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

[totallytrustworthy]

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. 

Comments

[alittlesweptup]

"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."

[totallytrustworthy]

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."

[alittlesweptup]

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.

[totallytrustworthy]

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.

[alittlesweptup]

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."

[totallytrustworthy]

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.

[alittlesweptup]

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.

[totallytrustworthy]

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."

[alittlesweptup]

"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."

[totallytrustworthy]

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.