+ The Universe is under no obligation to make sense to You +

[vitaelamorte]

Who: EVERYONE!
Where: EVERYWHERE!
When: Saturday, May 19th - Wednesday, May 23rd.
Rating: PG-13, warn if you're gonna go higher!
Summary: A catch-all for the Kyln / Sierra Madre event!
The Story:

For the duration of this event, the entire mansion will be part space jail, part apocalyptic wasteland desert with an abandoned hotel/casino. On the third day an escape route not previously discovered in the Kyln appears and breakouts can be planned...

...Only for everyone to find themselves walking through a large glass prison toward the toxic gas filled wasteland of a desert, the Sierra Madre. Does the prison look better than the toxic cloud outside? If you're stuck in the prison after dark beyond day 3, you'll be forced into and locked in your cell for the night. But at least locked away, nothing from the outside can hurt you. If you try to brave the actual elements in the desert it might be a little hard to breathe. The air has pockets of toxic gas and even a few seconds of exposure could prove deadly. And watch out for the Ghost People.

Inside the abandoned hotel/casino you'll find shelter from the gas and ghosts, but beware the holograms that are 50/50 with their attitude. Prison beatings, a beating from the holograms, which one Would You Rather? And whatever you do, don't try on the collars lying around unless you like to explode. Literally.

[ This is a catch-all for all your prison/desert needs! Please mark your threads clearly in the subject line with your character's name and either a cell number or just a location if you didn't feel like randomizing it or you're making a top level for a public place (like the dining hall or wandering the hotel/casino). Here's the plot post if you need it!

Have fun! ]

Comments

[hypoxic]

Not quite the sort that the Asgardians would have us believe the universe is like, but one supposes it takes all kinds. Should I meet him, I'll be sure to be respectful of his cultures.

[His. Racoon cultures. He imagines there might be some foraging.]

[mucked]

You can try to be. [ but peggy can see the conflict, the escalation, the break-down from a mile off. ] But he's got a rather dismissive view on Earth and its denizens.

[ by now (unfortunately) peggy is altogether too used to being seen as primitive, backwater, antiquated because of her era. rocket's attitude, therefore, was a bit easier to navigate with experience. she doesn't know how it'll go with fitz. ]

[hypoxic]

[ they're already oil and vinegar. Fitz finds his candor counterproductive. But in theory, it sounds like there are only possibilities. Opportunities to learn. ]

If they're advanced by a large measure, I can only imagine what the disparity might be. But there might be an incredible share of knowledge nonetheless.

[mucked]

Look around us. [ she twirls a finger, lazy-like. ] Is this advanced?

[ it's not sarcasm. the question is genuine -- peggy's yardstick is so thoroughly outdated and she hasn't had the chance to measure this prison against anything of its like in 21st cenry earth standards. all she knows is that it was her ignorance that netted her these injuries. all because she couldn't recognize a ruddy camera. ]

[hypoxic]

[He casts a glance to the setting at her behest.]

Highly. I could build something that looks like this, but the security system isn't anything I've seen before. I'd have to take it apart and study it before I could replicate any of this functionality.

[There's more to advancement than appearances.]

[mucked]

[ she's unwilling to admit it was the prison's security system that did her in. but there comes a kind of relief (or vindication?) to hear fitz describe it as highly advanced, even by his standards. it makes her feel a little less foolish for her folly. ]

-- Is that why you've stuck 'round?

[ instead of escaping. maybe he's got a good idea there -- taking what inspiration he can from this technology before it disappears at the end of the event. ]

[hypoxic]

[Oh, but everything was so much better before when they weren't talking about this.]

Truthfully? No, ma'am.

[And thus ends eye contact. Has this been a new record?]

[mucked]

[ it's oddly reminiscent of their first conversation -- held while sitting on separate snow resort beds. peggy, at that time, making excuses around another injury. it's a blessing she's gone this long in wonderland before being rendered so vulnerable once again.

If it wasn't for this, [ she makes a point of gingerly patting her side -- alluding to an injury beyond what's visible on her face, ] I would have been out of here already. Like a shot. So -- I ask again. Why the devil are you still here?

[hypoxic]

[It's a reasonable question. The only trouble is that the answer involves truths he doesn't want to confront out loud. He sinks back into a slouch.]

Serving my time, ma'am.

[He wasn't being facetious earlier.]

[mucked]

[ oh for chrissakes. ]

Time served counts for sod all in the absence of due process. Wouldn't you agree?

[ she won't make the argument pivot over whether he's guilty or not -- she hasn't the grey cells lively enough or the constitution, just now, to pursue that avenue once again. but peggy carter will point out a faulty premise until the space cows come home.

and then some. ]

[hypoxic]

Wonderland does a rubbish job of enabling due process to occur, Ma'am.

[He's needed to be punished for a lot of things for quite a long time now.]

[mucked]

True as that may be, [ and she won't argue that it isn't, ] you won't find an ounce of relief in choosing your punishments for yourself. Or, worse, waiting for them to be meted out as if by karma.

[ they've talked about this before, of course. that ill-fated conversation -- where she'd tried to push him into asking the people he'd wronged what they thought of the whole mess rather than simply sitting in a puddle of his own foregone conclusions like a puppy who hasn't been housebroken. ]

It's not penance, Fitz. It's arrogance.

[ although (wordlessly) she can't blame him for mistaking the two. ]

[hypoxic]

If that's what you'd like to consider it.

[He'd leave at just that, to arrogantly wallow in his own cell again. But she's injured. She'll need help getting back when she's ready.

He stays.]

[mucked]

[ there is no getting this lesson through his skull, is there? that how she considers it doesn't matter a whit compared to his own cracked and fractured version of things -- that regardless of how she might see him as guilty or not guilty (never innocent) it's not him and it's not her who can hold him to any verdict. in the absence of any legal structure, it's only those who were wronged who can damn him or absolve him.

and he won't even try to approach him, as peggy understands it, and perhaps it's because he doesn't want real penance at all. just like he avoids her eyes now, he avoids making direct and earnest contact with what it might really mean to be serving his time.

peggy draws a palm down her face. she looks odd enough without her usual cosmetic touches: no rouge, no lipstick, no mascara. the swollen lip and ashy complexion only serves to accentuate those differences. ]

You've got the capacity in you to do so much good. [ she sounds tired. exasperated, really, with the circular nature of these conversations. it's as though the part of her brain which carefully filters out sentimentality and warmth has been busted. try as she might, the frustration of her lecture is immediately tempered by her belief in him. ] And you achieve some. You help. Heaven knows, you've answered every call I've made.

[ and then there was that mission, the one he went radio silent for, that jemma couldn't shed any light upon. who was he helping then? ]

But so long as you're too busy looking for ways to clap yourself in irons? All you'll ever do is fall short of where you want to be.

[hypoxic]

[It's this that he hears, genuinely, without the struggle of tears or protests. When she stops accusing, there's less reason to be so defensive. And when he listens, he starts to take in what she has to say.

His eyes shift back to her, though they don't make it much higher than the swelling at her mouth.]

I'm responsible for the suffering of so many people. They all want to excuse it away, but I can't.

[mucked]

Forgiveness isn't solely about you. It's about them, too. In denying those people any say in your reckoning, you're also denying them their closure.

[ it's a pretty sentiment. of course, there's no certainty she would ever practice what she's preaching. still, she manages to deliver the sermon in a gentler voice than any that have come before it. partially because she's worn so thin; partially because she cares. ]

If you want something to feel guilt over? There it is.

[ it all comes back to her original diagnosis: arrogance. an arrogance she shares, perhaps, in how heavily she wears her responsibility for what eventually happens to shield. to whitehall's victims. to the future. ]

[hypoxic]

[He smiles softly, the corners of his mouth twitching up without his consent.]

You're the second person to say that to me this week. That must make it true.

[mucked]

If mere repetition rendered something true, Fitz, then life would be a helluva lot simpler.

[ but it doesn't. and it's not. and what she says is merely true in and of itself (as far as she's concerned) no matter who else is going around saying it. good on whoever it is, though, for also bringing it to his attention.

-- she turns her head, as though scoping the remaining crowd, and sighs. the shape of this conversation seems to have reminded her of something (someone) else. ]

Speaking of life being anything but simple -- I should hoof it back to cell thirteen before my Florence Nightingale decides I'm due another scolding.

[hypoxic]

[Freya had been good for more than that at the time. She'd cared for him extensively after he'd returned from the dead full of aches and disorientation. The conversation was an extra bonus.]

You oughtn't be hoofing about anywhere. Not alone, at least. Lean on me.

[mucked]

[ now, isn't this a pickle? every last scrap of her pride suggests she should turn his offer away. no, agent fitz, i can manage well enough on my own. there's no rest for the weary and wounded; there never has been. and back home, shortly after having her rebar injury stitched up, she'd been back onto her feet and limping around with as much purpose and independence as she could manage.

but she'd only just finished lecturing fitz on the perils of arrogance. and even if it wasn't what he'd meant at the time, she can still remember rip's insistence that perhaps relinquishing some ground to fitz might be exactly how to achieve the results she wants. so it takes a moment, a deep (painful) breath, but peggy decides to swallow her stubbornness for the sake of not kneecapping that near-smile she'd just seen on the agent's face.

she'd just put some wind in his sails. how dare she steal it back? ]

I suppose you're right. [ her head jerks, suggesting that he should stand up and move around her. at the very least, she'll carry herself like a commander even as he helps. ] Come over to this side. It's where the support's needed.

[hypoxic]

[He moves where she directs him, careful to give her the support she needs without pressing too deeply into anything injured. ]

Where have you been staying? [He speaks of it almost cavalierly, as if this is a resort facility.]

[mucked]

The cell I was assigned. Sort of like a prison within a prison, now.

[ meaning that she doesn't leave it much during the days. this particular foray had been something of a rarity -- a liberty taken as she'd chafed a little too much under rip's supervision. he means so well. peggy knows she does. but the oppressive ever-present community of the prison around them discourages her from meeting his care and concern with the sincerity it's owed.

so! other people get to wander around during the day before curfew brings them back to their cells. peggy, meanwhile, goes stir-crazy stuck in hers. at least the uptick in escapes means the cell itself is a little less crowded than it had been at the beginning. ]

Second level. Far end of the walkway.

[ at least she does make use of fitz's help. once on her feet, once he's positioned beside her, she fully leans on his offered arm as though he's a genuine crutch -- taking pressure and stress off her more injured side. without the usual boost of her heels, she's only shy an inch off his height. it makes for a new perspective, that's sure and certain. ]

I've been bunking down when a genuine swamp monster. [ ... ] It's been an experience.

[hypoxic]

[The difference in height is a nonissue for Fitz; he'd happily support her at any height.]

A swamp monster? [He'd had no idea there was one of those present either.] What's that been like? I imagine the smell's been terrible.

[mucked]

It's not been pleasant by any stretch but -- nor would I turn around and say it's much worse than camping rough with any of the Howling Commandos.

[ stench happens. and peggy's career has rarely allowed for sterile, tidy environs. and yet even as she argues otherwise she knows she herself won't currently be smelling like an english rose. bereft of her usual soaps and perfumes, she suspects even dugan would find something worth commenting on if he was here and took in a big old breath.

so -- perhaps the comment about smell makes her feel a touch self-conscious. uncharacteristically so. peggy seems to slump a little lower, with her posture caving in on itself. ]

I don't think he normally looks like one. [ a monster, that is. ] He would have been tough to miss 'round the mansion.

[hypoxic]

[He certainly hadn't intended anything about present company! None of them are particularly clean at the moment. And yet, the thought of swamp compounding on top of the general grime here is a little upsetting to think about.]

I might've said the same thing about a raccoon-person, and yet that one seems to have kept to himself well enough.