legionworld | going native

Entry tags:

going native

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.

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"Gee you're a delightful ray of sunshine, aren't you?" It lacks any real heat, any true sharpness. Hell York's even smiling over the rim of his mug. A pragmatic outlook is kinda required to survive the war. Probably a reason Locus is here and whole instead of,well. Here and hoping to never get sent back.

"That'll be good for them, I guess. Thanks."

It seems a meager offering, but he nods in acceptance of that gratitude all the same, taking another silent sip of coffee. If York was looking for an optimist, he'd certainly invited the wrong soldier in for a drink.

Finally, that heavy brow furrows in a question of his own. "What do you make of this war? The one the Legion are fighting?"

It'd be good to have the perspective of someone with a similar background.

God, what a question. Taylor actually sets his mug on the beat up coffee table to think it over, picking at the plating of his gauntlets. "I try to not."

Honest enough, again. "It's all too big, you know?" He gestures upwards vagely with a grand sweep of his arm. "Save the planet, save humanity? That was too damn big for me in the army. Save EVERY planet, save EVERY living sentient race? Every possible variation of earth that ever was and will be?"

It's... York sags against the sofa, hand sliding down his face. "Too damn big. I can't get my head around it so...I don't. I take it mission by mission. That's easier. Save this group of people. Protect these kids. Back up this partner."

With about an inch between he holds up his pointer finger and thumb. "Small things. Day bay day. It's easier. I hope we have a shot. I do the best I can to make sure it happens cuz...that's all I can do, you know? A little like being back in the army but...bigger."

"A sensible approach. Follow orders, do your part. Let the Legion's leaders worry about the grander scale."

Trying to examine it down to the details would drive a person insane, surely. It doesn't take a blind eye -- so to speak -- so much as it takes a willingness to accept that these people are trying to do the right thing.

It means less questioning what he's done at the end of the day, anyway.

"Kinda. Kid Q's good people, I know that much. I haven't met the other one." Some kind of living computer? Like that shit is new to him. "And they're experienced in this world ending kind of shit but- I get the feeling it's gonna get harder before it gets better."

Anyone that's lived through a war knows that weight of dread in the gut. "So I can't clock out entirely. Part of swearing in means keeping an eye out for other legionnaires, yeah? Even the ones at the top. They're still people. People are fallible."

Not unwise. But that prompts another question. He can't be the first to be recruited to their ranks from a...questionable background. "Have any of the Legionnaires proven problematic in the past?" he persists after a moment, the coffee mug lowering.

There is a part of him that wonders just how they intend on keeping their charges in line. Not that he's tempted to step out of line, by any means. He's sincere in his efforts here. Even so...as York stated, people are fallible."

"Uh. Technically I have." The hand on his face drops down to his thigh, his smile is sheepish. "Kinda got in a fight with a jackass I know in the middle of the mess. He talked shit, got hit, ended up with a grapefruit ground into my good eye- got split up, got chewed out. Other than that? I haven't heard much of anything. You swear in, it means something."

It should, at least.

"We're kinda upheld to a certain code of conduct."

That earns a raised eyebrow. Less judging, more curious. Locksmith seems an even-tempered sort. Whatever earned his ire must have been considerable. But then, personal matters could dig under the skin deeper than most.

Locus huffs quietly. "Nothing too serious, then, if all that happened was a reprimand."

"Chewed out and monitor duty, with mandatory anger management therapy." insert jazzhands here. "Since I shouldn't have flown off the handle like that. I haven't lost my shit since fucking Basic. It was mortifying."

He's supposed to be better than that. He was trained to be. "We worked it out. Kinda. It's weird. He's from further along than I am in our mutual timeline and shit is....complicated. I won't bore you with it, but he's a jackass that fights dirty. Seriously. Grapefruit to the eye, that's rude."

"Should he simply have swung for your left?" It's a wry observation, but no less true. The obvious choice would be the eyes or the left side, given the obvious weakness presented. And in a fight born of sentiment, anger and the desire to hurt...it's not so surprising such a tactic would be used.

"Another reason to avoid the mess hall, then." Is that humor? The answer may surprise you.

"He did, the brat." Insert surly muttering here. "All my reflexes for facing him are off by like, shit, six years. My own fault for not being in the moment."

Acting on muscle memory gets you shot. he knows that pretty well by now. "..."

He squints over at Locus for a moment before cracklign a soft laugh. "Damn straight."

There's no outright smile, but good to know someone appreciates that dry-as-bone sense of amusement. It's one more indication that yes, this place would do well as a strategic retreat, should he need one.

"Should you face him again, then, you would not repeat that mistake." Because if you fight someone once, you prepare for the idea that you'll need to fight them again. That's just common sense.

"Trying to avoid that, honestly. Complicated history, feelings of resentment- we talked it out and we're okay but...There's a reason I don't spar with him." Too many memories of the project, too many ways for shit to go sideways for either of them in an instant.

York retrieves his mug of coffee with a shrug. "But yeah if it came down to it I gotta keep my head clear. Or it'll be citrus in the eye all over again."

"Can't have that."

Unpleasant no matter how many working eyes you had. But he seems to be in fine condition now, if the quality of their own sparring match had been any indication. "Should we arrange for a meeting time, then? It would likely benefit us both to have the ability to spar with some regularity."

And setting up a routine would be a good part of settling in here.

"Aside from monitor duty my schedule's pretty open. When works best for you? I'm flexible." In so many ways but- hold York would flirt. New York is happy with his coffee and a sparring partner that won't accidentally kill him.

"I prefer evening, when possible."

A good way to tire himself into sleeping, if nothing else. Otherwise it tended to be a long and restless set of hours before he'd finally will himself into unconsciousness. It had grown worse, as of late.

This...this might do some good.

"That works for me." It'll help knock them both out after a long day of staring at walls and contemplating his life. A bit of action at the end of the day- but not at the ass end of the morning? Is a good change of pace. "It'll be less crowded then, too."

Fewer people trying to use the rooms, fewer people watching.

"Then it's settled."

He finishes the coffee with his next drink, leaving a slightly-warm mug in his grasp and the sense that he'd like to linger, but is far too uncomfortable just yet to find a reason to. So, rather stiffly, he offers the cup back with a little nod.

"Tomorrow, around 1900?" Evening, late enough that it'll help him sleep but early enough that they can get a few solid rounds in before they beat each other into exhausted pulps inside suits of power armor.

After a moment that he spends finishing off his own coffee York levers himself to his feet and snags Locus' cup with a lazy smile. "Stick around. The sunset's pretty close to the real thing."

Somewhere quiet, somewhere safeish. How many vets get that?

And he doesn't have it in him to argue. He does retrieve his helmet, however, before moving towards the front door of the residence. The helmet almost slips on but for the breeze, the soft ambient sounds, and he hesitates for a moment.

Admittedly, it's a nice view.

York makes his way to the kitchen to rinse out the mugs before joining Locus on the porch, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the railing. It's not home, he knows that but...it's his.

No one really bugs him here, he can forget about the war and the project and Crhonoblivion for a little while.

Forgetting the war isn't something he thought to strive for. It's what he is, what defines him, why push that away?

The stillness of this place should be unsettling. With silent curiosity, his pale gaze flickers back towards York where he stands, leaning against the railing and surveying his own little patch of paradise.

"...you miss it."

"It's what I fought for." Saving humanity, doing good, trying to make it matter- that was a part of it too. But going to basic and shipping out- it was to protect places like this. Calm and quiet little towns that should never have to deal with the Covenant.

After a moment he looks over, brow quirked. "It's easy to forget if you spend too much time on the front but- this. Was what we were supposed to come back to. Or something like it."

"It's not the same."

Even coming back to the same city blocks had found them changed irrevocably. People he couldn't speak to. Rooms that were strategic points rather than fond memories. Questioning the defenses of a familiar street corner.

York had been fortunate to find even a facsimile of that sort of peace, again.

"Nope. But it's all I got." In so many ways. "So I make due."

Birdsong but no birds, a comfortable humidity but no mosquitoes. Who knew a day would come when he'd miss those damn pests? And here he is, looking down the way, shoulders slumped, missing them. Probably worse things waiting for him in this weird space future.

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agnominal - 2016-12-07 18:54 (UTC) - Expand

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