lifeaftr | home sweet home? (closed)

Entry tags:

home sweet home? (closed)

Who: Leonard Church and Agents Washington, Texas, and Maine
What: Meetings, reunions, and definitely no awkwardness.
When: shortly after the April intro log
Where: Islet #4, Cottage #3
Warnings: canon typical language

[ What's better than a group of space marines with lots of interpersonal baggage? Plucking them all from different points in time, then shoving them in the same house and seeing what happens.

MINGLE POST. Make your own top-levels, tag around, go nuts. ]

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[That gets a laugh, albeit a quiet one. Wash ducks his head, does nothing to hide the smirk that right-angles the corner of his mouth.]

You know, since I got here, I've patrolled the perimeter of these islets every single day. It didn't do a goddamn thing, but it made me feel better.

[wash thats not really patrolling thats the ptsd]

Maybe I should ask for...I don't know, weights or something. [...god how much would that cost. For weights that Maine could use, no less. The man looks like he could deadlift a warthog. He almost did deadlift a warthog, at Longshore.]

[ Hey, that sounds like a perfectly valid daily routine to Maine. It's something that he may well ask if he can join Wash in doing. (You can take the space marines to a magical land, but you can't undo years and years and years of conditioning.) But right now, there's a bigger issue to address.

Maine squints slightly at his friend, trying to figure out if he heard that right. ]

Not lifting?

[ GOTTA LIFT, BRO!! ]

Lifting what? I did a lot of lifting of...house parts, the other day.

[Yeah, that counts. That's absolutely and exactly what lifting can and should entail.]

It's not like we've got a gym on the island. [Although...] Maybe we should have one. It'd give people something to do.

Rocks. Trees. People.

[ Maine is only half-joking about that last one. Desperate times call for desperate measures, Wash. If Maine has to recruit people to lift, so help him, he will fucking do it.

At the mention of 'no gym,' Maine looks distinctly displeased. He can adjust his workouts to compensate, but he prefers to utilize equipment. Too much focus on bodyweight exercises, and he'll start slimming down. After so much time spent building raw power, he doesn't want that.

So as soon as Wash mentions the possibility of having one, Maine nods firmly. Gestures between the two of them and declares: ]

Make one.

[ How? Doesn't matter. They can do it. ]

[He's pretty sure Maine could lift Wash no problem, but being used for weight training isn't his idea of a good time, exactly. Yeah, better to figure something else out.]

Yeah? Guess we could build one. You have any experience in building things?

[Building would, by definition, require lifting.]

[So that's something to keep in mind.]

[ Maine makes a face and answers that with a little "so-so" gesture. He's better versed in destroying than creating, but he's not entirely useless on the building front. He's been deployed more times than he cares to count; he's had to improvise shelter, weapons, and all kinds of other things.

Lack of formal training or no, Maine thinks this is a Fucking Wonderful idea. Which Wash may be able to see in the way his eyes have lit up. ]

Improvise.

[ That's said with a half-smile of his own. He remembers Wash's complaint when Carolina declared they'd 'improvise' a way to get the Sarcophagus to the roof. ]

Very fucking funny, jackass. [But he can't fully suppress the right-hooked grin that cuts into the side of his cheek when he says it, shaking his head with a snort.]

Place like this, all you can ever do is improvise. [And he literally hates it!]

Though speaking of which, I'm going to get you some actual goddamn civvies. You and Tex both. Something that'll fit you, 'cause I don't think anything of mine is made for size... [Size extra large? Extra extra large?] ...size "impossible."

[ Looking pleased with himself, Maine huffs out a laugh. Granted, he hadn't enjoyed being kicked off a fucking building, but hey. He'll take the opportunity to tease his friend.

That amusement threatens to fade when Wash brings up "civvies." Maine's not comfortable in this environment; he'd much prefer to stay securely inside titanium alloy. But it returns when Wash attempts to guess his clothing size. ]

Not "impossible." [ A pause. ] "Custom."

[ Because that's so much different, Maine. ]

Custom. Yeah. Is that what you tell all the retailers?

[As if he has any idea if Maine ever went shopping. Histories remain undisclosed for a reason, though he knows for certain that not every Freelancer followed those directives, considering that the Dakotas knew each others' probably as well as they did their own. Wash, for his part, only ever knew as much about his teammates as they allowed him.]

[It's not like Maine was ever chatty enough to talk about where he came from. How he ended up here.]

[And Wash, obedient little soldier per the Project's wishes, didn't ask.]

Full armor's usually safer, but there's no armor processing here, so it's good to have a backup plan.

[ Like Wash, Maine never pried into the personal histories of his teammates. Kept quiet about his own, too — even the part literally inked into his skin in the form of the ODST tattoo on his back. Judging by the way he rolls his eyes at "retailers," shopping wasn't a big part of his life. ]

Fair.

[ Conceding the point about armor. Though Maine's eyes do flick down to Wash's similarly armored state, silently pointing out that he's not the only shunning civvies. ]

Oh, you haven't seen what I've had to wear?

[He's going to try and get you something more dignified, Maine, not that it's likely to matter, but let's just say that Wash's current wardrobe leaves a lot to be desired.]

About half of the stuff I have has camo. Not even good camo. It looks like...here...

[Give him two minutes, and he'll show you. He will show you what C.T. thought was perfect for him.]

[ Maine takes one look at that shirt and snorts a laugh. Raises a hand to cover his mouth, concealing his grin but doing nothing to hide the way his eyes crinkle with amusement. It's a useless effort; he snorts again in poorly suppressed laughter. ]

Right color.

[ Look at the bright side, Wash! Even though Maine's barely able to get the words out. ]

[Yeah, well, C.T. gave it to him so it's not like he can just throw it out. It's not like he has a lot of shirts, either.]

[Wash snorts. It's clear that he's past the point of embarrassment about it; now it's just fucking ridiculous, and, frankly, more than a little hilarious.]

All right, all right, laugh it up while you can. Apparently our rabbit friend has no idea what actual fashion is, or what counts as tactical. God knows what we'd get if we tried asking for fatigues.

[ Like it or not, Maine is indeed laughing. It's mostly silent, but the way his shoulders jump betrays him. He's rarely loud in his laughter unless he's completely wasted; this is about as close to cracking up as the big man typically gets.

The mention of fatigues prompts Maine to make a face torn between amusement and offense at the thought of what they might get. ]

Halloween costumes?

[ Fuck knows he's seen enough horrible versions of those. ]

[Maine is laughing. It's one of those things that he doesn't want to think about in the context of what he missed and what he would never have admitted to himself that he missed, but the massive skyline of his shoulders are shaking silently, and that in and of itself is a victory, in a sense.]

Oh, yeah? All you have to do is go as Goliath and you're set, big guy.

[The muscles in his face feel underworked and underused; laughter feels like it might crack his throat in its unfamiliarity.]

[It's worth it.]

[ The giant man huffs in mock offense. He truly doesn't believe that he is a "giant," but he's too amused to argue it. Instead, he tries to figure out what that costume would even entail. ]

In toga?

[ That's what people wore Way Back When, right? ]

Oh my god, don't make me picture it. Fuck.

[It's been forever since he's been able to be like this: just...laughing about stupid shit, launching into a hypothetical and letting it ricochet off the edges of a baseline familiarity. It eases some of the pressure he didn't realize was clenched up behind his shoulder blades, softens something in his gut.]

[How long has it been, Wash, since you smiled and meant it?]

I hate this. I officially hate this.

[ This time Maine doesn't conceal his grin. He rolls his eyes — "sure you do" — oh-so-"innocently" asks: ]

When's Halloween?

[ That's right. He's officially going to terrorize Wash with this. ]

[Grin back. Grin back, laugh, try to smooth over the creases in his heart that reminds him how long it's been since he's laughed, really laughed, and felt like this.]

Fuck you. It's April.

[ That fact does nothing to deter Maine. He just shrugs, eyes bright with laughter. Completely unaware of what's going on in his friend's head. ]

Planning time.

[ Maine's not big on planning so far ahead, but he can when he wants to. Just as he can hold a grudge for years and years. That toga on Halloween is practically a guarantee. ]

You're a menace.

[It's a declaration without venom and without sting. It curls up underneath his chest: you're a menace.]

[Don't think about it. Don't think about it the context of what will be. Only what is.]

In all seriousness, though. If you...need someplace to stay, this place has four rooms. Church is in one, and I'm in another, and Tex might live here, but that'd leave one for you.

If you wanted it.

[ Wash's declaration makes Maine look decidedly smug. He doesn't connect it to how dangerous he is or to the fact that his presence alone is often menacing. He's just proud of this plan he's concocted. One that he fully intends to unleash by following his friend around on Halloween.

Enjoy the months of no togas while they last, Wash. Maine won't forget this.

When his teammate offers him a room, Maine doesn't hesitate. He nods, agreeing at once. ]

Thanks.

[ Things may be strange and their times may be unaligned, but Wash is still Maine's friend. Church may not remember him, and Texas may be … Texas, but they're still Maine's teammates. Of course he'll stay. ]

[Sincerity is dangerous; he's too afraid that he might tip himself over into spilling too much about what happens, and what will happen (what shouldn't happen) (what he can keep from happening?) so letting the world sink back into levity - that's easiest, and that's best.]

Even if you're a big jerk.

[ With an amused snort, Maine rolls his eyes at his friend. ]

Missed me.

[ Naturally, Maine only means that Wash missed him here.

After cracking his neck, the big Freelancer jerks his chin towards the front door. ]

Look for logs.

[ He raises his eyebrows at Wash in a silent invitation: "Wanna join?" ]

Yeah.

[Yeah. He did. Saying too much would suggest that it's been longer than it really has, which will raise questions he doesn't want to raise, which will lead to explanations he doesn't want to give. It's easier with Maine, who doesn't push the point unless it's important, or he thinks it'll genuinely affect a mission outcome.]

[It's not as easy with Church, who doesn't know all that he knows and doesn't, and who Wash forgets how much he knows and doesn't.]

[But who wants to dwell on that? Why make things weird?]

Yeah, okay. Might as well get started early.

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bloodbathing - 2019-04-21 21:46 (UTC) - Expand

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