methuselah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
singmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2024-07-10 05:05 pm
singmod) wrote in singillatim2024-07-10 05:05 pm
Entry tags:
- *event,
- bigby wolf: jelle,
- chloe frazer: tess,
- cornelius hickey: kates,
- francis crozier: gels,
- jason todd: jessi,
- john irving: gabbie,
- kate marsh: cheryl,
- konstantin veshnyakov: jhey,
- levi jordan: cirape,
- louis de pointe du lac: tea,
- randvi: tess,
- snow white: carly,
- svetlana nazarova: kota,
- the doctor: kris,
- thomas jopson: kota,
- william gibson: jelle,
- wynonna earp: lorna
there'll be oats in the water
JULY 2024 EVENT
PROMPT ONE — THE AURORA: REDUX: A storm finally arrives, and with it — Enola extends her hand to help the Interlopers once more, granting them new abilities.
PROMPT TWO — PENSIVE LOOKOUT: With the Forest Talker efforts focused on sabotaging hunting efforts, Interlopers can attempt to explore the Pensive Lookout Tower, where they can uncover secrets from the diary of Sam Bouchard — the former firewatch worker of the summer of 2014.
PROMPT THREE — A PEEK INSIDE: A group of Interlopers get their hands on one of the Forest Talkers in search of answers — and get a little more than they bargained for.
THE AURORA: REDUX
WHEN: Mid-month, for three days.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural/extreme weather; lightning storms; potentially disturbing dreams; dreams of being trapped in ice; dreams of animal death; dreams of the death of loved ones.
July brings warmer weather. The fog has lifted, and the daylight returned — but an odd kind of pressure lingers in the air, the kind that feels similar with oncoming storms but something still feels off about it all. Measurements and readings are erratic, with them often making little sense. It’s hard to predict just what might be coming, but sure enough something is coming.
Hold on a little longer, Enola told you. A storm is coming.
It comes quickly, the gathering of storm clouds. At first, it looks as if a kind of snowstorm is moving in, but there’s something else at play here. Within the grey, cloudy skies, there is a tell-tale sound of an Aurora mixed within those clouds.
And with it, in amongst the dark, the swirling colours. Greens, pinks and purples weaving through the clouds, almost mesmerising to watch. The air is alive with sound: static noise, cracks and pops: a storm and the Aurora mixed into one. For those who’ve been here long enough, it’s a worrying, unnerving sight. The storm rumbles with the low roar of distant thunder, growing ever closer. The electronics of the world begin to come alive, and in the static of it all — you begin to hear Enola’s voice even clearer than before.
After so much darkness, now there is so much light. A lightning storm — aurora colours mingling with the grey clouds, punctured with crackles of lightning. Something powerful and strange — flash forking across the skies, followed by booms of thunder.
The storm lasts three days, and even though her voice is soft — you hear it over all the noise, nestled gently in your ear.
“You're still here. It means something. This isn’t the end, I refuse to let it be the end. It can’t win. You won’t go into the Dark.” Enola tells you. ”I will make you more than what you are, more than what was stolen from you. This place will not be your end. I have to try. We have to try. Together. I showed some of you, once. I’ll show you again.”
She tells you to sleep. For some, they recognise this and realise what may end up happening. For others it feels like going out on a limb. But you sleep, and perhaps a dream may come to you.
COLD FUSION: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of a great hall of ice: as if it had been carved into some great ridge of it. You walk through it, marvelling at the beauty of it — a blue gloom, echoing with each of your footsteps. But as you take one particular step, the ground cracks and collapses beneath you, sending you into dark, frozen waters. In seconds, the water freezes around you, encompassing you in thick ice, your entire body trapped within it. The coldness burns you, and you are stuck there — frozen in agony. The pain is immeasurable, your entire body crushed and searing from the ice. There is no escape, no reprieve.
A voice speaks to you, perhaps it is the voice of a stranger, perhaps it is the voice of someone you know: Do you know how you survive the cold?’ They ask you. You do not know, and you wait for the answer: ‘You become colder than it.
Your eyes close. You believe those words, you do. You must become colder than the cold itself. And so you will. Your breathing slows, your heart slows and the cold… it stops hurting, it doesn’t burn. The ice around you begins the crack.
When you awaken the first thing you realise is despite the temperature, you are completely cosy and warmed. You do not feel the slightest chill. It is perhaps only once you are around other than you truly notice the difference to you — you are cold to the touch, lacking the heat you once had. An understanding comes: you are at one with the cold, it will not beat you, it will not cause you agony. Winter is at peace within you: perfect Cold Fusion.
MOON TOUCHED: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of running through the silent woods at night. The moon is full above you, the air is calm and still. Hunger draws you forward, everything is so sharp and vivid in your senses, even in this dreamscape. You hear the crispness of the snow beneath your feet, smell the scent of the pines on the air, feel how warm you are against the coldness around you.
The snuffling of a rabbit catches your attention, and you swiftly leap after it, jaws opening and closing around its neck as you capture it. You bite down hard, feeling the crunch of its bones as they break, the sweet coppery taste of blood filling your mouth and nose. You lift your head towards the stars, blood on your tongue. You realise you are not a person at all, but a beast on all fours: a wolf, content and filling your belly with meat.
You wonder, for a brief moment: were you ever a person at all?
You do not know the answer to the question. You do not seem to worry about such a thing but there’s a flash of warning on the air. Something you cannot quite place, but you know that you should not forget it.
When you awaken, you feel… different, somehow. Everything seems a little sharper, as if the world around you had been dull, or behind some pane of frosted glass. With it comes a strange balance of calmness and chaos, tameness and wildness, fear and bravery. You find yourself looking for the moon in the skies and when you finally find it, it hits you — this is what it means to be Moon Touched.
INTERLOPER’S SACRIFICE: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape and then fade into nothing. You dream of kneeling in a darkened, charred wood. You are not alone. In this dreamscape, you dream of a loss, or a time you have never felt more helpless in your life. Perhaps it is when someone you knew died before you, or you stood as someone was sick and injured and you were unable to do a thing. As you kneel, they are there with you: sick or dying or even dead in your arms. You cannot do anything but hold them, and the helplessness is overwhelming.
You look up and a woman in furs stands before you, her expression solemn. Enola herself. There are tears in her eyes, as if she shares the very pain you do: the loss, the grief, the hopelessness, the powerlessness. She approaches you and lowers herself to kneel in front of you and your companion, bracing your shoulders for a long, lingering moment. There are no words, none from neither of you.
Enola shifts slightly, leans forwards. She kisses your forehead, much like when a parent kisses their child: sweet and tender.
And then you feel it, as if you are set alight: an agonising pain that encompasses you whole — so painful you cannot even open your mouth to scream. You feel yourself growing weak, the corners of your vision blurring into black. It feels as if you might die from the pain, and you want for it to stop but it doesn’t.
Enola pulls away and you gasp, slumping in exhaustion, but still alive, somehow. You stare at her, sweating and clamouring for breath, and she offers you a sad smile. Never again. you feel the words inside of you. This time, it will be different. Better.
When you awaken, you can still feel the kiss upon your forehead — enough to make your fingers reach up to touch it, your entire body tingling a little. A small voice in the back of your mind whispers, reminding you as you find yourself looking down at your hands: never again. Never again, you tell yourself and the comprehension comes to you: you have chosen. This is what it means to be: this is your sacrifice. The Interloper’s Sacrifice.
NOTHING: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape, but only for a moment. The edges of your vision begin the blur with black, slowly closing in until everything goes dark and you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. You awaken, and although you feel rested, as if the dreamless darkness has helped you feel a little more ready to take on the day — nothing else about you has changed.
PENSIVE LOOKOUT
WHEN: The month of July.
WHERE: Pensive Lookout Tower, Lakeside.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of survival; possible fall injuries/treacherous climbs; themes of terror; themes of diminished sanity; themes of starvation.
The Old Hunting Lodge is located in the southern-most area of Lakeside, and its surrounding area is generally considered no-go territory with the presence of the Forest Talkers. As June turned into July, the Forest Talker’s presence in the wilds of Lakeside has begun to grow again — but their efforts appear to be focused on sabotaging the efforts of Interlopers, Methuselah and Young Bill in hunting fresh game. If anything, it could mean that with attentions drawn away — perhaps the braver sorts of the Interlopers can explore the area a little more fully.
There’s little in terms of buildings of interest in this area. The wilderness is thick and deep here. Perhaps the odd ransacked cabin once belonging to a local may be stumbled across — its contents picked clean, presumably by the Forest Talkers. Many of these buildings will be completely inhabitable due to the damage done — with some cabins being razed to the ground.
However, on higher ground, with a good hike to access it, stands a watch tower.
These lookout towers could mean a number of things: a chance to access supplies that may have otherwise been forgotten about due to the hike to get up there, a better view of the surrounding area, and the possibility of a radio — given the sign of a radio transmitter that can be found blinking a feeble red on Aurora nights.
With the snow on the ground it’s a little more treacherous, but given the circumstances, anything’s worth a shot, right? Those who attempt the hike may fall foul to slips and trips along the steep slow to reach the tower, and should take care in the ascent. Even with the warmth of July, it’s difficult. One might hope this might make the place a decent outpost, if you think about it. Somewhere hard to reach, and with such a vantage point.
Reaching the tower and climbing it to its interior will it largely intact but a mess. Someone has lived here for some time. Interlopers will find no food here, but some useful tools that belonged to the lookout: binoculars, maps, a compass, an alidade. There is even a radio sat upon a desk, and with it — a journal.
The journal, Interlopers will find, belonged to a man named Sam Bouchard — the firewatcher for the season during the previous year, detailing the months of his arrival and ending in November last year. It is unknown what happened to Sam, but his journal will perhaps offer some insight and even some information.
A PEEK INSIDE
WHEN: The month of July.
WHERE: The Gas Station, Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of kidnapping; imprisonment; self-starvation; blood/minor injuries; psychological torment, supernatural abilities.
The Forest Talkers have a long history in the Northern Territories, long before Interlopers started arriving in Milton. Champions of nature, they have sought to put an end to the industries and tourism-related expansions in the Lakeside area, first peacefully and then… not-so-peacefully. But with the events known as the ‘The Flare’ last year, Forest Talkers have been… acting peculiarly, disturbingly, aggressively.
There are plenty of questions to be asked. But the Forest Talkers are difficult to communicate with. Previous attempts have ended up in aggression or being ignored entirely. And now, even with the events of the previous month coming to an end — game remains difficult to find, and Forest Talkers are keen on sabotaging any attempts of hunting made by Interlopers, Young Bill or Methuselah. And more importantly: what is the yawning grave?
It starts as mutterings between tired and disgruntled Interlopers. They need answers, and there’s got to be a way in trying to get some. They’re hungry and exhausted and so many of their numbers are now dead. Those mutterings grow, and soon enough a plan is put into place. A small group of Interlopers embark into Lakeside and wait.
Soon enough, it bears fruit. A man is captured, bound and blindfolded — quietly and secretly brought back to Milton to be held up in the unused Gas Station to be questioned. It is not the leader, but surely one of them is better than no one at all. He is injured, but not enough to kill him. It will prove challenging in trying to get answers out of him, but soon enough the Interlopers will get him to talk.
News of the Forest Talker in their midst will inevitably spread, as most things do in small communities. Secrets are hard to guard. It won’t be just those behind the kidnapping who might end up coming across the man being held in the Gas Station.
Anyone who goes to investigate will find the man sat on the floor in quiet contemplation. Attempts of conversation will be met with long, silent stares — holding your gaze for an uncomfortably long time. He will spurn any gestures of kindness: spit on the floor at Interloper’s feet, refuse any food offered — as if the man has chosen to starve himself in protest. He says nothing, at first.
But after some time, he will look into an Interloper’s eyes and utter something. A word. A phrase. It may be a name, or a place. It may be a specific thing an Interloper has read, or been spoken to by someone. Something that holds meaning to the Interloper. It may be the name of a loved one from home, or the last words ever spoken to you by a friend. Something the man shouldn’t know.
Whatever it is that he speaks to you, it is not something that will fill you with hope or fondness to remember — but quite the opposite. A reminder of something painful, of a loss, or some other thing that caused you misery. As if he had reached right inside your mind and plucked some painful part of your past from you and spoken it to the wind.
The Forest Talker smiles, and will say nothing else. The damage has already been done.
FAQs
1. The next three Aurora Feats are unlocked! Please see the following page for more information.
2. Aurora Feats are completely optional.
3. Interlopers will only receive ONE Aurora Feat. The only time this is available is this month. After July, players will have to wait for the next Feat round for another chance at an Aurora Feat.
4. This Aurora/storm will last a full three days, darkening the skies almost to night.
1. Interlopers who dwell in the lookout for the next Aurora will find the radio works, albeit poorly. They will be able to pick up the same broken morse code message.
2. There are no signs of blood/injury that befell Sam in the lookout. It appears he made good on what he wrote on in his journal and attempted to leave to get to Silverpoint.
1. While only a small number was involved in the kidnapping itself, anyone can discover the fact there's a Forest Talker being held in Milton.
2. In terms of appearance, the Forest Talker is very much your typical average white guy. Bearded, weathered by the cold, someone who's lived several years without much in the way of comforts or luxuries.
I'm crying he literally said https://giphy.com/gifs/lZjnZEADTQTlu
Konstantin almost immediately straightens up as the door opens to reveal a young woman — hair a pretty mess of thick, loose waves, looking comfortable and at-ease and cool. The movement of his eyes to her abdomen comes before he can really think about it; in his time and culture, women don't expose skin quite so freely, and he's almost stunned by it.
But clearly not in any way that's averse, considering his eyes do linger there at the woman's bare midriff for a few very intentional (very appreciative) seconds, and when they lift again, it's with a rolling, lazy gesture, like he's having to coax them right back up. Something brightens in the man's gaze, turning inky-dark eyes into a warmer brown. His mouth quirks at the corners, edging towards a smile that lingers without fully-forming just yet.
Well, well, well. Isn't she a sight for sore eyes? —About to be a very brief sight, considering she immediately, instantly, dismisses him, and the ability to think so quickly on his feet comes in handy for the cosmonaut just now, because he's reaching to place a hand against her doorframe — not blocking the thing from shutting if she really wants to, and there's still a polite distance to the space he gives her, but the way he tilts forwards into something of a lean begs to be heard for a little longer. ]
Wait, please— [ he adds, as if his body language wasn't enough to suggest he's not going to be gotten rid of so easily, and now he's smiling. It's friendly, and pleased, and he thinks surely very charming. He's used that smile more times than he can count — to men and women in equal amounts, for differing reasons, but it has a particular meaning to the fairer sex. He is known as the heartthrob of the decade, after all. ]
No subscriptions, and certainly no gods. I wouldn't subject you to either of those things. [ Konstantin laughs, good-naturedly, and places his other hand comfortably on his hip. ]
I didn't even know who lived here. I almost skipped this house. [ His smile warms. ] Now I'm glad I didn't.
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It's charming. There's no doubt he's got charm, and plenty of it, but it feels like a too-friendly hand rubbing a cat's fur the wrong way up its back and leaving it bristling. She's known plenty of guys like him, polished and polite even as they stare at her chest or her bare stomach and then smile like that's all it's ever taken to get out of trouble.
He's one gigantic belt buckle away from being an older version of Champ. Her expression flattens. ]
Okay. Take it down a notch, Casanova.
[ On another day, he might be fun to tease and seduce and leave stranded somewhere, tied up to a bed with no way to get himself free, but just looking at his blinding smile is giving her a headache. He settles his other hand on his hip, casual and comfortable, but all it does is remind her of March and his stupid fucking power poses. ]
Is there something you want? Because I have a pretty full day of 'doing literally anything but this' that I should really be getting back to.
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(The thing is, up under his playful ease, Konstantin's not fully sure how to adapt to this. It's an unexpected reaction — she's not even blushing! He's standing right there!)
He takes another moment to assess the stranger, brief, seconds — she's... American, would be his guess. It would explain the exposed torso, probably. ]
Please accept my apologies for interrupting your full day. [ Konstantin's already learned how to adjust his way of speaking towards the people here, words coated in strong and rich Russian, but he coaxes his voice to float just a little softer, smoother. ]
I was hoping you might be able to help me. I'm looking for someone. A friend. I can't seem to find him anywhere. [ His smile stays easy, playful, warm, but his eyes are locked right on, searching hers. He doesn't trust most anyone here further than he can throw them, and anyone is a potential suspect — even if they're gorgeous and have the greyest eyes he's ever seen, like sleet. ]
Have you been here long enough to know most names and faces?
[ He asks it like that intentionally rather than about Kieren outright, to begin with. The more information he can pull out of people, the better — this way, he'll be able to learn if she's new or if she's been stuck in this hell for a longer time. ]
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No reason but to be difficult, which is reason enough for her. ]
Dude, I don't even know your name.
[ She does, actually, recognize his face, if vaguely. And probably she could have learned his name by now, but why bother? She's got her own circle of people to keep an eye out for, and that keeps her busy enough. ]
Why don't you tell me who you're looking for, and I'll tell you if I've seen him around?
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But for a moment, all of that halts in favour of something else.
'Dude, I don't even know your name.'
It's nothing unexpected, of course. Why would she know who he is? But it's such a strange, foreign concept — one that's been lingering since his arrival to this place, realising he's further from home here than he'd ever been out past Earth's boundaries — and this is the first time it's ever really been said so clearly. Put in front of his face so directly. Grabbed him by the jaw and forced him to look right at it, in the eyes.
He's an unknown here, in ways he's never been an unknown. There's no one in his country, in his time period, who doesn't know his name and face. But here... Apart from Vasiliy who had immediately understood what he was from a simple photograph and the medal pinned to his uniform front, and Svetlana who's the closest thing to familiar he has here... he might as well just be anyone (which means he might as well be no one.)
It's weird. He doesn't know how to react for an equally weird moment, and he actually pulls back from her doorframe, stands up straight again, arms folding across his chest. Loose and still comfortable and he hasn't stopped smiling, but there's something to the change of posture, before he continues speaking. Recovering quick on the surface, the way he always does, but with an odd tight thing under his ribcage now, pressing. ]
His name's Kieren Walker. He's young, maybe teens or early twenties.
[ That smile subdues, a little. ]
I think he might be in some kind of trouble.
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Yeah, I've met him.
[ One conversation doesn't make them buddies, or anything, but she'd liked the kid. Hadn't he sketched her, at one point? After a moment's struggle with herself, Wynonna reluctantly lets go of the door and leans fully against the jamb. Apparently this conversation is gonna happen whether she wants it to or not. ]
But I haven't seen him recently. What kind of trouble? Like, the usual 'we're all gonna die in a frozen hellscape' kind or is he shaking it up somehow?
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He wonders if she knows more than she says she does. Anyone could have been involved with the boy's disappearance. But there's a certain caution to be had — he doesn't know whether she was at that "town meeting" or not, doesn't know what she might know. It's equally possible, of course, that she doesn't know about Kieren's.... incident at all, in which case, the last thing he wants to do is risk incriminating the kid with his own words. So he chooses them carefully, leaves blanks inbetween. ]
A different kind than the usual. Apparently there was some sort of trial in this place, not long ago. People deciding the fates of others.
From what I know, he went missing shortly after that happened.
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Oh my god, you sound so serious. 'Trial' to 'decide the fates of others'? Were you even there, dude?
[ Wynonna shifts to lean her shoulder against the doorjamb so she can hold up one hand, counting off on her fingers with the other. ]
First: it was a joke. Second: a bunch of people straight up murdered a whole bunch of other people, and you're surprised the ones who didn't maybe wanted to figure out what happened and try to keep it from happening again? Third: literally nothing happened. Nobody got punished, nobody did shit about anything, which brings us right back to my first point: it was a joke. I think that, and I was one of the ones who did the bad shit to begin with. My fate's fine, thanks.
[ She makes sarcastic air-quotes with her fingers, then drops her hands and gives him an unimpressed look. ]
If the kid disappeared because of that, it'd only be because it was so fucking cringe-inducing. Trial. What the fuck is wrong with you?
no subject
He blinks, once again finding himself completely taken aback by this woman as he listens to her — a feeling that only grows the more he listens to her, right down to that last question that somehow manages to feel like (yet another) punch to the gut (she's really good at that, apparently).
'What the fuck is wrong with you?'
The cosmonaut finds himself in a rare display of bewilderment, mouth tipped open just slightly, seemingly at a loss for words. Somehow, this has become his shortcoming, or ineptitude, or weakness, (or at least that's the way it feels — what the fuck is wrong with you —) and he just stands there, staring at her like she just hit him, before he finally speaks again. ]
I wasn't there, no, but... I heard of it from others who were.
[ The idea of being put on blast in this already-tense little community is something of a nightmare scenario for him — but then, he can't exactly tell her that without revealing why, and he'd like to keep his parasites to himself around a beautiful woman, thank you very much. (Even if that grin of hers comes with sharp teeth and an even sharper tongue. Seriously, ouch, ma'am.) ]
If someone were to be... perceived as a danger to this community, maybe others here decide to do something about it on their own time. That's a threat that some here might worry about.
[ Again, he doesn't want to risk outing Kieren if she doesn't know about the kid, and finds himself at an odd standstill. This... absolutely is not going how he imagined. He was supposed to have charmed at least some kind of helpful information out of her by now, but instead... he just looks foolish. How has this turned into one of the worst experiences of his entire life? It hasn't even been ten minutes talking to her. ]
You really aren't worried about any kind of retaliation? Not even personally?
[ Since she mentioned she'd done some of the 'bad shit' too... ]
no subject
[ She doesn't say are you some kind of idiot? but her tone's doing some pretty heavy lifting in that general direction. And why are they even talking about this?
She studies him, ignoring his fluster, piecing together parts of this conversation that she really wishes she'd never gotten into to begin with. If someone were to be perceived as a danger, he says, carefully, and her eyes narrow in sudden focus, a few light switches clicking on in her brain.
This no longer seems like it's about Kieran. And he just met her, he's got no reason to give a shit about whether she's being hunted or not. ]
You know the only kind of person who'd be worried about that is someone who probably would be considered a threat, right? So --
[ She still doesn't know his name, but can't bring herself to care. ]
Why are you so worried about it?
no subject
There's no way to power through this that doesn't involve betraying Kieren's trust and potentially safety, as well as his own. There's a part of him that wants to keep trying, that refuses to give in so quickly — he could find some new way to spin it, make up something, add a yank of heartstrings (the kid reminds me of mine, if he was that age) except he can't even begin to go there, feels himself flinching from the thought as quickly as it might come.
She's too smart for that anyway though, he thinks. He's reminded of some of the mind games he's learned how to play in the process of being subjected to them through his conditioning. She has him pinned to the wall, and if he tries to squirm out, re-shape that question, she's going to squash him. He severely underestimated her, and it's kind of enthralling actually, this challenge — even if in the moment he's too shaken by it to truly see that. Maybe later...
For now, it takes Konstantin a few beats too long to reply to that direct question that immediately frames him with suspicion. She's got him.
When he does reply, it's with another bright, cheerful, sudden smile. Serious Mode didn't work, so we're back to this. Hopefully it'll be enough to keep the focus from going back to 'potential threats'. ]
All right, all right, I admit it, I got spooked. Hearing that people decided to punish each other made me picture the worst. Like a... witch-hunt, as they call it?
[ He's just an innocent, non-threatening civilian of this place! Look at him! ]
I'm not used to things like this. The... violence. It's been a long time since my military days — maybe I've become too paranoid. This place makes it easy to be, doesn't it?
no subject
He'd do great in politics, though.
Either way, she lets her silence drag out a little too long after his verbal olive branch, that question he sets on her doorstep and just waits for her to pick up. And why wouldn't she agree? This place is the worst. Paranoia's the least of their worries here. ]
Sure. I mean, I for one can't believe no one decided to deal with multiple instances of killing with a group hug and a few stern words about not doing it again.
[ She blows out a breath and slouches back against the door jamb, crossing her arms over her chest. It's still fucking suspicious how wound up he is about the town meeting, but he hasn't pulled a gun on her, only threatened her with death by boredom.
And Kieran... well, if he's worried about Kieran for the same reasons, what's that say about the kid? He seemed pretty harmless that stormy day stuck in the Community Hall, but he wouldn't be the first hapless young man she's know who turned out to be something more than what he seems. ]
You were in the military. That's how they do it, right?
no subject
It's not too late to turn this around. (He thinks.) She only just met him, maybe she's like this to everyone, the same way his default is a million-watt smile. Her question gives him a perfect segue to it, actually. ]
Maybe not quite like that, [ Konstantin chuckles more than laughs, playful and good-natured, as if she's said something very amusing and entertaining. ] Though it has been some time, so maybe I'm a little rusty on the details... Ahhh, I've greyed so much since then. [ His smile moves up to his eyes again, and despite what could be a self-deprecating remark by anyone else, it's clear he knows very much that his "greying" isn't something he considers unnattractive. (It's a charm point, he's been told. You look seasoned, dependable. The ideal Husband and Father — in concept only, of course. Heroes don't exactly settle down; that's part of the public appeal, too.) ]
These days, I don't run into much human conflict, though. Not much of that to be found up in space.
[ And there it is, hands slipping into his trouser pockets along with a relaxed, easy shift of his weight to one hip, somehow managing to look both casual and confident, as though he's very at home in himself (he's good at pretending there, too). He started this all out a little badly, but it's because he should have introduced himself first, and now he can remedy that. Smooth out the jagged little edges of tension. ]
I should finally introduce myself, shouldn't I? Konstantin Veshnyakov. Kostya, if it's easier. Commander, if you need to find me fast in a crowd. [ He winks, as if that's going to do something to make her opinion of him a little less what the fuck is wrong with you and a little more favourable. ] I'm a cosmonaut.
[ Big, big grin. He couldn't possibly give a bad impression anymore with that piece of information out in the open now! He's a cOsmOnAUt ]
no subject
She shrugs one shoulder, her eyes falling back to his face as she makes a small, bored sound of agreement: yeah, he is greying. Weird observation for him to make, but she's not gonna call him a liar or anything.
Wynonna squints at him as he introduces himself, jovial and grinning, grinning, grinning, like he's some politician's pet mascot and any second now he's going to start talking to her about shit like insurance. But whoever's got their hand up his ass to puppet him around seems to be doing it from a distance. Tragically, there's no one else around. ]
You mean you could be in space right now?
[ For a half-second, she almost sounds admiring... right up until her lips thin and she tips her head, sardonic. ]
God, I wish that for you. For us, really. Well, for me, anyway.
no subject
But this woman... this woman seems to.... hate him.....
'Hate' is a strong word, of course; they've only just met. But it's clear, at least, that she's something even more than simply 'not impressed' by him. She seems... annoyed, even bored of his presence. Is it an act? A ploy? Surely it isn't genuine, right....? Look at him, he's so handsome....!
(But he's also sick here, and weaker, and even though he keeps himself clean-shaven and bathed almost compulsively, maybe he's still lost some of his glow. Maybe he's not as good-looking anymore. Maybe the ugliness of his insides shows more and more these days....)
He's well and truly taken aback; he's back to having no idea how to handle this situation. She doesn't even offer her name in return. Is she just.. putting up with him?? (She's been doing that since the moment she opened the door, Konstantin.)
The man seems to freeze in place, before he lifts a hand to his mouth, running his palm over it and down. The gesture reveals yet another smile. ]
Space would be an improvement, compared to this place! Hahaha! [ Not the forced laugh... With that, he's leaning back, weirdly awkwardly. He is... still unsure whether this woman is being playful with him or not, but the only method he knows how to deal with this is to be playful back. ]
You must really want me gone, if that's the case!
[ Cue another good-natured chuckle. ]