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

"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."

"I would have, too." She had never gotten to know Eta and Iota the same way that he had Delta; that had only come later, with Epsilon, that balance in her own head. That ghost of her father telling her you're Agent Carolina, you don't need all that stuff.

That Tex got ahold of that data still rankles. Carolina likes to think if she'd known, she would have taken her side but - there's a lot of muddied feelings these days.

"I didn't exactly ingratiate myself later. Did you know Wash had to point a gun at me to get me to back down, because I did it first?"

It's blunt, tired. She should never have gone so far as to need Wash to stop her.

There is a damning lack of surprise on Taylor's face he doesn't attempt to cover. If anyone could survive what happened during the crash? It'd be Carolina. But that doesn't mean she'd be the same coming out of it anymore than the rest of them- but this? Highlights a little guilt and no small amount of relief that she's got- that she's had- Wash around to level her out. "You've managed though, right?"

Things have gotten infinitely more complicated but- she's got backup. She's got a squad (a half decent one at that) and some distance. Perspective.

"I've been better," she admits after a moment. "Wash helped. The sim soldiers - the guys, they helped too and... Epsilon helped."

That's hard to admit, still - the loss of Epsilon is still raw and it smarts, though not the way it smarts with Tucker. But he had helped.

"...I thought Epsilon was-" He gestures vaguely to his head, fingers flicking. "Unstable."

Broken. Insane. Tried to kill himself while in Wash's head, leading to a lifetime of trauma and PTSD on top of what he already earned.

"He was. By all rights too unstable to implant, but of course Blue Team found him and stuck him in a Covenant artifact."

Carolina's incredulousness persists, still to this day. "Apparently he was stable enough after that to project, and I he is - he was with me, for a long time."

Not anymore, and that's still a sore spot.

"That- how does that even work? None of them are AI technicians- you have to get certified to handle alien tech-" Even knowing them doesn't make this seem plausible for York. There's no way it should've worked and yet?

Apparently it did.

"And something came up." Otherwise he'd be here with her, like Theta was for North or Delta was for York."

"I know." Look, they have the purest, dumbest luck. She has sometimes wondered if Caboose just wills things to happen out of pure imagination and she can't figure out any rhyme or reason to it.

"Yeah." The expression on her face is somber. "Hargrove came looking for the pieces of the project after it was shut down. The sim soldiers were chasing him down when they got trapped so - they had to use the Meta's suit that Hargrove was modifying. And Epsilon broke himself down to run it."

"Did-" And that's the big question there, isn't it? Did they win. Was it worth it. Did the rest of them die for something or was it all as fucking pointless as it had been when he'd bailed on the Project. York swallows and leans back against the door, eyes dark, voice low. "...Did they take him down for good?"

Goodwill PR Tour!

So many so little time so intimidate

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now you get - expressions!

Faaaaaces

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