legionmissions | MURDERWORLD [mod plot] [Reunion/Rescue]

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MURDERWORLD [mod plot] [Reunion/Rescue]

Who| Everyone who wants in
What| The reunion/rescue of the folks in Murderworld
Where| The Temperate Zone
When| Day 3, at the very end of the arena
Warnings/Notes|

Thanks to the heroes that broke into Arcade's control room, the arena was officially over, and now that the Science Police and Legion had been contacted, people were being gathered up in an area in the temperate Zone and being extracted by portable threshold gates. A first aid station had been set up to triage those who needed immediate emergency care and patch up what injuries they could to hold people over until they got home.

Grief counselors were already on standby to help the Legionnaires and Harrubian dissidents and their families deal with the crisis they had just faced.

Arcade had already been taken away by the Science Police to face trial for multi-murder, and while some of the raw footage of the arena had already been uploaded to the UP internet, the Legionnaires had made the best of a bad situation.

The fact of the matter was every Legionnaire that had been kidnapped had survived. Arcade had been stopped. Almost all of Arcade's "Tributes" had been killed or detained by the Legionnaires and some of the Harubbian dissidents. The arena had ended on Day 3 instead of Day 30, which had saved dozens of lives. And the upload of the raw footage had been stopped mid-stream so that only a few people would have to deal with their ordeal becoming public knowledge.

Now it was time for friends and teammates to reunite and for everyone to head back to the safety of Legion World.

[ooc: Anyone can start a thread, regardless of whether they're a Legionnaire that was in the arena, or a Legionnaire outside the arena checking up on their friends.]

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This is a point in favor of our being-

Stow it- D.

Not thinking about that. He has gotten this far with adjusting to the whole future, space suit, become a legionnaire thing by not thinking about that and he will continue to not think about it and what it means as long as avoiding the issue keeps working. Of course that doesn't extend to letting Wash ignore him because, um, rude-

Or maybe Wash is just as desperate for a little space, if the trembling and cold steel determination to NOT is anything to go by. "Okay-"

His hands come up easy as breathing and catches at Wash' arms, eye flicking to memorize each new scar, each new sign of time passed. More drops in that ocean of guilt. "Okay. Just. Let me walk you to your bunk or something?"

And where the fuck was this big brother instinct when Wash was actually younger than him, huh? Where were the fucks he gave when it might've mattered? "...Lemme help you out and then I'll go. Promise."

Wash jerks away from the touch almost instinctually - nearly everything that's reached for him over the past few days has been trying to kill him, and he's still acting on survival reflexes. York either doesn't get it, or he doesn't care- it doesn't matter what Wash says, York's higher up on the board and therefore he knows better- he hasn't changed-

But everything else has. This isn't Project Freelancer. Wash has been a Legionnaire for longer than York - hell, he's been on this godforsaken mission for longer than York's been on Legion World at all. Wash has changed, and York doesn't know shit about him anymore-

And Wash can't stand here and struggle to mesh the past with the present. Every passing thought brings him closer to breaking down, and he refuses to break in public, and York still won't listen to him-

"No!" It comes out loud and shrill, more than Wash would have wanted had he been more in control of the situation and of himself, and it turns a few heads in their direction. Wash doesn't care - his priority is getting the fuck out of here before this becomes an even bigger scene for everyone to witness. "What part of I can't do this do you not get?!"

Wash twitches and York's hands drop away in an instant, held out to the side, palms open, no visible weapons. Not a threat. Just him. Except for the fact that just being him seems threatening enough to what little calm Wash has left- which he loses in short order.

So.

That's still the same. And the sharp pitch of his frustrated and exhausted voice really shouldn't be comforting. But it. Kind of is. Because their lives are a mess on a good day and this very much isn't a good day for either of them. "Uh-"

Delta suggests listening for once. Just this once, maybe, and deal with their rather selfish feelings on the matter later. Delta is, of course, a reasonable person with solid ideals of what is and isn't appropriate in public due to several years of having York explain that shit to him. Delta is- well.

Easy to ignore in the moment.

"The part where I haven't done anything but walk over to check on you? I'm trying to help, man, that's all." Like he didn't when they ran from the MOI. Like he didn't in the field. Like he never fucking tried during the project and sure, acting out of guilt isn't exactly reasonable or responsible. "You look like you're about to collapse. Seriously."

The Chief's alright, for a Spartan value of 'alright'. He's been hurt worse, slept less, and stayed in the field longer before, and it didn't take long to check him over. As a person who is alright, his first priority is to make sure things don't get worse for the ones that aren't.

Things are getting worse over here.

Like several others who've turned to see what's going on, it's Wash's raised voice that gets his attention. It's not long after the snap that the Chief appears at York's elbow, standing way too close and with an expression made of battle plate.

He's not sure exactly what he's breaking up, but he can see that Wash has been pushed to the point of shaking. Any awkward conversation he throws himself into here is worth it to give Wash a chance to get out.

"Can I help you?" he asks. The Chief isn't an aggressive person, but he's big and scarred up and has one hell of a scowl.

He can't get away.

York won't stop - York never listened to him, to what he wanted, why the fuck would he start now - and now Wash can't get away and he can't set himself straight right here and now and he looks like he's about to collapse because he is and he-

He nearly jumps out of his skin at Chief's arrival. It takes a moment to process, but...but he has help now. Chief's taking one for the team (because they've been a team for a while now, haven't they). It's a hell of a grenade for him to throw himself onto - York talks circles around people as a matter of course, and Chief's just bad at talking - but he's doing it anyway. He's giving Wash an out.

The thought hits his system like a live wire. He can leave. He can get out of here, he's going to have a breakdown anyway and now he has a chance to do it in private, he-

He turns and leaves, as fast as he can go without actually breaking into a run, and doesn't stop - doesn't let himself be stopped - until he's through a threshold gate and back on Legion World. He owes Chief one, and he'll pay him back later. For now, he needs time to himself.

Movement on his blind side has him pivoting instantly- doesn't matter that chief's voice is calm, is stable, is reasonable- he's massive and scarred and there and as good as they've been, as settled as they've tried to become-

Delta primes for a threat and York follows through, darting back a few steps, head swinging around, hands up in an instinctive defensive posture in less than a heartbeat. Wash is entirely forgotten as the first few thoughts that rattle through their brain are the size of the man before him and the best places to go, points of vulnerability to hit if things get ugly, when they get ugly.

One, maybe two seconds he's tense, adrenaline pounding through his veins and it's just-

Wash gone, target lost, new target acquired, and a million fucking questions starting with- "Who the hell are you?"

The Chief doesn't follow as York moves back, there's no need. He accomplished what he set out to do.

"Spartan One-One-Seven," he replies. "The Master Chief." It's a code name, not a rank, so it goes second. It's still weird to him after so many years of it being the other way around.

York's not dressed like a staffer, and he doesn't look like he survived a three day death arena. Must be a new Legionnaire. The Chief's posture adjusts only slightly, but he seems to loom less and the lines of his face lose some severity.

"I'm going to ask you to leave him alone for now. He's had a hell of a week. We all have."

"Bullshit." It's immediate- he'd heard shit about the master chief and there's no way he'd end up here- and if he did he'd...be...

Bigger than Maine. Taller, broader, more scarred, Delta flickering green in the back of his good eye as his hands drop from where he'd put them up. "...oh fuck. You are."

He just. Sassed Master Chief. Holy shit. "Wait- wait."

One moment and he just, looks at John and where he falls against his shoulder/chest/holy fuck he's tall and- "Damnit now I owe him money."

If money is even a thing here. Him being Wash. "Yeah, looked like it. Might be less of 'week' and more 'decade'. Jesus. How much time did I miss here?"

The Chief lets York collect himself, and just nods when recognized. He doesn't miss getting this reaction from people, but it's familiar and he knows how to deal with it. Startle somebody, give them a second, then move on. It's nice when something breaks down into a repeatable procedure that way.

Not much else about talking to people really does.

He lets the owed money comment slide, he's used to catching asides that aren't really meant for him, and instead goes right for the time question. It's fractionally easier to tangle with.

"Can't tell you for sure, but I might have a guess."

Wash mentioned his old teammate with a messed up eye. The fact said teammate was dead means nothing in the face of the Time Trapper's particular brand of recruitment drive. It would certainly explain why he went after Wash in particular, and why he recognizes... if not the Chief personally, then at least what the Chief is.

"Are you York?"

He's not sure if being wrong would make this better or worse.

"Guilty as charged." Now that the panicked scramble of what the fuck was up with Wash and holy shit threat has come and gone- York settles back into his usual posture of casual, harmless dude bro. Hands slung in pockets, head tipped back to meet the Chief's eyes. "Guess the talks about me? Whatever he's told you it's all false. I'm an amazing shot, a great bro, and absolutely nothing he says about Casbah actually happened."

Not one bit. Because they don't talk about Casbah.

Still- Wash here for long enough to open up to the Chief? The reason that they won the war and that anything worthwhile actually happened. It's a little bittersweet, meeting him, a wry twist to his lips- but. It's nice to actually look in the face of the man that saved so much and realize-

He's just a guy.

"How long should I give him?"

"He mentioned the scar," the Chief offers. It came up when Wash explained to him about Freelancer, and he sort of doubts Wash would've done it if he'd known York might actually show up one day. The Chief knows the project was an experimental disaster, that it broke its agents, and that most of them died. York died.

It's a lot to know about somebody and still have no idea what they're like as a person. It's not how this is supposed to work. The best the Chief can do is try to avoid tipping his hand about the worst of it.

...He also may or may not be making a note to himself to ask Wash about Casbah. You know. On a significantly better day.

"I'd give him a week," he says, because that's how long he plans to leave it before he goes to check on Wash himself. Then he hesitates for a second over how to say the next bit. The Chief has never been good at this sort of thing.

"He told me you were dead."

Edited (i am so good at proofreading okay) 2016-11-07 21:01 (UTC)

"And not how good looking it makes me? Dang." False bravado that settles on the skin with such familiarity it might as well be real. York gives a little snort, a soft self depreciating laugh before he rolls out his shoulders. Tense fidgeting because this is an unknown variable among a month of roughly the same and finding a baseline from which to work keeps getting more and more difficult.

A week, though. Five years ago he'd ignore it, chase Wash, make sure he's okay. Now? Probably better to give him the week. Didn't seem like he was all that settled, seeing him again.

Chief's confirmation of what he more or less figured to be the case has him grimacing before he can twist it into a smile. "Rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated."

He lives because of course he does- or. He doesn't, they don't, and they aren't looking at that at all. It's harder to hold onto that thought. He reaches up to massage a phantom ache, two bullet wounds now scarred on his upper left chest. "...They uh. Patched me up when I got here."

"They're good at that," says the Chief. He recognizes the front of bravado, it's not too far from what he does himself. Perhaps a bit more deft, though. York's is informed by a lifetime of normal human socialization and he has some actual charm.

"If we're lucky we'll get a break and not have to test that again for a while. The Legion's good, but we don't take much vacation time."

Not that the Chief would know what to do with it. He worries about the others, though. He may be walking out of Arcade's arena mostly unshaken, but the Chief's... never been a good representative of the whole.

"If he lets himself have the downtime." That's the question, really. Wash pushed himself in the project as much as anyone else- an older, wiser, more tired Wash? Probably did the same damn thing times, like, ten. Which'll mean he will have to take his time with pretty much everything.

"On the one hand, leave is important. On the other? Can kinda go bugnus if you're not being kept busy." Spartans and Freelancers are both sporting breeds that way, need the work or they start gnawing on shit. "So...how do you know Wash? I'm getting this kinda Drill Sargent Dad vibe from you here."

The Chief nods again. Wash doesn't relax well and he knows. Because, in that way at least, Wash is like him. That's why he feels like he needs to look out for him, because he knows Wash isn't looking out for himself very well.

"I met him here. We've been on the same side of an ambush a couple of times now."

He's not sure if "drill sergeant dad" is a reference or if it's just an unfamiliar turn of phrase, but either way he's not getting exactly what York means by it. So, he just doesn't acknowledge it.

"He's good to have at your back as long as he's not panicking." Even then, well. He's not BAD to have at your back. There are, of course, worse people. But he's not the best to have in york's experience which- needs to be adjusted. Because this is an older Wash and that is gonna take some getting used to, goddamn.

Okay. How much is different? Count 'em up and add them to the pile.

"He's been doing ok? I mean. As ok as any of us get."

"Yes."

'Ok' is pretty subjective, and as long as someone's not an active detriment to the mission, the Chief supposes they qualify. He knows that Wash has been struggling, but he's been mostly holding it together and it's not the Chief's place to talk about it. He's worried about Wash, but he's not sure what he can do about it beyond giving him space.

"How are you adjusting?" he asks York. They are at least sort of from a similar universe, and though the Chief was never well-socialized back home he's still picked up a bit of a culture shock in the jump.

He also needs to assess how concerned he should be about another new teammate.

"Bullshit, he's never ok. But that's sort of. Normal." And it's a sad goddamn thing when not ok is their normal. Was their normal. Will be- fuck it. The grammar of different points in the timeline is easier to quibble over than focusing on the circling voice in the back of his brain going 'i'm dead i'm dead i'm dead i'm dead'.

Not much.

But.

Some.

"Oh, you know. I'm happier here than I was back home. Fight the good fight, save people do some good, Ooh-fucking-rah." Except this feels slightly more honest. A little less like the project and more like his time on the frontlines. Soldiers and squads and people that need help, appropriate and acceptable targets, very few opportunities for ambiguity. So far. He's sure that'll change soon enough.

The Chief doesn't smile, exactly, but there's a little quirk at one corner of his mouth at York's assessment of Wash.

"Then we'll go with 'normal'," he says. They agree. It's... not ideal, but functional.

It's weird to be in a place with the time and resources available to aspire to better than just "functional".

"Clear cut objectives. Solid support base. No orbital plasma," the Chief agrees. The change for him has been less in moral ambiguity and more in stakes. While it's true they're faced with Chronoblivion and it's unclear how they're going to stop that, their missions in the meantime can't even touch how dire things were for the Chief during the war. They're peacekeepers cleaning up trouble as it arises, not the failing defensive line trying to hold back the implacable advance of the Covenant.

It's nice to be on the winning side.

"This was unusual as far as our ops go."

But given the ambush at Talokk IV, he's starting to wonder if things like this will start happening more often. That's a worry there.

"A nice change of pace except, yeah. That." And as much as he slings his hands in his pockets and smirks, as much as he tries to keep an easy eye on things- that thought pings in among the rattling of patterns and variables in the back of his head as well. That one irregular point of data might become the norm. Winning streaks don't always last, all that. But- they've got some kind of a support network for when shit goes wrong, it looks like.

Medics and grief counseling. Shit they didn't have on the front, shit they sure as hell didn't have during the project.

"He's not gonna tell me anything about what went down but- uh." Feels weird to ask THE chief this. "You alright?"

The Chief nods. "I've been worse." It's his usual answer now, shrugging off the issue, and it probably says something very negative about his life as a whole that it's true.

"Arcade expected us to kill one another or die in the arena. He didn't account for how stubborn we are."

He eyes the perimeter they've set up speculatively.

"The whole place was full of traps and monsters. We'd find one another and team up, then he'd have to use his teleportation array to separate us again before we could break anything. After three days he stopped being able to keep up with all of us at once, and we broke into the infrastructure."

"...I probably do not wanna know what went down to make Spartans so damn effective, do I?" Considering how fucked up the Project had been? He'd have good money on the system that actually fucking worked being just as screwed up and awful. Progress doesn't come from sparkling scientists with bloodless hands and clear ethics.

Bitches get shit done. It applies to more than just the office.

All that and, goddamn. York turns his head to look back in the direction where Wash bolted, frowning. No fucking wonder seeing him again had set him off. or. Just about set him off. "Maybe I should give him two weeks."

"Good training. Good equipment. Always ate our veggies, growing up." That's the secret. Tell no one. York's right, but the Chief doesn't intend to tip his hand about just how right he is. It's a joke, but it's also a none-of-your-business. The Chief hopes he can avoid explaining the Spartan program to anyone ever again. He's not ashamed of it, and still believes it was necessary, but he's not eager to lay it out there for people who won't understand to pick it over.

"It's up to you, just so long as he pulls himself together first." He'll stick by a week, it feels like a good estimate. Maybe on the conservative side, but that can't hurt, right?

"Thank you."

York listened to him, and they're both obviously operating from a place of concern. This situation could have been a lot worse, from how it looked.

That's as much confirmation as it is evasion and York? Isn't prying. His lips twist in a wry grin, nodding. "You know that's what we didn't have enough of in the Project? Veggies. It was all protein powder all the time."

Shoulda known, damn.

How much worse it was, however more fucked up it is? right now he doesn't want to know. The human race doesn't get a hail mary kind of saviour when things are done by the book. He knows that well enough- it's no excuse for what gets done, but it's lorded over them often enough. In the face of certain extinction, all that.

"No problem, chief. I shoulda let him go when he walked away the first time. I'm just-" He gestures, vaguely. "Used to being the older one."

The Chief makes a little pointing gesture when York talks about the protein powder. Well there's your problem, obviously. The source of all of Freelancer's troubles, finally found.

Wash is away, he understands what was happening here, and York knows who he is. The Spartan line of inquiry might not be gone forever, but it's set aside for now. That's good enough for the Chief.

"I'm going to get back to the perimeter," he says. "If you need anything else from me, that's where I am."

Because he could be taking it easy, it's what he's probably supposed to be doing, but the Chief is happier trying to do his job. He always is.

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goddamngrenades - 2016-11-21 03:28 (UTC) - Expand

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