Nova Prime / Rich Rider (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iamresponding) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
legionworld2016-01-02 08:59 pm
iamresponding) wrote in legionworld2016-01-02 08:59 pm
Entry tags:
Imagine There's No Heaven
Who| Rich Rider and YOU
What| Laying face down in the grass in Central Park like a goon
Where| Central Park in the Habitat area of the ship
When| Same day he woke up, natch
Warnings/Notes| Nothing really.
Rich hated being told to slow down. There was a part of him that was screaming at him to be on the move. After all, there had to be 8X8 planetary distress calls to answer; this universe was supposedly as much of a mess as his was.
But the medicos here refused to budge on the "you need rest and time to adjust, especially since you need to adjust to the prosthetic arm" thing so here he was resting and trying to adjust. Kind of. If tooling around the whole ship without stopping was the same as resting and adjusting. Because he couldn't seem to stand still.
Admittedly, even just walking was hard. The Nova Force was still there -- he could feel it -- but it was definitely diminished somehow and that meant his invulnerability and superstrength were gone. Without that pinpoint precision and body awareness it gave him at full capacity, his extremities were a little numb and he was clumsy as anything, just like he was the last time he'd lost the Nova Force.
So after a whole day of pacing around the ship from place to place -- and constantly tripping over his own feet as he did it -- he walked through Central Park (Central Park! Made just for him, reconstructed out of old historical records!) and tripped one last time over his own feet, practically falling on his face in the middle of Strawberry Fields, not far from the "Imagine" John Lennon memorial.
Then he just...stopped. Finally. Because he was alive and he felt grass on his face. How long had it been since he actually felt grass? So he kicked off his boots and socks, too, digging his toes into it.
He'd almost forgotten what grass felt like, but it was itchy and smelled green and earthy and non-sterile in the way everything in space didn't. And as itchy as it was, it was...nice.
Apparently, the Human Rocket could slow down for at least a little while. How 'bout that?
Since he was focusing a bit more on the grass and the light artificial breeze, and his own breathing (he was alive, he was breathing) he wasn't focusing on how it looked to be a grown man face down in the middle of a field.
Truth be told, it looked pretty ridiculous.
What| Laying face down in the grass in Central Park like a goon
Where| Central Park in the Habitat area of the ship
When| Same day he woke up, natch
Warnings/Notes| Nothing really.
Rich hated being told to slow down. There was a part of him that was screaming at him to be on the move. After all, there had to be 8X8 planetary distress calls to answer; this universe was supposedly as much of a mess as his was.
But the medicos here refused to budge on the "you need rest and time to adjust, especially since you need to adjust to the prosthetic arm" thing so here he was resting and trying to adjust. Kind of. If tooling around the whole ship without stopping was the same as resting and adjusting. Because he couldn't seem to stand still.
Admittedly, even just walking was hard. The Nova Force was still there -- he could feel it -- but it was definitely diminished somehow and that meant his invulnerability and superstrength were gone. Without that pinpoint precision and body awareness it gave him at full capacity, his extremities were a little numb and he was clumsy as anything, just like he was the last time he'd lost the Nova Force.
So after a whole day of pacing around the ship from place to place -- and constantly tripping over his own feet as he did it -- he walked through Central Park (Central Park! Made just for him, reconstructed out of old historical records!) and tripped one last time over his own feet, practically falling on his face in the middle of Strawberry Fields, not far from the "Imagine" John Lennon memorial.
Then he just...stopped. Finally. Because he was alive and he felt grass on his face. How long had it been since he actually felt grass? So he kicked off his boots and socks, too, digging his toes into it.
He'd almost forgotten what grass felt like, but it was itchy and smelled green and earthy and non-sterile in the way everything in space didn't. And as itchy as it was, it was...nice.
Apparently, the Human Rocket could slow down for at least a little while. How 'bout that?
Since he was focusing a bit more on the grass and the light artificial breeze, and his own breathing (he was alive, he was breathing) he wasn't focusing on how it looked to be a grown man face down in the middle of a field.
Truth be told, it looked pretty ridiculous.
no subject
That was how they'd won the war. They'd been just smart enough and just brave enough (some would say "suicidal enough") to get close enough to Annihilus and take him down.
Donnie seemed pretty prepared to take some of that on -- finding a way out of this. For someone so young, it was a lot of responsibility to take on and to Rich, that was impressive.
"Y'know, for someone so young -- 'cause you can't be older than your late teens, right?" It was hard to tell from his size alone when it didn't seem to correspond entirely to how humans were, but his voice didn't sound adult-like. "This don't seem to be phasing you that much. But it sounds like you have a pretty interesting life back home, too."
It was still a special thing, though, for a teenager to just roll with the punches and he liked Donnie's earnestness. Not every teen hero managed to pull it off. Nova knew of some that would've caved if they'd had to fight in the Skrull-Xandar war like he had, for instance. Hell, he'd lived through a few battles that were so traumatic that the Xandarians had wiped his memory of them, so that he only remembered them years and years later.
no subject
And not only because of the mutagen, really. They'd been able to understand things much sooner than their chronological age would have allowed, but they'd been forced to put that to the test right away. It felt like they'd been going a mile a minute ever since they escaped from Stockgen, and even the things that should've been victories just seemed to lead into still more fighting.
"Interesting's a pretty nice way to put it. But this isn't my first trip to another dimension...it's just the first one that didn't start with getting shot at."
Though he had full faith that they'd run into that snag soon enough, whether they liked it or not.
no subject
"Always a plus." He paused. "Never lasts long, though."
He'd been to an alternate dimension or two in his day. He'd even faced an alternate of his own brother, who'd been the Nova protecting Earth in another dimension. He'd failed and then taken it on himself to kick him around in his timeline until he was strong enough to protect his own Earth from the same threat.
"Shouldn't be that bad here, though. Sounds like a standard hero gig, and that can be tough but it's better than some of what I've dealt with any day. Least we weren't pulled into a war."
Again, in his case.
"Or into fighting Lovecraftian, tentacle oogety-boogeties." He raised and wiggled his prosthetic hand. "That's how I lost this. I'd like to maybe keep all the other ones, if it's all the same to everybody. Apparently, limbs are kinda a limited supply? That's kind of a thing."
Despite the fact he was talking about, you know, losing limbs, he didn't seem too fussed. Mostly, he was just glad he was alive to even joke about it.
no subject
That, honestly, had been what he'd consider one of the worst fights they faced, perhaps because the nature of their opponent meant that so little of their training seemed to really matter. Technodrome had been hell, yes, and he had no desire to take another sledgehammer to the shell, but everything they knew had come together into a plan that worked, albeit with a few wrenches thrown their way. The Gauntlet had been bad, but that had been the culmination of everything they'd ever trained for. Preparing made a difference.
Shub-Niggurath had been nothing like that. It still felt like they'd just scraped through on luck more than anything.