exsiliumlogs | ( open ) our ag wing's back and you're gonna be in trouble (hey now! hey now! our ag wing's back)

Entry tags:

( open ) our ag wing's back and you're gonna be in trouble (hey now! hey now! our ag wing's back)

Date & Time: October 31st, 3313, 11:59PM - November 3rd, 3313, ????
Location: Agriculture Wing, Moon Base to start. Cafeteria, warehouse, docking bay, VR rooms, Transport Pad, or Observatory later on.
Characters: Any & all!
Summary: Space Zombies are allowed out of the Agriculture Wing, slowly revving up their systems to try and infect and absorb as many of the Transports (or 12 Initiative Members) as possible.
Warnings: Log will be locked for potentially graphic violence. Please warn in threads should the violence or gore become graphic.
Notes: Specify a date and location in your top comment. You may specify multiple dates/locations. Specify a time if you wish as well.

Everything is a success at first, from the cool rush of air out of the Agriculture Wing once the doors are fully unlocked, to the heady sense of accomplishment for finally moving forward on something good for the long-term usability of the Moon Base. It's intended to remain a resource, after all, but not be a permanent home. Fraying tempers and the sense of cabin fever descending on Transports continues to showcase how important it is to get back down on Earth to regain some breathing room.

There's little enough dust between all the unmoving, unlit structures, many even supporting the barest dried husks of what once grew there. Upon the lightest touch, they disintegrate, turning into a dust that falls to the ground. The silent rows will be reclaimed and turned into functioning units, based on Transport efforts, and Transport time invested in the project.

There's just one problem. Something stirs in the reclaimed wing, among tangles of hosing and wiring. Skitterings and movements that make no sense for a long abandoned Moon Base. The further in Transports go, relying on magic or technology to generate light past the bare minimum maintained by the base, the more disturbing sights they may run into.

Of course, the most disturbing of all might be lying just around the far corner -- but don't worry, it's only a flesh wound. Try not to get surprised in the machinery, caught suffering from not looking up or caught making out with anything unsavory this holiday season, Transports. We need all of you to stay alive!

We can't bring you back right now!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He reaches out, catches the edge of the packet. He tips his head so he can make out what's printed on the side, though it's faded mostly beyond recognition.] Looks like 'chicken pasta italiana.' It's probably supposed to be warmed up, but suppose you'll make do. [He tosses her a sidelong glance - quirks an eyebrow.] Fancy something to wash it down with?

If you're offering. [So: yes.] Any problems on this end with the night of the living dead getting through? [Chloe fishes out the spork, sets to work on that pasta italiana-- and promptly makes a face. Lovely.]

[He digs her up a water bottle accordingly, going so far as the uncap the thing and take a swig before handing it off.] Nothing yet, though I wouldn't be surprised if it happens here sooner rather than later. Something'll break and hole'll open up.

[The station's hardly in the best repair to begin with; it's not difficult to imagine some system failing from the overload.]

[Certainly makes her feel better about taking it. Certainly makes their sorry excuse for food go down better as well.] Oh yeah, no doubt about that.

[And it takes her a moment to come around to it, because honestly, neither of them are all that good at it to begin with, but eventually she stops snacking on those repurposed bits of plastic long enough to ask:] So am I gonna have to knock you over the head to make sure you catch some rest while you're on call?

Well now who's being a mother hen? [He snags the water bottle back from her, taking another swing or two before offering it back.] I'm fine. This is all just a lot of standing about and shouting at people. Not exactly rough work.

Safe to say you might've rubbed off on me. [Whether his response means yes or no, she doesn't care enough to fuss more than that; he's grown, he can call his own shots.

This time, Chloe doesn't hesitate to down the rest of the water in one go.]

Well if you ever get tired of living it up in paradise, I'll never say no to a hand.

[Every now and then, the lighting overhead flickers. The air's stale, the food's staler and there's a heavy sense of fear and panic in the halls. Paradise is right. He levels her with a look - sharp, serious, his mouth drawn into a thin line. ] I thought you'd be pleased.

[She knows. Christ how she knows. Still, the way he looks at her, the heavy tone when he says it--]

I am, you know. [No bullshit, no nonsense. Just the bare bones truth.] I know it might not come off that way given how I'm running on empty at the moment, but believe me, darling, I am.

[And regardless of the way the moon base's systems stutter like some living, breathing thing around them, Chloe doesn't brush it all off with a casual glance anywhere else or a quick, witty remark. Those days of shoving off sincerity for the sake of comfort aren't long since passed-- she'd just like to imagine that someday they might be.

If they survive, of course.] We sure as hell wouldn't stand a chance without all this.

[This isn't where he wants to be - barking at people and trying to get them to see reason and work together and all that bullshit, especially not when he could be out shooting a few things in the head. Not when he could be out watching her back. It makes him antsy and agitated - energy he's pouring into keeping lists and trying to organize teams, but still fretting. Still bothered. It's not sitting still, but it nonetheless leaves his teeth on edge and the genuine notes in her voice don't necessarily smooth those ruffled feathers.]

You don't have to be running about risking your neck out there either, you know.

[And isn't that just an ironic role reversal. Christ, even he's aware of it.]

[There's a beat for it, a moment where she lifts her eyebrows and purses her lips in a sort of silent agreement: talk about looking in a mirror. One where the reflection has less hair in some spots and more in others.]

Would you rather I didn't? [Chloe caps the empty botle; gives it a solid shake and sets it down beside the rest of the supplies.]

[They're supposed to be straight forward with one another - god knows she's fulfilling her end of that unspoken bargain with that sort of direct question. But old habits are hard to break, so Charlie drops his eyes to his tablet and marks off the rations she's used on his supply list instead.]

You can do whatever you like, you know that.

[The conversation's come ten hours too late. Sweaty and spent and scraping grit from her skin with the back of her palms, there's not much in the way of a fuse to be lit. Making this a one-sided affair means it'll likely stay one.]

One of the perks of not being under someone else's heel, yeah. [It's a joke about Tibet, really. About Flynn and Lazarevic and even the bloody Initiative at times, but the way it might sound stuck in the middle of their current situation...]

[He should know it doesn't mean what it sounds like, but he's slipping. It may not look like it, but this work isn't his thing and it makes him tired. Leaves him sloppy. So it catches in under the ribs, stabbing at something soft and vulnerable.] Jesus. Well don't sugar coat it.

[The sarcasm's biting enough to be dangerous, fuse or no.]

Sorry? [And there's that sharper edge-- not as hard as it ought to be or would be under normal circumstances-- but shit, Charlie, that wasn't exactly a fun time for her, was it? The least he could do is not snap at her attempt to make the best of a piss poor situation.]

I'm in this, aren't I? [Is what he rounds with, quick and sharp like a punch. And he's always been good at throwing those, hasn't he?] Then let me have your goddamn back, wouldn't you?

I am letting you have my back-- [She recoils at it, goes all sharp in the shoulders and visibly so.] You're the one not telling me what it is you want while I've been out there trying to play your bloody game. Jesus, Charlie.

[Shit, he can hardly make sense of what they're talking about anymore - just that's he's frustrated and angry and it's because of the things she's saying.] I'm not asking you to play at anything. So maybe don't go running about trying to get yourself killed when I've just said I agree with you.

Oh so that was your way of agreeing with me, was it? I'm sorry, I must've misinterpreted the part where you blew me off. [Tired as she is, she's lost sight of the road or at least the place where this argument began, aside from the fact that she's so tired that nearly everything hissed out of his mouth sounds like an assault of some sort.]

--And for the record, I don't make a habit of sugar coating my less than pleasant former employment. Considering yours, I thought you of all people would understand.

[If he ever had a grasp on this line of conversation, here's where it slips out of his fingers entirely. Charlie stumbles - frowns. Opens his mouth and closes it once before he strings a few words together properly:]

Hold on, hold on. What the hell're you talking about?

[Not so quick to drop off the S.S. Irritable, Chloe's brow stays low and furrowed when she responds] You stuffing your nose in your tablet.

Oh, because you usually take so well to me ordering you around. [Christ, he's tetherless here.]

I don't take well to anyone ordering me around-- [Dense creatures, the both of them.] but that's not what I was asking you for, was it?

[He scrubs his hand abruptly across his face, leaning into the heel of his palm like if he does it hard enough, it'll push something back into place and this conversation will go back to something sensible. By the time he drops his hand, the only thing he's really more aware of is the headache he's got blossoming] Would I rather you stay here with me? Absolutely. But it's not my bloody decision, now is it?

[She stops at that, fingers abandoning their current assignment of wiping at the side of her arms, so that when those hard angles start to even out she's somewhat more aware of the chalky texture coating her hands from dried sweat and dust than she is how on earth they wound up at this point.

Whether it's exhaustion making them stupid or the thought that they might really be screwed over this time: wind up zombies for the rest of their un-lives.

Or maybe just the frustration that comes from being in two separate places when neither of them really feels comfortable in the role they're currently playing. When they could actually have one another's backs.]

No, it's mine. [a beat] And I could use some place to lie down for a while.

[The storage room they commandeered isn't in the housing block itself, meaning there's no immediate place for either of them to retreat to for however long this zombie nonsense happens. Which would, all things considered, probably go a long way to explaining why the pair of them are at the end of their ropes, exhausted from being on foot and doing things they're not really suited for.

Charlie scuffs his hand across his cheek, mouth pulling at the corner. It's not a smile.]

I can probably find you a bed for a few hours.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject