- Pick a loser.
(there are specific posts for eames, destiny characters, and overwatch characters)
- Leave a comment with your character and put which one of mine you want in the header.
- Leave a prompt! Be it a picture or an idea or something you hijacked from a meme.
- If it's a meme overflow, link the original thread because I'm a baby with a bad memory.
- Or leave it blank and I'll try to think up something.
- NSFW content goes here.
- And a great time was had by all
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supercilious) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ruffians2015-03-14 12:04 pm
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No, god. It's too early in the day to think about that. Morbidly hilarious a distraction from what he's feeling as it is. Terry pulls himself up to sit on the counter and sits cross-legged with the cereal, slowly making his way through the bowl-- have Lucky Charms always been this sweet, or is he just getting old?
"Pym particles aside though. Thanks." He doesn't look up from the bowl when he speaks this time, oddly embarrassed, but maybe it just looks to Robbie like's rooting around for a marshmallow piece.
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He admits they taste bad though. Like sugar, sadness, and Vegas. Lucky Charms are still safer than Pym particles. He can agree on so much.
"That's because you're smart." The words are accompanied by his spoon repeatedly getting jabbed in Terry's direction. It seems like such a little thing, not messing around with weird science stuff that has a tendency to turn out poorly. Robbie wasn't even trying to muck around with experiments, and he still wound up in a lab accident (and, subsequently, here).
"Huh." Surprise is washing over his face like the breaking dawn. "You know… if you think about it, potential Pym contamination is probably the least of our worries. I still don't understand how this whole 'Infinite Mansion' works. All I know is that the door across from mine leads to an alley in New York City, and my bedroom window overlooks the Rhine."
Finished with his cereal, Robbie puts the bowl in the sink and stares down his empty coffee mug for awhile. It doesn't fill itself, so he does and leaves it black. He likes it that way - actually, he likes 3 am diner coffee that's been sitting on the burner long enough to concentrate. He can taste it then.
Robbie takes a good-sized slug of it, before finally continuing this safe topic. "What I mean is, we're being affected by a lot more science than a few stray particles on your twinkies, just by virtue of us standing here."
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What if it made him into a giant? That would be terrible. In his sleep-addled state, it's a little distracting to think about. He catches himself thinking about how comfortable he is with his current height and shakes his head, sliding his empty mug across the counter toward Robbie as a hint. Maybe coffee #3 will be the one that makes him ready to face the day.
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"Here," he says as he hands over the hot mug. "Cheers."
He raises his own mug high - clinking them seems like a good way to get burned, best avoid that. A sip to keep busy. Robbie can feel the conversation stalling out, and he doesn't know what to say to keep it flowing. He doesn't mind silence, but it bugs other people. Speedball has always been a chatterbug; Penance was stoic. Pick something and blab on autopilot.
"You should sit in on a training session, if you're up for it." Yes, good. Doubly good, Terry might explain why he's here in the first place. "Some of the students could use..."
Hang on, this isn't such a great idea. Is a teacher supposed to want the fear of god put into his students? It might make a few of them have some damn caution, but it's harsh. It's not nice to Terry either, to make him feel like he's the scary monster in this room. "They need a sense of perspective."
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"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."
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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."
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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."
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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."
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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.