Fireman Sam (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
supercilious) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ruffians2015-03-14 12:04 pm
supercilious) wrote in ruffians2015-03-14 12:04 pm
→ LET'S PARTY
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'A sense of perspective.' Terry huffs a small laugh, but its humourless. Tired. He puts aside his empty bowl so he can cup the mug in both hands and look down at it, frowning. Not entirely sure what it is Robbie means, but he also doesn't think he likes it.
"I don't know how much help I can be." If he could be useful, surely Vance or Greer would've called to have him on staff. Not Hank-- it's still a lot to wrap his head around there, that he never actually knew Hank Pym.
And despite all that? Terry's as close as it gets to a success story for the Initiative, as fucked up as it is. He has friends, a career. He can control his powers. None of that was true beforehand. He doesn't know what kind of perspective that would give, but it doesn't seem good.
"I'm here for you because I know you," and it's true in more than just the physical-spatial 'I literally came out here because Vance said you needed help' sense. Maybe it's guilt or maybe it's genuine caring, but Terry could confidently say Robbie's a person he'd drop anything to help. Not that he ever expects him to ask. But those kids elsewhere in the house? Terry shakes his head, "as far as those kids know? I'm just the creepy therapist who helped Osborn put people in the field who had no place being there."
"I don't know how much help I can be." If he could be useful, surely Vance or Greer would've called to have him on staff. Not Hank-- it's still a lot to wrap his head around there, that he never actually knew Hank Pym.
And despite all that? Terry's as close as it gets to a success story for the Initiative, as fucked up as it is. He has friends, a career. He can control his powers. None of that was true beforehand. He doesn't know what kind of perspective that would give, but it doesn't seem good.
"I'm here for you because I know you," and it's true in more than just the physical-spatial 'I literally came out here because Vance said you needed help' sense. Maybe it's guilt or maybe it's genuine caring, but Terry could confidently say Robbie's a person he'd drop anything to help. Not that he ever expects him to ask. But those kids elsewhere in the house? Terry shakes his head, "as far as those kids know? I'm just the creepy therapist who helped Osborn put people in the field who had no place being there."
That laugh doesn't ignite the same sort of triumphant glow that Robbie's always gotten when he gets someone to laugh. It used to be basking in attention, now it's more relief at knowing he is doing the best possible imitation of himself.
But that forced little laugh? How many times had Robbie gasped out one huff of a laugh, to show solidarity or meet expectations or sarcastically comment on his situation, when he was still able to do that? Too many, way too many to believe that Terry's amused.
Luckily, Robbie was never laughing about it either. He hadn't meant to be funny. He'd only meant to frame the truth positively. It's something that he's been trying to work on, spinning everything properly. The students do need a lesson in perspective. Of course, they need one. They're high school students, and neither he nor Terry are old enough to have forgotten what that entails.
It just so happens that he also meant 'please scare the shit out of Hazmat, because I don't think she has a healthy appreciation for what can happen if someone's powers get out of control.'
Robbie doesn't get time to wallow in feeling guilty about that. He fits in a fleeting thought along the lines of 'is it really that different than being brought in as the poster child of screw-ups?' Then, Terry lays it at his feet that he's here to see Robbie. "Right."
His mouth feels really dry. Suspected and knowing are two vastly different things, and now talking feels more like an insurmountable task than a chore. Everything you say can and will be used against you in the court of Terry's opinion.
Fuck, he misses the blank metal of the Penance helm. It was so much easier to face the world.
"I knew that," he said quietly. There wasn't much other reason for Terry to have turned up. Don't fidget, don't start accusing Vance of colluding with anyone, don't mention nightmares, don't talk about the first day on the job. Do breathe normally. "But... I also know you didn't put me back in the field. That's what they wanted, isn't it? Moonstone messed me up, I remember her drugging me... and then I was with the Initiative."
But that forced little laugh? How many times had Robbie gasped out one huff of a laugh, to show solidarity or meet expectations or sarcastically comment on his situation, when he was still able to do that? Too many, way too many to believe that Terry's amused.
Luckily, Robbie was never laughing about it either. He hadn't meant to be funny. He'd only meant to frame the truth positively. It's something that he's been trying to work on, spinning everything properly. The students do need a lesson in perspective. Of course, they need one. They're high school students, and neither he nor Terry are old enough to have forgotten what that entails.
It just so happens that he also meant 'please scare the shit out of Hazmat, because I don't think she has a healthy appreciation for what can happen if someone's powers get out of control.'
Robbie doesn't get time to wallow in feeling guilty about that. He fits in a fleeting thought along the lines of 'is it really that different than being brought in as the poster child of screw-ups?' Then, Terry lays it at his feet that he's here to see Robbie. "Right."
His mouth feels really dry. Suspected and knowing are two vastly different things, and now talking feels more like an insurmountable task than a chore. Everything you say can and will be used against you in the court of Terry's opinion.
Fuck, he misses the blank metal of the Penance helm. It was so much easier to face the world.
"I knew that," he said quietly. There wasn't much other reason for Terry to have turned up. Don't fidget, don't start accusing Vance of colluding with anyone, don't mention nightmares, don't talk about the first day on the job. Do breathe normally. "But... I also know you didn't put me back in the field. That's what they wanted, isn't it? Moonstone messed me up, I remember her drugging me... and then I was with the Initiative."
"I had to sign off on it." His voice is quiet, with the weight of what he's saying rather than tiredness, and he's still staring holes in his coffee. It's not something he can get in the details of, every session being little more than placating Robbie enough to keep him calm, signing forms to say he's fit for field duty. He swallows the lump in his throat and shakes his head, "every psycho the Hood brought with him, every person who needed help. All of them rolled through my office and right back out to fight."
It feels like a confession, but there's none of that uplifting feeling. That weightlessness that comes with finally getting something off your chest after holding it so tight it threatens to choke you at night.
He just feels guilty all over again.
Saying it is like a reminder of all the shit they made him do, every time signing a form felt like signing over a piece of himself. But there's also this sudden and acute awareness of who he's speaking to - Robbie should be the last person he tells about any of that.
His expression is suddenly worried, and he really can't bring himself to look at Robbie now. Like he's going to look up and see that same expression he sees in the mirror every morning. That reminder he can wear a suit and do nice things, but he can't hide what he's done. What he is.
"I'm sorry, I just-- I mean." He stumbles over his words in his haste to get them out, to move past all that like he never said anything. His shit doesn't matter, it's not what they're talking about. "I can't be the bad guy. Especially not to them."
It feels like a confession, but there's none of that uplifting feeling. That weightlessness that comes with finally getting something off your chest after holding it so tight it threatens to choke you at night.
He just feels guilty all over again.
Saying it is like a reminder of all the shit they made him do, every time signing a form felt like signing over a piece of himself. But there's also this sudden and acute awareness of who he's speaking to - Robbie should be the last person he tells about any of that.
His expression is suddenly worried, and he really can't bring himself to look at Robbie now. Like he's going to look up and see that same expression he sees in the mirror every morning. That reminder he can wear a suit and do nice things, but he can't hide what he's done. What he is.
"I'm sorry, I just-- I mean." He stumbles over his words in his haste to get them out, to move past all that like he never said anything. His shit doesn't matter, it's not what they're talking about. "I can't be the bad guy. Especially not to them."
Fucked up, like everything else. Now it's perfect. Terry's upset; Robbie can hear it in his voice. Robbie upsets people; it seems to be what he's best at.
He isn't prepared for this apologizing, which makes very little sense. Robbie was the one who had been messed up, yet he was still aware enough to know that, if Terry hadn't done as ordered, they would have used nanites on him.
It's very easy to get people to do what you want when you can shock them and make them vomit by remote control, but they hadn't needed to use them on Robbie. He hadn't objected to what they wanted him to do. Bring in the untrained, the unregistered, the criminals who will wind up killing someone - like you did, son.
He didn't mean to yell at Hazmat like he did. It's not her dreaming about kids screaming and the smell of burnt pork. It's him. That's why he's up this early and why he'd bothered to see if Terry was awake in a moment of weakness. Robbie should have run for the hills. Instead, he leaves a bread crumb trail because he thinks he's smart enough to meet it head-on.
He's as dumb as everyone thinks he is.
"You aren't a bad guy." Robbie is determined to keep the focus on Terry. "There weren't any good decisions to make."
White-knuckling his coffee mug finally leads to tension making it pop out of his hands like a shot. It falls to the floor in slow motion and explodes like a grenade. Robbie sighs and crouches down to start picking up the pieces. "... this isn't a metaphor, I promise. You could make the awful choice or the other awful choice. Really, the only difference was who got hurt, and I was. It wasn't any worse than what I was doing, anyway. I'd be the bad guy for the students, if I could. But…"
He shrugs helplessly and refuses to look over at Terry. "I have to get out of bed and face Vance every day. I don't think I can scare teenagers and still do that."
He isn't prepared for this apologizing, which makes very little sense. Robbie was the one who had been messed up, yet he was still aware enough to know that, if Terry hadn't done as ordered, they would have used nanites on him.
It's very easy to get people to do what you want when you can shock them and make them vomit by remote control, but they hadn't needed to use them on Robbie. He hadn't objected to what they wanted him to do. Bring in the untrained, the unregistered, the criminals who will wind up killing someone - like you did, son.
He didn't mean to yell at Hazmat like he did. It's not her dreaming about kids screaming and the smell of burnt pork. It's him. That's why he's up this early and why he'd bothered to see if Terry was awake in a moment of weakness. Robbie should have run for the hills. Instead, he leaves a bread crumb trail because he thinks he's smart enough to meet it head-on.
He's as dumb as everyone thinks he is.
"You aren't a bad guy." Robbie is determined to keep the focus on Terry. "There weren't any good decisions to make."
White-knuckling his coffee mug finally leads to tension making it pop out of his hands like a shot. It falls to the floor in slow motion and explodes like a grenade. Robbie sighs and crouches down to start picking up the pieces. "... this isn't a metaphor, I promise. You could make the awful choice or the other awful choice. Really, the only difference was who got hurt, and I was. It wasn't any worse than what I was doing, anyway. I'd be the bad guy for the students, if I could. But…"
He shrugs helplessly and refuses to look over at Terry. "I have to get out of bed and face Vance every day. I don't think I can scare teenagers and still do that."
Intellectually, he knows he's not nearly as bad as he thinks he is. He'd handed in his resignation and they threatened his family, the same family that didn't even come to his funeral, sure. But his family all the same.
If someone came to him with that story, Terry would be quick to point out what an impossible situation that was. How there was no such thing as the 'right'choice. But it's the fact that he made the choice that keeps him up at night. That a father who never returned his calls and the vague promise of help for his mother meant more to him then the wellbeing of countless others.
The sound of the mug shattering jolts Terry out of the dark hallways of his mind. Something productive and helpful he can do instead of a solo pity party, and he hops off the counter to help Robbie clean up the pieces.
There's an almost-joke on the tip of his tongue, about facing Vance after playing monster. About how he's just the kind of guy who makes you want to be better and he doesn't even know it. But the joke dies on his lips and Terry sighs, looking down at the shards in his hand. There's a metaphor here, if he thinks about it.
"How about a deal? I don't pretend like I'm okay around you, and you don't bullshit me either." It's the most direct he's ever been with Robbie, but after this early-morning chat it's hardly as if Terry can sit behind a desk and be the healthy mind dispensing advice and trying to coax some honesty out of him.
Neither of them is okay, and it's becoming more obvious on Terry's part than he ever wanted it to.
If someone came to him with that story, Terry would be quick to point out what an impossible situation that was. How there was no such thing as the 'right'choice. But it's the fact that he made the choice that keeps him up at night. That a father who never returned his calls and the vague promise of help for his mother meant more to him then the wellbeing of countless others.
The sound of the mug shattering jolts Terry out of the dark hallways of his mind. Something productive and helpful he can do instead of a solo pity party, and he hops off the counter to help Robbie clean up the pieces.
There's an almost-joke on the tip of his tongue, about facing Vance after playing monster. About how he's just the kind of guy who makes you want to be better and he doesn't even know it. But the joke dies on his lips and Terry sighs, looking down at the shards in his hand. There's a metaphor here, if he thinks about it.
"How about a deal? I don't pretend like I'm okay around you, and you don't bullshit me either." It's the most direct he's ever been with Robbie, but after this early-morning chat it's hardly as if Terry can sit behind a desk and be the healthy mind dispensing advice and trying to coax some honesty out of him.
Neither of them is okay, and it's becoming more obvious on Terry's part than he ever wanted it to.
Milly is a firm believer in rewards after hard work, and if kicking D-lister butt isn't hard work, then she doesn't know what is. Okay, so, maybe not as hard work as busting up some serious supervillains or taking on TRIDENT affiliates, but between that whole musical fiasco and the time travel nonsense she and Raiden still haven't really talked about, Milly has seen enough hard work that she thinks a little treat is warranted.
Which is why she's dragged Raiden out for ice cream after a long evening's work of patrolling.
She insists on making him wait while she changes back into civilian clothes before they head to her favorite ice cream place -- not too far from the apartment she shares with Teddy, and a childhood favorite. She used to go here with her parents before her mother died, and with her father after that, but her relationship with her dad has been...pretty lacking lately. Crazy how secretly installing a transforming gun into your kid's hand might disrupt father-daughter relations a little. She's not talking to him much lately.
But none of that shows in Milly's sunny disposition even as the last traces of daylight slip under the horizon; she's absolutely bouncing as they arrive. It's one of those road-side ice cream stands, basically a glorified hut with counter service and it's obviously been here a while. "Here we are," Milly declares proudly, hands on hips. "They've got at least eighty different flavors of soft serve, see?" There is, in fact, a very long list on the board next to the service window. "So, what's your favorite, huh? I mean, you have had ice cream before, right?"
Which is why she's dragged Raiden out for ice cream after a long evening's work of patrolling.
She insists on making him wait while she changes back into civilian clothes before they head to her favorite ice cream place -- not too far from the apartment she shares with Teddy, and a childhood favorite. She used to go here with her parents before her mother died, and with her father after that, but her relationship with her dad has been...pretty lacking lately. Crazy how secretly installing a transforming gun into your kid's hand might disrupt father-daughter relations a little. She's not talking to him much lately.
But none of that shows in Milly's sunny disposition even as the last traces of daylight slip under the horizon; she's absolutely bouncing as they arrive. It's one of those road-side ice cream stands, basically a glorified hut with counter service and it's obviously been here a while. "Here we are," Milly declares proudly, hands on hips. "They've got at least eighty different flavors of soft serve, see?" There is, in fact, a very long list on the board next to the service window. "So, what's your favorite, huh? I mean, you have had ice cream before, right?"
Raiden is an expert at ignoring life's problems - it's one of the qualities TRIDENT liked in him, after all. So dancing around the issue of how fucking weird and downright distressing things have been lately is basically the natural way of things for him. Milly seems to be doing fine, and she knows he's there if she needs to talk so... No big deal, right.
"This might surprise you, but I've had ice cream at least twice before." Ha. Joking. It's almost like he's a functional human.
The question of his favourite flavour actually gives Raiden pause though, and he spends a while staring at the list like he's totally new to the concept of ice cream flavours. He remembers the first time he had ice cream; someone at the Stateside relief centre had brought ice cream for the children (and immediately got told off,) but Jack hadn't liked it. It was too sweet.
He's had it countless times since then - it's hardly as if it's some rare, luxury item that only the elite can get their hands on - but that's the thing that comes to mind when he tries to remember his favourite flavour. Raiden heaves a sigh, shaking his head as if it's just the long list giving him problems. "... Vanilla?"
Honestly he's not even sure if he can handle ice cream in this body, but if it goes wrong then that's a fun story for Newt to have about him.
"This might surprise you, but I've had ice cream at least twice before." Ha. Joking. It's almost like he's a functional human.
The question of his favourite flavour actually gives Raiden pause though, and he spends a while staring at the list like he's totally new to the concept of ice cream flavours. He remembers the first time he had ice cream; someone at the Stateside relief centre had brought ice cream for the children (and immediately got told off,) but Jack hadn't liked it. It was too sweet.
He's had it countless times since then - it's hardly as if it's some rare, luxury item that only the elite can get their hands on - but that's the thing that comes to mind when he tries to remember his favourite flavour. Raiden heaves a sigh, shaking his head as if it's just the long list giving him problems. "... Vanilla?"
Honestly he's not even sure if he can handle ice cream in this body, but if it goes wrong then that's a fun story for Newt to have about him.
Milly grins at that almost-joke, clearly delighted. There's hope for you yet, Raiden. She's glad for a little levity and is hoping to score some more -- it helps put distance between the terrifyingly bleak Riden she'd met in the future and the one here with her now. It'd been a chilling experience. It's not as though the Raiden she knows now is exactly a beam of sunshine, but the empty shell, concerned only with revenge until there'd been hardly anything left...it had been heartbreaking to see. She knows things have been hard for him already -- the last thing she wants is for things to get any harder. That she could be the cause of it just hurts.
"Vanilla it is," Milly allows with a decisive nod, and then she flashes him a bright grin. "But you have to at least try mine. Deal?"
"Vanilla it is," Milly allows with a decisive nod, and then she flashes him a bright grin. "But you have to at least try mine. Deal?"
Sorry I trained your dog in Spanish last night. At least he listens to someone now.
Laurel, I don't have a dog.
Is there a dog in my apartment right now?
Is there a dog in my apartment right now?
[good christ. he doesn't know whether to laugh or put his face in his hands so he's doing both.]
I'm coming home to find out what you've done to my place.
I'm coming home to find out what you've done to my place.
Frank before you judge anything, this is a really cute dog.
[hope u like bulldogs]
[hope u like bulldogs]
[It's rough, being away from everyone. She's halfway to the big leagues now, sure, but what does that matter without the rest of the team. Without Cassie and Eli and Tommy? She loved Billy and Teddy and even Jonas, but those three were everything to her in a way other people just couldn't compare to. And now Cassie's gone, Eli left, and Tommy's busy outrunning his feelings.]
[But Tommy didn't quit. Not like the others.]
[It's probably why he's the one she goes to when she's in town, because he still wears the costume and still saves lives and even superspeed doesn't mean you'll never be blindsided.]
[Thank goodness there's an arrow with great dramatic timing flying through the air, pinning that last crook to the wall opposite.]
You really need to learn to check your blind spot.
[But Tommy didn't quit. Not like the others.]
[It's probably why he's the one she goes to when she's in town, because he still wears the costume and still saves lives and even superspeed doesn't mean you'll never be blindsided.]
[Thank goodness there's an arrow with great dramatic timing flying through the air, pinning that last crook to the wall opposite.]
You really need to learn to check your blind spot.
[If anyone cared to take notice, a young woman, her red curls bouncing beneath her bonnet, was hurrying down the street, occasionally sparing a glance over her shoulder. Worry creased her brow, and she held on tight to a small woven basked, a dirty old cloth covering whatever it was she had inside.
She kept on until she found the building she was looking for, and carefully began to ascend the steps until she arrived at the correct floor. Still glancing behind her, Nancy approached the end of the hall and knocked.]
Mr. Eames? [She asked, her voice breathless.] Mr. Eames, I'd like to speak with you immediately, if you're in there.
She kept on until she found the building she was looking for, and carefully began to ascend the steps until she arrived at the correct floor. Still glancing behind her, Nancy approached the end of the hall and knocked.]
Mr. Eames? [She asked, her voice breathless.] Mr. Eames, I'd like to speak with you immediately, if you're in there.
[The boarding house Eames stays in is far from nice, the other men in the house other theives and day workers. Eames, at least, is willing to stretch to pay for a room to himself. Truthfully it's not like he couldn't afford his own home, but image is business.]
[Speaking of business. The knocking at his door is a semi-welcome distraction of weighing his incomings and outgoings from the last week (he's never been great with numbers) but he still takes the time to put all that away before he answers the door.]
[Looking Nancy up and down, he doesn't open the door more than enough for him to lean in the frame and make a shooing motion with his hand.]
I didn't arrange for any girl tonight.
[Speaking of business. The knocking at his door is a semi-welcome distraction of weighing his incomings and outgoings from the last week (he's never been great with numbers) but he still takes the time to put all that away before he answers the door.]
[Looking Nancy up and down, he doesn't open the door more than enough for him to lean in the frame and make a shooing motion with his hand.]
I didn't arrange for any girl tonight.
Edited (i thought i deleted that subject line 8I) 2017-04-14 17:47 (UTC)
[She isn't concerned about his dismissal. she's dressed for the streets, it's easiest to get around that way. No one cares about the comings and goings of a whore unless they want one.
Eames doesn't want one. But that's fine- she doesn't want to work tonight.
not that way, at least.]
Mr. Eames, I need to speak with you about a private matter. [She shifts her basket closer to her.] It's urgent and I can promise you a decent commission.
Eames doesn't want one. But that's fine- she doesn't want to work tonight.
not that way, at least.]
Mr. Eames, I need to speak with you about a private matter. [She shifts her basket closer to her.] It's urgent and I can promise you a decent commission.
[Eames wrinkles his nose in obvious distaste for this girl at his door, and his expression doesn't change any at the mention of a commission. The way she clutches her basket does grab his attention however, and he glances over his shoulder back into his room. Just to make sure there's nothing dangerous or of worth out in the open. Nothing that sticky fingers might make off with when his attention's elsewhere.]
[He pushes the door open, not moving from the doorway but there's enough space for her to slip past.]
Get in here then.
[The room is kept neat and clean, significantly moreso than one would typically expect from the kind of person who stays in the boarding houses in the East End. Some writing materials on the desk alongside a bottle of cheap whiskey, muddy boots kicked off haphazardly, and coat and hat discarded carelessly on the bed. Otherwise there's no clutter or much of him in the place at all.]
[He pushes the door open, not moving from the doorway but there's enough space for her to slip past.]
Get in here then.
[The room is kept neat and clean, significantly moreso than one would typically expect from the kind of person who stays in the boarding houses in the East End. Some writing materials on the desk alongside a bottle of cheap whiskey, muddy boots kicked off haphazardly, and coat and hat discarded carelessly on the bed. Otherwise there's no clutter or much of him in the place at all.]
[Nancy exhales a sigh of relief as he lets her in. She slides in under his arm- she's a slip of a thing.
Nancy stands near the desk, surveying his room. There was the door, and the window, she noted. Two quick exits, with not much in the way stopping them. It was perhaps the cleanest living quarters she had ever been in.]
Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Eames. I was told you'd be the person to come to.
I came into something that may be of interest to you. Or at least some of your contacts. I've heard you have many?
[Mostly, she listened.]
Nancy stands near the desk, surveying his room. There was the door, and the window, she noted. Two quick exits, with not much in the way stopping them. It was perhaps the cleanest living quarters she had ever been in.]
Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Eames. I was told you'd be the person to come to.
I came into something that may be of interest to you. Or at least some of your contacts. I've heard you have many?
[Mostly, she listened.]
Have you now?
[It doesn't surprise him that she's heard things; anyone with an interest in information keeps a whore or two in their contacts, the clever ones know better than to only use girls. The successful ones befriend the madams and pimps too. People talk to whores like they don't talk to other people. Probably because they aren't people.]
[Still, there's an amused lilt to his voice — feigning a little surprise as he pours himself a fresh drink and takes it and the bottle to sit on the bed. Legs crossed at the ankles as he reclines against the headboard and gestures for Nancy to take a seat on the chair.]
And what is it you think I'd be interested in, mm?
[It doesn't surprise him that she's heard things; anyone with an interest in information keeps a whore or two in their contacts, the clever ones know better than to only use girls. The successful ones befriend the madams and pimps too. People talk to whores like they don't talk to other people. Probably because they aren't people.]
[Still, there's an amused lilt to his voice — feigning a little surprise as he pours himself a fresh drink and takes it and the bottle to sit on the bed. Legs crossed at the ankles as he reclines against the headboard and gestures for Nancy to take a seat on the chair.]
And what is it you think I'd be interested in, mm?
Edited 2017-04-17 03:16 (UTC)
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