Rip Hunter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
directed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2017-02-04 02:31 pm
directed) wrote in entrancelogs2017-02-04 02:31 pm
Always look on the bright side of life
Who: Rip Hunter and you?
Where: Second Floor, Kitchen, Elsewhere
When: During the event
Rating: PG-13 probably - talk of death, potential violence
Summary: Rip has recently regretted how little time he found for such things as swimming. Apparently Wonderland has decided to make up for that in spades.
The Story:
In the beginning -
Eight hours per a room. It's the one solid fact they seem to have to rely on, when so many others remain untested. With no way of knowing whether the oxygen levels would reset should a room be abandoned for long enough, Rip checks over the supplies he's saved up for those instances in which the closets fail to work. Unfortunately none of those oh-so-helpful voices suggested things like scuba gear or oxygen tanks, but Rip has food and clean water both.
He also has little doubt that other people might not have thought to create such caches for themselves. He winds up divvying up his own inventory in an attempt to buy time. He's a capable enough swimmer, and thankfully not so far from the kitchens just one floor bellow. There will come a point when he needs to rest, but until then Rip devotes what energy and effort he can to transporting supplies to the people he feels a level of responsibility for, to try and ensure this event doesn't claim any of them.
He can be found then making stops in the kitchen, or the tea rooms depending on how far he's pushed himself. He sticks largely to the lower floors for similar reasons, and won't be spotted above the fourth.
On the third day -
On the third day, there is nothing.
After the rapture -
Once the waters have receded, Rip throws himself into efforts with perhaps a greater ferocity than he had when the halls were flooded. His drive nearly manic, he has noticed something else about this event: the waters are not the only aspect of it. Though time moves forward it's also moved back, in a way Rip's been trained to recognize.
Time loops are a rare phenomenon indeed, but hardly unheard of.
The difficulty lies in any attempt he makes to express this to his comrades or the scientists he's met up with during his tenure in this world. His--accident has left him unable to form words from thought, to express what he sees and knows and deduces to those around him. Events are known to pass, but the very fact that they have been caught within repeating time since the start would seem to put that very notion into question. Who are they to assume things won't repeat, that time won't curve and wrap around, and drop them all back in the same flood that swallowed them up before?
That swallowed him up.
Who is he to think he can't die again?
He needs someone to know, to understand, to work with him to find a way to fix this. But in a land driven by magic rather than technology, that plays by its own chaotic rules instead of those based in reality? It's a much hard thing to accomplish than it should be.
Wild card! Let me know if you'd like something else
Where: Second Floor, Kitchen, Elsewhere
When: During the event
Rating: PG-13 probably - talk of death, potential violence
Summary: Rip has recently regretted how little time he found for such things as swimming. Apparently Wonderland has decided to make up for that in spades.
The Story:
In the beginning -
Eight hours per a room. It's the one solid fact they seem to have to rely on, when so many others remain untested. With no way of knowing whether the oxygen levels would reset should a room be abandoned for long enough, Rip checks over the supplies he's saved up for those instances in which the closets fail to work. Unfortunately none of those oh-so-helpful voices suggested things like scuba gear or oxygen tanks, but Rip has food and clean water both.
He also has little doubt that other people might not have thought to create such caches for themselves. He winds up divvying up his own inventory in an attempt to buy time. He's a capable enough swimmer, and thankfully not so far from the kitchens just one floor bellow. There will come a point when he needs to rest, but until then Rip devotes what energy and effort he can to transporting supplies to the people he feels a level of responsibility for, to try and ensure this event doesn't claim any of them.
He can be found then making stops in the kitchen, or the tea rooms depending on how far he's pushed himself. He sticks largely to the lower floors for similar reasons, and won't be spotted above the fourth.
On the third day -
On the third day, there is nothing.
After the rapture -
Once the waters have receded, Rip throws himself into efforts with perhaps a greater ferocity than he had when the halls were flooded. His drive nearly manic, he has noticed something else about this event: the waters are not the only aspect of it. Though time moves forward it's also moved back, in a way Rip's been trained to recognize.
Time loops are a rare phenomenon indeed, but hardly unheard of.
The difficulty lies in any attempt he makes to express this to his comrades or the scientists he's met up with during his tenure in this world. His--accident has left him unable to form words from thought, to express what he sees and knows and deduces to those around him. Events are known to pass, but the very fact that they have been caught within repeating time since the start would seem to put that very notion into question. Who are they to assume things won't repeat, that time won't curve and wrap around, and drop them all back in the same flood that swallowed them up before?
That swallowed him up.
Who is he to think he can't die again?
He needs someone to know, to understand, to work with him to find a way to fix this. But in a land driven by magic rather than technology, that plays by its own chaotic rules instead of those based in reality? It's a much hard thing to accomplish than it should be.
Wild card! Let me know if you'd like something else
voice; after the hallways clear out
Status?
Re: voice; after the hallways clear out
But he hadn’t, and he isn’t.
What his response wouldn’t lack should he offer to give it verbally would be a certain level of venom. It’s hardly Leonard’s fault. He’s merely asking the question that Rip hasn’t since discovering his lingering injury. Yet that simple demand to check in digs its way under his skin; their roles have been reversed, by necessity perhaps, unintentionally to be sure.
Yet that doesn’t stop this new layer of anger from fueling the fire burning within him. No more so than his inability to even type out a simple response.
Leonard doesn’t get the brand of answer Rip intends. Instead his video cuts on, but at an odd angle; the phone is on the floor where it lands after the captain throws it across the room in his frustration. All Leonard would see would be the ceiling at first, but the sound of Rip’s angry pacing should come over just as clearly.]
no subject
Interesting angle. Have you ever considered a career in film?
no subject
Forgive the shaky-cam, Mr. Snart.
But now that it is running, perhaps he can provide Leonard his answer without actually answering. He motions first towards the phone, then towards himself, as if to say that yes, he's there, he's fine, nothing more to see.
Certainly nothing to hear.]
no subject
[The amusement is very, very audible in his tone. If Rip had seemed injured instead of just pissed, that might have taken precedence. As it was, there was no way he could hide how much he enjoyed this.]
Where you off to?
no subject
I cannot talk.
[He sounds out each word sharply, already aware that Leonard likely won't understand. Why would he, when Rip cannot tell anyone that he had lost his life playing some foolish hero, only to come back with his mind practically trapped inside his own body. He isn't off to anywhere, however, not at this moment. Leonard might recognize the glimpses of Rip's room he can see before the man turns off the feed, this time more deliberate when he puts the phone aside.]
no subject
Can't make words work, huh? Like after a time jump. [He leans back against the wall, eyes on Rip. As a general rule, he's quick on the uptake.]
Ever played charades?
no subject
Still, it's a start--one of many, judging by the amount of items visible in the room.
He turns to level Leonard with a look when the man struts in, shockingly in no mood to provide further entertainment. He's working on how he might actually effectively tell Leonard to piss off when the man actually comes right out and says what's wrong--with Rip, anyway.
He pauses for a moment, considering, before he nods. It is exactly like that, and so much worse.
It's enough to prompt Rip to turn towards Leonard, at least some of that earlier rage dissipating. Such a simple and satisfying thing it is to be understood. The mention of charades earns an arched eyebrow; he knows of the game, and he also sees where Leonard might be going with this.
What he's yet to decide is if he truly wants to attempt it.]
no subject
[Leonard shrugs his shoulder - careful to only move the one that's not injured - looking Rip over again. He seemed healthy enough, if agitated, but given he looked like he had something bothering him even at the best of times, that might not tell him much without an explanation.]
You got something to tell me?
[As much as he'd love hearing Rip make a fool of himself, the focus is more on finding out whether there is actually anything of importance to be learned here.]
no subject
Does he want to tell anyone the whole truth? Does he even want to try?
Perhaps not when there are other potential—distractions. Rip wraps his fingers round a hollow bit of material; nothing more than empty housing, harmless enough. Without preamble he tosses it towards Leonard, just hard enough to ensure it Leonard would need to raise his hands to catch it.
Well. His comrade had wanted to play, hadn’t he?]
no subject
Leonard turns the thing in his hand to inspect it, then raises an eyebrow and looks at Rip again.]
You suck at charades.
no subject
He points towards the opposite arm with a questioning look. Had something happened?]
no subject
Vampire attack.
no subject
no subject
He was starved when the water went down. Went feral, attacked me. I iced him.
Been a more Van Helsing day than most so far.
no subject
Of course the sad truth is that Rip could pull any number of similar pieces from his closet, which he knows because he’s tried. What stands as far more concerning is the injury he reveals, hinted at by the dark stain of blood Rip can see. He crosses the room to take a better look, then meets Leonard’s gaze before making another attempt at charades.
It’s a game he’s going to likely come to greatly dislike before this whole mess ends.
Depending on how long it’s been, how bad the wound, more treatment might likely be needed; Rip moves his hand through the air, the pads of his index finger and thumb together as one might hold a needle. Is it something that needs stitches? Rip is not Gideon, nor is this a fully stocked medbay, but he does have some knowledge of more archaic medical practices.
Enough to at least make the offer.]
no subject
[Leonard definitely plans on taking a better look at it himself later and possibly asking Mick for help with that, but he's not going to ask the same of Rip unless he had no choice. He's particular.]
I reckon this will pass soon. You need anything?
[Does he actually want to help or does he just want more charades? Who knows!]
no subject
The ball is back in his court then, as Leonard once more turns the topic to what Rip might need. His mouth thins to a tight line; the one thing he needs he can't actually get, beyond futilely waving his hands through the air in the hope someone might understand him.
When Leonard mentions he thinks this all to be temporary, however, it provides that reason. Rip believes the same thing, but this is the first he's heard someone else suggest it. He wants to know why Leonard thinks as much, which means figuring out how to ask.
Unfortunately, hand motions likely won't cut it.]
The clock turns in circles? [Has he noticed it to? The continuation of the time loops, even after the waters receded: a sign that the event sparking this all is still going on.]
no subject
My guess is we have around twenty-four hours more of this. Question is how often we'll lose track.
no subject
It’s an impressive feat he’s accomplished, particularly for someone who doesn’t see himself a hero.
Back to charades for a moment. Leonard looks weary, and those markings are clear enough reason as to why. So Rip points to Leonard, then towards the bed: you should rest, although he suspects the man would likely continue to put his own care on the backburner so long as he felt the press of unfinished business.]
no subject
You can try to get me into bed some other time.
[Rip Hunter, porn director. With an amused look he pulls his sleeve back down.]
Anyway. Appreciate the thought, but I got others to check in on. Some may be more talkative than you.
no subject
He hardly needs to get into another fist-fight, after all.
So he shrugs a shoulder, raising a hand as if to say “do as you will.” He cannot offer even the most simplistic send-off, a quiet request to take care.
Hopefully it’s at least implied.]
no subject
[Whatever that is supposed to be in answer of. Either way, Leonard gives a nod and then simply turns to head out the door, glancing back only when he's already halfway out.]
Not much longer, captain.
[With that reassurance, he's left the room.]