exsiliumlogs | Breathe in the light, I'll stay here in the shadows

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Breathe in the light, I'll stay here in the shadows

Who: CF and CC
What: Shit gets real
Where: one of the spare, busted up storage rooms of the moon base (i.e.: home)
When: 10/21 whenever-the-space-o'clock pm
Warnings: Talk of change!!!

She's already in by the time the shrill screech of doors being forced along their tracks alerts her to Charlie's presence. It's not uncommon for them to cross paths, but lately, even after the flat and the business and the trip back in time, it's been...difficult. Coping mechanisms and all that. Chloe's spent more time shadowing the footsteps of other conscripts (judging, mostly) while Charlie's been-- shit. She hasn't got a clue what he's been doing. And when their lines cross it's fine-- the literal definition of it and nothing more-- because everything about this place, everything they've left behind is stuck under their skin like glass shards: too irritating to ignore, impossible to dig up.

Perched over in the far corner of their living space that feels more like a mangled tin can than anything resembling a room, Chloe keeps focused on unfolding a sheet of something that looks like thin, finely crinkled aluminum instead of turning about to greet him, tucks the edges of it overtop the flattened out mattress and spare cloth that is their bed.

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"Yeah, alright. You're not wrong." He wants to laugh at himself - the whole concept is totally mad; they aren't really built for that kind of work. It requires a certain level of playing above the board, which isn't something he really understands much less is any good at.

"Don't suppose you've any bright ideas then?" It's an abrupt kind of backpedaling; a year at this and he know she doesn't like to talk about this sort of thing. He may be dense, but he's not straight out stupid. Anything to do with tangling with the Initiative tends to be asking for trouble and, shockingly enough, he's not keen on a row at this exact moment thank you very much.

Something about the way he says it when he agrees sticks, more than she'd like for it to. Recklessness of that caliber was burned off in the days of her youth like a spent wick: went out fast and never really came back. And Chloe might feign at blindness every now and then, but the truth is-- just as it's always been-- she tallies the score quicker than anyone else. Keeps her out of harm's way, low under the radar, and it serves as a reminder that changing the game doesn't come without a cost. A massive one at that, given the scale of it all.

Risk versus reward. Or possibly stupidity.

"Don't suppose you have a head count on how many crew members the Initiative's keeping on board in all that paperwork you've uncovered." It's casual, how she breathes it out. Like discussing the weather or what was served for lunch. Keeps her from dwelling on the memory of similar conversations she's had in the past.

Does he have a full head count? He doesn't think-- actually, he's not sure he knows the answer to that. Charlie abruptly unwinds his arm from behind the press of her head. Sitting up and leaning across her, he strains to reach his jacket: finger catching in the collar and wrenching it toward him so he can fetch his tablet. He doesn't lie back down once he's got it, instead paging through the documents he has saved to the thing offline.

"Come to think of it... -- well I know for sure there's just the two lads running the transport pad. Spoke to them about it the other day." Except she's not supposed to know about him running about fetching supplies, is she? "They put out a notice that some finagle-y technical bits needed to be readjusted, needed some measurements to input and--" Bollocks. "Also I may've gone off to fetch some kit for the medical bay."

The last part he says with his head already down like he knows he's stepped in it just a tad (though Charlie does shoot her quick sidelong glance before his eyes snap back to the tablet).

"Ah." Hard to read, that. Particularly when it's directed at the ceiling rather than him (she misses the somewhat sheepish glance by a mile, though the shift in movement beneath her is easy enough to catch). He's not wrong to assume that her normal reaction would be nothing short of genuine disapproval, but this time around, predictable's not entirely synonymous to the name Chloe Frazer.

"Bite it this time?"

He makes a small, affronted little noise and whacks her thigh with the back of his hand. "If I did, I wouldn't be here right now. Christ, don't you read anything? The bloody 'magical resurrection machine's" --punctuated by an exaggerated hand gesture-- "down until they can retrofit this garbage heap. So, no. I didn't bite it, thank you."

Said as if he wasn't running about with his head down just every so slightly behind her back. "In any case, I can't imagine there's more than ten Initiative reps up here. Fifteen at the absolute tops."

Excuse you, Middle Pillar: she reads.

Chloe snorts in response to the tap on the thigh, twisting in place to toss a somewhat offended look his way. Sure, most books could do with more in the way of illustration, but she's certainly not daft now is she? "So the elves and witches and dragons and whatever else this place is teeming with just...what, pretend they've forgotten how to bring back the dead?"

Nice as it is to know he didn't die, she picks her conversational topics with care.

Shame he'd been drugged off his nut when that went down; he'd have been so pleased with her.

That though is a more than fair point. "Alright, alright." Charlie throws up a hand; it's an absent sort of surrender. "The point is no, I didn't bloody get myself killed. It went off just fine. There's some of the gear there in that kit, actually." He motions over to the things he dumped on the way in, presumably where that free first aid kit.

"Point is," --he pokes her thigh for emphasis-- "I can probably count the Initiative reps on my hands if you'd like."

"Meaning..." Her hip nudges up against his in the break, giving her a good chance to disregard the static of their disturbed blanket. "We could kick their asses without a problem."

As if it'd be that simple. As if screwing over Harry or Lazarevic or the Order ever went as problem-free as their plans had seemed.

"Now hold on." He sets a hand at her hip: a solid weight. She can wiggle about all she likes, but that hard there is firm and steady and clearly meant to pin a note of seriousness in this conversation if not her to the crappy mattress. "What happened to the bit where we were trying to not be killed sooner rather than later?"

It's not a bad idea in theory: the Initiative's never been a particularly strong presence on the ground, but there's no denying that they're even thinner up here in the base. With a little pressure, he can see how it might be easy to get the upper hand. But what then? "Even if we did kick their asses," and there's a braced tone to his voice that suggests he's not sure of their odds. There's been plenty of unrest among the Transports, but there's a reason no one's gone about staging a mutiny. "What'd be the point? We'd still be here."

Except then they'd be in charge of the whole shit show instead of just playing a bit part. He's not sure if that's better. Not entirely anyway.

"We'd be in control." And while control on a massive scale has never been Chloe's MO, in this case-- having gone for so long feeling nothing short of caged and collared-- a chance to have the steering wheel back in her hands for even a second is one she's willing to take. "You can't tell me that's not worth the risk, considering the alternative."

The alternative, naturally, being 'roll over and die.'

Still, it gives him pause. Charlie carefully folds the tablet up and sets it aside, leveling a frank look in her direction. "We're not talking a careful thing here, mate. What you're talking about is mutiny. Can't imagine a lot of people would be too happy with us."

Which is a thin kind of dissent - flaky enough that she can probably hear it in his voice. Because really, he agrees with her. Nothing good is going to come of them sitting about for the time it takes everyone to get their shit together in a fair, diplomatic process, and if there was ever a time to do something about it, it's now when the Initiative is short staffed and no one's got a clue what they're doing otherwise. He just wants to make sure they're on the same page here.

"Sorry, I must've missed the chapter where we cared what anyone else thought about us." Which comes out light enough, despite the topic: Charlie Cutter isn't tame when he disagrees on just about anything (trivia night at the bar, or the location of Ubar) and if he's not outright butting his head against hers from the get go, Chloe knows well enough that he's not yet stepped away from her side.

"I'm serious here. We do this, we had better do it quick and proper to boot. If we muck this up, we'll be in a bad spot." Which is all true enough. If they try this and get nicked, it'll mean trouble. A whole moon base worth of trouble stacked against them. Not like bad odds have ever done much to convince him not to do something, but he knows it's something she tends to consider. "And--"

He pauses. If they don't manage it, they'll be in trouble. But if they do? What then? There had been a reason he didn't volunteer when he'd spoken to the woman, Kate Kane, on the network. This isn't really his forte now is it? "--If we do this, it can't be just the two of us."

She stops teasing, then. Wedges herself in closer against his side so she can roll over onto hers, a simple enough shift that lends her a clear shot at staring him in the face when she goes all serious about it.

"Well." It's slow, careful. Like she's verbally disarming a ticking bomb with the potential to take the both of them out. "We know the stakes, we know the cost: if you don't like where this is going, all you have to do is say the word."

There's a beat. The ventilation system rattles behind the wall closest to them.

"But considering the sort of nonsense we've pulled off, we both know it's not impossible for a pair like us."

Edited (woops repetition) 2013-10-30 09:05 (UTC)

Impossible? Not even remotely. It's a small place, sure, but god knows the community distracts more easily than an excitable terrier. It wouldn't take much to sidetrack Transports and Initiative works alike for the length of time it'd take them to-- do whatever it is that they could theoretically do. He's not quite willing to follow that line of thought that far. Not quite yet. It's a slow process of changing gears from 'someone ought to do something' to 'we ought to do something' and right now he's stuck somewhere in the middle, grinding the gearbox as he tries to shove it over properly.

He's never been the greatest driver; that's by and large her territory.

"Yeah alright, so say we bash in a few heads and push over the Initiative. What's the plan from there?" It's a real, genuine question - less theoretical and more hedging toward practicality in a significant way.

The question presses her back towards looking off somewhere else-- somewhere like the far corner of the ceiling. Sure, she's thought up a solid plan or two in her day, but she's also had the unfortunate luck of watching those crash and burn like they'd been laid down with gasoline.

"I'd say the best place to start would be to go about establishing a new system, yeah? Use what we've got either literally or as leverage to give them the chance to treat us as more than just their bloody lapdogs." Simple logic, really. Simple logic that revolves around the one glaring issue she's had stuck in her side since day one, but there it is.

He shifts slightly, rearranging his legs with a hiss from the space blanket under him. Eventually he gets his legs folded up, twisting round to face her properly. "To be honest, there's no reason they even ought to be in charge anymore. Not like they used to be in any case. There's what-- maybe twenty of them and three hundred plus of us. If someone's going to fix this nonsense, I don't see it being them."

Though to be honest, he wouldn't put much faith in the community of Transports either - not how things stand now. There's been an awful lot of talk about thanksgiving and murder mystery parties, barbecues in the VR room and very little conversation about getting back to the island itself. But part of him wonders if that's less to do with willful ignorance and more to do with having no direction, no proper leadership. God knows 'proper leadership' isn't in his wheel house, but with a little finagling...

"We'd have to lock down the transporter. It's the only thing worth bargaining over."

The edge of her mouth curls up into an easy grin. Christ, it's like he's reading from a list of things she's spent half her life dying to hear. "And you'd be willing to risk your neck for that."

Less of a question than it ought to be, only thanks to the fact that she's not asking for curiosity's sake - she's asking to know if he's aiming to sign his name on the dotted line alongside hers.

He opens his mouth - closes it. Because it's a seed of an idea, but even he's not sold that it's a fantastic one. An option? Absolutely. But there's a lot of those on the table and she's asking him to put his money on one of them now (and he's got plenty of vices, but gambling's never really been his bag).

"With a proper team and a half decent plan? Yeah, it's a possibility." It's something to keep in mind anyway - something to work toward that isn't just some nebulous, ill-defined theoretical end goal.

Chloe finishes the adjustment, then-- rolls over the rest of the way till she's up on her palms and knees right in the crook of his arm-- leaning over him for a straight stare that's too much business to be even slightly romantic, regardless of the fact that he's chest-up on a bed with her looming just beside.

"Charlie, we don't have time to talk about possibilities. I'm tired of waiting."

Edited 2013-10-31 07:35 (UTC)

"Well Christ, you don't have to put me on the spot about it."

It's empty grousing at best though. His mouth's set firm enough and there's a distinct furrow to his brow that says he's likely already made up his mind -- even if Charlie isn't totally aware of it yet. "With the right team," --he repeats (because that point means a lot. This isn't something they can do by themselves and honestly he wouldn't want to; if they're doing this, it's not so the pair of them can lead the base round by the nose)-- "Sure, alright."

Edited 2013-10-31 08:04 (UTC)

If getting her way's a routine, this would be the point where she'd even out into a cocky, congratulatory sort of grin designed to function like a pat on the back: something to encourage the subjugated party to continue playing into her hands.

But this isn't like pulling a few thousand pounds free of a stuck up bastard's palm, or borrowing a brand new imprezza from the garage of a professional driver. Chloe's lips stay (aside from the barest little tug at the corners) set in a straight line when she hunkers down again in the sharp rustling of the covers, tucking herself in against his shoulder. "I might know a few with the right skills for the job."

It's a dull statement. No bite or humor to it. The quietest way she can think of to mark the first time someone's truly had her back.

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Breathe in the light, I'll stay here in the shadows

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