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
Because now he was imagining Jesus and Thor in a knock down, drag-out fight, cross versus hammer.
"To be fair, kicking over tables and chasing people with a whip wasn't really out of the question for Jesus, but no, Jesus never showed up and fought people."
At least as far as he knew.
"Mostly it's been gods of dead religions showing up and some of them helping humanity fight against the villains that try to hurt people." Oh. Oh, maybe he shouldn't, uh, word it that way. "Uh, that is, religions that don't really have many believers anymore. A lot of the peoples that used to believe in them sort of...just changed over time. Like, I think, over time, a lot of Norse converted to Christianity. They didn't, y'know, actually die or anything."
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"Great for warriors. Bakers? Not so much."
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It was just not the easiest to stick to that when you needed to occasionally pull your enemy's stomach out their mouth. No way could he pray for his enemies with the kind of enemies he faced.
Also he just had trouble believing in an well-ordered universe anymore
"Anyway, no Jesus back home. Just Thor and Hercules. And they're good guys. Thor was one of the first heroes I met when I started out."
no subject
Hiccup's vaguely pleased expression faded to a look of growing horror.
"This would be the part where you tell me that you don't have to imagine it, isn't it?" He asked, voice squeaking slightly.
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One that was sometimes a threat to the whole world.
"I think the best thing he's ever done for the world was accidentally bring together a group of heroes so they decided to become a team. The Avengers. That's what started it all. They're the ones that always stand up against the bad guys no one can take on alone. The 'foes no single hero can withstand.'"
Back when being an Avenger meant something anyway. That had changed a little in recent years, after all that infighting, enough that Rich hadn't really been the most sure about accepting membership to Cap's secret Avengers himself. It was an honor but at the same time...well. He'd still been a little unsure.
But he still had said yes because they were trying, weren't they? Trying to make it the way it'd used to be.
"They lost their way for a little while, though, but it was getting better. Last time I was home on Earth."
no subject
no subject
"I solemnly swear I won't enable them to be up to no good," he said, knowing the Harry Potter reference would go right over Hiccup's head and using it anyway. Because he was a dork. "Scout's honor."
He lowered his hand.
"'Sides he's not even worth hero worshiping on the evil front. The guy's lost against the good guys almost every time. There's way worse villains out there."
The way he said it, his expression subtly shifting to be colder, blanker, made it clear that Rich knew that from personal experience.
"Worse as in effective."