Agent Washington (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hatesimprovising) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-08-03 04:26 pm
hatesimprovising) wrote in thisavrou_log2016-08-03 04:26 pm
Entry tags:
and it seems a lot like flesh is all I got
Who: Agent Washington, Solid Snake, Dr. Emily Grey, and YOU maybe. if you're interested.
When: the first half of August
Where: various locations
What: just a teeny catch-all. mostly in which Wash openly defies doctors' orders to rest and let his body heal after the mess of July and all it wreaked upon him.
Warnings: injury, blood, talk of slavery, probably more so will update as needed
i bet a lot of me was lost; t's uncrossed and i's undotted | closed to emily grey
[ In all honesty, he's been back on the Moira long enough that he shouldn't be just now doing this. He should have done this about the moment he got back, but after everything that had happened, the last thing he'd wanted to put up with had been doctors. So here Wash is, days after being rescued from slavery and near-constant battles to the death, finally making his way to the medbay.
He's in horrible shape. Has been for over a month now, just getting increasingly worse. First Tex had broken his rib. Then there'd been the battle with the Caducans so soon after that he'd had no time to heal properly. Then he'd been somehow transported off the ship, captured, and sold into slavery where he'd been forced to fight others to the death. He's dotted in all sorts of wounds--stabs, slashes, bruising, various scrapes and scratches, and oh yeah, his rib has still not healed and has been hurting more than it had for the first part of last month. Considering the size of some of these wounds, the lack of stitching and proper care in most of them, and the clear fact that some of them have torn open at least once from movement, he really should have come straight to the medbay. But he's stubborn and really only caving now because of the pain and the fact that a lot of the injuries are impacting his ability to do much of anything.
Limping his way through the medbay door, Wash is doing his best to stand up straight, though he hasn't really been able to since the murderfights had jostled his poor rib around more. One hand is resting on the lower part of his ribcage like that might ease some of the pain while also trying to look completely casual about it. His eyes search the medbay, trying to catch a glimpse of one of the people he knows is a physician, but he's coming up empty. Instead, his gaze comes to rest on a woman nearby and, after scrutinizing her for a long moment, he calls out to her. ]
Is there a doctor around?
i'm open a moment and close when you show it; before you know it, i'm lost at sea | closed to solid snake
[ Bed rest. That's what he's been told, that's what he's supposed to be getting while he lets his body heal. It feels like a death sentence. Laying still, stuck in one place all day... Wash hates it. He's bad enough with downtime as it is, but downtime where he can't keep himself busy? That's more of a problem. It's almost painful. It has his fingers twitching in search of something to do and has his mind wandering, trying to find something to think about, and venturing to areas in his head that he does not want to deal with.
Needless to say, against doctors' orders, he's left his bed and the room a few times now, just for a chance to sneak in some distraction, even if only in the form of a walk around the ship. Sure, laying in bed all the time has given him a lot of opportunity to spend time with his cats, but that's the only upside to it, and it's unfortunately not enough to keep him in place. Most of the time, he only does it while Snake and Alphys are out of the room, just to avoid any chastising that may occur, at least from the former, however, on this particular occasion when the door to the room slides open and Wash makes his return from his brief journey... he's met with the sight of Snake.
For a second, he simply stands in the doorway awkwardly, like he's some teenager who's just been caught sneaking out by a parent. Except no, he's a grown-ass man and he's perfectly capable of making his own decisions. Shaking off what awkwardness he can, Wash steps the rest of the way into the room and shuts the door, pointedly removing the hand that has been resting against his torso so as to look perfectly healthy. ]
I thought you were out.
[ It's noted as though it's not a big deal, like he hadn't been planning on getting back before Snake, and he looks down at the cats at his feet as they approach, rather than at the other man. He at least knows better than to lean down to give the cats attention, wanting to avoid the pain that would bring, but it doesn't do much for his 'I'm fine, don't worry about me' case, which he's been trying to make this whole time. ]
and the story unfolds; you should take my life, you should take my soul | ota
[ The changes incited by the returning captain don't bother Wash all that much, all things considered. It's more what he's used to. The last eight years of his life have been spent in the strict regime of the military where the need to conserve as much as possible is prevalent. Granted, Project Freelancer had been a bit more lax about some things than most military programs, but not so much so that the current changes frustrate him. He's even in favour of the efficiency that's been brought in, especially if it means getting them home faster.
Still injured from all of the events of the last month, but at least finally making some strides in healing, Wash does on occasion still give up on bedrest and sneak out of his room in search of distraction. That said, he's been better about staying put, but sometimes he just can't handle the silence of the room and the lack of anything to do but think. Sometimes he still needs to get the hell out of there.
His absences may be noted by any who are even slightly familiar with his schedule, as he has to take a break from his usual routine in most cases. However, he can, on occasion, be found in various places throughout the ship. Most notably, the mess hall. Guy's still gotta eat, no matter how fucked his body is, right? Sometimes he stops by the training room to watch anything that might be going on there, or even go to the gardens just for somewhere quiet to walk. Wash may not look like the most friendly person to approach, and for what it's worth, he's really not. The grumpy look that seems stuck on his face permanently isn't likely to disappear should someone stop to talk to him, but he is at least unlikely to ignore a person and keep walking? ]
( consider the last prompt something of a wildcard; feel free to bump into wash wherever around the ship! if you'd like to plot something with me though, i'm always available through pm or on plurk at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
notcrazyokay! )
When: the first half of August
Where: various locations
What: just a teeny catch-all. mostly in which Wash openly defies doctors' orders to rest and let his body heal after the mess of July and all it wreaked upon him.
Warnings: injury, blood, talk of slavery, probably more so will update as needed
i bet a lot of me was lost; t's uncrossed and i's undotted | closed to emily grey
[ In all honesty, he's been back on the Moira long enough that he shouldn't be just now doing this. He should have done this about the moment he got back, but after everything that had happened, the last thing he'd wanted to put up with had been doctors. So here Wash is, days after being rescued from slavery and near-constant battles to the death, finally making his way to the medbay.
He's in horrible shape. Has been for over a month now, just getting increasingly worse. First Tex had broken his rib. Then there'd been the battle with the Caducans so soon after that he'd had no time to heal properly. Then he'd been somehow transported off the ship, captured, and sold into slavery where he'd been forced to fight others to the death. He's dotted in all sorts of wounds--stabs, slashes, bruising, various scrapes and scratches, and oh yeah, his rib has still not healed and has been hurting more than it had for the first part of last month. Considering the size of some of these wounds, the lack of stitching and proper care in most of them, and the clear fact that some of them have torn open at least once from movement, he really should have come straight to the medbay. But he's stubborn and really only caving now because of the pain and the fact that a lot of the injuries are impacting his ability to do much of anything.
Limping his way through the medbay door, Wash is doing his best to stand up straight, though he hasn't really been able to since the murderfights had jostled his poor rib around more. One hand is resting on the lower part of his ribcage like that might ease some of the pain while also trying to look completely casual about it. His eyes search the medbay, trying to catch a glimpse of one of the people he knows is a physician, but he's coming up empty. Instead, his gaze comes to rest on a woman nearby and, after scrutinizing her for a long moment, he calls out to her. ]
Is there a doctor around?
i'm open a moment and close when you show it; before you know it, i'm lost at sea | closed to solid snake
[ Bed rest. That's what he's been told, that's what he's supposed to be getting while he lets his body heal. It feels like a death sentence. Laying still, stuck in one place all day... Wash hates it. He's bad enough with downtime as it is, but downtime where he can't keep himself busy? That's more of a problem. It's almost painful. It has his fingers twitching in search of something to do and has his mind wandering, trying to find something to think about, and venturing to areas in his head that he does not want to deal with.
Needless to say, against doctors' orders, he's left his bed and the room a few times now, just for a chance to sneak in some distraction, even if only in the form of a walk around the ship. Sure, laying in bed all the time has given him a lot of opportunity to spend time with his cats, but that's the only upside to it, and it's unfortunately not enough to keep him in place. Most of the time, he only does it while Snake and Alphys are out of the room, just to avoid any chastising that may occur, at least from the former, however, on this particular occasion when the door to the room slides open and Wash makes his return from his brief journey... he's met with the sight of Snake.
For a second, he simply stands in the doorway awkwardly, like he's some teenager who's just been caught sneaking out by a parent. Except no, he's a grown-ass man and he's perfectly capable of making his own decisions. Shaking off what awkwardness he can, Wash steps the rest of the way into the room and shuts the door, pointedly removing the hand that has been resting against his torso so as to look perfectly healthy. ]
I thought you were out.
[ It's noted as though it's not a big deal, like he hadn't been planning on getting back before Snake, and he looks down at the cats at his feet as they approach, rather than at the other man. He at least knows better than to lean down to give the cats attention, wanting to avoid the pain that would bring, but it doesn't do much for his 'I'm fine, don't worry about me' case, which he's been trying to make this whole time. ]
and the story unfolds; you should take my life, you should take my soul | ota
[ The changes incited by the returning captain don't bother Wash all that much, all things considered. It's more what he's used to. The last eight years of his life have been spent in the strict regime of the military where the need to conserve as much as possible is prevalent. Granted, Project Freelancer had been a bit more lax about some things than most military programs, but not so much so that the current changes frustrate him. He's even in favour of the efficiency that's been brought in, especially if it means getting them home faster.
Still injured from all of the events of the last month, but at least finally making some strides in healing, Wash does on occasion still give up on bedrest and sneak out of his room in search of distraction. That said, he's been better about staying put, but sometimes he just can't handle the silence of the room and the lack of anything to do but think. Sometimes he still needs to get the hell out of there.
His absences may be noted by any who are even slightly familiar with his schedule, as he has to take a break from his usual routine in most cases. However, he can, on occasion, be found in various places throughout the ship. Most notably, the mess hall. Guy's still gotta eat, no matter how fucked his body is, right? Sometimes he stops by the training room to watch anything that might be going on there, or even go to the gardens just for somewhere quiet to walk. Wash may not look like the most friendly person to approach, and for what it's worth, he's really not. The grumpy look that seems stuck on his face permanently isn't likely to disappear should someone stop to talk to him, but he is at least unlikely to ignore a person and keep walking? ]
( consider the last prompt something of a wildcard; feel free to bump into wash wherever around the ship! if you'd like to plot something with me though, i'm always available through pm or on plurk at
no subject
Yeah. But this AI didn't even have the time to become deviant.
[ Wash's voice is more sombre now, and he glances away. He hates talking about this. Not only does he feel sympathy for Alpha, but he feels empathy for him, too. He knows exactly how it had felt for the AI because he's experienced it, or he remembers experiencing it, remembers barely having a life before being ripped apart.
Jaw clenching, he keeps staring at some distant point down the corridor, the only acknowledgement of the AI's question being a twitch in one of his eyebrows. He can still walk away. There's nothing holding him here, nothing forcing him to talk. Yet he nods anyway. He wants... He wants the troubled AI to know how deeply he understands. To know that there's someone on the ship who doesn't think of him as a tool.
...The alcohol is really affecting his emotions and the tight-handed control he normally has over them. ]
Being an AI.
[ It's a simple statement, no doubt one that would have anyone worried about his sanity, but Wash doesn't stop there. Just... let him explain, sort of. ]
I've never been one, obviously. But I remember being one. The military program I was in, it was experimental, and one of its experiments was having its soldiers work closely with one of the AI fragments. We each had one implanted into a neural interface.
[ Instinct has the hand not supporting him against the wall moving to the back of his neck, finger brushing tentatively over his implant slot and the scarring surrounding it before he simply clamps his hand over everything. Only then does he seem to come back to earth, his head turning back to the screen in front of him. ]
I-- ...We had them in our heads.
no subject
Oh.
[The sound echoes in the hallway. There's no confusion, or disbelief. Just acknowledgement, entirely comprehending, and a little hollow. In our heads. Washington might not know about AI at large, or understand all of their limits. But he'd helped the mainframe. He'd gone out of his way, spoken with such strange directness about torture, about rights, about being allowed to keep one's personality.]
...
I'm getting the feeling your employer wasn't too concerned with anyone's well-being.
[The words are soft, a verbal tug against that clamped down fist. He'll listen if Washington has more to say. But empathy goes both ways, and the human doesn't need to explain further.]
no subject
Stuffing everything back down where it belongs, back where he doesn't have to touch or acknowledge it, he doesn't stop another terse laugh at the AI's words. Yeah. He still can't believe he'd ever honestly thought the Director had anyone's well-being other than his own and
Texas'(Allison's) in mind. ]No, he wasn't.
[ Shaking his head, Wash's hand tightens slightly against the back of his neck just before he lets it drop back to his side. ]
He wasn't concerned about much at all, honestly.