going native

[agnominal]

Who| Locus and YOU? Open.
What| Newcomer to the Legion finding his feet.
Where| Wandering around Legion at large. Locations will be notated.
When| /coughs vaguely and gestures randomly
Warnings/Notes| n/a


It was difficult, even now, to part with the armor. He'd born its weight, its visage, its name for years now, rather than his own. If this was truly meant to be a new start, he should start by leaving it behind. He was no longer meant to be simply a weapon, a gun, but a warrior earning worthiness.

But some habits are difficult to break. He's not ready to show his face. Not yet.

So, on the initial walkthrough of what is expected to be home base for some time, Locus does so in full armor. It does much to ease his sense of discomfort in finding himself in unfamiliar territory, surrounded by strangers, alone. But the way that helmet turns to side-eye people who pass speak volumes about that unease, even if his expression isn't visible.

It's easy enough to find himself on a self-guided path. Past crew quarters, through the mess hall, past the training room and holodeck, before halting briefly on the observation deck for a time. This, at least, feels familiar. The vast emptiness of the black void, dotted with cold, distant lights, and the looming shape of a planet beneath that would be satisfied to drag them down to its surface in a fiery heap.

So he's in a cheerful mood, in other words. Surely not too intimidating a figure to be spoken to.

Comments

[agnominal]

It is somewhat strange, now that he brings it up. He's not entirely certain himself why the thought of the Reds and Blues dying brought him no joy, no relief. Perhaps he'd already divorced himself from the thought of being their enemy so completely that it didn't matter. They were no longer on opposing sides. His investment in their demise had ended.

But Wash seems intent on pursuing this, for whatever reason. Locus turns back just enough to observe him where he stands, deliberating how much to reveal. Well. If it doesn't matter, then what's the harm?

"If I had waited to decide, Felix would not be dead. And Simulation Troopers would not be alive to tell."

[unrecovered]

It matters more than Locus thinks, which is why Wash is pursuing it. Every answer tells him a little more of what he needs to know to come to a conclusion on Locus. The best thing to do now is stay on the level and keep him talking.

On one hand, given that the Reds and Blues are still alive last time Wash checked, he can't say he's surprised at Locus' answer. On the other hand, for someone who doesn't like to make their own decisions in the interests of avoiding Consequences, that's one hell of a decision to make.

So he nods - understood - and continues. "Did you kill him yourself, or did you let them do it?" So he'd made a decision; just how active was he in its execution?

[agnominal]

He falls silent at that. That...that becomes confused when he looks back at the memory of that day. Had he just been a bystander, washing his hands of the matter and leaving Felix to the fate he had earned for himself? Or did stepping aside at the moment his partner needed him, called to him, stain his hands even now? Should he have been the one to pull the trigger?

Could he have? I don't know. The reasoning behind the act blurs until he's no longer certain why he acted, save for the prompting of the AI in the tower, the one who called him 'meddler'.

Did you kill him yourself?

What are you doing?

Did you kill him--

We need each other!

Did you let them do it, he asks. Let them. As though that were the end of his involvement, an absolution. If only he could decide if what he felt was guilt, or something else entirely. It might make this clearer in his head. This should be a clear answer, yes or no, did you pull the trigger or let someone else?

Silence.

[unrecovered]

It should be a simple question, and somehow it's not. It's never a simple question with Locus, is it.

Wash is quiet, waiting for an answer; it becomes obvious pretty quickly that Locus is being quiet for too long. He's wrestling with something behind that helmet that Wash can't see, and whatever it is, it's not letting him go.

This is what it looks like from the outside, says a tiny voice in the back of Wash's head. It's not pretty, is it.

So he takes pity - and that's something he never thought he'd be doing, taking pity on Locus - and gives him an out. "If you don't want to talk about it, you can show me your helmet cam footage."

[agnominal]

"Why?"

Because there's no pride in what he's done, it doesn't feel like an accomplishment or a triumph. It feels like he's broken the last good thing left in him -- because as terrible as Felix had been, they were partners and bound by that loyalty for years -- and he's not even certain if he did the right thing in doing so.

So forgive him, Wash, if this is something of a sore spot. Digging at it is going to be met with some resistance, and the way the words are ground out between his teeth make it clear that Wash is treading on very thin ice here.

He turns once more, that visorless helmet peering down hard at him. "Why does it matter to you?"

[unrecovered]

And now they're right back into dangerous territory. Of course.

Wash stays where he is and keeps that same neutral tone. "I told you already: the Legion is willing to give you a chance, but they want to know if you can be trusted. The last time I saw you, we were in the process of dropping a spaceship on you, and I didn't have time to debrief with my team after Hargrove's attack. You told me you want to make things right - I want to know what changed while I wasn't there." Without that footage, he only has Locus' word for it, and that's a dizzying amount of implicit trust that he doesn't quite have yet. It's also all he has to go on.

"It matters because it'll affect what I tell Kid Quantum." He folds his arms across his chest, the movement causing his ring to glint in the light. He hasn't missed the fact that Locus is wearing one, either. He's already taken the oath. "And it matters because we're both Legionnaires now, and I need to know that I can work with you."

[agnominal]

We keep one another's secrets. Whatever happened to that part of the oath? Though he doesn't ask in earnest. It wouldn't matter to Washington if it got in the way of what he thought was right and just.

There's nothing in that file that he means to keep secret, of course, but it's the way Washington demands, like he's earned any part of it, that sticks in Locus's craw. But then, his choices are limited. He knows that. Washington will attempt to make life here difficult for him if he doesn't cooperate, and Washington is well-established here, if he's telling the truth.

He may not hold rank, but his opinion may sway them all the same. And for some reason he thinks this will bear weight on his testimony.

That doesn't make it easy. It doesn't mean he likes it, that giving in. But it's the mention of the Legion that seals it. He has to prove himself worthy of that title? Fine. One gloved hand lifts, and a second later, the footage from the Communication Temple, beginning with the crash of the Pelican, is forwarded across the comm system.

[unrecovered]

Wash sees the notification in the corner of his HUD and accepts the file transfer. He honestly wasn't expecting to get it that easily. He keeps an eye on Locus and opens the file, letting it play across his screen.

...he doesn't know what he was expecting, but what he's gotten is...more, somehow. He thought he'd see the fight, or the tail end of it; the conversation with Santa is more telling, terribly intimate and uncomfortably familiar. He's been there - lost and alone, his world reduced to wreckage and ashes, wondering what he's supposed to do, where he's supposed to go, and in his case trying to puzzle his way through an act of mercy he knew he hadn't deserved.

He'd never committed genocide - his sins had been far more personal, but he'd still gotten a second chance, given to him by the same people he'd done his level best to kill.

Locus has his second chance here, given to him by the whims of an extrademsional entity with a shitty sense of humor, in a place where his past sins don't matter as long as he's willing to work to prevent the future from being destroyed. And he'd made a choice - he had the drop on the Reds and Blues, and he could have killed them where they stood, but-

'No more killing.'

-but he'd cut his leash instead, leaving Felix in the mess he'd made for himself and Wash's team alive.

Wash hates comparing himself to Locus - namely because Locus has been using those comparisons to try to justify some horrific shit, and Wash wants absolutely none of that - but he can't deny that, on some base level, they're similar. War fucked them up, people who were supposed to help them fucked them up even worse, and some days it looks like there's no way out.

The difference is, Wash is further down along his path. He got a second chance, and he made something of it. Locus...

Locus still desperately needs that psych eval that Brainy promised. He still needs to be monitored. But...well, maybe he can make something of his second chance the same way Wash did. He's in the right place and the beginnings of the right mindset for it.

Knowing that, Wash can't take it away from him.

He sighs, hoping that this won't be another mistake to add to the ever-growing pile, and looks at Locus. "Welcome to the Legion."

[agnominal]

There's a part of him that resents all of this, regardless of Washington reasons or his motivations. Obviously Locus has given him cause in the past to doubt the validity of his claims, and the reasonable part of him knows that. That doesn't make it go down any easier watching him play through the footage and weighing the events on some sort of moral scale before deeming him worthy.

That he has the gall isn't surprising. Far from it. It's everything he's come to expect of the man.

But there is some relief in knowing that now, he understands. He's seen for himself what transpired, and knows where Locus stands on the matter. Perhaps now he'll be a little less concerned that Locus is going to turn around and murder all of his comrades just to make some sort of point. What that point is, he couldn't begin to guess, but that had obviously been some sort of concern of his.

There is no victory in this. Only a sense of finality as he turns away, back towards the glass and the vast blackness beyond. This, whatever this is, is going to be the starting point for whoever he decides to become.

He still hasn't the faintest idea who that is. Whatever is left of Locus that can be refashioned and reforged to this new purpose, perhaps.