You have spent the last few days on Thesa Station, taking in the knowledge that your world is no more. Perhaps you've made some friends (or maybe an enemy or two). Either way, you aren't expected to spend all of your time on the Station. El Nysa needs you, after all, and you promised you'd help the planet thrive. Are you ready?
Submit an AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 OLYMPIA REP POINTS OR 2 WYVER REP POINTS, respectively, HERE or HERE. THESA STATION
All refugees on the station are called to the hangar where a large-scale teleporter has been set up; everyone will be sent to the planet together. Simply step onto the space between the arrays and wait. Before they depart, all new refugees will be given a starter kit!
 You may have heard about earlier technical difficulties, but don't worry. I promise everything is in perfect working order this time. I'd say I tested it myself, but since that's not exactly possible, you'll just have to trust me! (Please.)
The older refugees will also be there to guide you to ensure no one is left confused... or behind. Make sure you wait for them — I've been detecting something odd so I'll be having them meet you at the landing site. Good luck, refugees! Not that you'll be needing it or anything...
The arrays begin to hum and glow, quickly building into a brilliant wash of light. It creates a column that travels all the way from Thesa Station to the surface of El Nysa. With the night sky as a canvas, the beam can be seen all the way from Olympia and Wyver — a view that has the natives whispering of blessings.
As a sudden but beautiful aurora splays across the sky, the refugees down on the planet receive a message asking them to travel to the landing site — and warning them to prepare for what may come of the strange readings Zasere's gotten from the teleport itself.
Traveling through the light leaves the impression of blinding starlight, a strange sense of weightlessness, and a disorienting moment of total sensory deprivation. The radiance of your teleport hangs bright in the sky above you, a shimmering aurora that reflects off the calm waters below, visible for miles all around.
You've landed on a peninsula to the east of the South Outpost. There's little here — scattered trees on spring-barren plains, with a few overgrown, dilapidated structures poking out of the brush. All is quiet save for the keening of animals and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. This lonely desolation is hardly the bustling cities and vibrant cultures you were promised back on the station...
BY CAMPFIRE'S GLOW. But waiting for you is a group of your predecessors, and with them, a veritable tent city, with portable stoves, coolers of food and drink, comfortable bedrolls, and cheerful rings of bonfires — all that you need to make merry of the night, courtesy of Overseer Voss, who has, thanks to his interest in blessed meteorological phenomena and refugees, decided to make a holy expedition of the affair.
Settle in, meet new comrades, and enjoy yourself, for you've safely completed your journey. But don't wander too far from the fires — the dark is closing in, and there's a strange, electric feeling in the air, the scent of ozone drifting on the breeze. And what were those odd readings Zasere mentioned?
A SHEPHERD OVER THE FLOCK. The spring sun dawns on a grey morning, already burning away the fog rolling in off the sea. It quickly becomes apparent that Voss and his entourage of acolytes have been up for hours, hard at work. They've set up a brightly-draped stage and a travel pulpit, magically enchanted to amplify his voice, and as the sun breaks over the horizon, Voss is all set to do what he does best: proselytize.
 As our Goddess has sent Her blessing once before to herald the coming of those touched by Her light, so She has done once again! Here you see them, those surrounded by the light of our Goddess, each of them bearing the mark upon their skin of Her holiest of hands! Do you not see? Do none among you bear witness to the righteousness of Her message? Perhaps this is why our people have shamed themselves in front of our Goddess—
[ He continues for another 15 minutes... ]
Nevertheless. See you them before us now! See them as they are, coming to our gates with Her reminder, that these people must be treated with the utmost respect and care. Thesa's divinity is not to be treated with such flagrant disregard! Those who She chooses are not ours to use as mindless fodder, to hurt, to torture — shame upon those who allowed such deeds to shame us under Her watchful gaze!
To those of you who have just arrived here on our doorstep, be not afraid! The Temples of Thesa welcome you to our home with hearts and minds open! Should you ever find yourself in need of solace, seek out the Temples, as there are no greater allies to you than those of us within the Temple walls. You are welcome all to Olympia!
As he steps away from the enchanted podium, he can be heard saying aside to an acolyte, "How was that? Heavy on the shame, but I think it went well!" While he will not leave the area immediately, his acolytes will politely turn away attempts to speak with him and remind anyone interested that they can leave a message at the Temples.
Despite going off without hitch, the new refugees' arrival isn't entirely without incident. It seems that the "blessed" beam of light that brought the refugees down to El Nysa brought something else along with it — a sliver of the Storm. At least the beam was short enough that only a small fraction managed to squeeze through.
But it's enough to wreak a little havoc around the landing site and along the road back toward Olympia and Wyver — and even, for a few days, in the cities themselves.
THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE. The Storm is an undeniably destructive force, and that's proven with this small sliver's effect as it ripples across the continent. While there's no visible sign of its presence, strange phenomena soon begin to appear, corresponding with Zasere's odd readings.
They're innocuous little things at first. A sudden silence, animals going quiet, insects stilling. All technology, no matter how advanced, ceases working. You discover when you check with a friend, the clock on your phone is twelve minutes slow even though you'd swear only a minute had passed — time missing. Walking through the woods takes longer than it should when brushing past one bush leads to brushing past that same bush again — and again, and again, the area looping on itself. It keeps you trapped, going in circles for minutes, even hours, before finally releasing you in a random direction.
Or perhaps you'll feel a sense of deja vu, like you've walked down this road, taken this turn, seen that bird fly from this branch before. This is the second time that cat has crossed your path. The person you're meeting, you already know their name; you're certain you've already met.
WE GOT COWS. The Storm sliver also ushers in sudden, localized weather anomalies — heavy storms, blizzards, strong winds, and more. Affected areas range from just a few feet wide to nearly half a mile. One minute, the sky may be sunny and clear, but the next dark storm clouds roll in, unleashing torrential rain. Small tornadoes surge along the road, kicking up winds strong enough to knock people over and carry objects away. Hail hurtles down from the sky, but only in a ten foot radius. Temperatures fluctuate wildly between one extreme and the next, from heat waves to cold snaps. Soupy fog blankets the area, thick enough that you can barely see your hand in front of your face. Good luck finding your way!
FORGETTING IS SO LONG. The visions come on suddenly and with very little warning. One second, you're carrying on as normal — but the next, you blink and find yourself (and anyone near you) somewhere else completely. You may recognize this place as a moment from the past, one that you lived through. It's a memory, your memory, and it now replays around you in exceptional detail, unnervingly lifelike. Or you may not recognize it at all. It might belong to the person next to you, or to someone else entirely — a memory that the Storm has swallowed up.
Either way, the scene plays out just as it once did, and there's nothing you can do to stop it — or escape it. The memory surrounds you to no end: every door you open leads nowhere, every hallway you turn down continues on forever, every horizon you flee toward hangs just out of reach. And linger too long or turn the wrong corner, and you may find yourself abruptly stuck in a completely different memory. It's almost tempting, then, to give up, to let the past sweep you away...
But this isn't the full might of the Storm. Look closely, and you can see that in the walls of this trap, there are minute, hairline cracks, a facade of fractured glass. Imperfections in the memory where the real world is breaking through. It seems the only way to escape these memories is to find those cracks and break through them — by force, by will, or by some other method entirely.
The time is coming to make a choice — perhaps not a permanent choice, but unless you want to spend the rest of your nights out under the stars, you'll need to pick which city you will initially spend your time in. On the horizon, you will see that people have arrived to help you make that decision...
A FORK IN THE ROAD. Refugees and the hyper-religious wishing to hear Voss speak are not the only ones out and about under the light of the aurora. Citizens of both Olympia and Wyver have flocked to a point on the road midway between the cities and where the refugees have appeared, and they all have the same goal in mind: convincing the newcomers who have just descended in the blessed light of Thesa to come to their city and not the other.
They've come with bribes — that is, examples of what their cities have to offer. If you spent much time at the exhibition up on Thesa Station, you might recognize some of what's being shown off, though the offerings here are markedly more tangible, and shown off by hawkers wearing substantially fewer clothes.
A herd of pegasi accompanies the Olympians, while a line of flying serpents is stabled at a tent bearing Wyver colors. Refugees are given the chance to experience solo flights and are told that if they prove their loyalty, they may have the privilege of owning such fine beasts one day themselves. The Olympians have also brought couture clothing, jewelry, and makeup to offer a taste of Olympian splendor, while the Wyver delegation has brought along fine weapons, sense-enhancing jungle plants, and small vials of diluted dragon’s blood (drinking confers a temporary boost in strength) to demonstrate their might. The Olympians speak proudly of the glory of the Temples of Thesa; the Wyverns speak of the Volkkran Pact and inform newcomers that they can make a pilgrimage to the summit of Namarak Mountain at the next full moon.
This is as good a time as any to compare your plans with others around you and exchange contact information before going your separate ways with people who are going to the city you are not. When you’re ready to go, don’t worry about safe passage — the natives of each city will gladly escort you there in luxury.
OF WHITE AND GOLD. The people of Olympia are ecstatic that you’ve come to join them... So much so that they’ve prepared a grand tour of the city for the new arrivals. You will be introduced to the major businesses in the city, including businesses that they are proud to point out were founded by refugees.
Refugees who have been here for some time already are encouraged to pair up with newcomers to introduce them to the parts of the city they like best. To facilitate this, they’ve made arrangements with many of the business owners: new refugees who visit their shops (and older refugees who escort them) are given discounts!
Just a few examples of many: the Wyvernest offers free desserts to first time visitors with the purchase of a drink, refugees who visit the Silk Wyrms can have one custom (though not exceedingly expensive) outfit made for them for free, and visitors to Shades Darker are offered a half-hour session with one of the prostitutes at half price… or access to a private room, if they seem to have taken a shine to one of their companions on the tour.
Lastly, tour guides will point out that over the course of the next week, the train to Flona Cove will allow new refugees to board for free so that they can experience the seaside for themselves. With the weather finally starting to warm, this is as good a time as any for a visit to the beach, isn’t it?
OF RED AND BLACK. Life in Wyver is typically a sink-or-swim sort of experience — but in light of the valor recently displayed by their predecessors, the natives are now more willing to assist in getting newcomers settled. The entire journey here they have been talking up the virtues of their city… and now is the time to show everything that's on offer.
The well-known businesses in the city are prepared for the influx of newcomers. Some are giving out discounted samples of their products while others are offering a more hands-on experience: in exchange for working a few hours, they will give training in whatever task is being performed.
At the Forged, newcomers can learn the basics of crafting simple weapons (and take one of their successes home), while visitors to spas near the lagoons are trained in the art of massage. Those who wander to Falmi’s Ring can learn the art of pugilism or how to keep (and fix) books if they're more inclined to the gambling that goes on. Newcomers interested in Wyver's dragons can get hands-on experience at the Fields of the Exalted's nursery. While they walk from place to place, a guide may point out a job posting from Highwind Hires, noting that refugees can make a name for themselves outside official channels.
The last stop on the tour is the Undergrowth. The guides speak of the jungle in reverent tones and caution new refugees not to wander too far in. They warn never to explore alone, but also urge refugees to take time to familiarize themselves with it; after all, the jungle is an important part of life in Wyver, and those who are going to be living here should understand it as well as they do.
You've chosen your path, refugee, but that doesn't necessarily make it a permanent one. Watch out for the strange effects of the Storm, which linger still in the two cities and everywhere in between for the next few days before dissipating just as mysteriously as they came, but otherwise enjoy the welcome and make yourself at home — after all, this is home now.
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She laughs a little when he brings up STRIKE and her birthday, and she shrugs her shoulders, looks at him with a curious look, a little enigmatic, like she's considering something. Not quite bittersweet, but a quiet sort of truth. But then she switches to something more playful, doesn't get lost in it.] Natasha never really knew what to do with me. Even after everything that happened. Do you still remember what my birthday is?
[It didn't really mean anything, but she was curious. It's easy talking to him. No SHIELD, no 7B, none of the trappings of the life she'd had before, just here on this strange planet at the end of the universe. He bites into his chocolate bar, and Ava breaks off another piece to idly nibble on. She looks him over when he mentions squats being good for calorie burn, and there's a slight twitch of her lips. ] Too bad there's not a pullup bar.
[She quiets for a moment when he brings up the fact that they'd been wiping her. With someone else, it would have been rougher, harsher, but Rumlow had been there, he knew, he'd had to deal with her when she didn't know who he was, where she was. And that just makes it another piece, not a secret. And she doesn't blame him for it. He'd never even been there, just seen the aftermath. They'd wipe her when she remembered too much, they'd tell her the same lie: that she'd been rescued from the Russian Mafia, that she was here for her protection, and that it was trauma.]
I didn't really have them back then, I guess. It was later. Things sort of went to Hell when I was seventeen. I was psychically linked to Natasha, which she obviously wasn't too happy about. There was this big plot that involved this machine in Istanbul, but I had to blow it up to break the link. And then- [She holds her hands up and wiggles her fingers in a clear pantomime of powers. But the thing was that given what she's found out about the program, about her mother and father, the way everything kept coming back to her genetics she'd never really know if this was like Banner's freak accident, or what she was supposed to be.]
It doesn't scare you?
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He wasn't surprised that Natasha hadn't known what to do with her, though he was curious how old Ava had been when they had actually met. Maybe there had been some weird sentimental reminiscence? Romanoff wasn't all ice cold; she played it best off the cuff. No one entirely knew when she was acting or emoting.]
She seemed more like that distant aunt that came to town once in a while with chocolate but otherwise, wanted only adult conversations. [But what did he really know about that. He had as much of an act to play as she did.] Your birthday, huh? [He pretended like he was thinking rather hard on the subject, chewing a little on his chocolate bar.] You were a May baby, I seem to recall. May 21st, wasn't it?
[It was easier to play the part of soldier when he needed to, let many of the other people talk themselves into holes that he could talk them deeper into. He had a good memory, and he hadn't made Command of STRIKE because of his rugged good looks. But of course she was going to sass him still, as he deserved and as she needed to do.]
If you weren't so damn tiny, I'd offer to bench press you, but you're hardly even close to my warm up weight category.
[He raised his eyebrows at her easy admittance, though there was an opening that he wasn't about to miss either.] Well, I can tell you that everything for everyone seems to develop and go to hell in a hand basket at seventeen. [Those dastardly aging out of government programs; the unwanted pregnancies; the graduation and failing to get into college; the STDs that were too embarrassing to explain to the principal. Ah seventeen, where all the horror show of life actually started.]
Wait, you were psychically linked to Romanoff? Now you have to give me all the goss on her. Does she actually hang her clothes from a spider web? I had a bet with Rollins. [He had no such thing, but it was a good story. He imagined that being mentally linked with one of the most successful Soviet spies came with its own special brand of confusion and kick-ass whatever.]
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[She hadn't been quite sure that he would, so even with the way he acts like he has to think about it, like it's old and forgotten, the fact that he still gets it right is enough. She's pleased and a little bit surprised, and she'd bad at hiding either, even if it's a pleasant sort of surprise. Ava was never a perfect spy, even if she could have been. She emoted, her feelings were often so easy to read.
So it spills easily into the light breath of laughter when he says she's not even in his warm-up weight category. Which, honestly- given his biceps- that might even be true. But she's not about to give him that, so instead she just looks at him a little incredulously. Not that Ava shies away from genuine compliments, but this is easy. The almost teasing, sassing him with a smile in her eyes. She'd missed it.] Now you're just mouthing off.
[She's still playing with him, impish as she watches him with those bright blue eyes.] I think it was a bit outside of the usual realm of being seventeen, though. It started at a Fencing Tournament. Natasha showed up with a fake face, dragged me up to the roof of the convention center, we argued, I punched her, and then we were getting shot at by Russian mercenary snipers.
[Given the tone of her voice, it's pretty easy to guess that the story doesn't get better from there. But, Rumlow of course catches onto the thread about how she'd been linked to Natasha, but instead of asking anything in the odd or incriminating category, it's just dumb fluff, which is honestly a little bit relaxing. It saves her from having to talk about the whole sad, sorry, fucked-up tale. The way it touches on the fact that SHIELD had wanted to use her. That there had been a boy, and now there wasn't, but that in the end it had really been Nat's boy, and Ava just hadn't been able to tell the difference, back then.]
No actual spider webs, sorry. She has a closet, which I'm sure is disappointing. To be honest, her apartment still mostly looks like she hasn't quite moved in, even after all this time.
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It made him wonder how many 'good' things she had experienced and if a birthday was the one time she could call it 'her' day. He reminded himself that he should get her a present this year, something other than candy. That felt like it might be stretching his capacity to care to the limit.
He rolled his eyes at her claim that her seventeen was worse than everyone else's. How dare.] You try experiencing random and uncontrollable erections. I mean, weird powers can't be worse? [He was teasing of course. What she likely became was more deadly than a random embarrassing erection.] So... really, you experienced a normal day being Romanoff. Argue, get punched - or punch, and then get shot at be the country you defected from. They also must have been pretty poor snipers if they took a shot that didn't wound or kill.
[He was given the impression there was much more to the story, that her little foray with Romanoff had just begun there. Any kind of psychic connection between the two had to bear weight, given he knew that Romanoff had skills that would always be impressive, but her ability to take in mass amounts of information and sort it also was impressive.]
Damn, now I'm out twenty bucks. [If only Rollins was alive to punch him in the arm as a way to demand it, had the bet existed at all.] From the little I know of her, she probably didn't stay that often in one place. It's too dangerous. However, I'm still super disappointed about the closet.
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They weren't there to kill us. I don't understand it, entirely, but it was about me and Natasha. Pushing us, she pulled me down, covered me when the shooting started. I guess I was sort of keyed to her genetics, but the link required that sort of physical contact. [She hasn't told anyone about this, but somehow, it's just easy to talk to him. She doesn't worry about him judging her, about the fact that he'll think she's a freak, or look at her like she's dangerous, a threat, a rabid dog that hasn't been put down.]
I'd had it before that, but it was small things. When I dreamed, I'd see through her eyes. Missions she was on, things like that. Apparently the idea was to compromise anything she knew about SHIELD, about Fury, maybe? I'd pick up on just about everything she knew, all the information she had, and Ivan and whoever he was working for I guess would have some way of processing it. [Rumlow can probably but that into better context than she could.]
[But then he brings up the bet and she laughs, smiles quietly.] Yeah, she had a lot of boltholes. Hotel rooms, too. But she did have the apartment SHIELD set up for her, and there was even a stray cat she'd feed sometimes.
[Then she looks up at him, quietly, her eyes softening a little as she meets his eyes.] Did you find him? [Rollins. In the stasis tubes. As harsh around the edges as Rumlow is, she can't believe that he didn't look.]
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Keyed to her genetics in that you two are distantly related? So the snipers were there to force you two together, to activate the link? That makes sense, but seems like a waste of a sniper in my opinion. [He didn't particularly like his skills wasted on a 'dive and hide', since a normal individual with firearms skill could manage much of the same results. He suppose he didn't begrudge the Soviets from taking that tactic, but bullets flying caused a lot of turned heads and there were far more subtle ways to achieve a physical connection.
Still, he offered an impressed whistle at the complete volume of information that she had access to. Romanoff was someone who guarded secrets well and never let on that she even was, and any access to her impressive skills would also be invaluable.] Who the hell is Ivan? Just the name alone makes him sound like a jerk-off.
[Of course she had a lot of boltholes. She was a professional, and she knew how to hide in plain sight as well as she did in the shadows. It was natural for her to need to have other places to settle in to spin her webs known as covers.] I suppose a stray cat is about as maternal or paternal as any of us manage on that level. [Not that he viewed Ava back then as a stray kitten, but her being handed off to him had strained the limited 'parental' skills that he had. He developed more as time when on and he was exposed to her.]
That asshole? Yeah, I found him, but he looks pretty bad off. [He shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal, like he expected no less from Rollins, even if the guy tended to be the more cautious of the two of them.] Doesn't seem likely he'll wake up, but I bug him when I'm up on the Station. [Read: Rollins was his literal only friend in this place.]
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[She doesn't go into the details, hits the important parts, but also-- her childhood hadn't been a kind one even before SHIELD, before she'd been in the Red Room program, before all of the quantum entanglement nonsense. She'd never had a chance for anything else, and her mother had not been a kind woman. All she remembered of her father was a ballerina doll from the Bolshoi that her mother had said he'd sent for her. Someone else might question if they were her parents at all, but Ava didn't. Couldn't, especially now, when those were answers she'd never get.
She laughs softly when he mentions Ivan.] That he was. He helped run the Black Widow program out of the Red Room back during the Cold War. He was KGB, an old army dog as he liked to call himself. He managed to stay through the regime change, used connections and money to guarantee himself and his experiments a place under the SVR. And then he used the technology my parents created to make the Opus program. But, Natasha put a bullet in his skull, and I haven't seen him in Stasis, so hopefully that's a closed door.
[She quiets for a moment, considers, sighs as she leans there, just enjoying his company and the warmth of the fire.] Next time you go, maybe I could go with you, if you wanted? I mean, you might have rugged good looks, but I'm sure Rollins could use a pretty face now and then.
[Of course, part of it is that she understands that. Having your only friend in Stasis, being pretty sure they weren't waking up. Trying to work through where to go.]
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For him, childhood just happened to be one of those humps that everyone had to go through in order to come out the other side the wonderfully damaged individuals that they would be. Some had it worse than others. And none of it mattered here and now in a world where everything they had known was long gone, and it was all about how adaptable one was. Least they were out of the blizzard and the cave was warming with the fire crackling merrily.]
All you had to say was: he ran the Red Room and I already know what kind of guy he is. [Though many of the KGB went into hiding after the regime and slowly made their way back into power from what he knew. The whole crimes against humanity thing was still frowned upon after all.] There's another guy in Stasis to watch out for; he goes by the name Kilgrave, and he's on SHIELD's kill-on-sight sniper list. I'll show you him next time we're up there.
[He offered her a sour look. What a sassy woman she'd become! He was completely blaming everyone else for that.] We clearly should have washed your mouth out with soap more often, you sassy thing. Rollins always had a soft spot for you, so pretty certain he'd tolerate you being around.
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[There's a comfort to it, honestly. The way he refutes the idea that parents even matter, shoots down the idea that she was only ever important because of some genetic connection to Natasha. She could argue it, of course, but she doesn't really want to. Because there's a layer to it, the idea that none of it seemed to really matter to him, and that was better, that mattered. She doesn't remember much of her mother. She knew that she'd loved her in that way only children can, that even now she couldn't entirely help it, even if she knew that her mother had been involved in her suffering. But then, it was hard to hate the dead.
She wasn't that little girl anymore. She knew- maybe not all the truth, but enough, had been able to string her life into a more-or-less cohesive narrative, and that was enough. She knew who she was, and even if she worked for people who weren't good people, that didn't mean that she couldn't be a good person, help people. Or so she told herself, anyway.
It's nice, being able to leave Ivan at that, dead and buried. Ava nods quietly as he brings up Kilgrave being in stasis. The name doesn't ring any bells, but she takes the warning at face value. Then he offers her a sour look, and it just makes her smirk, almost grinning as he calls her on being sassy.] Yeah, he wasn't you, but he wasn't one of the bad ones. [Not to her anyway. And in the end, that was how she judged people. There's a lull of quiet, and she nibbles on her chocolate, licking at her fingertips as it gets a little melty from her skin and the fire. She looks at him sideways, and while she doesn't judge him for the scars, eventually she can't resist the temptation to ask.]
Can I ask you about the scars? You don't have to tell me. [Part concern, part curiosity, and part a strange sort of fascination. She can't help wondering what had happened, because they looked like burns more than anything.]
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[He knew more than his share of those people, and he certainly wasn't jealous about what they had to give up or even lose in order to have that kind of longevity. He had lived his life without any scientific complications, and he was looking to keep it that way for the time being. He had settled into the comfort of knowing what he could do, how well he could do it and now had the benefit of a lifetime of experience on when it was best to let loose on someone.
That never particularly worked on super people though. He was comfortable though. He had no trouble keeping up with the people who were as normal as he was.
Rumlow knew there had been some agents that hadn't taken kindly to guard duty of a teenager, but they had done their duty. Some of them were rough around the edges, probably let some of their resentment show towards her. He doubted many of them cared that she was as likely to appreciate being locked up and on guard as much as they were to be a part of it.] He's still an asshole. [As if that was that when it came to Rollins.]
You can ask all you like, but it doesn't mean I'm going to tell you the truth. [He could make something up. After all, if she couldn't guess, she might not have experienced it and talking about HYDRA to the one person who so far hadn't come right out to suspect him up to some nefarious plan... he was hard pressed to let that go. Still, he relented a little.] Mission went bad. Building collapsed while I was inside. It's not as bad as it could be, I imagine.
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He was here, he was okay. Maybe she shouldn't be so attached; it was one conversation after intermittent visits when she'd been a child, objectively an entirely different person from who he was now. But she didn't have a lot of people, and he accepted her, was nice to her, easy to talk to without having to worry about how he'd react. And he didn't make her feel like no one saw her as anything other than a child, the way Coulson had, and even Steve did sometimes. Which was perhaps ironic, in that if anyone had a reason to see her as a child, it would have been Rumlow.]
I'm just glad you're alive. You're lucky, you know. Or maybe just stubborn. [Teasing a little, but it's not quite as overtly playful, just a slight twitch of her lips.] Did someone blow the foundation? Because those are burns, and not just from friction.
[She took him at face value, because she had no particular reason not to. And even if she found out later, Ava was a person who understood not telling people the whole truth. She hadn't told Steve the whole truth about who she was, hadn't told Peggy about what a mess SHIELD was. And that was without taking Natasha's view on truth and circumstances into account. The fact was that sometimes the reasons you didn't tell someone the truth weren't even about them.
She almost wants to touch them, because she's a tactile person even if she pretends otherwise, but for a moment she restrains herself. She's reminded of a saying, from the Red Room. Not from Ivan, but from her days before she'd been one of his special girls. Lessons from a Matron who was never kind, but she did not cause suffering for suffering's sake. Ava has a lot of feelings about scars, even if hers run deep, aren't so visible on the skin, they're still there, always will be. Natasha's imprints on her psyche, Alexei on her heart.]
Scars aren't about failing, you know. They're a reminder that you're stronger than whatever gave it to you. Even a building, in your case. So they're not.. ugly or shameful, or the way people look at them. [She knows he's probably gotten looks. They're obvious, and she can't imagine what it was like when they were new. Tentative, uncertain, she reaches up with one hand to trace the edge of the burns on the left side of his face, if he lets her. She watches him closely, and if he seems uncomfortable or shifts away, she'll stop before she even gets there. She's so very tactile, but with most people she doesn't initiate physical contact if she can help it.
There had been a few times she'd hugged Natasha, and it had been rather like hugging a door. So she was timid about it, always conscious of rejection, of not being allowed in other people's space, even if it added to the loneliness. Sana had been the first one to really make it okay. And everything is so easy with Rumlow, she's willing to risk it, even if she's still a little shy.]
Well. And you know what they say women think about scars. [A slight curve of her lips, adding just a slight touch of levity.]
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He wondered if she was the only person who could say that about him though. I'm just glad you're alive. She was the first person to say that to him since he had arrived here, and he knew for a fact that he didn't deserve it, that the story behind them would cause the usual revulsion. However, if Ava was anything like Natasha, she likely existed in a world of grays rather than black and white. That's how many agents existed, where there were personal lines in the sand they wouldn't cross.]
Jet fuel. [His lips twisted because there was no point of lying on that fact. There was a clear difference to friction and burning, the smooth melted nature of the burns around his eyes. It should have been a lot worse, but maybe he had been put in the pod before it had melted most of his skin off.] Impact damage from an aircraft hitting the building. No chance to get out, but I got lucky... and I am stubborn.
[He knew that she was trying to be comforting, that she was making a go of it and being rather socially awkward in her attempt. They hadn't socialized her that well and it wasn't as if the Red Room was big on behaviours that made their future agents warm and genuinely fuzzy. Some were better than others of course.
The fact of the matter was that his scars were a visible show of his failure, of how Insight had failed, how his very world had come crashing down with it. He had lost everything except his life. He had lost his team, his organization, his structure, his reason for getting up in the morning. HYDRA didn't exist here, but the people who knew that he was branded by the organization (had lived, breathed, died for it because there was no retirement) made the very potential life here difficult. He stepped out of line and his head would likely get punched off.
Which left him few options. Return to the time before HYDRA, when he had been a snot nosed kid with a knife in hand, a bit to much in the way of smarts and a mean streak that he had picked up early on. There was an underworld here, of course. He knew he could slip into it like putting on a glove, but the fact was: he had failed and he was alive to swallow that bitter pill little-by-little.]
Some would say they finally put some of my ugliness on the outside. [He didn't say who because there was no point. It was some truth, that he did bad things for good reasons.
He didn't refuse her exploring touch; she had always been that kid that needed to verify things with her hands anyway. He was used to that, had half expected that she would make a go of it.]
Last woman who commented on them beyond you has threatened to throw me through a wall four times. Oh and break me over her knee. And kick my balls off. [He shrugged. It was no big deal the gesture said.]
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Jesus. [A slight murmur of the exclamation as he explained how it had happened. He says aircraft and she's thinking a quinjet more than a helicarrier, but it's still horrifying. And he certainly is lucky; all that rubble, and the igniting jet fuel, and she's surprised his injuries aren't worse. Maybe been near a window when the building went up, given the flames a way to vent out, reduced the amount of concrete on his body. She knows he must have been in surgery for hours if not days following, but she doesn't ask about that. She can tell from his scars, from his story, and there's no details there that would change anything, so it's not a question worth asking.
She doesn't know about him and HYDRA, is just thinking of some mission with SHIELD where everything goes to Hell. He might have failed the mission, but it doesn't make him a failure. And she just wants to make sure he can see the difference. Not that she can remember him ever seeming low on confidence, but being in another world, where there's no SHIELD, nothing familiar, no easy places to fit into as far as she's seen.
And then there's that comment about putting his ugliness on the outside, and there's a flash of something in her eyes, her other hand coming up, just slightly resting against his shoulder. Because he's allowed the first touch, and it feels somehow like it's easier, a way of anchoring what she says. Maybe anchoring herself, when there's a not insignificant sort of vulnerability there.]
Hey. Anyone who thinks that is wrong. You were one of the only good people to me. Even when I'd forget who you were, you took risks for me. I know you're not sweetness and light, that you've done bad things, but you're not an ugly person. Working for bad people doesn't make you a bad person. Besides, the scars aren't even ugly. I mean, I'd rather you hadn't been hurt, but I don't mind them.
[She traces the scarring, the uneven and too-smooth skin under her soft fingertips. Starting against his cheekbone and then up around, touching the uneven lines that made her think there must have been metal on his face. Dripping lines of molten metal or heated wires. She looks a little bit horrified as he tells her about the last woman before her to comment on his scars.] Well, she sounds insane, and you need better friends.
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And Insight. Well, that had been a good op that had gone all wrong. He probably should have blamed Steve more; maybe in time he would. Right now, he wondered how much of what he was doing was some state of shock where a single push could turn him loose, apply all that skill to turn the world upside down.
He gave her a patient look, not because he thought of her as a child, but he knew for a fact that she didn't know much of the story about him. She had been one of the few things in his life he had bothered to be genuinely nice to, but that was really as far as it went. She didn't have all the facts.] One moderately good person in a sea of bad people doesn't leave much for you to judge on, Ava. I'm not a good man, and I never will be. I do the ops no one else wants, the real dirty ones, not because I enjoy it but because I'm good at them. [His moral compass had long ago been turned on its head.
But again, he doesn't refuse her touch. He was reminded of some of the few STRIKE gatherings after a particularly brutal op. Rough men and woman throwing arms around each other, flicking pretezels and making crude jokes.] Nah, she's more bark than bite, all threats and little action when push comes to shove. She ain't so bad. You probably wouldn't like her.
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I've known other people. Sana is good in a way I can barely comprehend. I lived on the streets of New York City for three years, I met people, I'm not so sheltered anymore that I think the Red Room or SHIELD are okay.
[She steps in a little bit closer, uses the strength in her hand and her grip against his shoulder to push him a little more firmly against the wall of the cave. It's only a little rough, not aggressive, not a threat. It's more to get his attention, it's because she's tactile, and as the conversation shifts she can't help being a little rough, knows he can take it. Her other hand still lingers against his scars, still that light touch as if in direct contrast.]
And I didn't say you were a good man, I said you were good to me. I said you weren't a bad person, and I meant it. I might not know all of your missions, but I know that you were one of the best at what you did, I know you tended to take the most dangerous missions and cut your way through them no matter what that meant. [Information she knows because of Natasha, too above Rumlow, too focused on the Avengers to pay him much attention, but even she still knew of his reputation.]
And if you want to talk dirty I was seven years old the first time I killed someone. She was a little girl, just like me, with gold blonde hair, and I strangled her on the floor because I was told to. And when we went to disrupt the program that my mother had created, there were over a hundred kidnapped orphan teenagers they were controlling. Natasha said I was supposed to leave anything with a pulse to her, but I couldn't do that and provide cover fire. So I chose between her life and the safety of the world against children that didn't deserve to die.
[She's not angry, she's frustrated. That edge to his voice like he didn't think she understood dirty, what it was to be someone with a skewed morality and blood on your hands. Like she didn't have the life experience to judge him as not something awful and have it mean anything. Looking at her like she had been pulled from the Red Room and handed over to SHIELD without being mired in it. She had been Ivan's favorite. Even as he handcuffed her to the pipes so the other girls could hear her scream.] And I have to own every terrible thing Natasha's ever done, because it's not just memory, it's visceral, my body remembers it too. The knife in my hand, or the way the blood splattered on my bare skin, the heat from the hospital fire.
[Her fingers against his scars finally slides down, and her knuckles brush against the stubble of his jaw. And after saying so much, stripping herself down to truth and bone to make a point, she quiets, looks up into his eyes, still balanced on tip-toe, and a little uncertain if maybe she'd pushed too far. But it all leads back to one simple question, her voice soft:]
So tell me, am I ugly too?
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But, for him, that was a lifetime ago. He felt the pressure of her grip on his shoulder, and he could resist the push of it. He was no slouch physically, but he was also used to picking his battles when it came to be pushed around. He went with the push so his back was pressed to the uneven stone wall at his back, feeling it dig in, but she meant nothing aggressive about it. She was trying to focus his attention, which was unnecessary as he already was no matter where his eyes or head may be turned.
He raised an eyebrow as she displayed knowledge of his reputation beyond her means. SHIELD Academy didn't use him for examples; he was a sniper and thus his identity was often classified information, but those in the upper circles would be aware of his reputation. So she hadn't been joking how much knowledge she could glean from Romanoff.
Of course, she offered information freely, so he held his peace as she clearly needed to say it. Murdering kids was usually the worst part of the job; it was the collateral that no one wanted. Kids grew to adults who could kill just as easily depending on what they saw; sometimes he thought it was a small mercy for them to get out early.] You made a call, and that's yours to live with. But was Romanoff's life worth more to you than those brainwashed kids? [The story was clearly indicating it was some form of mind control after all.
Her question was one he had been expecting as the rant went on, and he wondered how many people knew this about her. How many people knew she killed a bunch of teenagers or other kids because that was how the Red Room worked?]
Yeah, you're ugly too. We're all ugly after the things we've done. [There was no point skirting that issue. He laid it to her straight as he always had.] You're just more screwed up with having to deal with both your shit and Romanoff's.
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It's almost a mercy, honestly. As if he thinks she's strong enough to live with it. Ava doesn't like killing, but you put her in a situation where the only way out is to pull a trigger on someone else, and she will make that call. And she has had to. She sighs, pulling back a step and then leaning in sideways, bumping her shoulder to his, and she smiles at him, a little bit lop-sided. He doesn't treat her like she needs to be anyone other than who she is, doesn't seem like he thinks she's too delicate to be who and what like has made her.]
I don't think that doing ugly things makes either of us a bad person, not really. It's like you said- you make the call. To the best of your ability, and then you live with it. And in a place like this, how much of that even matters?
[She sighs, looks up with him with a slightly wry curl of her lips. She still hasn't quite figured out how she fits in here, what to do. There's no SHIELD, and while she has a lot of skills, she doesn't have the temperament like Natasha would to keep a low profile, find a noble to work for so she could pick up on the dynamics of the power structure, the personality conflicts. Ava doesn't apologize for pushing him, knows that she didn't really hurt him.]
I care about her, you know? Even if she doesn't really-- things were always hard with her. [Natasha was still a very complicated issue for her. Because Ava cared for her, and Natasha had been trying, but it was never quite the same. Not like she was with Clint's family. Tense, things unsaid. And now she was in cryo, and Ava had to figure out who she was supposed to be on her own.]
And it wasn't even just about Natasha. They were like me. So when the time came, they would just-- Teenaged spies and killers embedded with people in every major government and organization across the world. So we either brought it all down then and there, or the world fell apart. The only choice if we failed would be to eliminate them all to prevent a global catastrophe. And when SHIELD started systematically eliminating children with ties to world leaders, it would have started a war. It would have been chaos, and who knows what that leaves behind.
[Maybe Rumlow could see the sort of people that would benefit, but Ava still didn't have all the pieces. She didn't know what SHIELD was, not in the sense that came with a name and a history and a story.] The girl I killed would have killed me if I hadn't. That's how the Red Room filtered out the ones that weren't good enough. I don't enjoy it, either.
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How much of it matters in a place like this? That depended largely on the people who were around to chirp about past action. Who was waiting in the wings to throw him bodily through a way for making any sign that he might return to the life that he had known for over twenty years.]
That's the question of it: are you strong enough to live with it? Or do you spend the next years of your life trying to make up for what you've done? [The corner of his lip twitched in the ghost of a smirk.] Considering this place is going to civil war, I imagine only the skills and what you're going to do about the upcoming unrest is what matters. Though, I hear the chaos of war is a great time to take revenge and cover it up.
[Who was actually going to question another dead body when so many were suffering or would suffer? It was a common tactic that both SHIELD and HYDRA used because when there were so many bodies on the ground, what was just another one? Their story became lost in the mass tragedy of the others. Hiding in plain sight.]
From my experience, the world has a habit of falling apart in many different ways, and that just sounds like one of many plots seeking to do that. [As the population grew, so did the oppression. The rich grew richer and the poor were told to suck it up and deal with it. What was another bunch of brainwashed kids set into political striking distance? Definitely sounded like something the Soviets would come up with; they never forgot old slights.
However, he also could appreciate the beauty of the plan. A quick and dirty sweep, much like Insight. Just a smash and grab on a political scale, but it didn't solve the innate problem, just destabilized the top level.] If you start enjoying killing, it's time to get out of the game entirely. You do it because you're put in a situation where you feel it's necessary for the greater good or your survival.
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Maybe she should feel more guilty about it than she does. But you didn't make it through the sort of places that she had without prioritizing survival. If there was another choice, she'd take it, but sometimes there just wasn't. And those deaths weren't the ones that she beat herself up about. It was Alexei. It was not being good enough to save him. That was what gave her nightmares.]
That's Natasha's way of coping, not mine. [To be fair, Natasha had a lot more blood on her hands. And Ava did want to be a hero, wanted to help people, do good things, but it wasn't out of guilt. It was what she'd wanted to be since she was a little girl in 7B reading about Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Peggy Carter in the history books. Steve, she imagines, would probably have managed to dodge bullet fire and knock out the kids one by one until they could be dealt with later. She hadn't had the luxury.] Yeah, I've heard things are leaning that way. Though given I heard allegations about kidnapping, it's nice to see the warm welcome they rolled out.
[She lets his comment about revenge go, even if there's almost a question on her tongue, if there's someone he'd like to get revenge on. But, she let herself take it as a general comment, a mention of common tactics, something that they could see as the tensions continued and escalated. She had no particular intention in really picking sides, but there was no question that this was the sort of stuff that she was good at. That they both were. ] I haven't been to Wyver yet, though. So I sort of want to head over at some point to get a feel for it, even if I doubt either of them are innocent in this conflict.
[She nods, shifts so that she's leaning against the wall next to him, her shoulder brushing against his arm. She wasn't about to hug him or anything dramatic, but Rumlow didn't seem to mind the contact, and so she just let herself enjoy it. Being able to be close to someone that didn't see her as a child, didn't try to make her into something that she wasn't. Just let her exist, and hinted that that was good enough.] Yeah. I mean, I like sparring, stuff like that. Things that are rough, that make me feel. But killing? It's never easy. It's either about surviving or protecting something.
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Of course, since she brought it up, he did have to ask.] So how do you cope with the things you've done? [It would be interesting to know if she even knew; some people were too busy bottling it all up to pin-point how they dealt with their own personal traumas.] There was kidnappings, and there was torture involved in each of the groups taken. Some of it was pretty nasty shit, and last I heard there were at least two casualties that are no longer casualties in the group I lent my skills to.
[He had plans to also hit up Wyver, but less about the city and more that he had heard there was a guy down that way which might make use of his particular skill set. He wanted to check it out before offering anything of himself on that, not willing to dig into a hole he might be buried in not long after.] I'm heading to Wyver at some point in the near future. There is nothing worth staying for in Olympia, and I want to see what there is from the other city.
[He shivered after she shifted to lean next to him, but it was due to the fact that the wind changed and cold wind struck his arm and back. A few snow flakes flew up and landed in his hair, but he didn't care.] Sooooo, you like to beat people up, huh? [He grinned at her.] I knew you had a good head on your shoulders. Clearly you had someone come take you to the best places so you learned right. Though, you better still like the Yanks, or you're dead to me.
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[Her lips thin and she nods quietly as he brings up torture, given that she had some rather personal experiences with it in many different forms. There's curiosity, however, when he mentions two casualties that no longer were. And it's not too hard to figure out what he means; people that had died and had come back.] Something with the Natha?
[They were the only ones that she could really think of that would be able to.] Well, we could head over together, if you wanted to. I mean, there's no real methods of transportation in this place, so far as I've heard we're still stuck walking everywhere. Might be more fun than traveling alone.
[And there's a certain amount of fondness to the offer. Which is to say that Ava isn't typically someone that willingly surrounds herself with people. Sana used to have to literally drag her to parties, or any sort of social event. But talking to Rumlow is easy, and he's always been good to her, and that makes being around him comfortable. So at least with him, it might actually be preferable to going alone. And in a purely practical sense, she trusts him, knows he can handle himself. So it'd be nice to have someone she trusts enough to keep an eye out for the wildlife which isn't always friendly. Not that she needs protection, but even she makes attempts at sleeping, here and there.]
Yeah, though I try to make sure it's only as much as they can take. I don't want to hurt anyone for real, but I like how it feels, you know? [She shrugs her shoulders, a little bit shy. It's a hard thing to explain, articulate, the way that combat makes her blood sing. So the switch to talking about sports teams isn't unwelcome.] I think someone once told me that Yankees fans are fans for life. I could hardly turn traitor on you.
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[He shrugged his shoulders because he had no idea how people who had clearly been dead came back. It made sense that if the Natha could keep so many alive in stasis and release them whenever they wanted then bringing back the dead should be part and parcel, right?
Though the suggestion of travelling to Wyver wasn't a bad one, and not just for a strength in numbers aspect. She was pleasant company, one of the few familiar faces that he had where his face didn't automatically earn suspicion or revulsion.] I suppose you wouldn't be so bad of company, assuming that this blizzard doesn't kill us both first, that is. [Because, if anything, the storm beyond the cave was momentarily strengthening.] This place is actually what the Middle Ages feels like but with magic.
[Rumlow knew exactly how that felt; he trained a lot of the green-horns that came his way and while they were highly trained when they came to him, he still used years of experience against the little brats. Sometimes making them literally scream for mercy was a great way to assert his dominance but also knock them down a peg or two so they were willing to follow his command. Sparring was about the body, about technique and about reflexes. He had to think, but he also had to be quick on his feet.] I know how that feels. There's nothing quite like skill against skill.
[Well okay, she was still a keeper. He reached out to playfully knock his knuckles gently to her jaw.] I think that someone was me, or that fat guy sitting next to us at the game I took you to. Sorry to say though, but no Yanks here.
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[She was tactile, and that made fighting a thrill, the contact of it, touch, even if it was all violence, it still made her feel. But, as she'd said before, most people couldn't keep up. But Rumlow was good, and had size and build on her. And even if she was enhanced, it wasn't like she was Steve Rogers. So it'd be interesting to see how the variables played out. She had muscle memory and he had training. One way or the other it'd be enjoyable, she was sure. Someone she probably wouldn't have to pull her punches with. And the only time she really had that had been the rare times when Natasha stopped by and they could spar together, which was so infrequent to almost seem like a fever dream, sometimes.
She frowns a little, looking out toward the entrance of the cave where the white of the snow whips by, impossible to see much of anything except for the white as the winds pick up. She laughs a little as he implies that they might die out here, a slight shake of her head.] It's not going to kill us, promise. Can't last forever, and I have enough supplies for a while. Our biggest problem will be if we run out of fuel for the fire, once the temperature really starts to drop. And then I'll have to see if I can find something and hope the snow's cold enough that the wood isn't too wet to burn.
[There's only so much kindling and branches scattered around the cave, after all. She volunteers herself almost without thinking, knows she'll probably have an easier time with it if the temperatures start to drop below zero than he will. One of the other facets of being a Red Room girl, of being like Natasha. Hardy enough to handle those Siberian winters. But that's for later, assuming it doesn't blow over soon. It would shock her if she realized just how localized it was, but she hums in soft thought as he comments on the state of this world.] You're not wrong. It's like one of those 80s fantasy movies or something. Rival cities, kidnapping, magic.
[She makes a vague gesture with one of her hands; they've pretty much got the whole recipe. Well, aside from the space station in the sky aside, anyway, which was definitely more Science Fiction than anything. Then he brushes his knuckles against her jaw and she grins, elbows him lightly.] I think it was you. When you got me that hat? But it's a shame there's no baseball here. It'd be nice to have something normal, but the closest thing I've found to anything back home has been the dive bars.
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[Rumlow hadn't had much one-on-one practice since arriving here. He still worked out heavily, but that was more for a lack of things to invest himself in, and aside from the stint saving the hostages, his skills were generally going to waste. He was used to down time, but always he was at least planning an operation for either SHIELD or HYDRA, and there was always someone around SHIELD who wanted to spar. Here... not so much. He also had no problem fighting anyone enhanced; he accepted that with certain people he was likely to be trounced in the ring.
He also snorted at her assessment, looking out at the storm that raged beyond the cave. He had no doubt that it wouldn't last forever, but he hadn't exactly dressed for the weather as he normally would. He had a few supplies, but it was the warmth that was going to be difficult to maintain.] The threat of freezing to death is at least not as unpleasant as some of the others that I've been exposed to. Going out in the storm would be potential suicide right now.
[They have enough to keep them going a few hours and even then, it was going to be touch and go if they have to spend the night here. He wasn't worried, since there was always the option of entering the storm if push came to shove. It was better to be moving and keeping the blood in motion before complete freezing set in. He'd rather the air freeze in his lungs and cause him to drown in his own blood than waste away huddled in a cave.]
Even if there as baseball here, I think the teams would be terrible. It wouldn't even be worth watching. [Worse than even beer-league baseball in his opinion.] Dive bars can somehow exist anywhere. It's practically planet-wide tradition it seems.
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But she misses it too. The ability to just walk into the practice room and find someone to spar with. She doesn't know exactly how they'd measure up together, she doesn't use her powers in sparring matches. Both because it's unfair, and because for Ava, the hard thing is control. So the bigger test for her is being able to fight without turning into a lightning rod, rather than showing off.
The fire is still going, so she lets the point of how stupid going out into the storm may or may not be go. They stay there for a while, by the fire, talking about baseball and other such smalltalk. Ava tells him about how she used to sneak Sana into minor league games over the summer. Two teams, the Staten Island Yankees and the Brooklyn Cyclones, and they basically just went to whoever had a home game. No real loyalty to it or anything, but it had been fun. They'd scrounge up some money for hot dogs and watch the game. To be honest, she almost thinks the reason she'd run to New York City when she'd escaped from SHIELD had been because that was where Rumlow took her; the only other place in the whole country she knew of.
It's probably a good thing he hadn't been the one looking for her. The fire lasts a couple hours as they talk, but eventually they run out of leaves and anything else they can conceivably use for fuel for the fire. Ava even rifles through her bag, but all she has is a small set of wood pieces to get a fire started, not enough to feed it. Other than that, she'd be burning her blanket, and that's more use for warmth than as the few minutes of fire it'd buy them.
So finally she sighs, gets up and rifles through her bag, clipping a knife into her belt as she pulls on a sweater. There's a smaller cloth bag tucked into her duffle and she pulls it out, slings it over her shoulder. She knows that this isn't going to go over well, but there's not much room to avoid the point, now.]
We need more firewood. I'll be back before you know it.
[She doesn't ask for permission, says it like a fact. It's close to midnight and the temperature is low enough to make her worried about Rumlow. She's got food and water and some layers, but it's more for a cool fall night. She didn't exactly plan on a snowstorm.]
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Warning: Torture, murder, psychological damage
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warning for child murder, torture, and creepy wrong red room shit
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warning for electrotorture
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