forever, if necessary. It really can. Sora will figure it out. He has to, whether he has help or not. It is, however, good to know that he doesn't have to be alone. It's enough.

"C'mon, let's go."

Guess what
The ferry came
I got the collection of every song my band played
All of them

[Clearly Duster is sharing this so that he can share the music, right?]

That sounds great. How much music is that?

It’s about fifty songs
Want to meet up at the invincible

[Fifty songs, all jazz, all new music. That sounds like heaven.

However. They do kinda have a vigil to keep, here.]

Church instead?

Yes

He takes his lantern and tablet from his current resting spot in the community center and shuffles through the thinning snow towards the church. The light swigs from side to side unevenly as he approaches the front doors.

He knocks.

There's a pause, and then Soldat's voice sounds kind of amused when they call over, "It's a public place. You don't have to knock."

They're sitting on one of the pews near the back, combat booted feet propped up on the pew in front of them, a notebook currently being shut on their upraised knees.

Duster pushes the door inward and cranes his neck to find Soldat in this large, cavernous room. The shrine back in Tazmily didn't have so many hiding spaces.

"I wondered if anyone was sleeping here tonight." Memories of Masaomi huddled under the table doused in red light came to mind. "Did anything interesting happen so far?"

"There shouldn't be anyone sleeping in here. It's drafty, and people come here after they die. If people are sleeping in here, there's room at the inn now. At the hotel." Soldat does not approve of sleeping in public places, because that's not safe or comfortable, and where do people even shower?

Couch-surfing is fine, of course-- they did that for months before Aziraphale and Crowley gave them a room-- since it includes access to a proper bathroom and kitchen and all, plus company.

They shake themselves a little. "Nothing interesting. It's been quiet. I only stay a couple hours, but. Not a lot of people come in here."

"Well, it is a church." He opens up the Songbird App on his phone. "So, what are you thinking for music? Something upbeat? Slow?"

Soldat retrieves their own tablet from an internal pocket. "Are your songs on Songbird then? I have music that's not on Songbird. If you want it. Recorded from the Night Market jukebox." Which means the quality is not perfect, but it's still pretty good.

A nod. "It's like listening to them in-person, if you were a giant and watching a tiny room perform." It's the best metaphor he can think of when listening music from a small devise instead of hearing it live.

"How about some rock?" He asks, but without waiting for an answer, he plays one of DCMC's most popular pieces, one with a clear bassline starring him.

Though Soldat's favorites are pretty clear, they've been doing a lot of experimenting with music over the past few months, finding new genres they like and can listen to outside of jazz and swing. This isn't really like most of them. They tilt their head with an intent expression, listening. "What is that instrument?" they ask curiously. "The high-pitched electronic one." They've heard synths before, but in a more 80s kind of way, not in a video-game kind of way, like this.

"The keyboard? Shimmy can make almost any kind of sound from those when he changes the settings." It's the wonders of electricity that his bandmate has managed to harness to create wild music. "The soundset he uses here is based off of an instrument called an organ."

"Oh. I know that. I know an organ." They pause, blinking at the music. "It doesn't sound like that. It's much bigger." Soldat may be thinking of a full pipe organ, like in a church.

"Like how big?" asks Duster, who hasn't seen a real organ in his life.

"I don't know. Bigger. Fuller. Rounder sound, more reverberation." Soldat doesn't have a memory of a physical organ, just the way it sounds in a big cathedral. Or on vinyl in a Christmas album in Steve's house. Something. They don't have much context, is the thing.

They pull out their own tablet, flip it open, and start searching through the music. "Here. Like this." And a Bach song on a full pipe organ starts playing.

That's a loud instrument. It sounds big, at the very least. He doesn't know how many speaks something like that would have to be hooked up to if it were the size of a piano.

"That's-" Duster can't think well when he's witnessing an incredible new piece of music. "Wait, I heard that song before. Part of it, anyway. What's it called?"

"The file name says the musician is Bach and the song is called 'Toccata and Fugue'," Soldat answers. "I know the song, too, but I think. I think I heard it on a record player, not in person. I remember there being vinyl noise."

"That's strange. I heard part of this in a symphony back home, written by a ghost. But...he said it was all original." His brow furrows. "Did he use part of Toccata and Fugue on purpose?"

Oh, Duster had no clue just how many classical pieces Lord Passion used in his work.

"I don't know. Either he lied. Or maybe he is the ghost of Bach?" They're not sure if Duster is even from Earth, to be honest, it might be a huge coincidence, some kind of someone-in-the-multiverse-must-write-this-music kind of deal.

"He called himself Mr. Passion and then Lord Passion. The only other thing of note was his hair." Most ghosts looked the same - white sheet, similar faces - except for this one that wore a suit.

"Passion." Soldat looks vaguely skeptical, not of Duster's story, but of anyone who would call himself that. "Are you even from Earth? Maybe there is no Bach on your world.

"I really don't know. All I know is that the world I came from used to be big before we all moved to the Nowhere Islands." He knows so little about his own history, and now that he's dead, he can't ever go back and ask Leder for more details like they had planned.

"Maybe an opal here would have a memory from when I was a kid. That's all I can hope for."

Soldat blinks at him once, over the continuing sound of the music. "You don't remember being a kid?"

Wait, wait. Just how many people are missing big patches of their memory, in this place?

"I remember...some of it. The rest, when I was really small...that was replaced with other memories." He tries to come up with a number, solely based on some rough ages. "Twenty years ago? Nineteen? Everyone had their memories re-written back then."

"Jesus." That's almost as bad as their own... issues. "I'm sorry. That's terrible." Possibly more terrible for Soldat than anyone else. Losing their memories now that they've started regaining them is one of their worst fears. "How did you find out the memories were wrong?"

"I mean..." It was hard to decide how you feel about something so big, so important, that meant your life had an entirely different meaning from the start. "We were happy, for a while. Some of us might've noticed something off, but I never found out that the town wasn't what it seemed until it was explained to me."

He fiddles around with something in his pocket. "By the one guy that kept his memories of the old world and could find out how to bring back those memories."

Soldat nods slowly. All these people with memory problems... it does make learning to empathize again a damn sight easier when there are so many parallels. "I understand. Finding out I had a life before HYDRA was. A shock. Still not really used to the idea. It must have been hard for you, too. Are your real ones coming back?"

"What's HYDRA?" A restart on humanity like Tazmily was? A school? "I...don't think so. Apparently, the town bell was meant to be a way to make sure those memory changes stuck, but after a few months, I don't think I remember much in detail."

Vague feelings that something was wrong, but no visions of a past life.

"Of course, maybe it's because I don't have too many memories of my old life, and childhood memories don't really pay attention to the world around me."

It's possible that only the serum's healing effects make Soldat's memories come back at the rate they are. Who knows how brain-frying works out in the real world, on real people. They nod. "HYDRA was. A secret organization. I was their assassin. They wanted to make everyone in the world follow them. They took my memories, programmed me, made me think I was nothing but theirs. Memories are coming back now. Slow and in pieces. It's been. A big thing. Thought maybe yours might come back, too, with enough time."

"They-" He jerks his head up. There was the memory removal of Tazmily, and then there was...Claus.

"I knew someone like that. He became an empty shell. They said it was like he had no heart."

"Yes." Soldat nods. "That. That's a good way to describe it. For a long time. Dying brought me here, and now I'm. Getting better?" It still seems a little awkward to call it "getting better". But everyone else has been pretty emphatic about it. "Not getting my brain fried every few days helps a lot."

"Yeah. That would do it." He scrolled through his list of music. "It wasn't that painful for me. I got all of my memories stolen the same way once, but all that did to me was make me confused."

"Good." The last thing Soldat would want is anyone else to go through the Chair. Seems like that would be pretty inefficient for a whole population, anyway-- have to do them one at a time, and they'd probably protest as soon as they saw the first person go through it anyway. Duster's world probably has magic or something for that sort of thing. "I. Hope you get them back sometime. If you want them."

He smiles at Soldat. “I hope. It’d answer a lot of questions about where I came from.” Unlike his close friends, there was more to his history than what he experienced on the Nowhere Islands. He could find similarities between himself and others if he knew what his world used to be like.

“We’ll just have to find the time.”

Hey. So the bulletin is out, and I was just wondering if you wanted to play a game of poker? Or go blow shit up.

[It takes maybe two hours before he gets a reply, but when he does, it's:]

Not to the point of blowing shit up yet. Maybe later. Bring cards to the church?

Sure. I'll be there in half an hour.

[It takes a little more than half an hour, but not much and Quentin slips in to the church, his cards in his pocket and a thermos of tea under his arm.]

Hey.

[It's fine. Soldat isn't going anywhere for another hour or three, anyway. They don't have their notebook open, since they're expecting company, but they do have their feet up on the pew in front of them and chin on the arms folded across their knees, looking vaguely across the room.

The sound of footsteps has them looking up, then over, then smiling a little.]

Hey. Did you seriously bring a drink, too?

[Why's everyone so nice to them, seriously. It's so very undeserved.]

Hi. Yeah, I did.

[He waggles the thermos that Aziraphale gave him. Or lent him, the details are unclear and maybe Soldat will want it back. No matter, because it's good for keeping the tea warm through the cold walk here and Quentin sets it down at the end of the pew.]

It's tea, since you said wine didn't do it for you and I thought maybe this would? I got it from... him. I think it was a Christmas present? It tastes nice, though.

Tea is good. Coffee's my favorite though.

[The revelation about the thermos is just met with a nod.]

Then you got a much nicer Christmas present than I did. He has terrible taste, Quentin. A sweater vest. In paisley. It's horrible.

[This is said with a kind of wincing earnestness. Aziraphale was many things, most of them good, but great about fashion he was not.]

I wish I'd known that, because honestly? I like coffee better, too. Well... at least this is warm? And I just figured-- nevermind.

[And Quentin just sputters, giggling and he slams a hand over his mouth, eyes big behind his cupped hand because shit--]

A sweater vest? Oh my god, I don't even wear sweater vest and I'm-- [A huge nerd? Bookish? Not someone who dresses like he's ready for combat?]

Did you wear it?

Because Aziraphale likes tea.

[That's a pretty easy guess. Tea is for grandmas and nightmare nights, though, as far as Soldat figures. Or Aziraphale.]

I wore it once on Christmas so Aziraphale could be happy. Once or twice under lots of other layers so no one can see it. It feels nice. Very soft and warm. Just hideous.

Yeah, because he likes tea.

[Present tense and Quentin notices. Of course he does, how many times had he had to correct himself before the terrible truth set in?]

Okay, so I got the better gift. Which... is a surprise. Probably because he felt bad for me, I don't know. [he pulls out a deck of cards] Want to play? Don't worry, I'll go easy on you.

It's okay. He tried. My gift for him was pretty selfish, too, so it's fine.

[Trying to quietly suggest he wear something other than that goddamn bowtie. At least Aziraphale had seemed to like the collection of alternative neckwear.]

The person who got the best gift. Would have been Crowley, anyway. And even he also got a terrible sweater.

[Soldat knows what he got, even though they didn't ever see him wear either thing. Clearly the not-sweater portion was not a gift to be shared with the likes of them, just Aziraphale.

They scoot back on the pew and turn to give them some space between them for a "table".]

Let's see how much I really remember, then. Five cards, right?

Five-card draw and we can keep it simple.

[Quentin sits down on the edge, hands shuffling the cards fast and easy. they flow like water between his hands, back and forth, almost too fast for the eye to see the individual cards.

He keeps talking, not looking at what his hands are doing - he's good at this. Cards and coins and close-up magic tricks. The smaller one that just reply on dexterity and fast hands.]

I don't really have any thing to bet, but you mentioned candy? Or, just. Small things? Because I still have some candy left over from the Market and I have some, uh, some acorns I collected on my way here.

[Once he's done with shuffling them, Quentin quickly deals them five cards each, face down on the pew.]

[Soldat pulls their coat-- sitting on the pew behind them, since the church is warm enough to go without-- over to reach into the right-hand pocket. They produce a pile of little rubies, probably eight of them, to set down. If Quentin picks one up, it's warm to the touch, even though the coat hadn't been touching Soldat to warm them up.]

Candy, these, and I have some snacks around here someplace.

[They keep trying pockets, and they have a lot of pockets, finally pulling out a bag of peanuts.]

Peanuts would be perfect.

[Quentin smiles a little, before settling in with one leg curled up underneath him and the other shoved under the pew in front of them. Really, he's not good at sitting.]

You need to look at your cards before placing a bet.

[Peanuts it is. They dump the bag out. There's plenty of them to go around.

Then they collect their hand of cards and give Quentin a look that might be amused.]

I remember the rules. Pretty sure I do, anyway. Played this in the army. Any wilds?

[Quirking and eyebrow, Quentin just nods.]

I guess you do know about Poker. Sure, we can play it with wilds. Just one?

[The one thing Quentin knows he's good at- cards. And he smiles, tugging his hair behind his ear.]

Just one. Too many and it gets too easy. Are there jokers in this deck?

[That's pretty standard. Jokers or 2s, because nobody likes to have a 2. They put their own collection of cards in as pleasing an order as there can be. It's a shitty hand, to be honest.]

Just the ones that came with the deck.

[Quentin picks up four of the cards, sorting through them like it matters before leaning back. This isn't Push and there's no real magic at work. But Quentin is still pretty good at shifting the odds in card games to his own favor.

But not now, because this isn't to win. It's to distract and to cheer up and to just... be a normal person for once. Offering what he can to someone who's lost someone. Someones.]

Good to go?

Good to go.

[They bet the lowest possible bet. One peanut. And they discard three, taking three new ones off the top of the deck. Still not great, but a little better.]

Haven't actually done this since I remembered. Javert prefers chess. Mostly just play solitaire when I play cards.

I always cheat in solitaire.

[Quentin says with a small smile, shrugging as he pushes three peanuts in to the pile to join Soldat's one and he discards two of the cards in his hand.]

I know, I know. I'm only cheating myself, but... I really hate to lose, you know? And really, who's going to tell me not to.

Not going to hold that against you, pal. It's Solitaire. Should do what makes it fun. Raising, I guess.

[They add a second peanut to the pile in the hopes that maybe their pitiful pair of Jacks is better than what Quentin has.]

[Eyeing the small pile of peanuts, Quentin pushes another one in and looks back down at his cards. Nothing. And it would be so easy to just--]

It still makes me feel guilty, isn't that weird? Even here and I mean, if I can't cheat in Solitaire after I'm dead, then...

Well, if you feel guilty, then it's not having fun, is it.

[Soldat takes a moment to frown and try to remember what you say to show cards. They've got no desire to waste any more peanuts on this dumb, terrible hand.]

Call?

Clearly, you haven't really met me yet. [Because really, feeling guilty about something, anything, was practically the baseline of Quentin's whole existence.]

Sure thing.

[And he places his shitty cards face-up on the pew between them and flips the wild. A pair of three's, but that's it.]

Huh. Pair beats pair.

[Maybe a pair of Jacks isn't so pitiful after all. Soldat puts their cards down, and pulls in the winnings. Then tosses their cards into the discard pile to get a new hand dealt.]

Do you like feeling guilty, Quentin?

[A pause. A drop of knowledge without context into their head, and a frown.]

Are you Catholic?

[He makes some kind of startled laugh and Quentin looks up, quirking his eyebrows.]

No, no I am not-- [and he deals them both another set of cards with a small smile.] I mean, I get why you might think that? But I am not really anything. I think my dad was protestant? We never really went to church. Did you?

My ma was Jewish. Don't know what my pa was, but I remember. A thing with lots of kneeling and getting back up again? A lot of being bored? Not sure what kind of church that was.

[It was Catholic, all right. They just don't have the label properly assigned to it in their memory. Soldat accepts their cards, shuffles them around in their hand.]

Steve was Catholic, though, I know that. My friend from Before.

One of my friends? From back home. He's Jewish. And- [Quentin barely glances at the cards before putting them back down.]- I think most of them have the whole kneeling thing?

My dad didn't... after my mom left, and it was just the two of us, there were other things to do than go to church. [Garden work when a therapist suggested that Quentin needed more structure and fresh air. Projects with paint and chopping up wood when someone suggested that that might help Quentin and his broken brain.]

And? What are you? Like your mom, your dad or your friend?

I don't know. Probably nothing.

[They shake their head.]

A little hard to believe in any kind of purpose to the universe when you spent a normal person's lifetime programmed to murder people on command.

[And they set the starting bet, discard two cards, and nab two more to replace them.]

What?

[After everything, after Fillory and the Beast and Plover turning out to be even worse than the Beast. After life and death and quests and castles placed on the flip-side of world that saved his life when he was younger... this is still a lot.

The cards are on the pew and Quentin just grabs two at random and takes two new ones.]

Programmed to what? Who?

[Oh, did Quentin not know about that? This is gonna be a fun conversation.]

Programmed, brainwashed, whatever you want to call it. By a group called HYDRA. I was their pet assassin. They're the ones who took my memories. Repeatedly. Apparently even with the programming, they needed me to not know who I was.

[They rearrange the cards in their hand.]

Raise you two.

I see that raise, and I raise you, uh... four?

[He tilts his head and just... frowns.]

They what? Did that on purpose? What the-- that's fucked up. I mean, not you. [Quentin holds out a hand, fingers twitching] Not you, but them? And what they did? Is that... how you died?

I died on a mission, not because of them. A flying aircraft carrier with a lot of guns fell apart and crashes with me inside.

[Because it's literally only peanuts, Soldat puts in the four, then makes a "show me" motion with their free hand. What cards you got, Q.]

They did do it on purpose. They wanted to use me. There's no magic on my world, but we do have. I guess you'd say supersoldiers. Stronger, faster, better aim and improved processing power, heal more quickly. Assets. If you can control us.

[Quentin turns his cards over- three of the same. All eights.]

Jesus, that's-- so fucked up. I mean, I know there are spells that would do the same thing and- and it's not like there are that many forbidden spells. But just... sometimes I don't get people.

[So, it's disjointed, Quentin's voice low as he bites his lip and looks up at Soldat only in short glimpses from underneath his bangs. But it's heartfelt. What-]

Dicks.

[Soldat gets pretty disjointed at times. They at least can pick up the gist of it.]

I don't get them all the time, either. This, though, I understood just fine. They required order for their version of peace. And order only comes through pain.

[This time, it's not a slogan popping out of their mouth without thought, it's as close to sarcastic as Soldat is capable of getting: bone dry and pointed. They set their cards down, a small straight of four, five, and six. A straight beats three of a kind, but just barely. Two hands to Soldat.]

My pain. Pain of the people they want to rule. Never theirs, though.

[Order through pain and Quentin can still remember dean Fogg's speech when he was enrolled in to Brakebills. Magic comes from pain, and the underlying theory that what sets them apart- what makes them special is how deep the pain goes and how willing they are to channel that pain in to magic.

It's bullshit.

Quentin's magic had never been better than it was when he'd been happy. Truly happy.]

What a load of dicks.

[Quentin pushes the pile of peanuts to Soldat and starts shuffling the cards again. He holds the deck out-]

Are you... okay? With that?

I don't think like they do. If that's what you mean.

[A pause.]

Mostly. I try not to. Sometimes it just happens. Familiarity. The goddamn HYDRA slogan popped out of my mouth a few weeks ago.

[So embarrassing. They take the offer card deck and deal themselves, instead.]

But I don't like it. Ain't right. Not just because it fucked me up pretty good, wouldn't want their kind of order for anybody.

[Looking at the cards he's been dealt, Quentin puts them in order and pushes two peanuts in to the middle of the pew.]

I didn't think you did, you just don't seem like someone who would do that to someone. But also... dicks.

[There's not much else to say to that - mind-control? Yikes. And in to doing things that fucking awful? The Margolem had been bad enough, and that had only been Margo's image and some of her magic. Not her whole self. Jesus.]

I'm sorry? That that happened to you?

[They meet the bet, then trade out... three cards. What a crap hand.]

It's okay.

[Well, it's not okay, but Soldat is never really sure what to say to apologies like that.]

I'm. Getting better, or so people tell me.

It's really not.

[Okay. But then again, growing up means figuring out how much of the crap happening was so not okay on any level and sure, nothing in Quentin's life was ever as bad as being mind-controlled in to killing people. But that was probably only because Alice as a Niffin never seemed to want to kill people. Just magical being and most days, Quentin tries to just not think about how many she killed while using his body.

Or what else she might have done while wearing his skin like a cheap suit.

He trades one card, and places the new hand face up on the pew.

Three of a kind. All nines.]

Nothing like dying to put everything in to perspective?

[Beats Soldat's shit hand of one pair of Jacks, easy. They push the pile of peanuts Quentin's way.]

I guess. Being free and not getting brain-fried every other day probably did more than dying did.

[They discard both hands and deal out new ones. This is kind of nice, the motions are familiar and comfortable, like they've done this so many times it's just ingrained.]

Did dying put things into perspective for you, too?

Oh. Right, yeah. So, that tracks.

[As he picks up the new cards, discarding three before he pushes a handful of peanuts in to the middle.]

It-- uh, yeah? Yes, maybe. At least until I woke up on the ferry and found out that I wasn't done with saving the world after all. And I really, really wanted to not do that anymore.

[Oh, this is a much better hand. Soldat sorts, picks one card, adds to the peanut pile. There's a raise in there.

That's a curious sentiment, though. They have to ask:]

Why don't you? It seems like a good sort of goal. Saving people instead of hurting them.

Soldat,

Thank you for your help in defeating the monsters in the courthouse. We would have had more difficulty without your lookout.

I want to apologize for your death. Even if we can come back to life in Beacon, I was still responsible for what happens to those I lead. I wish you a safe recovery, and if you have any need, I am willing to fulfill that.

Take care of yourself,
Minimus Ambus

[Coming back from the dead and finding this in their inbox has Soldat dealing with a minor panic attack, mostly fueled by guilt and a little bit of fear, because giant metal dude is so lawful it's literally scary to a formerly brainwashed assassin.

But it does require a response. So a day after Minimus sends this, he'll get the text message back:]

It was my own fault. I was stupid. Don't apologize for my own mistakes.

[The thing about Minimus Ambus is that he is straightforward: he claims he adheres to the rules, and his actions match his words. It's one of the few exceptional quality he believe he has.]

Soldat,

No soldier is capable of making no mistakes in every fight. You've fought like many of the brave Autobot soldiers with whom I have seen combat, if not among those with the most honor. We are fortunate that you are alive, but you still died while under my watch.

Not many can survive to amend their final regrets.

Minimus Ambus

[Yeah, and when you're a one, war criminal, and two, spent a lot of time being beaten down with the motto "order only comes through pain", people like Minimus are a little scary. It's okay, though. Soldat's used to being afraid of people.

They stare at the formal message for a long time before coming up with a response.]

You shouldn't beat yourself up about it anyway. There wasn't anything you could have done.

Soldat,

Thank you for your reassurance. [He doesn’t hate Minimus. Does the rest of the crew of the Lost Light feel the same way? Would the Wreckers refuse an apology from Ultra Magnus if they did meet in the Afterspark?] I do wish to be more careful next time.

Rest well, soldier.

Minimus Ambus

[Of course they don't hate you. They don't even know you, man. They're just pretty sure Minimus would hate them if he knew a damn thing about them.]

We'll all be more careful next time.

Good night

[Wow, "good night", so dumb. Jesus, they're regretting sending that as soon as they hit the send button. Too bad there's no recall button on these things.]

I'm sorry. For your loss.

[Soldat has no idea what to say to that. The default "it's okay" is a lie. "Thanks" feels awkward and dumb. So after staring at it for a long time (they hadn't checked their tablet until about an hour ago), they just decide not to address it directly.]

Did you know Aziraphale or Crowley very well?

[They know he spoke with Crowley at the one town hall meeting, but can't remember any other interactions they particularly heard or saw.]

I know loss better.

But Aziraphale was kind to me.

You don't need to say anything. I was never very good at finding the words either.

[There's another long pause, though not as long as the last one.]

He was kind. Crowley too in his way.

I'm sorting through their things to box up. Going to move to Misty's cabin.

[Soldat knows where Bruce lives, so Bruce deserves to know where Soldat lives. Reciprocity. Fairness. And in the very unlikely case where Bruce might need something.]

[He doesn't say it by accident, Bruce knows that. It's a deliberate decision to share that information- the who and where. But as he suspects they share a preference for leaving some things unsaid, he notices, and doesn't acknowledge it.]

What will you do with them? The boxes.

Under my bed with Scarlett's things. Storing things for another year and a half doesn't seem like that long. They don't have very much.

[That being the time they have until either reset or success, and all. To somebody who's not great at thinking that far in the future anyway, and who also isn't great at letting go of things, just storing it seems the best option.]

I suppose that's true.

[Bruce doesn't want to be a pessimist, but pragmatism often requires that he look at the worst case scenario and make a plan even for that. To attempt to prepare for everything. How many more boxes can fit underneath Soldier's bed? How many more will there be in a year and a half?]

Were you able to find their lanterns?

No. Wherever they went, it was too far for me to find without mounting an expedition. Do have Crowley's tablet, though.

[And they're never gonna let go of it, either. It's becoming a kind of secondary storage device, plus there's a few pictures on it of Aziraphale and Crowley themselves, from when the angel made Crowley take selfies. It's valuable material.]

They were close, weren't they?

We can hope that wherever they are, they're together.

I'm choosing to think they are together. Those two never shouldn't be. They were apart for thousands of years and only had six months here.

[Four, counting Crowley's long nap. Makes them feel damn guilty about wishing at least one of them had come back. But whatever.]

Is there anyone you would want to be with, here?

[Well, if they have to pick....]

Probably Misty.

[They care a lot about Sora and Ellever and Eleven, and about other people here, but they're pretty sure their brain would collapse without Misty's support, at this point. And, because that was very personal and turn-about is fair play, they send a second text:]

Is there anyone for you?

No.

But it's nice, I think. To have found someone that brings you comfort.

I'll keep her in mind.

[Wow that's just fuckin' sad. Soldat knows Bruce lives with a handful of other people at that museum-- Riku and Vanitas, they're pretty sure. Neither of them? (Unless he's not telling the truth. Well, all right, there is that. It was very personal. Handler. Oh no, don't even go there, Asset. No. Ever get the feeling it's rolling its eyes at you? I'm pretty sure it doesn't know how.)]

Thank you

[And, well, taking that at face value, they feel the need to add:]

I hope you find someone. Nobody should be alone.

You don't need to thank me.

[It isn't quite like either of those things, but instead- Bruce has already died with someone else. It wasn't a comfort, it was agonizing. He understands the comfort that might come from leaving a life behind if it means doing so with someone you care for, going into the unknown together instead of alone.

But he doesn't think he'll ever find personal solace in it.]

Besides, I'm not alone.
None of us are.

[And here's the disconnect: Soldat wasn't thinking of this in terms of death, but in terms of "person to always be with", because to them, there is no unknown. A final death just means... ending. And there's honestly no way they would suggest Misty (or anyone) reach that end just because they do. No way.]

Some people seem to think they are. Just making sure you aren't one

( Since Soldat isn't permitted many visitors, on the second day after his rescue, Javert messages him, )

How are you faring? I do not doubt you're being treated well, but if there's anything at all you require, do not hesitate to ask.

( He likes making himself useful. And he feels as if he owes him a little, after Soldat took care of him when he broke his leg. )

[Aw, sir. If he'd asked at the door, Soldat would absolutely have asked Misty to let him up.]

I am all right, sir, just tired and trying to settle my brain properly again. I will be back to my usual schedule tomorrow.

[There is a moment's pause, before a second message comes through.]

I may not be of much use in close quarters with green-eyes anymore. They found an off-switch.

[Well, sort of. Soldat doesn't have the vocabulary to call it anything else, but then, Javert probably doesn't, either.]

You best not be saying to appease me.

( Javert doesn't want to force him to go back to work when he isn't ready. He can patrol part of the route himself. He already did so yesterday, and he didn't stop at Misty's house to ask to be let in because he's too awkward to ask. As for the other matter, )

Why do you mean? What did they do to you?

No sir. I would be very bored sitting here doing nothing for another day.

[They might not be entirely physically healed up... but they're getting there. Misty helps, and stuffing themselves with as much food as they can helps more. They take a little longer to reply to the second text, rewriting the explanation until they think it makes sense.]

There's one thing they make me remember. It makes everything inside my head stop and go away. It's how they captured me.

Perhaps that is something we should discuss in person. If it brings you any comfort, I did not see any of the green-eyed spirits when I was on patrol yesterday.

( Was he purposely trying to look for them? No. But he went as far into the woods as he could, before turning around and heading back into town. It seemed imperative that he do so, given the number of injuries and people staying home to tend to their friends. Javert has no such distractions. Other than a few cuts, he is not any worse than he was before. )

It does. They can pretend to be other people, too, though. Hallucinations are difficult.

[Yeah, sorry, Javert. They learned all sorts of fun things during this ordeal.]

I will be back on my standard routine tomorrow. I can see you after my 0500 patrol like usual and explain.

I know. Fortunately for me, there aren't many people that I care for.

( He's already lost the memory of one person he guilty feelings for. He's not too broken up about it, though. As far as Javert's concerned, it's one less weakness for them to exploit. )

Very well. I shall meet you then.

[Javert really does sound like Misty, sometimes. A gruffer, more rude Misty. But the same damn rhetoric. Soldat sighs, but doesn't argue with it.

And they'll be at the Invincible looking for him at the usual time, after settling Fjord in the downstairs area with some sewing to keep the idiot from making his pneumonia worse. Soldat looks well enough-- the tac vest is still damaged, so it's back to layers of jackets and long-sleeved shirts, which hide the remaining bandages well enough. They move just fine, though some of that is training rather than lack of pain, and they're only about as pale as anyone here is, with no sun to give them color.]

( His friends are a couple of self-isolating idiots. It can't be helped.

Javert himself is already immaculately put together despite the early hour. He doesn't have his coat on, nor his hat, but even in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, it's difficult to tell if he's been injured. His shirt is buttoned up to the collar, pristine and pressed. He doesn't walk with a cane when he goes to the door, but he still a bit of a limp. The inspector looks him over briefly, taking in his appearance and posture, before allowing him in. )

Sit. ( He barks, in a manner that leaves no room for argument. ) Now what is this about an off switch?

[Soldat sits. And is careful not to show the relief at being off their feet.]

I told you before, sir. About the Chair my last handlers had, that they put me in, that took my memories. The green eyes. If they throw that hallucination at me, of being in the Chair. It makes everything in my head. Stop. For a while. Happened twice now.

[They shrug, regret it but try not to show it, and finish resignedly,]

Off-switch.

( He takes a seat in the opposite chair, his arms folded across his chest, and his brow furrowed. He's right that Javert has little idea what to do about it. Psychiatry was only just beginning to become a thing in the early 19th century, and Javert himself has never been good at coping with mental distress. He considers it for a moment, though, wondering, )

Why would that happen? Is it because you are still afraid?

Edited 2020-03-26 01:29 (UTC)

Sir. Frankly. I will be afraid of that thing for the rest of my life.

[Which is just the truth. They can't imagine a time when the sight of the Chair won't make them panic, even if they keep most of it inside. Because that Chair can undo everything, can undo them.]

I don't know if that's why. I'm afraid of lots of things. None of them do that to me.

Is it something to do with your programming, then?

( That's the word Soldat uses. Javert has had his moments when he's frozen up before, when he's so overwhelmed with emotion that his mind shuts down, but never anything like this. )

Maybe. I don't even know the. The extent of it anymore. The programming. They took that away, too.

[HYDRA could have done any number of things, conditioned any number of responses, and they wouldn't know until they ran head-first into it. The very idea is frustrating. (More frustrating than frightening, which... ain't that somethin'.)]

I don't know if there's a way around it. Might have to stay at long range if they're involved.

[Except last time they tried that, it went pretty badly, too.]

Perhaps it is as you said before, and you should not fight them at all.

( Perhaps that is the only solution. If Soldat isn't going to be able to fight them, then there is little point in allowing him to do so. It's a pragmatic decision, but that's not the only reason Javert seems receptive to it. He looks down, then back up, the sternness in his posture fading slightly. )

I would not begrudge you for doing so. You've been through enough.

[Soldat looks up from their hands, briefly meeting his gaze, then flicking away. Their expression is hard to read: maybe unsure, maybe a little unhappy.]

I can't stand around and do nothing. If other people are going into danger and I can help.

[But they sound unsure, too. Not because they think they deserve a break, but because they're afraid of being useless. Being a liability. Unable to protect people.]

Is that not what our combat training is for? You needn't be there to protect everyone if you can teach them to do so themselves.

( There's a part of him that almost wants to go up to Soldat, take him by the shoulders and shake him. Of all the people in Beacon that should think themselves useless, he is one of the last. He wishes that he could make him see that, but he's not so good at expressing it. )

[To keep people alive, not necessarily to remove threats. But. Yes. He has a point.

Getting Soldat to the point where they can view themselves as more than what they can do for people will take a little more doing, but everyone who acts like they have more worth than their purpose is a nudge in the right direction.]

If I can't. Twice a week isn't enough. And more people should come.

[Maybe this mess will make more people take to the training. More people come to practice. Of course, the siege didn't... so who knows.]

What would you have me do?

( He asks, and his tone quite sincere. He and Jason and Soldat have been doing this since the beginning, and Javert values their input in this as much as he does their help. It's something he's been pondering for a while, and to hear it echoed back at him is somewhat of a relief. )

We can meet more often, if that would satisfy you. I cannot mandate that people attend, however.

[The question takes Soldat by surprise. Uh. Well.]

I know. I. Know.

[They look aside, embarrassed, but answers anyway.]

Three times a week. Add Mondays. I'm there already, anyway. Maybe we can talk to people, explain the need.

[A pause, and then:]

We can do it better than those Wild Hunt people did it, too.

[Soldat has heard about the training thing. Soldat is maybe a little offended, largely on Javert's behalf (and sure, a little on their own).]

( Javert doesn't even try to hide his disdain. He scoffs a bit, )

That would not be difficult.

( It isn't so much the training irritates him. It's the fact that the Wild Hunt seemed to think that they needed it, as if Javert, Jason, and Soldat's training hasn't been enough. How did they think their group survived this long, fighting against the spirits? It's insulting, and Javert can be quite spiteful when the mood takes him. )

We would have rescued you a day sooner had they not insisting on their pointless training.

Edited 2020-03-29 18:58 (UTC)

I heard. Because one day of knife training will really help against a green-eye. Let alone a dozen of them.

[Check it out, Javert. Soldat is capable of sarcasm, albeit just a little bit.]

Must not be watching us as close as they thought. A lot of us can fight just fine already, anyway.

So it seems. Your boy was none too impressed with it.

( He turns his head. It's becoming quite difficult for Javert not to smirk, listening to Soldat's reassurances and sarcasm. He's none too worried about the Wild Hunt. Perhaps they could prove themselves useful, if they played their cards right. As for his other suggestion, Javert considers it silently. )

Perhaps we can begin thrice weekly training, then, once you and the others have recovered. How do you feel?

[Soldat wants to say they feel fine, but that haven't actually given Fjord his wisdom charm back yet, so they can't in fact say anything remotely untrue. What comes out is:]

I've been better. But I am recovering.

[Hmm. They add,]

I should be healed enough by Friday to teach at the classes again.

Do not push yourself.

( It sounds like a warning, but Javert only means it out of concern. He should probably be taking his own advice, considering how beaten and sore his body is, and how slow his gait, but he cannot stand to remain idle for much longer.

He draws himself abruptly from the couch, disappearing silently toward the kitchenette. A few moments later, he returns with a mug of coffee. It doesn't seem as if he brewed it all that long ago, as the steam rolling off of it is still warm. He offers it out to Soldat, huffing a little, )

Drink that, at least. If you must insist on tending to me, then I should be allowed the same.

( It may not be much but. He's trying. )

[Soldat readily, even happily, accepts the coffee.]

Of course, sir. I won't even complain.

[They're very familiar with Misty needing to fuss, and after the last couple visits from Javert, they're starting to get a feel for his form of fussing. It's sweet, if much more gruff than Misty's or Sora's, or their own.]

[Continuing from here]

Fjord's not allowed to be annoyed at Soldat when the guy is just making sure he doesn't puncture a lung after everything else they just went through (but frankly, when he thinks of that, he's surprised he didn't during the entire torture bullshit). He gets it.

He is, however, giving himself permission to be mad at the sewing kit, which he's started fiddling with while Soldat went off to do his own tasks for a bit. He's not a particularly dexterous fellow - not like Nott and her little goblin fingers - so when Soldat gets back Fjord has only just successfully threaded his first needle.

After checking in with Javert and spending about fifteen minutes in the kitchen, Soldat comes back to set a plate in front of him with two grilled cheese sandwiches, turkey and tomato between the melted cheese. (Ham looks too much like spirit mystery meat, sadly, which ruins a good ham and grilled cheese. Turkey looks okay, though.) "Having trouble, there?"

Their own plate has three sandwiches. There are bottles of beer, too, because while Soldat can't get drunk, they do kind of like the taste. Feels like the 1930s to drink it, like coffee. Plus, they figure Fjord will appreciate it.

Fjord definitely appreciates the food, and especially the beer, which he puts down his needle and thread to grab one. (The bottle caps are a novelty to him, they didn't exist in his time.)

"I'm not good at fine details," he says, testing the cap with one hand before he realises he can just screw it off. "Ask me to tie a knot and I can do that fifty different ways."

"Then you won't be great at sewing. It's all about fine details. Maybe should keep you on bandage duty, instead of stitching duty." Soldat will still show him how, but maybe not recommend he focus exclusively on it. And they're maybe not going to let him do much altering on their clothes.

They drop into the chair opposite Fjord's. "I only know about a dozen knots. Fifty's a whole damn lot. Why does anyone need fifty ways to tie a knot?" It's called hyperbole, pal, c'mon.

"I'm good with staying on bandage duty," he ribs dryly, smiling around the beer at his mouth.

But the question makes him lower it again. "Well, maybe not exactly fifty," he admits, because it's faintly worrying Soldat took that at face value so readily, "But enough for plenty of different tasks. There's so many ways to lash a ship or fix a rope that it pays to know a few different ways, depending on how quickly you wanna be able to untie them, if you do at all."

Sometimes you gotta be clearer that you're exaggerating, with this guy, sorry Fjord. They nod, though, confusion clearing. "I'm gonna make you show me some time, see if you know ones I don't." Probably. The knots Soldat knows come from the military on Earth, which is not the same as a ship in a fantasy universe.

They uncap their own beer for a swig, then dig into their first sandwich. Lessons come after eating a little bit.

"Sounds like a plan." It'll be fun showing off some sailing knowledge again. He'll put his beer down as well, so he can take a sandwich too.

Funny how good everything always tasted after that sort of shit.

He's quiet for a moment as he chews on that thought, thinking back on the shit they went through. And their earlier conversation.

"With all due respect," he says eventually, instead of taking another bite. "D'you mind if I ask as to what you were referring to before with the, uh. Off switch?"

Due respect. Really. Soldat isn't really due respect. It's almost funny. Thankfully for everyone involved, they can't actually comment or look amused by that, because the rest is pretty grim. "That. Yeah. There's a specific hallucination they throw at me. The green-eyes. It hits, and my brain just stops. Everything stops."

Fjord respects the hell out of you, Soldat, you'd better get used to it.

But since Soldat doesn't extrapolate on it further, Fjord won't pry. "Explains why I saw you go limp when two of 'em grabbed you. You were putting up a hell of a fight 'til then, I got worried."

Too bad, Fjord, you're gonna get a little more detail. "Yeah. I'd hoped the Asset would get us through it, but." They shake their head, frowning unhappily. "The Chair gets even the Asset, I guess. Suppose it's not surprising. That's what it came from."

And sue him, he is curious. "The Chair... some kind of punishment, then?"

All anybody ever has to do is ask, really. "You know most of my memories are gone. That's how. The Chair. Stuff me in it, strap me down, the halo comes down, and-- and it channels a shit-ton of electricity into my brain." The plates in the metal arm ripple a little under their sleeve, and they pause to rub at one temple with the metal fingers, as if feeling the ghost of it. "Took everything away, start over, hard reboot." Not that a medieval character like Fjord will know what a hard reboot is. The rest ought to be clear enough.

Fjord's eyes flick down automatically at the fabric shifting, and a faint frown crosses his face.

"I can't imagine what that must've been like," he says, a touch softly. "I'm sorry they did that to you."

It's not an apology of claiming responsibility; he just hates that Soldat was forced to suffer that, to lose everything, no doubt multiple times. He wishes better for his friend. (He wonders if dying is a blessing in disguise for him, there.)

It kind of has been. Soldat shrugs, focusing back on their meal rather than their poor, abused head. "It's over now. Even getting the sensations of it here doesn't do more than shut me down for an hour or two. The memories are still there when I come to. First time it happened, I thought I was going to come back not remembering anybody." That was terrifying. The whole ordeal is still terrifying, but with it happening twice now, at least they know their memories are safe. From that, anyway.

Sorry for the delay. I decided to touch one of the sand bottles and I've been sleeping.

I hope you've been resting.

[There will be a note tucked into the seam of the Soldier's front door, with small, tidy handwriting inside.

Dean Winchester managed to repair a car in the scrap yard. It's receiving a signal from the radio tower but the headlights are as ineffective as any other light here. Riku and Quentin worked on a method to amplify the light from our lanterns to drive by, and Riku and I have repaired a few salvaged motorbikes. Daylight said that he had some information to pass along and hasn't just yet. He also hasn't get confirmed if he wants to come along.

The loose plan as of this moment, is that Dean and his brother will ride in the car. Riku and I will take one of the bikes and offer others out, one to you and your companion, one possibly to Daylight. And we would proceed with the intention of narrowing our search. Emphasis is on avoiding unnecessary risks. We bring ocarinas but not torches. We haven't set a date yet and I'm open to any and all input- you and Daylight have more experience than many others here. You can leave replies at the museum or at the church. There's a false bottom to the pew on the left, second from the back.]

I was hit by sand, too. Interesting dreams. Not sure what the purpose was.

[The next day, shortly after the text comes through, Bruce will be able to check his hollow church pew to find a note, himself. It's not quite as neat as Bruce's handwriting, but it's clearly readable. Soldat may have made like 3 copies before coming up with one that stays all in the same language and handwriting style throughout.]

Avoiding risks is good. We will be a large and very noisy group so that may not be possible, and cars will not fit in a lot of spaces in the forest. Dean and Sam might be better off on bikes. Not sure if the bikes will hold Daylight, but he may be able to keep up on foot. I probably could as well, but I will not risk Misty on anyone else's bike than mine.

Misty will come if we promise to share our intel. She is unhappy with the secrecy.

[Soldat actually finds it kind of charming, in a formerly-a-secret-assassin way, but also only if they share intel afterwards. It's not like they don't understand hypervigilance. (And they have a word for it now, thanks PTSD book!)]

Me either. Though I'm admittedly more concerned about where they came from.

[A new note inside the pew that very same day.
I agree that the car will be difficult to maneuver, but I'm not sure he'll be convinced. He's very proud of himself. Besides, as it's the only once receiving a signal it'll be a good way to tell us if we're getting off track.

I'm willing to share what we find. With the caveat that in the unlikely event we stumble on something that will inspire terror or hysteria, we weigh the cost of truth against the price of omission.

As an aside, do you have earplugs? If not, please acquire a pair for both of you before we depart. I have a recording in case of emergency.]

IC Inbox: In the Night

@freddie1967

@Soldier

@freddie1967

@Soldier

@freddie1967

@Soldier

@freddie1967

@javert, text

@Soldier, text => action

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( text; after the dreamers event. )

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AT HIS BEDROOM

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A GIFT FOR THE HOLIDAYS. (THE 25TH.)

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Backdated to december 25th

Late in the "day" on the 25th

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