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
no subject
Sincere. It's far from what Rip would expect of the man, even if he knows the true reasons must be far from altruistic. Still; whether rooted in disappointment or actual concern, what can Eobard or anyone do until this damnable event ends and Rip ideally regains the full capability of speech?
As it turns out, Eobard has an idea. (And for the record, yes. Any attempts to open up Rip's head would decidedly turn this conversation violent. He cannot talk, yet his mind, his reflexes, and his ability to pull a trigger all remain very in tact, thank you.)
He shouldn't be listening to this, much less entertaining the idea. Indeed, when Eobard confirms that Rip doesn't trust the man, he nods his head, turning his hands upward briefly as if to ask what else can he do, given who they are. The man demonstrates then what he intends, although he would hopefully forgive Rip for moving a hand to his holstered gun at the first sight of that upraised hand. Blame the instinct to survive, so very active now that he has come back from a time when he did not successfully do so.
He doesn't draw. Instead his eyes focus on the vibrating fingers, the red electricity that comes off of them. The theory is--sound, rooted perhaps in archaic practices but still rooted in solid foundation. He leans back, his mouth tight yet Rip has not immediately refused. He should, and at the same time, he cannot.
This is an opportunity. Not merely to try and reverse some of the damage, but to combat the ongoing event itself. Is Eobard even aware that it continues on, despite the fact that they can stand outside once more, that the mansion no longer is a watery death trap? Like Rip he is a time traveler; not trained, but still aware of how it feels to pass through the continuum, to defy what most would see as the logical flow of time. Rip remains certain that time is still looping, that people are caught in it, that this aphasia is rooted in the same memories that experienced that horrible flood and the inability to breathe.
The same man who has asked Rip what he would do if he's wrong; if he has truly locked his thoughts away within his own mind.
He meets Eobard's eyes with determination sparked in his own.]
The clock turns in circles. It was wet. The clock turns. [If they are to do this (and God forgive him, but Rip cannot bring himself to say no), then Eobard has to know the full extent of Rip's capabilities as they stand. It's why he drops the pretense of silence, offering the only words he's managed to try and express that the event isn't over before he once more look towards the man's hand. He doesn't trust Eobard Thawne, but Rip wouldn't risk anyone else to this endeavor either. He takes a breath, then nods a single time, his undeniable consent to what Eobard has offered.
Against what many would deem better judgement, he is willing to try.]
no subject
[Eobard chuckles only to himself, but it does seem he has Rip's agreement. Rip's caution is not unnoticed, the early move to the gun in the holster clear indication of the man's instinctive fear of him, but it is forgiven. Eobard knows who he is, knows Rip has good reason to question the sincerity of his offer, and understands. He isn't a good person. Never was, even before he became the villain. This isn't an act of altruism - it's an act of scientific curiosity.
Yet pride does shackle him into trying his best to get this right. He has no intention to kill Rip. If it happens then so be, but Eobard knows he will retain a sense of failure. It wouldn't be satisfying to kill Rip in the man's sad state.
Eobard reaches out and puts his left hand on Rip's shoulder, tightly clutching and digging his fingers into the joint. His right hand goes up to the left side of Rip's head, where he rests his index and middle finger just above the ear. The area where the broca should be located. He keeps his eyes on his fingers, ensuring they are properly positioned over the small area, before he looks to assess Rip's expression as he prepares.]
I know this isn't comfortable, but I need you to stay still. If you fidget I might accidentally hit an area I'm not supposed to.
[And yes, there is indeed a hanging implication in those words Rip should be able to catch onto. "If I hit the wrong area, you will die" is not a phrase uttered, but absolutely meant.]
3...2--
[He vibrates his index and middle finger, sending the electric shock into the broca region, and tightens his grip on Rip's shoulder even more as he does.]
no subject
Not that this is to be a simple process, or a painless one; the man's grip on his shoulder is ironclad, fingers digging into sensitive joints and drawing a hiss from Rip. He very deliberately keeps his hands away from his gun this time; the last thing either of them needs is his finger on the trigger when a bolt of electricity goes through his head.
Particularly if Eobard hits the wrong area, and yes, thank you, Rip doesn't miss that bit that goes unsaid. Very reassuring, Mr. Thawne.
But at the very least, when the man does look to see if Rip is ready? There's no fear. He's already proven that if he dies he will come back; though he's most certainly not eager to do so again in such short order, there's some reassurance in that.
Not so much that he doesn't hold quite still, of course.
3...2--
The spasm that follows can't be helped; the sparks make his muscles tense, Rip's eyes closing tight at the jolt. Eobard's hold would leave bruises, but it also keeps him in place, and by the time it's done Rip is notably still breathing.
It's at least one positive sign.]
no subject
He waits quietly for a few moments, until he is certain Rip won't tumble. Once confident, he releases Rip's shoulder.]
Okay. Try talking now.
[Let's see how it worked, if at all.]
no subject
Eobard seems aware enough of this; he's even what might be considered patient for a speedster before he prompts Rip to say something.
The event is still going on. That's all Rip wants to say, and he braces himself, thinking through the words, the effort it would take to say them.]
The--the-- [But it isn't easy. He takes a breath, then starts again.]
The clock...
[Damn it.]
Time. The time is--circles, it...
[It should be so simple. The words are right there, and yet as Rip continues to struggle he already knows the truth. It's too much effort for too little a result, and his left hand comes away from his head only to curl into a fist, jerked down in rage at the apparent failure.]
no subject
What a waste. [He's disappointed. Not in Rip's inability to speak properly, but his own failure to create that outcome. Still he's not quite as garbled as before, and maybe that can be its own small victory. And there is what Rip is currently saying.] "Time circles" hm?
[He closes his eyes and ponders. That phrase feels... well in a way, it feels accurate. Eobard has noticed something going on with the stream of time. He's had moments of deja vu, which have left him disoriented and confused. Is there something Rip knows that he doesn't?]
In the past couple days... I've felt the strangest sensation that I've been repeating myself. Going in circles. Are you trying to say we're in a time loop?
no subject
Yet out of the metaphorical ruins there does seem to be some spark of life. As Rip mentally laments his continued inability, Eobard in fact picks up on just enough to piece it together. Rip almost doesn't hear it; he's rather busy fighting off the urge to find a shrub to punch, not to mention the pain in his head is getting worse. Yet as Thawne continues, he draws Rip's attention, the man accurately describing just what Rip had meant to imply.
He can't help it. There's a hint of a grin on his face as Rip snaps his fingers and points at Eobard. Yes, yes, that is it exactly.
And perhaps also worth the effort of trying once more.]
Two. Two--two parts. [God, this is painful.] Water. Time.
no subject
[Which means whatever he has done to Rip, beneficial or not, could be undone at any moment. That just further irritates him - he doesn't like his efforts being for naught.]
Well Rip, I'm sorry my little experiment didn't regain your ability to properly communicate. Yet it does seem to have had some benefit. Unfortunately, I doubt there is much I can do about it with even my powers.
[Mainly because ever since he has come here, his ability to run backwards or forwards in time has been locked away. Not that it would do much good - this is a world that he has to escape, and speedsters cannot create breaches in-between dimensions.]
no subject
Eobard is sorry that his efforts hadn't worked.
What more is there to do besides move on? Rip still would attempt to seek out solutions to the matter on his own, just as he had intended before running into Eobard. Yet the matter doesn't feel quite finished; even knowing that the man had sought to benefit himself rather than Rip, Eobard had tried to help.
In a fashion.
He holds up a finger, asking for the man to wait. This would take effort, as all his speech has. But he is able to at least choose his words with a bit more success. Moreover, Eobard hadn't taken this opportunity to kill him, despite phasing his fingers into Rip's skull.
It seems only fitting to show some gratitude for that.]
Th-- Thah-- [He casts a frustrated look towards the sky. Once more, and for all his strain, there is an audible sincerity to the words when he manages to at last force them out.] Thah-ank you.
no subject
I don't understand. [His face turns confused. Of course he heard what Rip said, but he doesn't understand why.] I didn't fix you. Why thank me?
[The question doesn't sound scornful, or self-pitying. Just... childishly confused in Rip's gratitude. He doesn't see the point. Eobard has received praise for his work in the past, but only when it actually contributed. Yet he can't recall a time someone thanked him in failure. Why is he being thanked when he didn't do as he set out to? Rip's sincerity makes absolutely no sense to Eobard.
And perhaps in that act, Rip exposed a weakness in Eobard. One covered by an unflinching and cold persona.
He sighs, trying to regain his bearings after... whatever that was, and raises his hand up before Rip tries to speak.]
Don't bother answering. You probably can't answer me coherently anyway.
no subject
The hesitation last but a moment. There and gone, and Eobard is likely entirely right in his estimation of Rip's abilities to explain those simple words. He tilts his head to the side for a moment to say as much, but oddly there is something--almost good to be found in seeing that confusion.
Perhaps it is the most human he has known Eobard to be in their encounters.
But since it seems like they are finished here, Rip motions towards the mansion. He is capable of going back on his own, more than and in fact he would prefer it--but they should go separately.]
no subject
I think I rather spend time out here. Go ahead - with any hope your aphasia may be temporary.
[And Eobard turns around and goes the other way.]
boy can't talk but he's still trying to get the last word