These words are knives, and often leave scars [closed]

[sightsset]

Who: The esteemed agents of Project Freelancer
When: AFTER THINGS HAVE CALMED DOWN A BIT, subject to change a bit
Where: Library
What: Brief summary.
Warnings: Talk of violence, possible actual violence, talk of trauma


The message went out to most agents exactly the same: "Freelancer meeting, library. One hour. We've got some things to work out."

It's not usual for North to stick to such a tense way of speaking, even in a text like this. He's always been the best at making people feel at ease; and it probably won't be that much of a surprise that the message isn't the friendliest it could be. The group's been a bit at odds, and the different points in time they're all from are largely to blame.

They've got to discuss this.

Comments

MINGLE, ASSHOLES

[sightsset]

North isn't there when everyone arrives. He's preparing himself for what he's about to say, and trying to figure out if he should go in armor or not. In the meantime, everybody get comfortable.

[a_shadow]

Tex had received a different message from the one North had sent the others. In it, he had expressed a willingness to leave Tex out of the discussion, to spare her, because she has other things going on. She had never thought of her life the way North had worded it—he'd used the word 'family' in his message to describe what she has with Ryuuzaki and Hachi in her life.

But that only left her feeling that these discussions would probably be influenced by her relationship—or lack thereof—with Carolina, and she had messaged the other woman about whether she should come. In the end, after getting Carolina's input, she had decided she should be involved, for better or for worse.

As is typical for Tex, she arrives early, and after coming in she takes a seat somewhere at the side of the room. She's not sure where North will intend to set up, but staying out of the way seems best.

[bloodbathing]

Maine doesn't approach Texas when she enters. He remains standing with his arms folded, still as a statue except for his eyes. He watches her carefully, expression blank, visually checking for any sign of injury. From what he can tell, she's fine.

Good.

After a moment, he tilts his head slightly to the side — the movement is slightly stiff — in a silent request for confirmation: you good?

[a_shadow]

She nods back in return. She isn't really doing all that well, emotionally, but she didn't tell York about it and she definitely doesn't intend to tell Maine. After nodding, she does the same head tilt back at him—how's he doing, since he's asking?

[bloodbathing]

With the same slightly stiff quality as before, Maine nods in turn. Physically, he's fine. He's completely detached himself from his emotions — so he's fine there, too. Mentally? ... He's following orders. He's fine.

Perfect bill of health for Agent Maine. Ready to redeploy, as usual.

Just fucking fine.

[bloodbathing]

One hour, the message said. Maine heads to the library within one minute.

He's cleaned his armor since their arrival: the grime and splatters of blood are completely gone. It's likely that his helmet received the same treatment, but it's nowhere in sight. Nor are his weapons.

It's the first time that Maine has gone anywhere unarmed since he was pulled through the Ingress two months ago.

At a glance, it will be evident that their absence isn't because Maine is at ease. He looks better than he has since they appeared on Avagi; the thousand-yard stare has faded, and he seems alert and aware of his surroundings. His expression, however, remains utterly blank. Whether that's intentional or not is anyone's guess. Either way, he appears devoid of emotion.

Maine stands at a slight distance, as is his wont, with his arms folded and the entrance to his left. His gaze lingers somewhere in the middle distance, except for when he looks at the entry with each new arrival. He says nothing.

Re: MINGLE, ASSHOLES

[whosthemonsternow]

Honestly, she's tempted to be late, feeling like testing things, her brother's patience maybe. Or just because she's tired of things being so serious and tense, she's tired of stress and bullshit after bullshit happening. She's just tired. Even on the Mother during bad missions, it wasn't this fucking stressed and tense.

It's exhausting.

Which is maybe why she doesn't come late, is early even. If she's this fucking tired, her brother's gotta be worse off than he's letting on. So, she wants to be dick, but. Maybe next family meeting she'll be an ass, she'll try to behave this time. She doesn't even have the chips she wanted to bring, super behaved here, North.

She wanders on in, out of her armor and in jeans and a plain hoodie. Nice and cozy, see, double super behaving. Ignore the flipflops, especially as the make their slapping noise as she goes through the library. That's pure accident, definitely not to be annoying.

[bloodbathing]

There's no way those flip flops are an accident.

Maine watches South's loud trek across the room, and there's a brief flicker of amusement in his eyes. Of course she's wearing civvies and flip flops to a meeting her brother called. Maine's not surprised in the least.

He doesn't approach, or speak, or even gesture to her. He waits for her to pick a spot to settle. If it's not nearby, then he'll move to join her.

His desire to be close is slightly stronger than his wish to be still.

[whosthemonsternow]

Oh, they were totally, entirely on accident. Completely. She just couldn't find her other boot in the mess she's turned her room into, had to settle for the flip flops she grabbed before they came tot his place. Of course.

She does stop a second when she spots Maine, a small grin spreading on her face before she resumes the loud flopping as she makes her way straight to him. She'll greet other people...eventually. Maybe. She sees her Maine and she wastes no time getting to him.

Well. She wastes a little time. She can't go too fast or she won't make as much noise. But she scuttles over to him soon enough, hands tucked in her hoodie pockets and smile a little wider on her face.

"Keep standing so still and people're gonna think you're a statue." She teases, finally reaching a hand out to prod his cheek with her fingertip.

[infailtration]

York debated for nearly the full hour between receiving North's text and leaving his suite, whether or not to come in armor. If it would be unifying or not. In the end he decided against it, not wanting to seem combative, and shows up in plainclothes and unarmed.

It says that he might not be Freelancer anymore -- and let's be honest, most of them aren't -- but he's not going to hurt anyone. He comes in peace, to borrow that phrase. Even if he isn't optimistic that a group meeting will fix anything. For example he's been trying, really trying, with Wash, and progress is slow. Heartbreakingly so. And he doesn't know if he'll ever trust South again. But he's still here. Waiting to see who else shows.

For now he leans against a wall, waiting for North to appear.

[bloodbathing]

With the exception of a brief visual confirmation that his teammate made it, it's the first time that Maine has seen York since the prison. Within its confines, their interactions were brief and to the point: giving York a weapon; daily checks to ensure the other was alive; a dream of the end of the war. Maine doesn't know if York actually witnessed that dream or not. He doesn't know whether or not his teammate's unscarred face was his mind's creation.

York's face sure as fuck isn't unscarred, now.

Maine watches York's entrance, as he does all the others. Civilian clothes. Unarmed. Fucked up face. It's an older scar, he realizes, now that he's (finally) looking at it. It's been there for a few years. Doesn't feel like it should be old. It feels like it should be fresh. It feels like York should be ghosting medical to join the mission. It feels like York should be at the wheel of a stolen Warthog — the same one Maine drove off a goddamn building so he could rescue his plummeting teammates — making some joke about Maine's method of securing the briefcase. It feels like they should be tearing down the highway at top speed, York at the wheel and Carolina in the gunner's position, and Maine should be spotting the sniper and ignoring Carolina's orders, because if he doesn't, she'll die, and it feels like he has to protect his team.

It feels like York is part of his team.

"There's no more Freelancer, when I'm from. We scattered."

It feels, period.

And it's not good.

Guilt has been constant background noise since that creature declared that they would burn. Maine doesn't notice it. He's detached himself from it. Only way to survive. Only way to avoid being swallowed whole. What he does notice are physical things. Nausea. Tension in his jaw and his shoulders. Cold. Cold that creeps out from his core, and he doesn't know what to fucking do about it. He doesn't know how to get warm.

Maine stares at York's dead eye, and he knows he fucked up. Same way he knows he fucked up taking that creature's offer. He knows it. And he knows that nothing he can do will fix it.

"We're human. Sentient. We make choices, we feel things. Isn't always easy, and ... we screw up."

He forces himself to move. Walks over to York, armored but unarmed, and stops right in front of him. Stares very deliberately at the damage he caused, then looks York in his one working eye.

"Sorry."

Doesn't cut it. Doesn't come close. He says it anyway.

If he thought about it, Maine would realize it's the only apology York could have heard from him. Any other would come through the dulcet tones of Sigma — and it would be creative; filled with some ulterior motive. Nothing like the single word Maine grinds out, delivered with all the tact of a sledgehammer.

It was an accident. He didn't mean to hit York. He doesn't regret throwing the grenade, but he didn't mean to hit York. It was friendly fire. He fucked up.

He's sorry.

[infailtration]

When Maine approaches him, York stands a little straighter. Tilts his chin up to look at the taller man, even taller in armor, and wonders what he wants. He's looking at the scar, something that makes York uncomfortable when anyone does it, but this is Maine. And they've avoided the subject since he arrived. Hell, they avoided it back home forever. There was nothing would have fixed it, after all, so why bother? York had just tried to simply be glad he survived the grenade, didn't get kicked out of the Project for it, that he got Delta and was able to compensate. To survive despite the handicap. Even if he knew now that it was what killed him. But Maine wasn't responsible for that.

Maine's gaze shifts to his other eye, and York feels his shoulders uncoil a little.

Then he speaks.

Sorry.

York blinks, surprised, as Maine says something he never expected to hear. For him, it was a long time ago. It's not okay, but it's... done. Still, it matters that Maine is sorry, that he'd want to apologize at all. He doesn't know what to make of that. The other man probably isn't sorry for the issue York still has, the fact that he decided to use live ammo in the first place, but he's sorry for hurting him. And that's something. Something important, that needs to be acknowledged.

So he bites back the lecture that threatens to come out of his mouth, because that won't help anything. Just focuses on the apology, the expression on Maine's face. He needs to be forgiven.

"It was an accident, big guy. Just makes me more badass."

Maybe he should say more, but there are footsteps approaching and he peers around Maine to see North enter. Time for the meeting, apparently. They can talk more about this later, if Maine wants... York reaches out and claps his armored shoulder, offers a half smile. Because they've still got their issues, but they're closer to being okay than before.

[startpoint]

Carolina arrives with time to spare having made the conscious choice to come unarmed and out of armor. She's still a freelancer, still a soldier above everything else but she knows deep down that she doesn't want the first thing anyone sees is her armor. She's still getting used to the idea of going around without it after Chorus kept her on high alert for so long.

It's a process.

Regardless, she's made her decision and she's standing by it as she enters the room and tries to figure out the mood. Not... exactly the warmest looking thing. But this isn't a party, it's a meeting. And even if she doesn't really see herself as in charge anymore she'll make the rounds and see how everyone's doing.

meeting starts

[sightsset]

North is the last one to arrive, regardless of when anyone else gets there. He's been trying to think of what to say, of how to curb everybody's reactions to the massive bruise on his face, especially if Wash is in the room to take the blame. The fight had been more than a little rough--North has no intention of talking about the contents in this meeting--but he knows it was worth it.

What he decides on is to ditch his helmet. He'll come in his armor, with no weapons, and let everyone see him how he is. He walks through the door with his head held high, Theta at his shoulder, and the purple/brown/yellow mess on one side of his face visible, just a couple minutes late.

[bloodbathing]

Some part of Maine's mind registers that this is why North has been wearing his helmet for the last day. Maine hadn't asked. Hadn't thought to. Hadn't even noticed, really. The fuck is wrong with him?

The giant Freelancer's blank expression doesn't change. His eyes, on the other hand, do. Simple alertness gives way to intense focus, and he stares at North's bruise like he can drag answers out of it with sheer force of will.

Who the fuck put that there, and where are they?

[notyourrookie]

Wash had arrived as late as he could without actually being late. The last thing that he wanted was to arrive late and have everyone stare at him as he entered the room.

He'd decided to wear full armour, his helmet on to hide any expression.

When North comes in, he winces at the bruise, hopes he's hiding it better, that it doesn't show. He's had one breakdown, he doesn't want to display that to everyone else, especially not when South is here. No matter what they'd discussed, he isn't ready to forgive and forget just yet.

[whosthemonsternow]

South is- well. Distracted. She has her treats tucked in her hoodie, most of them open and ready to be munched on somewhat quietly. Except the bubble gum, she has full intentions of loudly smacking and popping that whenever the meeting gets dull or dumb.

That is, until North finally shows up. And while it takes her a minute to actually look up at him, still distracted with her snacks and Maine a bit, she notices the the mark right away. Her shoulder instantly stiffen. She hadn't seen his face the last day or so, nothing unusual about that really, but the big bruise blossoming over his face is. Different. And she's moving automatically, wanting to go to him and find out what the fuck happened, rage evident on her face.

"North, what the fuck? Who touched you?" She seethes, not even paying mind to the comical slaps of her flipflops as she crosses the room to him. "Who." It's a threat, a dangerous tone of her voice, not okay with what she's seeing on his face.

meanwhile, in the land of mutual stubbornness

[bloodbathing]

There's nothing aggressive about Maine's pursuit. He's not trying to overtake Wash; he's just following. He maintains a steady pace — a little slow for him, but quick for Wash — and keeps after his friend like he's in no rush at all. Like he has all the time in the world, and he's just waiting for Wash to slow down, either by choice or by tiring himself out.

Spoiler alert: that's precisely what Maine's doing. Following along until Wash gives up this running shit and faces him.

Is it the most diplomatic approach? No. Does Maine care? No.

Maine wants a real answer. He wants a full answer. If he's not the problem — if the "Meta" isn't Wash's issue — then he wants to know what is.

Re: meanwhile, in the land of mutual stubbornness

[notyourrookie]

He keeps moving once he's out of the room, his chest feeling tight and a panicky energy filling him. He can hear Maine following him, but he keeps going. Maybe he'll leave, get bored and go back to the others where he should be. He doesn't have any destination in mind. He could head back to the suite. That might be a good idea. He's burned all those bridges, he should probably finish the job.

He should never have gone. It would have made more sense.

Finally they reach the viewing bridge, with the wide windows that look out onto the black sky. He comes to a halt and then glances back at Maine. "You should go back. They'll want you there for the rest of the meeting."

[bloodbathing]

Of all the places that Wash could have chosen to stop, he had to pick this one. Maine keeps his eyes firmly on his friend. Doesn't look outside. Doesn't look at the storms — storms that, as far as he can tell, are identical to those that blinded him in the simulation.

He wishes he had his helmet. But that's not going to stop him.

Maine looks at Wash's visor, right where his eyes should be, and shrugs. North said he'd fill him in later. Besides, Maine has never been a part of formulating strategies. He carries out his orders, and he gets the job done. If shit gets messy, he deals with it. He's better at thinking on his feet than planning ahead.

As far as Maine's concerned, getting an answer from Wash is way more important than anything he might miss. And so, that's what he says:

"Important."

[notyourrookie]

Wash doesn't mind the view. He thinks it's sort of pretty. There's a whole universe out there, beyond the war, beyond Thisavrou, beyond Freelancer.

He doesn't make any move to remove his helmet, even when Maine looks at him. He needs that barrier between himself and the rest of the world. It keeps him closed off and it had been a mistake to forget this.

"I punched North in the face," he says bluntly. "That's what caused the bruise."

post-meeting, for tex

[infailtration]

That went about as well as they could have expected it to, all things considered. The meeting adjourns and Tex is the first one out the door -- York follows her. He's got some questions, and surely she's still got some time.

"Hey, wait up," he calls out, keeping a brisk pace to close the distance.

[a_shadow]

Suspecting nothing about the reasons he wants to talk, Tex turns slightly and halts in place, waiting for him to catch up.

"Hey," she says once he's alongside her. She faces front again and starts walking, more slowly this time.

[infailtration]

York falls into step beside her, sinking his hands into his pockets. "Are you feeling any better about whatever was bothering you after we arrived?"

[a_shadow]

It takes her a moment to think of what he's talking about. After a moment, she huffs out a sigh.

"Yeah, I mean...it was kind of stupid."

She shrugs.

"I just got to thinking about life things and how any chances for plans I might have come up with had changed. But it wasn't likely anyway."