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

[initiates]

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!

Comments

[alittlesweptup]

[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.]

[totallytrustworthy]

[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.]

[alittlesweptup]

[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.

[totallytrustworthy]

[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...]

[alittlesweptup]

[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.]

[totallytrustworthy]

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.]

[alittlesweptup]

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?

[totallytrustworthy]

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.

[alittlesweptup]

[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.

[totallytrustworthy]

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.

[alittlesweptup]

[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?

[totallytrustworthy]

[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.

[alittlesweptup]

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

[totallytrustworthy]

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?

[alittlesweptup]

[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?

[totallytrustworthy]

[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.

[alittlesweptup]

[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.

[totallytrustworthy]

If it's not too much trouble. [It comes out far too sterile; too informal. Too late to fix it with a nudge or the faded edge of a smile.]

[alittlesweptup]

Just-- [He should say something - apologize?] --wait here and keep an eye on things.

[He moves off, leading with his shoulders. The housing blocks are crowded with people, but he's wide and tall enough that losing him is hard. He doesn't really go very far anyway before he catches up with someone he must know, has a few quick words and then raises his hand to wave her over.]

[totallytrustworthy]

Sure. [There's a pounding ache in the base of her heels and her shoulders are so stiff she doubts a few hours will set them back on track for another pass, but she'd rather stay put while he goes; they need a few moments of clarity in all this.

So when he motions towards her she nearly misses it-- scrolling through his tablet means he's stuck off in her peripheral vision-- tucks the flat bit of tech under her arm before moving to catch up.] What's the verdict?

[alittlesweptup]

Found you somewhere to sleep. [He takes the tablet off her and hands it over to his contact with explicit 'I had better not come back to chaos' instructions before he briefly catches his fingers out toward her arm, then leads the way down the corridor.]

[totallytrustworthy]

[Bothering to say thanks seems like a lot of effort at the moment, so it's a quiet trip through crowded halls (the stuttering electricity issues make collision unavoidable at times, but it's nothing too bothersome to be brushed off) till they hit their intended destination. Chloe's fingers find their way to the cuff of his sleeve.]

How many hours? [It's not an innuendo - not this time, anyway.]

[alittlesweptup]

[There's something strangely comforting about the weight of her grip at his sleeve, a desire to twist his hand around and grip her wrist in return. He fights it down, moving through the press of the crowded corridor.] I don't know, probably four. Five if you're lucky. [He shoots a glance back at her, mouth tugging anxiously.] Sorry. It's not much.

[It doesn't take much longer to reach the correct unit. Charlie knocks on the door but no one answers - not surprisingly, there's plenty of people running around dealing with all this nonsense - so he lets himself in without much ceremony. All four beds are empty.] Yours is the lower bunk, left side.

[totallytrustworthy]

[And this time, moving past, fingers still wound up in his cuff, she says it:] Thanks. [And it's not forced, not heavy with sarcasm or an attempt at humor; all things considered, it's one of the few things right in this endless blur that's been the past two days.

So when she walks far enough into the room that it's either stop or break all contact, instead of letting go, his sleeve's tugged on. Hard enough to get the point across. ]

[alittlesweptup]

[He may be dead on his feet, but he's not so dense that the meaning of that tug doesn't translate. Whether he follows it or not is an entirely different matter - he ought to get back, really doesn't feel comfortable leaving a whole stack of supplies up to the protection of someone he barely knows and frankly doesn't trust anyone to do much of anything.

But the fights he puts up is barely even a pause before Charlie allows himself to be tugged gently into the room. The door hisses shut once the threshold's clear.]