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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no subject
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.]
no subject
That was good. He twirled a small twig around his fingers as they spoke, the warmth of the fire enough to keep the edge of the cold creeping in the entrance as the snow storm continued, though less violent then a few spurts of it. It was companionable, and Ava might have been the first person that he had had actual small talk with other than the insulting back and forth with Jones.
Ava was also the only person that he called by a first name. He clicked that distinction just as she was rifling through her back when they both knew they were out of materials for the dying fire.
He turned his head along the stone wall to peer into the white flecks in the darkness, listening to the wind and feeling the cold. She didn't ask permission, and he, of course, wouldn't grant it.]
You won't be successful with that amount of snow. It will be too wet to burn. Also, there's a high likelihood you'll go snowblind and not make your way back here. Freezing to death isn't the worst, but I can't let you go out there. Sit down and we'll have to conserve body heat. [He said it all reasonably, knowing he was right. He too had spent some time in Siberia; he knew it was a frozen shithole. So shitty was that place that no one could take a shit there without their ass literally freezing off.]
no subject
But Ava was proactive by nature. She wanted to do something, even if that something was hasty and perhaps a little ill-advised. Ava was always a little reckless when she was just risking herself, of course. And she was fairly sure she could find something that would be usable, and getting the fire going again would be worth the cold. And, well, she has powers. She hasn't really tested the limits of them yet, isn't sure if she could use them to keep herself from freezing or not, but there's at least one point she's sure of, so that's the one that she starts with.]
My eyes literally glow, I wont go snowblind. And you're going to freeze if we don't get that fire started again. I'll make it back, promise.
[The only gloves that she has are not meant for the weather. They're red leather and fingerless, but she pulls them on anyway. Of course, Ava's started fires just by having a nightmare before. But she doesn't really know how, if she could manage it without something to fuel it, and even if she did, it's not something that she could control. And she'd rather freeze than hurt him. She almost wishes that she still had her coat and her scarf, but those had gone missing back in Olympia.
He's right, probably. But she has to try. She's pulling her hair up into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, out of her face, and pretty clearly about to go striding out into a blizzard that would have been worthy of Siberia. She has a bag to make it easy to carry anything she finds in case she gets in a fight, but she figures the odds that the wildlife will be hunting in the storm is pretty low. And in any case, she's faster. Probably.]
I'm sure my lips will be blue by the time I get back, so if I don't find any fuel for the fire, then we can talk conserving bodyheat.
[It's a slight misdirection; the softest of teases, because she's unwilling to actually push him away, so she's stuck engaging. But she wants to go, because she is concerned about the cold, not sure that without the fire she can keep him warm even with bodyheat. Her focus is much more on Rumlow than herself. Not that she thinks he hasn't had to deal with rough climates before, but while she kept gear, it wasn't for this. It was for running. And she's worried.]
no subject
He understood the idea that they would have to fend off the cold, but there were other smarter ways than rushing off into a snow storm for futile efforts to collect wood that would never burn. He watched her gather up her gear and then he pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his pants with a hand and straightening his clothing. He also had a small pack of essentials with him, mostly food and medical supplies, which he slipped across his chest.]
I'll freeze if you don't make it back either by that logic. So, I suppose since you've decided to lead this expedition out into a blizzard, you can take point.
[He was pulling out rope that he had and began to tie it around his wrist as if this were a perfectly normal endeavor to undertake. They weren't dressed for the weather, it was dark, and who knew what else might be lurking there beyond the blowing wind. It was suicide to go out into weather like this alone; a buddy-system was always required in his books, even if meant she had to listen to him bitching and complaining loudly about why they were out there.]
If you're going out there, I'm going with you, so that way, you can experience me freezing to death by a bad decision rather than doing everything we can where we know we are relatively safe. [He flashed her a grin.] If I die, you can cut me open and warm your hands again with my innards. I'll probably haunt you, just so you know.
no subject
That's why I'm coming back.
[She tries, but it's a vague attempt and she deflates with a sigh, dropping her bag as she closes the distance and tugs at the rope he's tied around his waist with a clear edge of you win. Because she'd risk herself, but not him.]
I thought I was supposed to be the stubborn idiot, here. But, fine. Bodyheat. I'm not getting naked.
[Teasing, because it makes it easier to back down, to shrug off the fact that he matters to her. And it's honestly more about the ease of how they fit back together rather than just nostalgia. Like Sana, when the girl had found her in the alley, just that way of someone that fit into her life without making her edges feel too sharp and too uncomfortable.]
no subject
Never make a bet one wasn't willing to follow through on.
He didn't smirk, but he also didn't resist when she pulled off the rope from his wrist. The point was made and the impasse called with him the clear victor in a decision like this. He knew how to work the system far better than many would give him credit for.]
Is that the only blanket that you have? It would be useful to cover the entrance as much as possible to conserve heat and limit cold air circulating in.
[He hadn't planned on sleeping out in the woods, so he hadn't packed as if he would. It was not a mistake that he was likely to make again, but for now he was content to survive first and plan better next time.]
no subject
There were only a few people that could get to her by threatening to be just as reckless as she was, and now there was someone that wasn't in a stasis tube, where she could hold onto Darma's promise to keep them safe. No doubt it would be trouble later, because Rumlow's right, in that Ava wears her emotions on her sleeve. Because while she might have Natasha's memories, she's not Natasha, she processes the other woman's skills and experiences in different ways.
And she cares. Stubbornly, defiantly, cares. Once she's unwound the rope from around his waist she slowly lets it slide from her fingers.]
Just-- Actually, I think I have a mylar one. Should be just large enough to cover the entrance.
[Calling it a blanket is a gross overstatement of facts, but she thinks it might work for covering the entrance. She walks back to her bag, refolding the cloth bag she'd been about to run out into the snow with, and tucks it back into her duffle. Then she pulls out a small folded square of silver that she tosses lightly at Rumlow. The concept is that they trap in body heat that would otherwise radiate out, but they're terrible and uncomfortable, and not particularly sturdy, no matter what the SHIELD emergency survival guide says. But right now they mostly just need it to keep the snow out and the lingering heat from the fire in.]
no subject
He let none of that show, and he took the rope back and began to wind it up again. He huffed at the fact she had a mylar blanket, but he also wasn't surprised. She was clearly set up more for survival in harsh weather than he was; again, he was clearly getting slack just living on the streets where he could, never minding the idea of homelessness for the most part. It seemed he was going to have to change his tactics.]
It's better than using the fabric one, especially since no one likes mylar for personal use. Come on, let's put it up.
He approached the entrance, taking his pack with him and keeping the rope on his arm because they were going to have to use it to hold the blanket up. There were enough loose rocks scattered around that they could set down the bottom and he could feel some rocky protrusions that he could tie the rope around and add rocks to weight it down. They shouldn't stand near the entrance of course, but it was good enough.
He was quick about his work setting up the blanket though, long used to working in relative darkness so that tying his knots and adding rocks above was all by feel. Soon enough, they had blocked out most of the storm and already the warmth of the cave could be felt as he backed off deeper into it.]
We'll have to monitor it over the night, probably take sleeping shifts. [Again, all natural and instinctual orders like he had been doing this for years.] We find the spot in the cave narrowest to hold the heat into. I figure the back would be best.
no subject
I can take first shift.
[It's an easy offer. She tends to have trouble sleeping, anyway, so it makes sense. She nods in agreement to those effortless orders, and she grabs her bag, moving with him to the back of the cave, picking out the narrowest area. She pulls out the blanket, which isn't too heavy, but it's big enough for two people to huddle together under, as long as they don't mind cuddling close. And then she pulls out a gun, sets it next to their little spot.]
Doesn't have a clip, so don't grab it.
[An easy warning at she looks over at Rumlow with a slight shrug of her shoulders. It helps her focus her powers, and if something happens, especially with him being so close-- well, having the focus would be a good thing. Keep her from accidentally shocking him, or so she hopes. And then she's pulling out some clothes to make a barrier between their bodies and the cold rock of the floor before laying down, and smirking up at him.] I won't bite.
no subject
First shift is yours. Four hours if you can, wake me if you're falling asleep before then.
[He tended to sleep very well, long years of roughing it teaching his body and mind to grab whatever sleep he could where he could. His pack became his pillow once he realized that Ava had packed the wall already, snorting loudly at her comment of not biting and arranged the blanket so they were both under it. She was obviously a little space heater based on the radiating warmth that already seemed warmer than beyond the blanket.
The gun was interesting, and he would have raised an eyebrow but there seemed to be no point given they were in darkness aside from the flickering embers of the fire.]
You planning on threatening anyone that happens to come in here or something? I have a sidearm with a clip if you want it. [He gave her a little nudge with his fingers.] And don't tease. I happen to like biting. [Which was TMI, but he didn't care.]
no subject
[Her agreement is easy; she has a fairly good timesense, even without relying on her device. Than can probably call someone if it's still bad in the morning, but hopefully the storm will have worn itself out by then, or at least warmed up enough so that trying to find their way back is a less risky endeavor. He arranges the blanket over the both of them and she huddles in against his side in that whole idea of conserving bodyheat.
She runs warm, not unpleasantly, especially under the circumstances, but given how much energy tends to run through her body she doesn't lose heat the way most people do. She really would have been fine in the storm, but Rumlow had clearly been about to follow her out into it, so that was a risk she wouldn't take.]
I can channel my powers through it, makes it easier to direct them. [It's an easy explanation, a faint shrug of her shoulders he can probably feel. It might be flashy, but it'll be quiet, anyway. And it makes sure that if something goes wrong she won't hurt him. Which she already worries about more than she probably should. She just leans her head in against his ribs, getting as comfortable as she can, huddled up in the cold. Ava just casually deciding that since she doesn't have a pillow that he'll have to do.] Oh? Well if you like biting, then that's different.
[There's a certain edge to her voice. Either a little flirtatious, or maybe just amused, it might be hard to tell in the dark.]
Warning: Torture, murder, psychological damage
He wasn't afraid of her powers. They may not have manifested completely when she was under his sparse care, but he wasn't worried that she'd lose control. He also wouldn't care if she did and he happened to receive an injury. It would just be a lesson for them both to learn and adapt with.]
Considering you aren't using your powers that I can tell, is that out to prevent a little accident? [It was a logical assumption to jump to. She clearly didn't hate him, and it was odd to think that after all these years, she was actually still fond of the time they had.
He chuckled as she commented on biting, and it was probably wrong to consider flirting with her. The reply died on his lips though as the air in the cave seemed to change, the darkness seeming to lighten and there was the faint but growing sound of pleading on the wind beyond the noise of the blanket blocking out the storm. Soon the sobbing words of "I'll serve. I'll serve, no more...!" could be picked out.
Rumlow pushed himself up on an elbow and peered through the darkness that seemed to peel backwards to reveal a scene from so far back, he no longer considered it worth the time and energy to remember. A naked man hung from chains from the ceiling, covered in wounds, bruises and sweat. Around his dangling feet were three young children, all dead from a single gunshot wound to the foreheads. The looks of terror was still etched on their little faces. A woman lay naked off to the side, shivering but her femoral veins cut; she was obviously bleeding out fast.
A much, much younger Rumlow stood from between her legs, dragging the side bloody knife blade across his thighs to clean it. He was pale as he turned to stare at the man sobbing, and he gave a low moan as Rollins stepped in behind to hold the man's waist while their HYDRA mentor began a systematic and brutal beating.
"Traitors are lower than normal people. They must know they will lose everything," their mentor said as if merely talking about the weather. The smell of death was rising thick around them, coating the back of their throats. The group of four were used to death; they were in the military now and previously had all served prison time.
The beating was handed over to one of their own who was breathing far too loudly.
"Remember, not the head. He will be conscious; he must understand that before he dies, he has sacrificed the lives of everyone he knows and loves." Patient, calm teaching but also an important lesson to them all. Traitors of HYDRA were the worst scum on Earth.]
no subject
[As if that was the largest of her concerns, and not injury, burning him, painful muscle spasms, any number of things. But she keeps it light, curls up into his side. Arguably for warmth, but she did like the contact, of someone whose company she enjoyed, and the way the contact made her feel a little bit less alone. He chuckles when she mentions biting and she smiles in the dark, but then something shifts, words that seem to slip in past the blanket with the traces of the cold. A slight touch of light, illuminating the shadows, a scene taking shape as the voice becomes more and more real.
Ava shifts, but doesn't pull away from him entirely, even as she watches. It's not that the scene before her isn't terrible, dead children, a woman bleeding out for her husband's betrayal. It's that she understands it, understands what it is to be in a place like that. It's a memory, she realizes, about the time that she breathed it in, could almost taste the blood on the air as the woman bled out, and it feels like memory, which is something she understands better than most. The things she noticed, however, were how pale Rumlow looked as he stepped back from the shivering woman. She noticed how young they were- both Rumlow and Rollins.
The man with words on his tongue about traitors is the one in control here, she can tell, reading the dynamic, the way his lessons are said like commands, and his instructions are rules. This is not just about punishing a traitor, it is also a lesson. Teaching them early what would happen to them. She'd always understood that SHIELD was not a good place, that they were more like the Red Room than they liked to pretend, but she hadn't realized how deep that similarity went. For the moment, she still doesn't know to put the word HYDRA to what she's seeing.
And yet there's a dissonance there, because she had been training recruits, and she would have known if something like this was happening. Maybe it was something with STRIKE, but even if she can't identify it just yet, she knows that there's more to this than just the ugly underside of SHIELD.] How old were you?
[It's not the important question, not the one that most people would focus on; it's not the why or the how could you. But watching she can't help but notice how Rumlow looks so young and almost out of his depth. He's probably older than she is, but he feels younger. She almost wants to reach out and tell him he will get through this, even as the death on the air is enough to choke on.]
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And here he was trapped between old memories and the storm that would surely kill him if he ventured out into. He chose the logical choice: he stayed with his memory, aware that it would damn him on some levels.
Yet, the beating continued because Rollins at that time had been an angry thug, willing to punch a man to death if he had to. He was less so interested in that kind of physical show; at that age, he liked knives and guns more. He certainly could hold his own in a fight, but he preferred the blood. This entire exercise had been a surprise them all, thrown on them when they had been about to head out for the weekend. Instead, this was how they had spent it.
Her question cut into him, and he twitched where he lay, eyes fixed on the man swinging from the chains. There were others in the room; this was the 'interrogation' room for a reason.] ...two days after my twentieth birthday. We were going to go to celebrate...
[It was more information than he normally would volunteer, but the scene sent him right back there. Young, fresh-faced and eager, but he wasn't all obedient either. He had grown up rough, had always questioned what he couldn't control, and the chip on his shoulder hadn't entirely been knocked off yet. This had been a day when he had learned a very, very important lesson on hierarchy and on the order that came with pain. He had been given a very firm lesson on it.
Young Rumlow gulped when he was indicated for the next session of a beating. Again, he wasn't opposed, but it seemed... unnecessary. Their traitorous victim was unconscious. So he dared to question. "Are you certain, sir? He's not conscious anymore."
Rollins shot him a withering look, like he didn't have the balls to beat an unconscious man. However, their mentor turned to regard him, considered his question for a moment in a calmness that hid below it the deeply sadistic man he was. "You are correct. He's unconscious, and there is still so many people to deal with in regards to his transgressions. We will have to wait until he is awake."
Young Rumlow hid his triumph with a sharp nod, but he wasn't so experienced at it when he was twenty. That would come later.
"Remove your jacket and shirt, Private Rumlow," his mentor said blandly, as if disinterested. He hesitated for only a second, but it was a second too long. His mentor snarled, shifting from passive to aggressive in an instance. "NOW, PRIVATE!"
He was out of his jacket and shirt in record time, but it was still too long. Within seconds, his mentor backhanded him across the face, sending him to the floor. "Cuff him up in front of the traitor. Each of you learns a lesson today," his mentor said. Rollins cuffed him and the combined effort of all three hauled him up to hand. His cheek was already swelling from the blow, but he snarled like a feral dog.
His mentor cooed low and soft, as if taming the wild beast. "Easy, now. I'm going to teach you a lesson you can understand, Rumlow. Feral street boy that you are, there are rules, are there not?" His mentor walked away to pick up long piece of metal, clearly an old metal coat hanger and set it to a fire's embers. "Pimps can't damage their goods, so they use very specific tools to teach lessons. You know them, yes?"
"...yes, sir."
"Good. I'm going to teach you a very simple principle: order in pain."
Rumlow touched Ava on the arm, clearing his throat a little. She probably shouldn't watch this, even if he knew she had been through Hell herself.] ...you should cover your ears. This... ain't pretty.
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She knows what it is to question the necessity of brutality and be punished by having it turned on you. Order in pain. It was a thread that connected Hydra and the Red Room, perhaps it should have made those Soviet Hydra and old Leviathan roots more obvious, but Ava had never known, never understood. Any tension in her body isn't because of him, not really. It's because she knows how places like this shape you, and it's so very easy to see Ivan in the man that yells at Rumlow, and that makes something curl in her chest.
Something about the way the man calls him a feral street boy that feels familiar, even if those exact words had never been hers, the tone of them is. That coo, low and soft, and yet she knows enough to predict the violence and aggression that follows. From the moment she saw that flicker on Rumlow's face, she knew what would follow.
He touches her on the arm, and her other hand comes up to brush against his fingers.] I know.
[It's all she can say, but some of the kinship she feels filters into her voice. The kind that says she understands this sort of lesson, that says that they taught her this too. Turning away might be kinder, might be what she should do, but she doesn't. Wont flinch from this truth, and the fact is that she understood it from the moment she saw that flicker on his face, so the least she can do is ride through it with him.]
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Still, he watched as his younger self was turned in his shackles to face the traitor, their bodies bumping in mid-air. A reminder that they could easily share the same fate if he wasn't careful, but he was excellent about being careful most of the time.
All the same, his mentor gave a soft whistle of appreciation. His back was already littered with old scars, stark white lines in his naturally tanned flesh. A gentle hand was passed over his bare back, as if trying to comfort the old pains away, even though the source of it had long ago disappeared from his life.
"This is your family now, all of you," his mentor murmured, soft and sincere. "Your parents all failed you, but I will not. We will not. You belong with us, and like all parents should, you will be taught the important lessons. Do you all understand?" Four voices sounded in agreement, three of them watching transfixed with both a mix of wonder and horror as the red-hot wire was picked up.
The first swing of the wire was precise, from shoulder to hip and a red welt almost instantly rose. There was no blood and it hadn't been fast enough to leave a permanent burn. Their mentor was a precise man, and he made a show of it now, never hitting the same flesh once if he could help it. Young Rumlow gave little cries of pain, toes reaching for the floor that he couldn't find.
It went on for a time, the other three watching with no opposition. When the wire no longer was warm enough, it was returned to the fire and his mentor slapped a hand against the raised welts.
"Someday, Agent Rumlow, you will rise in the ranks. I see great things for you, but you must learn. Do you understand?" Another slap and a grunt from his younger self, almost a whimper. "We are your family. We accept you for who you are and who you are meant to be. Serve loyally and we will always be your family."
"...order in pain," came the soft call.
"Yes, that's right. Hail HYDRA," his mentor said, stroking his back.
"Hail HYDRA," a young Rumlow uttered softly then cried out when his mentor rammed fingers into a pressure point at the back of his thigh.
"Say that like it will save you, boy!"
"Hail HYDRA," the young man repeated with more conviction and was rewarded with a gentler pat.
He sagged in the shackles, even as the hot wire was brought out again, this timed offered to young Rollins who blinked but also knew better than to hesitate. However, it was clear that this was an unfamiliar weapon to the bigger man, and he glanced in askance to their mentor.
"Quick strokes, not to hard. It's hot so you need little force to receive the necessary outcome," their mentor instructed. "Go on."
So Rollins gave it a go, starting too hard and leaving an actual burn and then forced to modify the technique while the other two watched and young Rumlow endured. It went on again for a long time, his back a sea of red welts, some of which blistered.
When it was cooled again, his mentor took the wire and put it back in the fire. "Now, you two are together until one or both of you dies. Your success is his success; your failure is his failure and vice versa. And don't worry, Agent Rollins, I guarantee someday very soon, he will be the one allowing you to understand this lesson too."]
...that scar on Rollins' chin... that was me. [It wasn't difficult to admit. She had seen his big secret, and he wondered what she thought of it. HYDRA out in the open where he never spoke of it.]
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She only knows of HYDRA from the history books, but it's fairly obvious that this is a modern incarnation. This is an organization that thrives on the trappings of family and unity offered to those most desperate for it. She hates watching the marks on his skin, but she doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away, lets his suffering settle on her skin as she watches. It makes her feel her own scars, faint and almost invisible as they are from how clean she heals most of the time. Handcuff marks on her wrists. Ava had been a stubborn child, once. Angry and almost feral, raised with orphans and treated like animals.
She's quiet for a moment, nodding, then she shifts, leaning into his chest and dragging a hand up from his shoulder to touch against the side of his face. It's still dark, even with the shadows of memories, and the last thing she'd want to do under the circumstances is catch him by surprise.] I don't- hate you, I'm not angry or anything. And I still don't think you're a bad person, not really. We're both ugly on the inside, but that is what it is.
[She quiets for a moment, trying to figure out how to approach this, but in the end there's just a slight sigh as she gives up on trying to be diplomatic. Skips trying to explain how all of this was so closely tangled up into her own experiences. And so instead she just asks the obvious thing:] What was Hydra? To you, I mean. Not out of the history books. What did it mean to you?
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So he supposed that he wasn't actually surprised that Ava wasn't angry with him, with the decisions that had been made a long time ago which he couldn't and wouldn't take back. This also wasn't a subject that he spoke about, though maybe his hand was forced all the same. It was his life, and he didn't have to explain himself to anyone.
HYDRA was a well-oiled machine. It knew how to recruit and retain; it had spent fifty years doing so after it had been remade. He too had recruited, and those he recruited also did so. That was part of buying into the loyalty; one had to spread it too.
He wanted to tell her that he didn't care what she thought, and he knew that he would be right too. What he did was his business, and he didn't ask for the approval of anyone; he had long ago stopped looking for it beyond HYDRA itself. However, he held his peace on that, understanding that she was processing and filling the air with her thoughts as if they might comfort him... or maybe herself.
Her question earned a soft grunt from him, and he considered not saying anything but telling her to knock it off. However, she, like Romanoff, might understand if not agree.] HYDRA was my salvation, my family. They gave me a chance and a means to grow and become a man who could change the world for the better. They encouraged it, and yeah, I got my hands awful dirty, but I did it because HYDRA gave my opportunity to believe what I did would make a real difference.
[Beyond them, the memory continued, though young Rumlow was released from his bonds and staggered to get dressed again. He struggled back into his uniform while their mentor approached the waking traitor and neat as anything, blew the man's brains out, messing the wall behind the now dead body.
"Clean this up, you four. There can be not a trace," he said and looked around at them. The lesson had been taught. This was the worst part, cleaning up the bodies, the blood, the brains and everything else that came with erasing the dead like they never existed.
However, Rollins hesitated from joining the other two and came over to help him into his jacket when it was clear he was struggling but not complaining. Their mentor was pleased and left them to their grim task.]
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She'd already decided that she was okay with it in the way that mattered. And she might be hypocritical in some ways, but she owned what she believed. She was far more interested in what he believed than she was in trying to argue that it was horrible and wrong. And his answer is one that she can understand. In honesty, it had been part of why she'd stayed with SHIELD, aside from raw survival, self-preservation. That line they sold of being able to change the world, that she could be someone, that she was special.
So she understands. She might agree a little less if she knew what their plan entailed, but she could still understand the logic of it. Peace by stripping out the chaos; order through pain on a mass scale. The important thing to her, is where he goes from here, what he does in a world where that system that he'd grown up in has been torn apart. So she listens and she nods, and as those last words echo, she's about to say something. There are words on her lips, something warm, maybe hopeful, but then there's a voice that cuts through it. Words in Russian, cooing soft on the wind, and for a moment there's a disconnect, where she thinks it's still one of Rumlow's memory.
<< I know you can do better, show me what I taught you. >>
But no, as the shadows shift, there's a pair of young girls, and a man in a Russian military uniform, with just a hint of ink from above the collar. One of them is unmistakably Ava, but younger even than when Rumlow had met her out on the tarmac. She's not that quiet girl, not yet, instead here she's almost feral, young and angry and stubborn. And she still cared too damn much.
She's sparring with another young girl, a brunette, only a little bit older than her. She has the girl pinned beneath her, a hand on her throat, the other girl's eyes are glassy, almost disoriented. But Ava's hand slips and the girl manages to slip from the redhead's grasp. It's not accidental, and Ava is good but not good enough for it to be convincing to someone that knows better. The girl had been straggling, and Ava knew what that meant, had been trying to keep her from slipping too far.
And she hasn't yet learned to associate that soft tone to his voice with danger. He eventually calls the match and the two girls get to their feet. Ivan doesn't say anything, but Ava clearly already knows how it goes, can feel the weight. Has calculated the number of fights she's lost, and she knows. You can see the flicker in her brown eyes, the way that her shoulders set, the way she's clearly almost learned to hold her tongue, but not how to do it well. Not yet. And she knows that she's guilty here too- coddling her, trying to save her. But she doesn't know when to cut her loses.
Outside of the memory Ava's fingers shift, away from Rumlow's face to curl at the back of his neck, like he's something that she can hold onto, an anchor as her body tenses because she knows where this goes. This wasn't a mirror that she needed or wanted held up. But somehow, he's maybe the most acceptable in some fucked up way. There are reasons no one knows about this. She doesn't want judgement or pity, and she knows without having to test it that almost everyone would offer some variation on the theme. Except maybe him.
<< She isn't the worst. >> Ava ventures, her voice quiet. Spindly limbs and a bright shine in her eyes. The man in the uniform seems to regard her, considering something, and he smiles at her. It could be mistaken for something kindly, but it's more sadistic pleasure than any kind of positive feelings. This is where they tried to cut out her ability to care. When he shoots the brunette, it's sudden, shocking, drips a mist of red on Ava's bare shoulder.
Her small body suddenly tenses in rage, eyes hot with anger as the dead girl, hardly much older than Ava slumps to the ground with a wet thud. He throws a knife toward the redhead with an almost doting smile on his face. << Do you want to kill me, Ptenets? >> As if he doesn't know the answer. Ava knows this is a test, but it's hard to choose if it's worse to show weakness or emotion; although the truth is that she was already in deep from the moment she cared, from the moment she gave him something to carve out of her.]
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People that grew up as they did needed to be cared about, and they had to be given an opportunity to care in some twisted capacity. Order through pain. There was no order without sacrifice in some way.
And when the scene shifted, Rumlow knew it wasn't his immediately. The voice, the scene, the girls were all wrong, which meant that they had made a transition into one of Ava's memories. She was younger and fiercer than he remembered her, practically willing to attack anything, and yet, he too saw her capacity to care that young, especially when the other girl was involved. Someone with as much combat experience as he had saw her move, and it would take her much longer to master a skill of feigning a combat slip.
His arm reached out to slip around her lithe waist, offering the little comfort that he could given the situation. The murder was expected, and it was clear that the man in the uniform was looking to push Ava. That he offered her a reason and a means to kill him was just the beginning no doubt.]
Is this the Red Room?
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Yes. That's Ivan.
[The answer is quiet, simple. The knife spins on the ground; a good knife, carved handle, and Ava lunges for it, grabbing it from the floor and holding it in a reverse grip. There are many things the Red Room tries to take from you, but the one thing you can never allow yourself to be is weak. And so she goes for the knife. Ivan's smile is sharp, but he's clearly pleased to some extent that she took the knife.
Ava is all sharp edges, and there's even a flash of teeth before she's crossing the distance. She's got ability, fast and agile, her frame small but lithe, and she's light on her feet as she closes the distance, but the way she moves is clearly unfinished. Fighting for her at this age is mostly survival and desperation, even if she's one the best of her class, they're all still young.
Ivan on the other hand, is larger, has a longer reach, and has decades of skill. She slashes at him and he sidesteps and hits her hard, knocking her down. But Ava's eyes are hard and hot and she gets back up to her feet. And this repeats, over and over, with Ivan growing harsher in the ways that he knocks her down, until bruises pepper her arms and her lips are split and she has a bloody nose. But she doesn't falter. She drags herself back to her feet, time and again.
She doesn't know when to stay down.]
<< An animal needs to learn to heel the hand that feeds it. >>
[Ava's smile is bloody and bitter as she meets his eyes.] << I'm not an animal. >>
[And that's when Ivan frowns, something stormy and disappointed in his eyes and he pulls out a knife, pushing the offensive, and Ava manages to avoid the first two strikes, but it's graceless. Falling and rolling off her shoulder, sliding out of the way. Then the blade cuts into her shirt, slicing the fabric and leaving thin red lines, controlling the blade, trying to make a point. He doesn't really cut her, not badly. But as she dodges the blade, he backhands her across the temple and midstrike it's not hard for him to knock the knife from her hand. He nods to the soldiers and they grab her, dragging her small body off somewhere as she struggles.
Ava holds onto Rumlow a little bit tighter, her heart racing.] It wasn't a good place.
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In that way, Ivan's 'training' of Ava didn't surprise him at all. He knew that the Soviets were some of the harshest trainers, but they also produced extremely good results. They knew how to break a person down and build them back up, but this was still Ava whom he had taken an early shine to when he had met her on a private airstrip as if he were picking up a parcel for SHIELD.
She had, in essence, been trained as he had. She had suffered physical abuse to be taught skills, to be taught to avoid the knife next time. Harsh discipline was, in his mind, worthwhile. It had produced him after all, and he knew tough love better than he knew the kindness of it. It was clear that they had both learned and maybe on some level recognized that what happened to them was not entire healthy or normal.
He lifted his hand from where it rested on the floor and carded his fingers through her red hair, watching the scene play out the rest of the way. He hummed low in his throat, a sound of understanding.]
Order in pain. [It was a simple mantra. It worked for him.] You said that Romanoff put a bullet in his brain? I'm surprised it wasn't you who finished your training on that act.
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Order in pain. [It's a soft echo; not a mantra she'd ever heard before, but it was a truth. It was how the Red Room worked, and from what she'd seen, how Hydra worked too. She nods at the question, a low murmur of agreement.] Everyone thought he was dead after the night Natasha picked me up in Odessa. No way he could have survived the explosion. I would have killed him without blinking, if I had the chance. But I was supposed to disable the OPUS machine while Natasha kept his attention.
[They'd all had their roles to play. The way she describes how things had gone down in the end is short, skips some of the big pieces, her own personal tragedy, doesn't mention Alexei. Not because she doesn't trust him, but because it's a hard thing for her to talk about at all, to anyone. Even with Alexei's name carved on the wall of SHIELD agents that have lost their lives, she doesn't even talk to Natasha about it much. she'd told her team about it, once. But they'd wanted to understand her, wanted to splice her life into some hero's tale like one of the Avengers, so she gave them her story.
It'd mean more if she told him, so she doesn't, not yet. It'd be more than just why she pushes herself, and why she is what she is, and the fact that she's not anyone's hero.
The memory, however, continues to play out. Soldiers in uniform dragging her away, through doors to what looks like a bathroom. They handcuff her wrists around a pipe under a sink, and she struggles, alone for a few minutes until one of the soldiers comes back and douses her in cold water. They leave her there for a while, struggling against the cuffs until her small wrists bleed, small feet slipping on the slick tiles, unable to get her footing, shivering from the cold.
It's later when Ivan walks in, and she's exhausted, energy spent on her struggles, so all she can do is look up at him, and there's still anger there, but with less of the hate. Less pointed and vicious, most of that spent. He tells her than she is an animal, worthless, something for him to shape into something that can be used. And as he talks, demeaning and humiliating, he beats her, kicks her as she tries to escape, but there's nowhere for her to go.]
<< An animal that can't be broken is worthless. So it's the same. The Red Room demands loyalty. We are all good patriots, we all understand the cause. And you could be special. >>
[But the gentleness, how soft and coy his tone is, doesn't make her punishment gentle. There's a slim length of metal, and it sparks at one end with current. Her wet skin makes it conduct better, gets more coverage, and he's careful about where he stands. He presses the end to her collarbone, through thin wet fabric and her body spasms. Ivan repeats the gesture, over and over, sometimes giving her space to breathe between his tortures, and sometimes he doesn't. He repeats it until he makes her scream, and then he smiles, drawing out those cries. If Rumlow's sharp, he might pick up on the fact that Ivan had her attached to the pipe for the acoustics. So that the sounds would carry. So that the other girls would hear her screams. This is a lesson for her, but also for all the others.
He tortures her until her body gives out, until she's shaking with sobs on the floor. And that's how the scene fades out into shadows.]
I hated being kept prisoner in 7B. But, remembering what the Red Room was like-- What Ivan was like? [HYDRA might not have been good people, but they'd never treated her like Ivan did. Even if she'd clearly learned those lessons, at least in part. She'd never been perfectly loyal, perfectly obedient, never a true patriot. Maybe it was why she was the one he gave to HYDRA. Instead of finishing the thought they both understand she just sighs, leans into Rumlow softly, curls fingers in the back of his hair.]
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So comforting her and viewing her memories was nothing he hadn't done before. She seemed to take to his age old mantra easily, and for people like them, it might be the only truth that they could find in the dark of their own memories.] You had your mission and I expect that you followed it. That's the most important detail here.
[The memory plodded forward without a jump, and Rumlow had seen many people beaten and electrocuted in his lifetime. Hell, he'd experienced it more than once himself, so he knew that it was often one of the most painful experiences that left a person trembling and aching all over. It blanked the mind and left only agony in its wake, and one of the few times it had ever bothered him was to watch the Asset ground to nothing with electricity for refusing an order that the Soldier shouldn't have been placed on first and foremost.
That she was tied like an animal and tormented was more a method of common torture than any exotic. It was effective if rudimentary. Ivan was clearly enjoying himself, clearly pushing Ava to be something more than what she was displaying. He also understood the lesson well, and he didn't condone it. People needed to know where they stood and what would happen if they went against orders.]
You were kept like a weapon in a drawer in 7B, under-utilized because they didn't think you were ready. They wanted you trained more, but they always seem to forget that young women can lead in other capacities. [And she would have been better off learning in the world than stuck in a little room. They had done their best, but they too were forced to follow orders. That's just the way things were, and it was a necessary evil they had all had to face.]
Seems to me that Ivan guy enjoyed breaking you, and that ain't the place of a true instructor. It just becomes torture at that point and loses the value of the lesson.
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There's comfort in the contact, in being close to someone like she hasn't in a long time. Not like this. Not since that night in the burnt out lab, when she'd realized what her mother had done to her and she'd crumbled, realized how broken she was and Alexei had held her head in his lap and stroked her hair.]
I did. I didn't-- save anyone. But we got rid of the machine, Natasha shot Ivan and I watched him die before the gunfire started.
[There are people with whom this would be an uncomfortable admittance, where Alexei would hang heavy on the air, like a ghost that still whispered her name, but with Rumlow it's easier, simpler. Just his warmth, the solid feeling of him, his fingers in her hair, how he's something tangible she can hold onto, and that's good. Maybe someone else would see it as fucked up- and maybe it is- but in a way he's safer than even Natasha. He tried, at least, cared enough to try, and that's more than just about anyone else in her life, but especially from those days.]
Yeah, Ivan deserved to die. But to be honest, if they hadn't kept the leash so tight around my throat, I might not have run. But I felt like I was choking on it. I couldn't stay. It wasn't you, I just... I felt like I was going to die in that place. And I wanted more than that.
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