Diego Hargreeves (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
excessed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2019-02-28 09:53 pm
excessed) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2019-02-28 09:53 pm
When I was stranded at the crossroads it was dismal and grey
WHO: Diego Hargreeves, No 00.02
WHERE: The fountain, around the village, the inn
WHEN: First days of March
OPEN TO: All, only one for the fountain please
WARNINGS: Will keep spoilers to a minimum, try and avoid details unless told they're okay, otherwise language, will update
WHERE: The fountain, around the village, the inn
WHEN: First days of March
OPEN TO: All, only one for the fountain please
WARNINGS: Will keep spoilers to a minimum, try and avoid details unless told they're okay, otherwise language, will update
This was it. There was only one answer, one chance, and if it failed then they weren't any worse off than they already were. They were together though in ways they hadn't been for longer than Diego wants to think about. Just like he doesn't want to think about those lost. All they can think about is the chance they have now.
Panic and pain give way to peace, to knowing that all they've done, all Diego has done in training, has been meant for this.
And then he's inhaling water.
Years of training kick in and he scissor kicks his way to the surface, gasping for air as his lungs burn and the world comes into blurry twilight color as he blinks away the water. Bitter cold air bites into his skin, stealing the precious breathes he's taken with the the frigidness of the air. Managing to catch the edge of the fountain, Diego gives one last kick, pulling himself up and out and flopping onto the ground beside the fountain with wet thwock.
Laying there panting, ignoring the pressure of something under him in the form of of a backpack and not yet aware of his missing fear and clothes. Staring up at a sky slowly turning from purple to dark navy, a fine shiver beginning to set in as the cold not only settles over him but seeps in from beneath.
"F..." He tries to start and find the words failing. The worst hasn't happened, but this isn't what it is supposed to be. Closing his eyes, Diego forces himself to picture the word. Four letters. A single word. A sibling's name. "Five," he manages with the barest hint of a tremor. "What the hell have you done?"
The inn seems to be the hub of the town, such as it is, and Diego spends a lot of time in that area with a hope of finding his missing family members. As the days go on, he knows he'll have to face that they've all been scattered to the four corners of the universe, but he's not willing to give up hope.
Not that he's happy in those damn red scrubs. How the hell is a person meant to do anything circumspect dressed like an escapee from a horror movie asylum? Most of the time he has the heavy black coat on, trying to cover up the fact that he's new enough not to have somehow come across a wardrobe as so many in this place seem to have managed.
Most days he can be found sitting in the back of the room, chair turned with his back to the wall, eating or reading whatever he might have found, his gaze moving too much to really absorb any of it. Much too suspicious to do more than watch and wait more often than not.
During the daylight hours Diego is often pacing the area of the village, slowly exploring everything within "city limits" and then working his way outwards as the days go on. Figuring that most have asked for answers, and that he isn't the first one here, but he's looking for things in particular. His father's writings, signs of his siblings, a freaking briefcase that he's heard about that could mean getting the hell out of here.
Most of it leads to frustration as little shows up to help, and there's no sign of those he's looking for. It isn't until several days into things that he figures he should at least set up and get in some practice. Snagging some butter knives and a pillow from an empty house, he heads to a tree by the edge of the forest to practice.
And finds something is definitely wrong.
Sure he's hitting the targets because twenty-five years of practice means that he knows what he's doing, but the aim is just a little off. It's not as easy as it's been his entire life. Gathering them up time and again, throwing them hard and with all he's got, snarling as they don't go just as he wants them to. And instead of looking for the reason, he keeps practicing, putting small cuts in the pillowcase as he tries desperately to click with the very skills he was born with and now seems to be missing.
no subject
"Always figured there were aliens out there," Diego says. "I know some say it explains people with abilities most don't know but not sure I buy that.' Because he's not an alien, dammit. "It shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. I mean, my brother had apparently died trying to play with time so I just assumed it was impossible until he wasn't dead."
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Once the kettle is started he shows Diego the pantry with the tea supplies.
"Time is weird, I try not to think so much about it. I've got two people I know here, one from my past, one from two years in my future. And it's making a lot of tension. Like, if I tell them things now, will they make a better lives for themselves later? Would I still..."
Die?
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He moves to look in the fridge though, mostly to investigate things, to see what this place consists of. "And where does the food come from? Who prepares it?" Poking around, but not eating anything. He knows he will eventually, but not until he gets a lot more answers.
"That depends on why things happened, and who wanted them to happen," he says, glancing at him. "No matter what we were doing, the world would end. We couldn't change it because my brother is a fucking idiot," he says, making a face and rolling his eyes. "Because it was wanted, and we couldn't stop it. So depends on who wants things so badly in your world, or if they just happen to be."
no subject
"They rain plasma fire down onto planets, temperatures so hot that it flash-melts stone, leaving the planet looking like it's made of obsidian glass. It's their religious goal to wipe us out. Or it was," he explains, voice hard. It's complicated. And his tone, the way his arms are crossed over his chest, the tension in the muscles of his neck, they all say 'don't press, I'm not talking about it.'
Instead he watches Diego in the fridge, trying to figure out what to say.
"Greenhouse or fields. There's agriculture going on here. Sometimes boxes appear from our keepers with things in them. As for the food in here, there's no small number of us who work on rotation to make communal meals. To make life easier for everyone. Especially as not everyone can cook."
The rest, he's not sure what to say about it all. Tries not to think about it too much.
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But he just bends back down, poking at the fridge contents again, sniffing at this and that, making faces.
"Oh good, the keepers just randomly disperse boxes. Never seen that tactic in war zones before... oh wait," he says, shaking his head as he closes the fridge, leaning back against it. "And then next time it's poisoned or there's explosive charges. Always a fun paranoia to put in people's heads." Nodding as he thinks of it, figuring the awful tactics he's seen in the past could easily apply to this place.
"And everyone just helps one another like that?"
no subject
"Of course. We're stuck here together, you know? If we don't turn to each other, who can we turn to?"