overjoyed_logs | open | i spent a life time on this

ONE.

[ It starts on a metal floor.

Only it's definitely not as ominous as it sounds, because everyone's sitting. The sunset's within view, and everything's quiet, peaceful; just off to the side there's a cooler with a few bottles of beer. There's a sense of calm, triumph, and happiness that floats in the memory, as if something big had just happened ( there might be something fuzzier, senses dulled; the beer bottle in hand having something to do with that ). In the distance, there's a rocket being launched, slowly ascending into the sky. Aside from a pretty sick view and some white noise in the back ground though, it's not doing much.

The first real sound comes from a man with a mess of curls on his head, sitting near by. ] The trajectory'll take it just beyond the LaGrange point so that it doesn't hit Herschel— [ There's a pause, as another voice complains "Guys, English", but Fitz ignores that, instead smiling with his teeth. ] We did alright today, didn't we?

TWO.

[ Everything's metal still, but it's ominous this time — everything's darker, no sunset ( or sunlight in general, really ), the room nothing but slightly upgraded version of a metal crate with a window. The window has a man standing on the other side, looking stern, arms across his chest. ]

We're friends, aren't we? We've been friends, we've had laughs together — [ The mess of curls is back, still distinctly Scottish and equally desperate, also standing inside the crate. This time, the theme is desperation — for the man on the other side of the glass, the situation, and everything else in between. I can't die here surfaces as a thought, every so often. ]

Tell him! [ Suddenly, the Fitz turns around, face crumpled up in a frown. His entire body seems to be gesturing at the man behind the glass ( or are they behind the glass? ). ] Tell him that he can choose to be good, that he has a choice!

Edited 2017-03-15 06:41 (UTC)

[ Fenris looks between Fitz and the man, his eyebrows furrowing. The urgency is palpable--as is the misery. This is someone Fitz cares for, someone he's trying to reach, someone he needs to reach. But Fenris has never been good at sugarcoating a situation.

He mutters, eyes down. ]

Does he? It is not always so simple.

But— [ And his words stumble again, long before he has a chance to think about what Fenris is saying ( why Fenris is here is a question he'll never ask ). ] No, no, no, he does, things don't have to be this way—! He's more than some guy just ordering him around!

[ But really, what use is it to explain all of this Fenris? He turns again, watching the window as the tall man turns, toward a control panel, and suddenly the dream turns desperate again. ] Ward?

... Ward, what are you doing? [ The hydraulics around the room start to give out, and the crate begins to go off kilter. Better brace yourself, Fenris. ]

[ Fenris does brace himself, his eyes widening as the situation takes a clear turn for the dangerous. He reaches for Fitz, trying to grab him by the arm. ]

We should go. Now!

— We—

[ . . . He looks helpless, panic levels slowly rising until he's thinking at everything in circles, over and over again. The man doesn't turn around, at the control panels. ] We can't.

[ Said in an exhale, words coming out with a send of dread that threatens to consume hi. ] The doors are locked from the outside.

[ Well, that's not good. Fenris glances back towards the crate, his jaw tightening. ]

What do you suggest we do, then?

[ The scariest part is, he doesn't have an answer. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes, and—

The crate tilts too far, until the walls become the ground; around the same time ( maybe a second apart ), his feet begin to lift off of the floor, his shoulders thudding against the enclosure.

They're free falling, straight into an ocean ( usually, this is the part of the nightmare Fitz should wake up in, but that's not happening just yet ). ]

[ Fenris scrambles, but to no effect; he can't find purchase on anything, because there's nothing to be found. His sense of time and space goes haywire, and he twists in the fall, searching for something to make sense of what's going on. He grabs for Fitz again, holding him by the wrists. ]

I need you to talk to me--

[ Or wake up. ]

[ It's all happening so fast — from the tilt to the fall, the fall to his feet slowly leaving the safety of the ground, one last glance at a turning Ward. The sensation of dropping at terminal velocity spiking his heart rate to something beyond what he's comfortable with, Fenris' voice somewhere far away.

And then, darkness. Or at least, darkness and a small thud along with a sharp pain up his back, then a yelp as he scrambles to a sitting position. It's silent in his room ( of course it is ), and Fitz seems to have fallen off his bed, a mess of blankets and a sweaty palms.

( He tries to remember what's brought him to this state, but the dream is already slipping from his memories. ) ]

[ Generally, it's human resources that outfits new enforcers with their communication devices. He just has to tinker with them every so often, make sure they're in tip-top shape, every upgrade he can possible think of crammed into them. The whole human interaction bit isn't something Fitz has been required to do in a while — not unless it's one of his team members he needs to boss around, or his boss sending him a new list of tasks. Or when he has to seek someone out by choice.

Point is, unless someone needs something directly from him ( which, frankly, isn't very often in the Company ), he's perfectly content with becoming the reclusive scientist trope.

But there's an exception to every rule, and Shiro coming by is apparently one of them. A new enforcer with a familiar name, only it hasn't actually been very long since they've last seen each other. Why he needs a new comm is beyond Fitz, hands tapping on the desk he's leaning against, but — orders are orders. He's gotta do what he's gotta do. ]

Took you long enough. [ The lab is empty, conveniently so, because apparently Shiro really is an exception to every rule. While the Scottish sarcasm drips from his voice, it's not unfriendly; it's not like he was particularly late. ] C'mon, let's get you set up with one of these babies.

[ generally, human resources would throw him another earpiece and be done with it. after the first few weeks, after stumbling out of arcturus and being guarded by a soldier at all times, they learned pretty quickly not to care about him at all. he's a betting piece, a tax write-off; he's demoted personnel left to deal with the more annoying flights around the quad, with the slim pickings of patrols that no enforcer with more pride would really care to take.

point is, he doesn't mind being a recluse either. in fact, all the better when his communication feed occasionally buzzes with watery static, occasionally stretches with long lapses of silence without a single check-in to report no activity to hq. no one cares about the places where shiro's sent to patrol. no one notices at all.

no one notices -- until, of course, they do. but it's easy to blame technology when they usually give him the oldest models and the barest minimum. he tells them, i didn't notice that the comm feed went offline, and they take the excuse.

once, then twice, then three times before enough becomes enough, and they send him to the labs.

he just hopes it's a fluke. ]

Lunch hour traffic. You're gonna have to cut me a break.

[ but it's good-humored and accompanied with an easy grin. he's got two bags in tow: sandwiches, chips, cookies and the usual standard fare -- not for any fear that fitz might forget to feed himself, but -

. . .

well. maybe some fear. ]

Hope this thing didn't put you off any of your other projects.

[ It's fear well-founded, considering the state of the lab and the extra pieces of broken tech that seems to be all over the place, but it wouldn't be Fitz if he refused food. The sarcasm eases up with a simple shrug, especially once his eyes have found the two innocent bags in Shiro's hand. ]

Worse things have happened. [ At least he wasn't an hour late, because Enforcers with no regard for anyone else's time suck. Besides — food or not, it's not like Shiro's some guy he's never met before. A late day or two will never hurt. ] Nothing urgent, you're good. [ Besides - if he started getting scolded for not finishing whatever new task on time he can just blame HR for it. That tends to work.

But anyway. ] Food first? [ It's supposed to come out as a casual suggestion, but 29-year-old-Leopold Fitz has his priorities. ] Unless you feel like getting your mouth swabbed. The stuff tastes... er— [ ... Give him a minute, he has this. ] Repulsive.

[ Reassuring. ]

[ they're sound priorities. fitz looks like he's buried neck-deep in projects by the look of the laboratory, the number of disparate pieces scattered and shining in the white, artificial light of the room. there's barely space enough to settle down beside the mess, to squeeze their lunch bags into some available space on the counter top.

but knowing fitz, he probably had plans for that empty work space. oh well. ]

I'll just take your word for it . . .

Any reason they're making you go through the trouble of an - [ cavity search?? what in the world do you even call something like that??? ] . . . oral swab?

Unless you'd prefer to save the explanation until after the food.

[ The bags landing on the lab bench is basically invitation to open it — right? Fitz casually reaches for the bag, easily slipping a hand inside to grab the sandwich. ] Thanks. [ It takes the tiniest amount of struggling but he unwraps the sandwich, successfully takes the first bite— ]

Hm? [ Give him a minute, he decided to take a bite while Shiro was still asking a question ( he cares, he really does ). ] Oh. [ A swallow, and then: ] The comm reacts to your DNA — minimizes the risk of non-Company folk trying to... to... hijack classified information, or something like that. Also makes it easier to track who's speakin' and when.

... Not that it should matter, the thing's already tiny enough that no one should be noticin' it. [ So why they had to go ahead and decide to add bio to this is beyond him. He roll his eyes, as if to accentuate the point even further, before taking another bite of the sandwich. ]

Didn't think we'd be using this tech starting now, though. [ It's not phrased as a question, but the "do you know why" that should follow after is ... definitely there. ]

[ The lab looks not unlike the one he normally works it, except for a few key differences — the most notable being that everything is terribly outdated here. The second being that despite the halls just outside the labs looking as lively ( a subjective term, considering it mostly seems to be people meaning business, travelling in two ), the lab is deserted — save for two people.

One is probably much more familiar than the other — he's focusing at the computer screens ( old ) in front of him, a hand on his chin that looks like it's supporting most of his upper body. Near him, a table or two away, is a woman with long, blonde hair with her arms folded across her chest. They look like they're... talking about something—

Then the next minute, the only person that can be seen is the man. Everything that's seen is in view of where the woman should have been standing. Fitz sees nothing different, clearly in the middle of speaking. ] — is why you're afraid to go back into the field.

Isn't it?

[ from here.

Because Fitz's lab ( the longer he says it, the more he seems to get used to it; but it doesn't have the same ring anymore ) is a disaster at all times, with half-assembled parts and projects-in-progress that come from all his labmates. There's an R&D lab standard ... somewhere, but it's hard when most of his team are a bunch of engineering geniuses.

After all, biochemistry doesn't have to share space with them anymore.

So— while the lab is deserted ( with the exception of one, who looks like he's wearing some kind of ridiculous goggles, bent over a table ), Jason should walk into a mess. Home sweet home, apparently. ] ... Good evening.

[ Called out to the entrance the moment he hears the doors slide open. There's only one person he's expecting right now. ]

[It's not that hard—ducking into the R&D lab like he belongs there. (He most definitely doesn't, given he'd helped take out a weapons R&D facility not too long ago.) He takes his time wandering through the mess, giving a nosy look over the odds and ends on the tables before coming to a stop not too far from Fitz and his ridiculous new eyewear.

He reaches over to pick up an oddly-shaped scrap of something and turn it over idly, all jagged-edges and spilling wires.]

Now, is that any way to treat a guest?

[Don't be rude, Fitz, you have company.]

Maybe if the fate of my job was in your hands, it'd be different.

[ Sorry Jason, he's got priorities. But Fitz isn't an asshole for long, slipping off the magnifier off his eyes before he turns around on his spinning chair, hands more or less free of whatever tool he was holding— ]

'ey! Don't touch that! [ — He scrambles up from his seat, half-running towards the scrap ( not a scrap!!! ) in Jason's hands. Hopefully, he can swipe it away from Jason's hands, set it down, but his reflexes suck compared to any Killjoy's. ]

[Too slow, bud. Reflex has him ducking out of reach as much as the impulse to be a pain in the ass. He backsteps, scrap vanishing out of reach when Fitz swipes for it. Now that's not very nice, either.]

I'll have you know I take offense to that, too.

[Does he pay you or doesn't he, Fitz. You have more than one job as long as you're taking his money.]

I could take my joy elsewhere, I suppose.

[But that would be, y'know, a pain in the ass.]

[ Reasons why Fitz really shouldn't leave stuff lying around: exhibit A. He won't learn, though.

He half-crashes into the lab bench behind Jason's, jaw set and expression crumpling at the impact, but the stupid piece of machinery is still in the Killjoy's stupid hand and—

With a grunt, he stands again, both hands running down the side of his head in frustration. ] I don't care about your joy, you're holding a god damn bio-hazard— [ Weapons prototype. But his brain doesn't quite get that far, which means instead of real words there's just one long, frustrated grunt. His head tilts back, eyes staring up at the ceiling ( inhale, exhale— ), before he looks forward again; hopefully, "bio-hazard" is enough for Jason to get the message. ]

So unless you suddenly feel like not having an arm, I'd put that down.

Biohazard, huh?

[He doesn't drop it—he's not actually careless—but he lowers it to get a better look, cocking a brow back at Fitz.]

Lot of that going around, lately.

[What with the plague released a few weeks back and all. Jason had caught up with the scientist responsible, picked up the warrant for the answers as much as the joy. But he'd been too far gone to really glean any motives or means from. It had, however, definitely been fishy.]

[ His supervisors tend to be ... he has a number of them. Mostly because his R&D team gets shuffled around the different departments within the Company, depending on the current demand, which means the people he works with ( or for, but after a certain point that difference is minimal ) tend to vary wildly. In people, position, personality—

Rhys is one of them, theoretically, just by the virtue of being higher up on the hierarchy than Fitz will ever want to be ( VP of anything sounds too complicated for a guy like him; he'd much rather deal with nanoparticles and circuitry ). Yet when it comes down to it he tends to come in with requests more than orders, much like how everyone else not within the Company would handle it. Not that Fitz minds, but...

His stream of ( rambling ) thoughts are interrupted by the doors sliding open. Fitz may have lost track of time but he was definitely supposed to meet Rhys here today, which means ...

Finally, he looks up from the many screens by his table, leaning back on his chair to sneak a peek at the door. The few people that are still in the lab with him hardly pay any mind. ] Oh. [ He may not have expected it, but he wasn't working on anything important, so— ] Hey.

C'mon in.

[ Rhys has always been the odd one out when it came to being especially...Nine-like. Or even upper level management-like in the Company. He can do the business side of things as well as the next person sure, duck his head and blend in. But that's not exactly his goal or why he took up a position in the first place. He's out to make a name for himself.

The particular plan he's cooked up for that involves a lot of doing most of the legwork himself though which is why he's meeting Leo in the first place, one of those slightly-wider shiny silver suitcases held in hand. ]

Hey, am I...early or something?

[ Because this doesn't look like the desk of a man prepped and ready to dissect a bunch of tech for him, just saying. ]

What? [ Rule number one in Fitz's lab — everything is in constant chaos, at all times. It's a natural byproduct of the work he does, the number of projects the R&D team seems to take on at any given moment. A bench a project, theoretically, except sometimes he needs the soldering iron from this one bench because that's the only place with the right tip size, and then everything's back to chaos again.

Point is, he shakes his head ( his lab looks fine, thank you very much ) eyebrows furrowing. ] No, you're right on time. [ Presumably. He shrugs, his simulations can wait — his arms move across his chest, nodding at the case in his hand. ] 's that what you were talking about? [ It's time to find an empty table. ]

Yeah. [ Rhys nods and lifts the case like he means to put it down, but there's...not exactly a lot of organized space on the desk, so he just sort of holds it awkward for a moment before lowering it again. ]

Do you, uhh...have some place I could set this down? What's with the mess in here?

The mess — [ And now, with a tinge of annoyance in his voice, as a free hand gestures at the tables ( it's a mess, but he calls it "organized chaos", or something ). ] are all the things that the Company's expectin' from us in the next week or so.

[ So if Rhys has a better way to keep all of that organized, he'd appreciate it ( don't mind him, he's just sensitive )!! ] Just set it down where ever you see space. [ There's probably one convenient bench not far from Rhys, somewhere. ]

Right. [ Somewhere. Fitz is lucky Rhys's limb is secretly robotic or this would be very uncomfortable and he'd complain more instead of just sighing in annoyance and setting it aside once he finds a spot for it. He pops open the case a moment later and moves aside for Leo to inspect it. ]

I need you guys to see if you can break this down and make it more powerful. Or efficient. Both, ideally? But I'll take one or the other, it's not exactly state-of-the-art tech. [ It's hodunk bandit tech, but it works well enough to filter out toxins in the short-term. ]

open | i spent a life time on this

OTA

two

pretend i'm not late

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for shiro.

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for kate.

for jason.

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for rhys.

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god this is late, i'm sorry :c

it's okay<3

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