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

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.

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.

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.

Edited 2017-10-08 03:11 (UTC)

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?

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

The big man doesn't move away from her finger or try to bat her hand aside. He accepts the prod to his cheek without complaint. There's no change in his expression, but he does lift a shoulder in a half-shrug.

People may or may not have already mistaken him for a statue.

Something about looking down at her like this seems ... off. It takes Maine a moment to realize that it's because he's in armor and she's not. He has another few inches on her in height. He's having to look down more than usual.

It's distracting. More distracting than her flip flops.

Maine ducks his head to try and fix the difference.

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.

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.

Nervousness she didn't even know she had seeps away as she stays close to him, she ignores it to focus on her big, goofy statue instead. Nervous about her brother seeming so serious about this meeting? Not her! Nope!

It takes her a second to realize what he's doing when he ducks down, eyebrows pulling together and eyes squinting slightly in confusion.

She grins though, putting hands on his shoulders and arching up on her tip-toes a little. "Better? Or should I stand on a chair or table?"

There's a little upward twitch at the corner of his lips. It's about as close to a smile as Maine's come since they arrived here. Muted to the point that it's almost indiscernible. But, compared to utter blankness (or, rarely, unguarded moments filled with pain), the ghost of a smile is a notable improvement.

When he nods, the motion is still a little stiff. A little forced. When he leans down, he still has to think about it, instead of just doing it. But, when he gets close enough to press a kiss to her forehead, it's perfectly natural.

In that, at least, Maine is at ease.

She's searching his face, studying his features with the same worry she has been since they got here. So when the little motion happens, she can't help her grin widening more, eyes lighting up with utter happiness at seeing it. At causing it.

The kiss to her forehead earns a content hum and her eyes shutting a second, fingers tapping lightly against his shoulder armor.

"You know, I could run back and grab my armor, we can prop them up and play hooky. I still have some snack cakes in my room." She offers as she opens her eyes again, looking up at him then dropping a hand from his shoulder to fish around in her hoodie pocket, holding a pack of cookies up at eye level. "Though I did bring some stuff, too."

The hum is a good sound. The idea of propping up their armor and skipping out on the meeting isn't. He's about to shake his head — is thinking about doing it, instead of just doing it — when she pulls a pack of cookies out of her pocket.

And then Maine is a little busy eyeing them. Because. Well. Cookies.

Maine may have detached himself from his emotions, but he can't escape his taste buds. Or his appetite.

Her grin widens more when he eyes the cookies, stealing a little kiss to his lips before pulling away and reaching her other hand in to pull out more goodies. Because, of course she was sure to pack a ton of snacks when they were ~~raiding~~ shopping, she got important things too, but. Treats.

She holds out her bounty of cookies, a snack cake, a chocolate bar, and a pack of bubble gum. She'll share with him, but she's curling a little to hide them from any prying eyes, for now at least. Maybe she'll share with the others later, but he gets first dibs cause he's cute.

"As you can see, no chips. So North can't complain at all." Mostly quiet snacks!

More and more snacks appear, and briefly, Maine is reminded of a kid at Christmas. Or maybe Halloween. She looks so pleased with herself, and with the snacks she's offering to share. His lips twitch again; it's cute.

And so, Maine leans down again, bypassing her forehead to plant a kiss on her nose. He doesn't have to say anything; she'll know what he means.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

Immediately upon South's exclamation, North has his hands coming up in a "calm down" gesture. He knew she and Maine would have the biggest reactions, and he definitely doesn't miss the look from his larger friend. But he knows that out of everyone in this room, South is the one most likely to actually try to beat Wash up for this, so his decision for now is to deflect and explain later, in private, where their beloved rookie won't get his shit kicked in.

"It was nothing I couldn't handle, South." He doesn't want to lie about it, though; it doesn't sit right with Theta when he tries to. "I'm fine, trust me; it's not why we're here." What he's trying to say is that they can table it.

Tex has been watching all the goings-on in the room without much commentary or reaction, but now she rolls her eyes from where she sits, off to the side of the group. South has never impressed her much, whether or not she's come from a point in the timeline where she knows about the AIs.

"Believe it or not, he is an adult, South," she says.

Probably a lot more of an adult than South is, for all that they're the same age.

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

MINGLE, ASSHOLES

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Re: MINGLE, ASSHOLES

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meeting starts

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