legionmissions | Goodwill PR Tour!

Entry tags:

kubo,
rico dredd

Goodwill PR Tour!

Who| The Director and volunteers
What| Goodwill PR Tour to Legion-Lacking planets!
Where| Rann, Tamaran, and Korugar
When| The following week
Warnings/Notes| N/A, will add as needed

[[Plot Note: Rann subthreads going up tonight. Tamaran tomorrow, and Korugar on Sunday]]
[[ooc: ~~PLEASE WAIT TO TAG UNTIL I HAVE PUT UP SUBHEADERS PLEASE AND THANK YOU!~~ have at it!]]

It's something of a whirlwind tour; each stop begins with a fancy dress evening meet and greet mingle, the following day there's a panel where they talk about their experiences, notable missions, what it means to them to be a Legionnaire and what they bring to the overall battle, and ends with a Question and Answer session where the accumulated crowd and reporters can ask specific things of all or specific Legionnaires. If they feel so inclined, time is made for demonstrations and talents. They break for lunch, then reconvene for two to three hours to autographs pictures and action figures or other wares and sundry people might want their favorite (represented) Legionnaire's signature on.

So far, everything seems to be going along just fine ...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Not quite Luxury is still pretty dang swank in York's opinion- lots of space, lots of opportunity to kick back and chill with Emu curled up either on his shoulder, on his chest if he's lounging, or perched on his head. Keeping around and keeping up in his not quite official second command position of cat herding (why did he volunteer oh right she's pretty and intense and he is still on occasion stupid over those things) is a challenge because Claire is...smart and intense and very much in her element which isn't really one he's wandered around in.

But he tries, poking his head in to check on the others, occasionally trying to catch her to double check that he hasn't fucked anything up (yet) or reassure her that everything's going swimmingly.

Ish.

Look nothing's on fire that's good enough, right? right.

The way you can tell Shepard didn't arrange the shuttle? No gym. She hasn't let that slow her down--you can do push-ups anywhere, and you can make a cardio workout of it if you're determined and physically strong enough. She's both.

When York sticks his head in to say hi, she doesn't stop or even slow down, banging out the reps like she's 18 and in boot again. Of course, when she was 18 and in boot, she didn't have extensive cybernetics, but she figures she's earned the power boost by now.

"Hey, York. What's up?" They can chat. She'd have to be going a lot harder to be too winded to talk.

Despite himself and his very happy lovelife (Sombra, Locus, YoSoLo all the way even when they aren't-) Old habits and old knee jerk reactions are a thing and he loses just a little time watching. Because-

Um.

Dayumn.

he shakes himself out of it and smiles, offering a wave. "Not much. Trying my hand at this whole 'assistant manager' business so Boss Lady doesn't have to stress about everything. Just. Most things."

A beat.

"I'm supposed to be the people person, I think."

While everyone's busy enjoying the luxuries that the shuttles does have to offer, Claire is busy doing last minute checks and confirmations about their first stop. After having a conversation with Rico, she's taken her correspondences to her room where she can close and lock the door.

But she will open it for her second in command.

"Come on in, Taylor. I'm just finishing up one last response." She's still very put together and poised, but there's definitely a weariness in her voices. She's already planning on a gin and tonic after this. She sits back down at her desk and taps away at her keyboard. "Everything going alright out there?"

"Everyone's settled in, some are actually reviewing the talking points and cultural sensitivity packets we whipped up; so I'd count it a win." Some being like- Delta and maybe him but Claire doesn't need to know that just yet right? Right.

"We should be set for the first run since that's more or less a cakewalk, right? Questions, a few photo ops, a nice gala thing. I even remembered to pack a nice suit. Or. Delta remembered to have me do it, same difference." A beat. "How you holding up? Need me to handle some of the gruntwork?"

"If you could find a way to handle Dredd, that would be great." She leans back in her seat and reaches up to massage her temples. "Other than that, I think we're doing pretty good."

Still, after a quiet moment of reflection she's able to find a handful of small chores to give to York that'll move things along a little better when they arrive. It really is gruntwork, but she smiles at him - an actual genuine smile, and not one of her business pleasantries.

"Thank you, Taylor."

She appreciates competent people, even if some of that came from a weird little computer brain person.

"I can see if I can't keep him out of trouble. He's an asshole but I'm well versed in asshole wrangling." Not handling as that would dip into innuendo and- uh. No. This is not that kinda broship. "Keeping him in line during the Q&A is gonna be the tricky bit but I'll do what I can."

Is it inappropriate to salute? Doesn't matter, he does it anyway.

"You're welcome, Boss. It's just another kinda battlefield. With words and images and stuff instead of bullets."

Somehow during the small boarding she hadn't noticed. Maybe it's because she's making sure all the luggage is in place - or because she's messaging Wash, telling him she'll be fine, and telling Tucker if she comes back to a trashed water park he's cleaning it himself.

But it isn't until York pops his head out to check on them. She waits until she's sure he's seen her and then she can't help but blurt out, surprised, "Taylor."

It's hard to see him - the last time she'd seen him was when she'd kicked him down an elevator shaft, confused and feeling betrayed by her best friend. And by the time she'd stopped being wrapped up in her revenge quest... he was dead.

It's not as hard as she thought it'd be, looking at him. She knew he was here.

Also: they're on a shuttle. He can't squirrel his way out of this one.

Edited 2017-09-19 05:51 (UTC)

"Yeah, boss?" It's so innate and instinctual that he doesn't think twice about drawling back a decade old response to a ghost long since laid to rest. Carolina isn't dead (thank god) but whoever she is, however she is? Isn't apparently the woman he'd followed into hell and fucked over with his own stupid assumptions and inability to communicate like a goddamn grownup.

But you hit a nerve right and a muscle will jerk- the tone's off. The word's right, the shape of the sound sits where it should at the back of his neck, warm and curling like Delta's chip when he's smugly pleased by cracking a code- but she's...incredulous.

Afraid?

Surprised- The fact he can't pick out the nuances of her emotions from one word as well as he used to implies a lack of familiarity with the language of Carolina's emotional state. He used to be fluent. That, as much as turning and seeing her standing there, jolts him into stillness. "...uh-"

A month ago he'd written a letter he'd never deliver as part of an exercise. Carolina's had been an apology. A year and change ago he'd been toying with pickuplines before he laid her soul to rest and dragged himself onward with his life. Five years ago he'd grovel. Six and they'd never had that gulf of six feet (six miles) between them on a moving platform, red alert blaring. For once?

He has no words.

Hello, Agent Carolina. Delta, however, does, flaring to life at York's left shoulder, green glow highlighting the diminished scarring on his face, shadowing the new lines and creases by his eyes, mirroring the dull glow of his bionic iris. Himself but older. Leaner. Delta, by contrast, opted for the old mjolnir armor projection. Some grounds of familiarity to...balance an emotionally intense interaction.

He doesn't look the same.

She expects that, logically. Even before his untimely passing it had been years since she saw him last. He wasn't frozen in time in reality the way he was in her mind and yet - she spends a good amount of time just looking.

The eye is new but not - she never quite got used to his scars. The scowl lines, laugh lines are deeper and he finally lost some of what she called his baby cheeks. It's a mirror of her changes - she's leaner, more thin scars crossing over her skin.

Delta makes her blink, finally, breaking the gaze and looking at his projection. There's a momentary ache for Epsilon she swallows down, but the sadness of loss is clearer on her face at that moment.

"Good morning, Delta." It's a familiar greeting and her tone is still fond, but her gaze is dragged back to York. What does she say? She knows what she shouldn't say (We need to talk, its a quick way to lose York).

She doesn't remember doing it but the weight of the lighter is in her hand, instinctively touched in her jacket pocket. She pulls it out, holding it loosely in front of her but - she doesn't have words yet.

She's older- he knew she would be, she'd have to be since she didn't die. Since he didn't, in fact, get her killed. Every winding and errant thought he'd had, every fragile shard of hope he'd packed up and tucked away while they were home and stayed that way even when he was here? Spills out in his chest like a fresh wound.

It's uncomfortable and awkward and he's glad for the diversion of Delta being a polite little AI to try and school his face into something that's less-

Not longing, she's not his to want. They were friends. They might have been something more if they'd ever gotten a fair chance, he's moved on, she's had to move on because he's been dead but...A part of him will always be hers. There's a dull ache that dims the usual humor in his eyes that throbs in time with his pulse. Older, leaner, new scars, but she's been doing better, they'd said.

She'd found her humor.

She'd learned to let things go.

She had Wash and the Sim Troopers and a purpose and that's- that's good, right?

It is good to see you again. Delta falls into parade rest, helmet swinging to peer at York, still frozen in the doorway with wide eyes and a million, billion possible iterations of this conversation winding through the back of his head, how to disengage, how to go from zero to shouting in point five seconds, will she pull a gun, will he have to hide-

And then there's the lighter and a wrecked, almost bitter laugh twists right out of him. "Oh man- I lost that when Reggie shot me."

Because he can talk about it now without his shoulder aching. Because she knows, she's known, and ignoring shit is how he ended up getting his ass kicked in the first place.

They had been maybes, might-have-beens. A fling and a friendship that involved a strange level of comfort until the project drove a hard wedge between them. Being alone - really alone - had been harder than she likes to admit.

She has a chip on her shoulder that fits her mother and father. She always will, even if she's learned to bandage it.

They had said Legion was good for him. Friends, structure, therapy. And she believes it, seeing him.

He sees the lighter and the bitter laugh, the comment - well, he knows. Her fingers grip the lighter tighter before she speaks.

"Well, I found it when I went looking for you. And your... journals." All that was left of him - Wash was thorough, but Carolina knew York, and had Epsilon to help.

She also almost tossed it away. Wash stopped her. She fiddles with the cap, then finally takes a step forward, offering the lighter out.

Its just an object, but there's an unsaid meaning there too. Its no longer hers to keep.

"...Well so much for keeping up the pretense of having any kinda chill about you while I was on the run, huh?" There always was, and likely always will be, a distinct lack of chill around Carolina. Something about her, about the potential, about their old chemistry made him five kinds of presumptuous and dumb. His shoulders sag somewhat as he reaches up to grind the heel of his hand into what used to be his bad eye- it doesn't ache anymore but.

Habitual comfort gestures in moments of mental and emotional stress don't die just because he's not half blind anymore.

"I tried to leave notes. Dead drops, you know? It's how I kept in touch with North but..." He makes a vague gesture, a flick of the wrist, a see-sawing of his hand. "It depended on the day whether or not I thought I got you killed."

Those last three words catch in his throat and. Yeah. He is not ready for this conversation. Slipping forward to snag the lighter is. A thing. Trying as hard as he can to not actually touch her because that makes this real is also a thing.

As is bailing. Or. Literally backpedaling to the doorway. "So- uh. Hope you enjoy the PR tour I gotta go check some shit with the Boss Lady-"

She's about to comment on his supposed lack of chill when she can see it happen. That hasn't changed, at least - his flight instinct seems intact.

She parts with the lighter but takes a step forward.

"York," she says, and it's a sharp tone, a familiar command in her eyes and in the set of her shoulders before - they sag, her expression softening.

"Taylor, please. We need to talk." And that is quieter, tangled up in bits of hurt and honesty. "You can't run away from this."

They can't pretend that they can avoid each other, or that this isn't long overdue.

"Died on a rock doing something stupid- I'm just Taylor." Or Locksmith or shades of Sgt Murray that are still uncomfortable to pull on after having hung up those habits for so damn long. Too much death tied up in that-

Too much death tied up in Agent York and Agent Carolina.

The shuttle's small but he could, in theory, find somewhere to hide. Probably. Maybe. "Casey-"

And it always feels a little off, calling her that. Her name, sure, but for so damn long she was three syllables, lilting and sharp and vicious and beautiful- not two and calm and settling. "This is complicated."

When is it not? Christ.

There's a little flinch when he says that he died; not in her face, but in her eyes, a blink and tightness before she smooths it out.

Also, complicated is the understatement of the century.

"Well, we weren't ever good at avoiding complications," she says finally. "Look, we can find somewhere more private but this needs to happen."

It's easier to say every time. Easier doesn't mean better, doesn't mean knowing there's nothing he can do for whatever she faces- (and he's met them, knows Locus and Felix, fought one, saved the other) but stand and hope.

And hope's beaten out of most soldiers early on.

"I need to be sure I'm not hallucinating." Hasn't happened in awhile but- that just means he's overdue. A sleepy chirrup from his shirt pocket heralds Emu crawling up to butt her furry head against his jawline and purr, slow and soothing. Alright. This is awkward. This is uncomfortable enough to be real. "...My room's just down this hall."

Before Carolina can address that, the small creature clambers out of his pocket, butting her head up against his chin. It's not a cat. She has... no idea what it is, but she can take a guess, with the way she showed up once he seemed to admit an issue.

She's well familiar with the concept of a therapy animal by now.

And when he says his room's down the hall, she takes a breath. "Okay."

...She doesn't move. She would normally take the lead but she doesn't know which door is his. But they certainly don't need to have this conversation in front of company and Rico.

This is real. This is real-ish? Ish. Real enough for him to sigh and reach up to scratch the underside of Emu's chin as she butts her face up against his. Not a hallucination, not a moment when the world slides into a shade of unreality.

Okay.

He motions for her to follow and turns his back on her (not without some tension, getting kicked up an elevator shaft was, in fact, a thing) to lead. Down the hall, second door to the left and it's small. Simple. Private. He sets the lighter down on the shelf next to his bed and turns to lean against the wall, arms crossed. "...I missed you. Don't get me wrong, I did miss you."

Carolina follows him - at a distance, respectfully, waiting for him to have turned around and leaned against the wall before she steps inside, letting the door slide closed behind her.

Her expression is clearly concerned, but when he speaks, she also folds her arms. Look at both of them, unconsciously defensive.

"...I missed you too, you know." Maybe not at first, not when she was filled with anger - but it crept up on her, slow. "But things changed. It's been years - almost seven, since everything. I had to... let you go."

It's hard to admit that that's what she did but at some point she accepted he wasn't going to magically come back. Had to move on, as hard as it was.

"I held out hope for five years, roughly. I saw you get thrown and..." He shrugs, head tipping down, eyes on the ground. "It didn't seem real. When I kept hearing about someone still poking at the Project, making trouble? I thought it was you. I hoped."

If she found his journals she knows exactly how he felt. How hopeful he'd been. Maybe, just maybe they could've found each other again and...made shit right.

But it never happened.

"After awhile you gotta move on. It's not healthy to dwell, I mean. That's what made the project in the first damn place. Dwelling."

"I know." It's soft, and she feels bad for how soft her tone is but - she did know. She found the journals, and she and Epsilon (and what remained of Delta) couldn't leave well enough alone. But the comment about moving on - she absolutely understands it.

Their ships had passed, and she knows it.

"No, it's not healthy. And I don't expect you to have... dwelled, that long." She gives a little sigh. "Look, I don't - I don't expect anything from you. I'm not even sure I have the right to ask to be friends, still. But for what it's worth, what he did to you, and what I wouldn't listen to... I'm sorry, Taylor."

"Look this is...this is two parts 'oh god I missed you' and one part 'you kicked me up an elevator and I've had enough time to realize that it was entirely justified but my wrong genre savvy ass got it's manly feeling hurt by your dismissal of my pitched romantic future with you' and about a quarter of 'may or may not be hallucinating because this reunion is going a hellofalot better than I'd anticipated'. Deviations from known patterns are throwing me here, Casey." But honestly?

It's for the better. That he's just a little off center. That they're talking about this, one hand idly combing Emu's fur, the other curled in a loose fist to avoid reaching out to his lighter to start clicking it. Old habits he's trying to break.

Some are harder than others. "I could've spoken up sooner. I could've trusted you. I didn't, that's on me, and I am sorry for....all of that. Everything."

"I'm here. I don't know if you want me to pinch your or... something like that," Carolina says, because that's the part she can really address here. She hadn't overtly been rejecting him but - in retrospect, that's what she had done, wasn't it? And what was definitely being confirmed here.

"The Project made a mess. Of everyone," she says. "Thank you, for the... apology. I just thought that... you were taking her side. That it even mattered who's side was being taken, given what he was doing to her and the AI, to Epsilon..."

She trails off, shaking her head.

"I was taking Delta's side." To him that was all that mattered. Standing up for the guy that lived in his head and had his world cracked open and rattled around. "Tex being involved made me think twice about what was happening- in so much that I thought it was bullshit until she explained where she got her data from."

Connie. If any of them had actually died for something- it'd been her. "After that it was just. Keeping my head down till I got stupid. So. The usual."

Goodwill PR Tour!

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and carolina makes three redheads

So many so little time so intimidate

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now you get - expressions!

Faaaaaces

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