sixthiterationlogs | ( OPEN ) So you wanna die young;

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( OPEN ) So you wanna die young;

WHO: Detective Millertime
WHERE: Bunker, Inn, places between
WHEN: January 18
OPEN TO: Initial thread closed to Elektra Natchios, OTA otherwise!
WARNINGS: Miller is a very sad, disturbed individual. His mental process will encompass suicidal and alcoholic ideation. Please let me know if you would like to avoid these topics!

ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ░ｌｅｇｅｎｄａｒｙ░ｆａｃｅ (for elektra)

His first thought is that he's drowned - like Rogue did - in the pool. His eyes pop open and there's some thrashing, so that anyone happening by should notice his struggles. It's only after he's started to panic that he realizes the liquid he's in is oxygenated somehow. Is he back...? Back in his world with those evil scientists, or still on Reverie with those evil scientists, or whoever they are. He never did crack that case, or put a bullet between the eyes of whoever was responsible. He'll regret that more than anything if this is how it ends.

But then the tube is draining and he's wincing at how cold he suddenly feels. The space station could be cold, sure, but this penetrates deep to his dusty, chalk bones. Reflexively, his hand goes to his head. Semi's hat isn't there. He looks down, teal scrubs, and as the water drains he feels something heavy on his back. All very weird. Then again, weird is his wheelhouse.

The second he can blink his eyes and focus, it's when the door decompresses and opens, a slim hand with dark nail polish holding it open for him. Is this a dream...? No, it's- Shit.

"Rich girl?"

ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ░ｈｏｎｏｒａｒｙ░ｓｔａｒ (ota)

Okay, so here's what you missed: Elektra showed Miller the powers vending machine and the second he touched it, it shocked him. Something weird about the way his senses were going haywire, but he assumed it was just the charge. The thing was, the second he made it above to the surface world, every animal for miles around was all over him. He made it to the Inn for some warmer things, but now he's back in the Bunker staring at this stupid machine.

This is how you find a bundled and miserable Belter with a squirreldog on his shoulder as he glares daggers at the piece of tech that wronged him. How dare it make cuddly animals follow him everywhere. The longer he's down there the more randomly appear. Croc-dogs, more squirreldogs (the squirreldogs really like this asshole), and pea-cats by the droves. He's trying to investigate here! He makes it to the specimen room since he's definitely not going to chance getting saddled with yet another power, but he frowns in dismay as the dog on his shoulder runs roughshod over one of the shelves and breaks nearly every vial on it, blood running thickly down to the floor.

"Real nice."

ｄｒｉｎｋ░ｉｔ░ｉｎ░ｂｅｆｏｒｅ░ｉｔ＇ｓ░ｇｏｎｅ (ota)

Miller has never experienced weather like this. In fact, he's never experienced weather at all. He's still not sure how it's possible for him to stand up straight on a planet, and he's not sure he wants to know. It can't really be a planet, or else something like the protomolecule is fucking with physics again. Either way it's shoved distinctly in that category of his mind: Do Not Want.

He and his parade of squirreldogs make it to the kitchen of the Inn so he can try and find anything alcoholic to filch. Lucky for him, there's still some of Sam's moonshine seemingly abandoned. Or that's what he'll take it for anyway. Miller and his newfound mason jar make it to the fireside to try and warm up even a little, but he feels frozen straight through. His gloves and hat sit soaking on the hearth while he sits with his back against the couch, coat open to let in the heat and one lanky leg stretched out in front of him so that his hiking boot taps the grate. He holds the jar in one hand, elbow braced against his knee, drinking and talking to himself (and anyone who cares to listen.)

"Shouldn't be possible, gravity torture... I'm a Belter, I never left the Station. Not until last year and then... Well, I'm no rock hopper, that's for damn sure."

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Call this your WILDCARD option! He'll be "investigating" in and around town, to and from the Bunker and the Inn before eventually claiming Room 12 as his own. All week he will be saddled with animal affinity so various wild animals will be harassing him as he makes his way around. If you have another idea, hit me up and I can write you something personalized, or just tag in with something random and I'll roll with it!

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Reyes hasn't been haunting the inn quite as often as he did before, having picked up a few other errands to keep himself busy — but he can still be found there sometimes, nursing a cup of precious black coffee at an empty table, with his back strategically pressed to the wall and a clear view of the front door and stairwell.

It's hard not to notice this particular new arrival, considering the bushy-tailed creatures that follow Miller in like a chittering stream of fur, frolicking at the man's feet, winding in and around the chairs of the inn room as he settles down and starts muttering to himself.

Which is the point where Reyes starts paying even closer attention. Old habits die hard, and he's perpetually earmarked certain keywords and phrases, anything that might sound like someone from his own home. So it's those words that make him crane closer, at which point he recognises Miller, a man he's already had a passing introduction to — it's an easy decision, then, to rise to his feet and saunter over to the fire, joining him.

"Now, now. You can't drop a term like 'gravity torture' and expect me not to ask for details."

Oh, when did this guy get here. He looks up lazily, already feeling sluggish as he shakes his head. He's either already drunk or this cold has gone straight to his brain.

"Well, I'm from the Belt, yeah? Beltalowda." He laughs, short and abrupt, even while he taps a two fingers of his free hand against his heart. There's something almost derisive in the familiar gesture. "Never left Ceres, until... doesn't matter. They bring people like me to Earth so all that gravity can come down on 'em like a ton of goddamn bricks. They'd say anything just to get it to let up."

And yet here he is, feeling fine. A squirreldog punctuates his point by hopping onto the top of his head before skittering away again.

Beltalowda and the hand gesture don't mean anything to Reyes, but he lets it slide by without asking; Miller's explained enough over the network that the other man catches the gist anyway, knows the context. The detail about the difference in gravity, though, is new, and he arches an eyebrow in surprise, chin tipped against his hand.

Then again, mankind's innate capacity for cruelty shouldn't surprise him by this point.

"So, it's not just a... descriptive term? They bring people down for the express purpose of torturing them?"

Reyes is keeping half-an-eye on the squirreldogs even while they chat; one of them is nosing at his heel, an inquisitive paw on his shoe.

Miller has never been concerned with if other people relate to him or not. Usually, it's not, but it's never bothered him. Call it confidence if you want, but it never really seems to occur to him he might not be believed. Or maybe he just doesn't care either way.

"That's right, kid. Just stepping foot on Earth could cripple a guy like me and that's why they do it. To get information, whatever they want. They're the ones who marrooned us out there on the Belt to start with. We work for their interests, and that's how we get paid. Hollow bones and a whole lot of bullshit."

It's all matter-of-fact, he doesn't actually hate Earthers, but these are the facts as they are. And most Belters are a little racist anyway.

"Point is, I shoudn't be perfectly fine right now. It's fuckin' creepy."

As with their previous conversation, it's just close enough to Reyes' own frame of reference that it feels like it might have happened next door, metaphorically. "We were-- lucky, I suppose. We have this thing called mass effect fields, which can maintain artificial gravity. As a result, I've never really had to consider it as something that could go wrong. They stabilised any area that would have human habitation."

And then, after a thoughtful pause, Reyes eventually falls into the cant of telling his own small story (because what else do you do with a drunk man in the closest thing to a tavern, but swap stories?): "There was a planet. Sobek. It was full of alien slaves being worked to the death in terrible conditions -- most importantly, the slavers weren't maintaining the gravity of the work camps. It meant the workers' bone mass degraded, and so even after they were liberated by a group of mercenaries, they still couldn't leave safely. Civilians on other planets rallied to, trying to help them rehabilitate."

He'd had friends amongst those mercenaries and they weren't as clean-cut as the PR would tell it, but he'd omit that particular detail.

"Long story short -- though it's not exactly the same thing, I suppose it's still a form of torture. Captivity. A bullshit move." And then, out of curiosity: "Do your bones feel any different, compared to before? Sturdier? Stronger?"

He gives a little hmmm in thought, trying to picture what the other man describes and then instantly wishing he hadn't.

"Ceres has gravity," he assures, quirking a mirthless, lopsided smile. "Sometimes. And it's at maximum... a third of 1-G?" So what Reyes details is exactly what he's experienced. A whole people in indentured servitude because they can't set foot planetside. It lends credence to why something like the OPA can operate a virtual terrorist organization and call it a worker's union, as much as Miller hates them, too.

Do his bones feel different? He squeezes his arm, just above his cancer port, whinging because of that more than anything. Then he shakes the gangly limb around, starting the stupid squirreldog who darts into the next room to hide.

"Not like I would know the difference, but they have to be if I'm walking around, right?" Unless... He doesn't voice his concerns. Not until he gets the reaction to that much, watching the man intently now for his answer.

"Have to be," Reyes agrees, blandly; it's the only thing that makes sense. Unless... "Have you heard the clone theory?" He hates to dump it on someone new, particularly when Miller's already compromised with drink (Reyes is almost envious, wishes he'd had that bottle during his first few days here). But Reyes had had this dumped on him fresh and shivering out of the bunker, so evidently he'll just spread the goddamned misery around.

"Some people, apparently, theorise that we're actually clones of our original selves. Spun up in that bunker to the west and ejected here, with memories intact. So if you've got a grand-spanking-new body, that might explain it."

Reyes still had every last freckle and scar and burn on his body that he'd ever accrued, which unsettled him about the theory -- but their overseers might just be meticulous when it comes to verisimilitude.

Reyes would be hard-pressed to make this hard-boiled detective nervous, at least not about shit he already figured out. But he hadn't actually connected the list of iterations to the idea that perhaps they're clones. He rubs at the bone spurs at the top of his spine, as if checking they're still there even though he knows they are. He feels along the top of his arm too, assuring that his cancer port is still there too, everything is as it should be, at least, as far as he can tell.

"I saw the list, and the specimens. Seems like just another elaborate torture chamber to me." Oh yeah, he hasn't actually got around to mentioning that yet. He just came here from a space station that wanted to kill him and all his friends, and that was after the genocide stuff.

"Specimens?" Reyes came out through the bunker, but had been whisked fairly quickly back to the village, and so hasn't had a chance to nose around enough to his heart's content. "And, wait. Another torture chamber?" Another. That's a crucial word, right there, and speaks to some awful multitudes that Reyes doesn't like the sound of.

But while he's so absorbed in grilling the detective, one of the squirreldogs has sidled unnoticed up his leg and started rummaging through the side pocket of his backpack -- it seizes one of Reyes' hand-fletched arrows and scurries happily away with its prize. Startled, Reyes swears in Spanish and flails one leg, trying (unsuccessfully) to lunge after it and catch the stick. The squirreldog sidles easily out of his reach instead, circling back around to camp out by Miller's boot.

Reyes glowers after it.

"I realise I'm made of questions right now, but also: why are you some kind of... nature spirit? Is that something you did before?"

"You haven't seen it? They've got a whole room full of blood, tissue samples... can't tell if it's real or someone's sick idea of a joke, but it's there."

Miller shrugs and glosses over the torture chamber thing again. That's... coming. At least, until he's distracted by being called a Nature Spirit. Lord. He chuckles dryly, looking at the little creature hiding behind him after stealing from Reyes. He would have been scared of these things at one point, but living next door to a giant pitbull (and a giant pitbull of a man) has made him less nervy around non-human mammals in general. Acting on a hunch, he sticks his hand out.

"Give it," he asks, and the squirreldog does, albeit while looking startled. Why is he listening to this bag of sticks masquerading as a man?? Even he doesn't seem to know. Miller works his jaw. "Huh. I've got no goddamn idea, partner." But he hands the arrow back to Reyes.

"Probably has somethin' to do with that weird machine underground. It zapped me."

The weird machine is yet another thing Reyes hasn't encountered yet, and so he sighs. "I'm realising I need to investigate that bunker more." Not having all the cards or all the information rankles him, saws on the edge of his nerves, but he'd gotten distracted. Hunting duties, new year's sims.

As Reyes clutches his arrow -- one of a stash painstakingly made by him and Hawke, and he resents even the loss of one -- one of the squirreldogs still watches the man's movements with bright, eager eyes, but Reyes carefully tucks the stick away out of sight. He'd tried to take the flock of animals in stride -- a lot of strange things happen in this village -- but this particular brand of weirdness had been beyond even Reyes' ability to accept unquestioningly.

"You're an interesting man, Miller." It's not a compliment the smuggler hands out often, but he's bemused by this heavy-drinking mess. He leans back in his seat, turns the dial of his high-wattage curiosity down a bit, so it's less of an interrogation. "Congratulations on your bones not imploding?"

"Maybe. It's obviously only what they want us to see."

Well, obvious for someone who's been around the block a few times. Reyes gets a seriously skeptical look when he praises Miller, but then he goes on and he's met with a gruff laugh instead. That's more like it.

"Every cloud's got a goddamn silver lining, right?" One of the squirreldogs chitters and climbs back onto a slim shoulder as if to punctuate the question.

"So I'm reminded, practically every day." Reyes sounds-- not exactly bitter, but resigned. Pragmatic. The wary tightness in his shoulders has loosened, and after a moment, he nods towards the jar that Miller's cradling like a precious infant. "Want to share some of that? Could trade you some coffee for it."

It's an easy instinct to fall into: his habits are automatically transactional, a you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours mentality; the idea of asking for something for free doesn't even cross his mind.

"Eh, optimism is for assholes and Earthers anyway, right?" he dismisses and takes a long swig before passing the jar over to Reyes before even answering him. "I don't drink coffee." Just lots and lots of booze. Well, and milk, not like it does him much good.

There's a disparaging twist to the way Miller says Earthers that Reyes doesn't quite recognise -- it sounds like a pejorative on his lips -- but he can still identify with the differences, at least. The contrast between them and people with such abundant resources that they can piss it all away; planets where a single hydroponics lab failure won't lead to the starvation of an entire station. Actual soil and breathing life under their feet.

"Thanks, anyway. I'll find something to trade you." He takes a deep swig of the potato vodka, and winces. "Goddamn, I miss whiskey."

And they exchange those drinks back and forth, and talk. And if you squinted, it might just look like two drunk men in a normal pub -- not kidnapped, not trapped at the ass-end of an unidentified and unterraformed planet with mutant squirrel-things frolicking at their feet.

She's poking around somewhere she does not belong. This is basically what she does every day. Today is different though. Finally something happened in this place that surprised her. It's an understatement really. Her heart skips a beat as something akin to panic rises from her belly up to her throat. Elektra finds someone in this bunker she never expected to see again.

Like magic, her detective has reappeared once again. Unsurprisingly, she goes to rescue him. This is not the time to find out how those bird bones of his take being shot up a tube. She shoves that fear down hard as she runs to beat the clock. She's no expert on how these things worked, but she's lurked and slinked away enough times to see what she needs to do to get him out.

She doesn't breathe until the door is open. The question earns an anxious, but sincere laugh. "Detective. You're late." She chides as she moves forward to help him out like some chivalrous knight. "I've had to start the fun without you. It's so dull without a playmate." She rambles to cover up her fear. She's watched, but there were no guarantees she'd get him out in time. There's no guarantee he can even survive outside this bunker. That does scare her.

He doesn't hesitate to take her hand. He's late she says. To what, and where? A violent tremor rakes up his knotted spine when the cool air hits his skin and he's dumping the bag on the ground before it can take him down with it. Jesus Christ, that's heavy. When he opens it, the peacoat on the top is somehow perfectly dry so he pulls that on and makes a face: perfect fit. Like those jumpsuits on Reverie. Next he's kneeling down to get on the wool socks and the hiking boots, same deal. Kill him (again.)

"Well? Are you gonna give me the rundown or what, princess?"

As much as he just wants to take her in, this place isn't what he expected to wake up to - in that he didn't expect to wake up at all. After their jaunt on the killer space station, he finally got to go back to dying on the right killer space station. So why is he back? Or... somewhere different? Data still insufficient. They appear to be in a cave of some sort, but the pod he just came out of isn't so unlike the cryobeds they found in the medbay, are they?

Nope. He's sure he doesn't like where this is heading at all.

Elektra finds a steady place to lean again while she watches him. This would usually be the part where she becomes difficult. He's her friend. She is in sore need of allies with his skills. Elektra is having the honeymoon of her life in spite of Matthew's moodiness, but it doesn't change their status as prisoners. She knows eventually it has to come to a head. She needs Miller to make sure they survive it.

"We are currently in what's known as The Bunker. It stores DNA samples from animals and humans alike including ours. It obviously holds new arrivals who appear spontaneously in the tube I just released you from. Usually it shoots you up to the surface above, but I interfered with that." She reports evenly, just like she would with Stick. "There's more of course. There's a database that supposedly shares the iterations of the village above our heads. It reports our deaths only by name. No details or so the theory goes. I haven't been able to confirm anything either way other than it is a list of names that varies from iteration to iteration. Some are blacked out, others aren't. Some can be confirmed to have died at the point that their name appears on the list in the most recent iteration." She pauses there. Elektra can go on. She barely scratched the surface. He is going to need a second to process little details like surface above.

"The Bunker, huh..." He looks around, then starts towards where he assumes the Specimen Room must be. "Another experiment, then."

Iterations... His eyes narrow, just barely managing not to trip and fall as he leaves his bag behind to go poking through blood samples. He holds up a vial labeled "J.M." in teal slap-dash and wonders if it's supposed to be his or Julie's. Or, could be anyone's, right? Those are common initials and that's assuming that's even what the label means: a name. It did in fact take him a second to process because now he's turning towards her with concern, still holding the sample between his fingers.

"Did you say surface?" They're on a planet? This just got really interesting (and really fucked up.) "Is this the planet downstream from the station?"

He's not wrong. They're someone's toys. Elektra follows him with her eyes. She's never given the blood samples a second thought. They clearly have her. Why wouldn't they take something when she wasn't able to fight back? There's no sense in getting worked up about it. There are worse things they can take from her.

The look she gives him is cold and sober as he holds the sample. This is all bad news. She can't pretend otherwise. "Impossible to say. We don't have equipment powerful enough to see it if it is." Elektra doubts they ever will. What good would it do their captors? "It's winter above our heads. Does that even mean anything to you?" She doubts wherever he came from would replicate a season if they could. Maybe it showed up in a story.

Winter. Slowly, he shakes his head. "What's it like?" There's wonder in his usual curious questioning. Snow, the chill in the air, he'd seen pictures, movies. Even heard Havelock talk about it. But nothing could prepare him for the real thing.

"Bitterly cold. Everything is sharper. It's harder to breathe." Elektra realizes she's being a buzzkill. Yes, she's scared for him. She can count the amount of friends she made in her life on one hand. This clearly means something to him so she'll give the positives too. "It can be magical in its own way. Snow is beautiful up close."

He feels it already, the thinness of the air. That's nothing he can't handle, Belters take shorter, shallower breaths than Earthers already, their lung capacity at probably half given the oxygen filtration system on Ceres.

"I've seen videos," he says, quickly enough that she can probably glean he's excited. "Is it snowing right now?" Miller looks up at the ceiling of the low-slung bunker like it will tell him anything.

She can see the excitement. Elektra will be pissed if anyone ruins this for him. She's going to treat it as a positive until it's not if only because she has no say on the outcome. She smiles as if sharing a secret before nodding. "It's snowing. Think you can handle it, space man?"

Miller bites into his lip, shaking some water out of his scrubs. God, that's a bright color, almost makes him miss the Reverie suits.

"Only one way to find out, huh? Lead the way, Inya."

It isn't as if the Inn is free of animals. There are the chickens and rabbits outside, and inside.... well, mostly inside, there is Miss Hopitty, the cat. The charming, grey Manx cat who splits her time between the Inn and Kate's house across the way. It is Miss Hopitty who comes prowling forwards, not fighting with the squirreldogs but winding her way through the animals to rub her chin, purring, against Miller's leg.

Which all makes Kate, walking into the main room of the Inn, to stare.

"What," she demands, "in the name of God are all those creatures doin' here?"

She's armed with a broom. It's not yet poised for action, but it can be.

Miller shoots her a look, but makes no move to protect the creatures or otherwise claim them as his own. The cat gets a passing glance and nothing else. Pets on the station wanted nothing to do with him— what gives?

"Hell if I know, lady," he says by way of conversation even while downing a healthy swig of moonshine and even while his gaze swings back to the fire. Hopefully, this isn't her booze, he realizes belatedly, looking at it before deciding he doesn't care either way. "They won't stop followin' me. Figured they just had bad taste in company."

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( OPEN ) So you wanna die young;

drink it in before it's gone ✨

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lol i am so sorry

u should be

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& closed!

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