[various] "secretly you love this, do you even wanna go free?"

[controlledvariable]

Date & Time: 16th - 27thth; various
Location: all about the moon base
Characters: Steph, Saul, Jesse, Dick, Max Kearney, YOU
Summary: Steph's working against the mutiny and mostly having her trauma buttons pushed + aftermath
Warnings: Claustrophobia, panic attacks, someone's mind being messed with, discussion of sexual assault, violence, death, references to child abuse. I meant what I said about trauma buttons.
Notes: There's an open section for anyone who wants to run into Steph, whatever side they're on (or if they're neutral)! If you'd like something more specific, hit me up and we can work it out.


→ Saul and Jesse; 16th; 0400 hours

[So far, she's had no problems with the teleportation power that Jesse gave her; it's simple to use, all she has to do is imagine where she wants to be, and there she is. It means that as soon as she thinks transporter room and ends up in pitch black darkness, she knows that something has gone very wrong. Her first instinct is to try teleporting out, but she ignores it for the moment, knowing it's better to take stock of the situation before making any rash moves. She breathes in and focuses for a second, feeling the room around her. The air is cramped, stale, which means it's small and poorly ventilated, and there's no light source anywhere.

And now that she's paying attention, she can pick up the sickly smell of very, very old corpses.

It's all downhill from there.

Her fingers scrambled at her belt as she pulls out a torch, turning it on and shining it around the room; it's as small as she expected, three of the four walls smooth, but the final one has what looks like it might have been a door, once, but the metal is warped and twisted almost beyond recognition, and when she roughly shoves her shoulder against it, the thing doesn't even budge. The fact she's alone is only a small comfort, and she can already feel panic starting to rise in her chest.

Now she tries to teleport out, but nothing happens, as if she doesn't have the power at all.

She's trapped.

For a few long moments, she's frozen in fear, breath coming short and shallow as the light from the torch flickers, and she's terrified it's going to run out and leave her in the dark, before she realizes it's flickering because her hand is shaking so badly.]

C'mon, Brown.

[It's barely a mutter, her grip tightening on the torch and her other hand curling into a fist, gloved fingers digging into her palm.

That was a stupid move, because as soon as she's made a fist, she lashes out at the door, as if it might force it open, but all that happens is pain shoots through her knuckles and jars her arm. But she can't keep it together after that; she drops the torch and shoves both hands against the door. There's no metal, suddenly, no cloying smell of decaying bodies, just wood under her hands and the sound of her father shouting at her mom, or at her, muffled through the closet door as she scrambles at the wood and tries to push it open. It doesn't matter that there was never enough room in the closet to get a run up, to stretch her arms out and push on creaking metal, because the memories are so vivid and the panic so sharp that it's all she can see.

She loses track of time, all she can hear is her ragged, panicked breathing and her heartbeat in her ears and the thunk of metal as she tries to force her way out.

It isn't until she takes as much of a run up as she can and barges her shoulder against the door that she snaps out of the panicked haze, and that's only because the pain cuts through it so sharply, along with the sickening sound of her shoulder dislocating.

Between the fear and the pain, it's enough to make tears prick at her eyes, and she punches the door one last time out of sheer anger at how terrified she is, before leaning back against it and sinking to the floor, arm cradled across her chest. She digs the fingers of her other hand against her closed eyelids, trying to fight back tears and panic; that's not going to get her out of this, but she can't focus past that stupid, ingrained fear.

She tries to teleport again, and lets out a strangled sob when it doesn't work.

But while she hasn't calmed down, not by a long shot, if she focuses on the pain in her shoulder she can actually move past the panic, at least enough to start thinking of solutions.

The network is down, but--

There's a muttered string of curses, mostly self-flagellation for being so stupid. She has her communicator in her cowl, and Babs helped her fix it up so that it'll connect to both Babs' communicators, and to Saul's bluetooth earpiece. She should call Babs, but the communicator is part of her suit, which mean it's part of her weapon, so as soon as she remembers it's possible, it starts trying to reach to Saul.

She doesn't even realize she's murmuring please pick up over and over again.]


→OTA; 16th-18th; from 1200 to 1200 hours

[Once she's calmed down from the teleportation misadventure (and had a quick nap, at both Saul and Babs' request), Steph gets to work on fixing this damn problem. It's a little tricky for those first few hours while the gravity is still all over the place, but she adapts well enough. Her first priority is securing the spaceship, because if the Transporter room is out of reach, there's no way she's losing their other only option of getting the hell off this base, should something go wrong. As soon as she's happy with that, she starts on the long list of other problems that need fixing.

The lights and network are still down and the doors aren't under control; the latter two are the real problems, since it's tricky to communicate and get places with those systems offline. The doors don't bother Steph so much, except she's a little more cautious about teleporting places, mostly going places she's sure of, rather than trying anything too tricky and risking ending up trapped again.

Still, she moves around a lot, dropping into the housing wings occasionally to make sure everyone is doing alright, before heading out to do what she can about the technical problems. She's not, well, Babs, but if there's wiring that can be fixed or systems that can be hacked and taken over, she'll be making an effort to manage it, with varying degrees of success. As she goes (before the lights are back online) she sticks emergency work lights to the walls and over any working doors, to help people move through the base; they're from her belt, and the batteries will only last a few hours, but it's better than nothing.

She very rarely takes breaks, popping into the cafeteria long enough to grab something quick and easy to eat, or finding a spot near where Babs and Saul are set up to catch a few minutes of sleep. She's more likely to stop to talk to people, trying to coordinate efforts to get systems back online, or to figure out more of what, exactly, is going on. But her main priority is action, leaving the organization to people who are better at it. This isn't like the zombies, where she was willing to trust other people to hold down the fort, if she needed a break.

She doesn't know who she can trust or not, but she's moving about the base with purpose, and from the snippets of conversation that can be caught as she speaks into the earpiece in her cowl, it's clear she's trying to fix this. And it's clear she's not impressed with the situation, judging by the angry mutters and tension in her posture that never quite seems to leave.]


→Max Kearny; 19th; 0120 hours

[As soon as they've got the doors back online, she gives a curt goodbye to Jaime and Batwoman, then disappears towards the Transporter room. She knows she could likely take them with her, but once she's scoped out the situation she wants to go and get Jesse so he can disable anyone with powers, and she's not sure if there's a limit on how many she can carry.

Anyway, first things first, and that's reappearing in the housing wing a reasonable distance from the Transporter room, since she isn't entirely sure how far the field of... redirection magic extends, and she really doesn't want to end up trapped again. It's little further than she'd like to be, but it gives her a chance to sneak close and check things out before throwing herself into a fight, and hopefully there'll be less guards down this way.

That doesn't mean it won't be guarded at all, but when the only person she sees down the end of the hall is Max, she figures it's something she can handle herself, if this turns bad. Max is good, Steph's seen her fight, but she's good, too. And she's got anger behind her, which is always an advantage, so long as she channels it right.

Her hand goes to her staff, though she doesn't pull it free from her belt just yet.]

Please tell me you haven't thrown your lot in with these idiots.

[She does, actually, like Max. And anger aside, Steph doesn't want to hurt her friends, even when they're being completely fucking stupid.]


→ Dick Grayson + Saul Goodman; 19th; 0145 hours

[Max told her to find somewhere safe to wait this out, and Steph doesn't see any reason not to do it; she has no interest in this fight, even though she's sure she cared about the outcome a few minutes ago. But it doesn't matter, if she's stopped caring, it can't have been that important, so she tucks her staff back onto her belt and teleports back to the Housing wing. It should be safe there, out of the way, and anyway, she's kind of tired (when was the last time she slept?) so going to her room to take a nap doesn't seem like a bad idea.

She starts peeling off the Batgirl suit as she goes, tucking the gloves into her belt and folding the cape and cowl over an arm. The whole thing's heavy, and all that armor and symbolism seems a bit pointless. It really can't all be that important.]


→ Sonya Karimov; 19th; sometime between 0200 and 0230

[Saul tells her to stay put, but he's busy trying to co-ordinate something - she really wasn't paying attention to the details - and she really is kind of tired (and hungry; seriously, when was the last time she slept or ate?) so she decides to go find somewhere to take a nap. Saul might wonder where she's got to, but that doesn't really matter, it's not her problem, and anyway, she doesn't want to deal with someone being so... weird. About her.

It's easy enough to slip away, especially when so many people are heading in the opposite direction, towards the transporter room, since apparently something important is happening in there. Well, she knows what's happening, they're trying to take back the Transporter from the people who decided to have themselves a little mutiny, but none of it really matters. Who cares who's in control of the Transporter? It's not like it's going to change anything.

Someone runs past her, and she turns to watch them, before shaking her head and heading on her way again. At which point she bumps into someone.]

Sorry.

[It's an automatic response, she doesn't really care enough to be sorry, and she's already moving again without really acknowledging whoever it was.]

→ Saul; sometime fuck if I know

[As soon as she leaves Sonya, Steph reappears in her own, empty room. There's no cursory glance around to see if Ellie or Joel or Tess might have been around recently; they're not here, but it doesn't concern her beyond that. No matter how much she should be worride.

The only thing she really thinks is that she can finally get some rest. There's no relief behind it, but her body is exhausted after the past few days of barely sleeping, and it makes sense to her, that she should rest.

With her shoes kicked off and no worries to occupy her thoughts the way they normally do, she's asleep almost instantly.]


→ Ellie; sometime after the 21st

[The first couple of nights after... everything, she can't go back to her room. She knows she should, but all she does is send Ellie a text to let her know that she's going to be staying somewhere else for a while. She needs the familiar comfort of Babs, or Saul, or the feeling of safety that Jesse offers purely by existing and having the powers he does.

No one can do anything like that her again, so long as she's near him.

But she can't avoid her room forever, and she can't avoid Ellie forever; Steph needs to make sure that she's alright, after everything that happened. When she slinks into the room, she's not Batgirl anymore, dressed in tights, a tank top, and a rumpled, bright blue business shirt that looks at least three sizes too big for her. She feels guilty for having been away for so long, even if it's only been a few days, so her voice is a little hesitant when she speaks up.]

Hey, kiddo.

[Please don't be mad.]

→ Peter Rumancek; 25th ; late

[She tells Peter to come meet her in the VR room, and heads there to wait, wanting a few moments alone before she has to be around another person. It gives her time to set up the simulation, choosing something... completely different from anything she's made before.

The Guban plains are cold at night, but the bite of it is welcome, as is the sheer stretch of emptiness as far as the eye can see, interrupted only by sparse scrub and boulders, the sound of a stream in the distance. Last time she was here there were medical tents set up, vehicles parked and people miling about, but right now it's empty except for her.

She brought two glasses along with the bottle of tequila, and she forced herself to focus long enough to make a few sandwiches for them both, so they're not drinking on an empty stomach, and because she's noticed that Peter's been losing weight while on the moon.

She won't start drinking without him, but she does start on one half of a sandwich, picking at it slowly while she waits, trying to find something comforting in the fake night air.]

Comments

25th ; late

[werewolfing]

[peter has no idea what to expect when he opens the door to the vr, and until he opens the door he doesn't really care, either. but then he inhales crisp night air, which is somehow different than the stale shill of the rest of the base, and all that's around him is sky and the flat of scrubland, and for a moment it's like something in him stretches and wakes up. it's only a moment, but it's something.

he doesn't have any trouble finding steph, since she's more or less the only thing out there. he doesn't bother to say anything as he approaches, figuring that the sound of his boots scuffing the ground is good enough to announce his presence. the sight of sandwiches makes him huff an amused breath as he settles down beside her, and he bumps her shoulder with his shoulder as he takes a sandwich. he's not hungry, but he's barely eaten lately, and that's no foundation for tequila.]

Good choice.

[controlledvariable]

[The sound is more than enough; she looks up when he gets close, offering a tired, sad sort of smile, because it's the best she can do in the circumstances.]

The sandwiches or the view?

[She knows what he means, but it's easier to be a little bit playful instead of thinking about... everything.]

[werewolfing]

[the smile she gets in return is more of an idea of a smile than the thing itself, but it's obvious he's trying. he's just wrung out. caring this much about things so completely beyond his control is fairly new for peter; he doesn't have the patches and calluses of experience that keep one from being rubbed entirely raw.]

Meant the view, but we'll go with both. Drinking responsibly and all.

[he holds up the half a sandwich in salute before taking a bite.]

[controlledvariable]

I figured the AI would be unimpressed if we threw up in here.

[Not that she's done anything more than pick at the food in her hand, but she'll get there eventually.]

[werewolfing]

Good call. Not really that big on cleaning up puke, myself.

[peter's not hungry, but he eats automatically, little bites with a lot of chewing so that the food doesn't settle leaden in his stomach.]

So where are we?

[controlledvariable]

Yeah, don't think anyone would feel like that, cleaning up blood is bad enough.

[It's a training room, after all.]

The Guban, Somalia. I lived in a camp nearby for a few months, did some work for Doctors Without Borders.

[werewolfing]

Is there anything you haven't done, girl wonder? I'm starting to think that might be the shorter list.

[but it's possibly the lightest thing he's said for the past few days.]

It's really beautiful.

[controlledvariable]

And to think when I was fifteen I'd never even left Gotham before.

[She's packed a lot into a few years, even though her life before then wasn't exactly boring.]

It is, yeah. I felt like a different person when I was here.

[It was easier to push away everything that happened in Gotham.]

[werewolfing]

This counts as getting out of town.

[he hums a little noise of agreement]

One of the perks of traveling. You get to start fresh a little bit every time.

[controlledvariable]

[She takes a proper bite of her sandwich, buying herself some time to mull over her words.]

I think about it, sometimes, running away again.

[Away from Gotham and the Bat, her mom and all their history, the reminders of everything she's ever done wrong.]

Been thinking about it a lot more lately.

[Do you think anyone would notice if we just left?

And she'd meant it. It's so tempting to just ask the Initiative to send her back to somewhere familiar where she can live out the rest of her life in peace.

She's so sick of fighting.]

[werewolfing]

[there's a lot, in those few words, enough that peter's quiet for a long moment, staring out and the seemingly endless nothing in front of them. it's so comforting, all that space, like he can play pretend that there's nobody else anywhere close by.

he draws his knees up, takes another bite of his sandwich, and puts his arm around her shoulders. it's the same excuse; the chewing gives him another moment to think.]

I'm not the guy to tell you not to run away, Steph. I've never lived anywhere that we couldn't clean out and disappear from in a couple hours, preferably less. Find a hill you wanna see the other side of and go, if you wanna go. But when you do that, you gotta let go, too. Travel light.

[controlledvariable]

[The physical comfort is welcome, and she leans into it without hesitation.

She wasn't expecting him not to tell her not to run away, and maybe that's why she told him. Because she knew he'd get, she knew he wouldn't judge her for wanting to cut loose and just run.

But he's right, too.]

Yeah, that's the problem right there. [That's why she can't leave, because she can't let go.] I've got family here, now, as annoying as they can be.

[What's funny is that a few months ago she remembers that desperate I want to go home she admitted to Saul, but now she's not sure she even wants that. She loves Gotham, and she's not sure she could ever really leave her for good, but she wishes it was possible.]

[werewolfing]

The Initiative took me away from the one person I couldn't ever imagine leaving.

[his mother. and there's a thread of bitterness in that, but he's too tired for anything more vehement.]

Didn't ever plan on finding people here. That was an accident.

[but a few days ago, he would have said mistake. not anymore, as uncomfortably as the idea still sits on his shoulders.]

[controlledvariable]

[She doesn't say I'm sorry because the words sound patronizing in her head and she's not going to speak them out loud when they won't do any good. What she does is just reach up to curl her fingers around his wrist, of the arm that's across her shoulders, just giving a brief squeeze before letting go.]

I tried not to, those first few months.

[It was a war and she was alone and scared so she thought it'd be best to lock everyone out.]

Vanadi and Ellie were the ones that ruined all that, and they're--

[Gone.]

[werewolfing]

[he catches her hand before it falls all the way down from his wrist, squeezes her fingers and releases them.]

It's not...I never really had much in the way of friends. Being the new kid and the gypsy kid, y'know. Never really cared all that much. Family was enough, and fuck chasing after people. Roman, I'm pretty sure he started talking to me at least halfway because he gets off on the attention.

[and the other half way because he could tell that peter was something extraordinary, even if he didn't know what or why.]

He's all right though. Letha too. More than all right, really.

[a pretty understated way to talk about the only two real friends he'd ever had, before exsilium, people he risked his life for.

people he had, technically, died for, even if he'd gotten better.]

I figured that I didn't mind being alone, y'know? But...

[he did.]

[controlledvariable]

It's hard to go back once you know different.

[She had friends before she met Tim and Cass, but she'd always kept them at a distance, because it's hard to have real friends when she was so angry all the time. She hated her dad and her mom and the whole damn world and it was hard to trust people or let them in. She had Dean, but he wasn't much of anything.]

I was never very good at making friends back home. People here are strange.

[It still baffles her a little. Tim and Cass and Kara aside, the only time she'd ever really found friends was the brief stint with Bailey and her group, but that had been - superficial, kind of.

They didn't really know her; they were more distractions than friends.]

[werewolfing]

Strange isn't even the half of it.

[he takes another bite of sandwich, chews it contemplatively.]

I've been here now about as long as I was in Hemlock Grove. That's a weird thought.

[maybe that's why he can finally admit to himself that some people are important. maybe letha and roman important.

maybe more important, somehow, because they can actually protect him, they haven't hung him out to dry yet.]

[controlledvariable]

Always kind of a trip when you realize that stuff.

[She drums her fingers on the ground.]

I spent about a year in Africa, but I was only conscious for nine months of it, so it feels like I've been here longer.

[She can't believe it's almost been a year.]

If I'm still around come March I'll have had two birthdays here.

[And with that she finishes off her sandwiches, then draws away just enough so she can pour tequila into their glasses.]

[werewolfing]

A whole year. Pretty sure the longest Lynda and I ever stayed anywhere is two years.

[he gives her a momentary look but lets the three-month coma slide. there's absolutely no way that won't be an incredibly depressing story, and there's enough depressing about the present without digging up that kind of past. then he goes about the business of finishing his sandwich while she pours.]

No wonder you've got family.

[controlledvariable]

Dunno if I'm cut out for it.

[Family.

She'd been planning to go slow on the drink, but she ends up knocking back the two fingers of tequila she'd poured for herself and topping up the glass, though at least she just stares at that instead of drinking it.

All she wants to do is take care of Ellie and Dick, but the last few days have made her realize she isn't exactly doing a good job of that. It feels like she just keeps making things worse, with Dick, and it's been kind of scary seeing how ruthless Ellie can get when she's angry.]

[werewolfing]

What'd I tell you yesterday, girl wonder?

[he knocks back his own tequila with a slight grimace--he hasn't been hitting hard liquor since he showed up in exsilium, and it burns--then sets the glass down. it only seems fair to keep up with her.]

Not hurting people is harder than hurting people sometimes. Everybody needs family, though. Something that goes both ways.

[controlledvariable]

[She just nods, to let him know she remembers, but she's not sure how to find the words for it.

For any of this.]

It was always just me.

[She refills his glass and sets the bottle down, still not having touched her second.]

Dad was the bad guy, and whenever she was at home mom was so far gone on pills that she'd barly recognize me. Used to be I'd just take care of myself and the rest of the world could go fuck irself.

[That isn't true; she's always had a pretty good sense of doing the right thing. There's a reason she got into a lot of fights at school, and it wasn't because people were picking on her.]

Now I've got a pair of fourteen year olds looking up to me and I'm trying to do the best by them but I don't think it's enough. Did you see the kid on the network owning up to being part of the mutiny?

[werewolfing]

[peter's quiet while she talks about her family, just nodding a bit to make sure she knows he's listening.]

I don't even know who my father is. Don't really give a fuck, either. He left, right? Lynda says he's dead. We never had shit for things, but that didn't matter.

Not sure how I'd have come out without Lynda.

[probably worse than steph. he's had no lack of family members kicking it purely due to poor lifestyle choices. maybe he wouldn't have gone down that road. maybe not. peter's always had a sense of something, but if it was justice it's certainly not the kind he's seen from courts and cops.]

Yeah, I saw that. Not the smartest move. He's one of yours?

[controlledvariable]

[She wishes she didn't know who her father was, but thoughts like that don't really get anyone anywhere, so she keeps it to herself.]

I'm glad you had her.

[There's something almost painfully genuine in that, because she likes how Peter's turned out.

She knocks back the second drink.]

He's like - thirty or something back home. Him and my ex and my best friend were all adopted by the same man. [So it's not really surprising that blood doesn't matter too much to her, when it comes to thinking of someone as family.] And he always seemed like he had it so together, you know? Even though he was kind of an asshole to me sometimes, he was someone people looked up to.

[She doesn't want to directly mention the vigilante thing, but it's tricky to skirt around when people know what she does.]

And I get here, and he's just a kid. He's petty and insecure and stupid the way teenagers are, but I've been trying so hard to do the right thing by him and I just-- It's like I've done everything wrong.

[She kept things from him to try to protect him, and it just made things worse; she told him the truth because she thought she owed it to him, but that fucked things up as well.

It's like no matter what she does, it's the wrong thing to do.]

[werewolfing]

Me too.

[he's still matching her for drinks, but he waits until she finishes talking about dick before he throws his back. it goes down easier; half a sandwich isn't the greatest buffer against tequila.]

Nobody has their shit together at fourteen, Steph. Judging by half the people around here, twenty-four isn't looking a whole lot better. And no offense, but you kids aren't just kids. Assuming he's into the same shit you and your ex are.

[which might be a dangerous assumption, but peter's not so sure.]

Sometimes there's no doing right by people. Sometimes they don't want it. Sometimes people don't want what they think they want, and don't know that till they get it. Sometimes there's just no such thing as right.