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sixthiterationlogs2019-04-06 04:15 pm
ghost in the machine, pt. two | rescue mingle
WHEN: April 6
OPEN TO: Kidnappees (Agent Washington, Tim Drake-Wayne, Cissie King-Jones) & their rescuers (Agent Maine/Brigitte Lindholm; Jason Todd/Stephanie Brown; Diego Hargreeves/Seifer Almasy/Anne Weying)
WARNINGS: Violence & NPC death. Will update further as needed!
OOC details:
All 3 kidnapped villagers wake deep in a system of caves, firmly bound by rope at their ankles and wrists, with their hands in front of their bodies. It will be extremely dark. They will be able to speak to each other, however, and may notice that their wrist devices have been removed. There will be two canteens of water and two plates of berries and rice. They may begin to loosen or cut through their ropes, but it will be slow-going.
When Nat returns to the village and tells everyone about the kidnapping, it seems a fairly safe presumption that there will be folks wanting to go after the kidnapped villagers, locate them, and bring them safely back to the village. These characters may encounter NPCs along the way as they locate the kidnapped villagers and help them escape.
The odd hit-and-run assaults by the strange doppelgangers had finally escalated: three of their own had been taken. And so of course, others would go after them. Three ragtag groups eventually assembled within the southern village, setting out into the wilderness and trying to trace the path back to the origin of these inexplicable attackers, or at least where they’ve been holding their captives. It’s five miles away, so perhaps about two hours’ walk with all the stopping to check for footprints, broken branches, trampled bushes.
Once the rescuers start working through the dark caves, they start running into aggressive NPCs, and it seems likely a fight will break out.
agent maine | ota
At seven-feet-tall and weighing around four hundred pounds, the massive wall of muscle that is Agent Maine has no difficulty shoving obstacles out of his way. What seems to be the most difficult for him is slowing down. Even with the 'enhanced senses' he picked up from that bizarre vending machine, he still has to look for a trail. He still has to take his time. And it's still fucking infuriating that he can't just sprint to his friend's location.
What he wouldn't give for his HUD and a decent tracking system right now…
no subject
And as if the Observers themselves knew it was coming, she'd woken up that morning to a box containing her mace. Her own, actual mace from back home, her initials scratched at the bottom of the handle. She'd picked it up with gratitude, but a prickling unease between her shoulderblades, wondering why.
Here, then, was the reason.
With her shorter legs, she's having to speedwalk beside Maine in order to keep up -- but it balances out whenever he goes barging off through the bushes in the wrong direction, loses the trail, then has to circle back while she's still crouched against the ground, squinting at faint footprints.
"Maine," she calls out, surprisingly stern. (It's the same voice she'd used when ordering Reinhardt around, firm and no-nonsense despite being half the size of these men.) "Stop going too far ahead. You'll ruin the trail."
no subject
He's acting impatient. Letting his temper get the best of him. Allowing his desire to slaughter whatever son of a bitch took his friend to rule his actions.
Focus, Agent.
Stiffly, Maine backtracks. Moves to Brigitte's side and looms over her shoulder as she looks at the footprints. If the Agents had their armor, Maine would be able to tell if the tracks belonged to Wash without a second glance. As it is, he sees nothing to indicate who the owner might be.
But the Freelancer does see something a little ways ahead. Something that his newly enhanced vision hones in on, leaving Maine slightly disoriented by how accurate it is.
"There," he grunts, pointing at the tracks. And he very nearly rushes off again before visibly restraining himself to a (very brisk) walk.
no subject
Past occasions of hiking across this island had been-- not leisurely, exactly, but they hadn't had a firm and important goal like this. Back then Brigitte hadn't had that urgent drumbeat of someone to rescue on the other end, the siren call of villagers taken. It leaves her wired and ready for a fight. When gathering in the village, she'd watched Maine getting ready and considered what might happen to him if he barreled into this utterly alone, and that had made up her mind and resolve to go, if nothing else. He could take care of himself, but there's something to that lack of caution. A bull in a china shop.
"You're going to give yourself a heart attack before we even get there," she says, voice gentler this time. Not a literal warning -- but a reminder, to not to spend up all his energy before they even get to their destination, wherever there is. Who even knows how far away they might be?
no subject
Maine is lucky to have Brigitte by his side. He knows it. He's just—
"I'm fine," Maine grunts. A full sentence, albeit a distracted one. And he is fine. His stamina and endurance are his greatest assets, even more than his strength. He's a space marine; he'll keep moving until he drops.
… But he looks at Brigitte, still reined in enough to actually think past his goal.
"Can carry," he offers. It may sound patronizing, though it's not intended to. He could carry her quite easily. Would barely even notice her weight.
no subject
So very different from this context. And yet.
"This is going to look so stupid," Brigitte says, but it's clear that she's considering it, even as she sighs. "Okay. Just-- for a while, unless we lose the trail?"
And maybe if she's perched high enough to smack him in the shoulder when he goes too far, she can make him slow down more easily. Like guiding a warhorse through the field. So Brigitte re-shoulders her shield, leaving her arms free so she can scramble up onto his back once he obligingly kneels down for her to reach.
i still cannot believe that icon
When Brigitte agrees, Maine immediately turns and kneels for her to clamber onto his back. He holds her legs behind the knees and stands without a hint of effort. He may as well have just shouldered a backpack, not an entire person plus her weaponry.
Then they're off.
The giant Freelancer may not have intended to move any slower with Brigitte aboard, but he does all the same. He doesn't have his hands free to roughly shove things aside; he has to pick his way around obstacles rather than bulldozing straight through. It forces him to move with greater care, and it makes sticking to the trail much easier.
As they walk, Maine admits, "Looks dumber in armor." Meaning that he's done the same thing while both he and the other person were fully armored.
MY TURN TO SCREECH AT YOURS
"Must've been much heavier," she says. Because he's told her enough about his old power armour, how utterly heavy one set alone would've been, let alone two.
😁
"Suit's strong," Maine says. "Could throw Warthog." A pause as he recalls that Brigitte may not know that specific piece of military equipment. "Armored vehicle," he explains.
It's talk that has nothing to do with the task at hand, but it seems to be easing a fraction of the tension knotting Maine's shoulders.
no subject
Still, though, she's curious. "When you say throw an armoured vehicle," she repeats, bemused, "do you mean you threw it at someone? Like, as an attack?"
no subject
Maine's shaved head bobs in a little nod. He did indeed throw a Warthog at someone. Multiple "someone"s, actually. It was, in his opinion, an excellent tactic.
"Was close," he explains — like that's a good reason to throw a vehicle. "Effective. Broke line."
(It won't be the last time Maine chucks a vehicle at someone because it's convenient, though he has no idea it's something of a pattern for his future-self.)
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This rhythm of Maine’s steady walk is almost hypnotic, soothing. Like being a kid again, briefly, and just being safely carried. Plus instead it lets Brigitte concentrate on their surroundings, occasionally pointing out trampled grass and a new direction to turn.
Then, a little wistfully, she adds, “You would probably have loved the Crusaders’ weapons. They had gigantic barrier shields, and rocket-powered hammers.”
Yep. Rockets.
no subject
(Spoiler alert: he does.)
Maine follows Brigitte's directions without argument. His enhanced senses make it easy for him to spot the signs she indicates; he doesn't have to slow and search or ask for her to point again. And, now that he's not trampling through everything, he doesn't wander from the trail in his haste.
"Rocket-powered?" Maine repeats — and indeed, his interest is obviously piqued.
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Flattened. Crushed. Maybe like being run over by a truck.
"And then the armour had the capability for rocket-powered charges, too, but maybe that's more like what you are used to?"
From what she'd heard about his powered assault armour -- and she'd grilled him quite a bit about it, describing as much of it as he could remember although he was no engineer -- they were so, so similar to what she'd worked with, though Reinhardt's suit had been old, out-of-date, falling apart if it hadn't been for her upkeep. What she wouldn't give to be able to tinker with an actual honest-to-god Mjolnir from Maine and Wash's world.
no subject
So he turns his head slightly so that he can better listen. It's not necessary, what with his enhanced senses and Brigitte being on his back, but it's a mark of his attention turned into something physical. And, even when Brigitte says that he wouldn't want to see someone after they're hit with such a weapon, Maine really would.
The Freelancer has no particular interest in gore. But he wants to see the impact. He wants to fully understand how the weapon works.
To her question, Maine offers an ambivalent noise and another small shrug. "Human-powered," he explains. "Suit enhances."
He might be able to hit someone with the same force as a rocket-powered suit of armor. However, the mechanism behind it wouldn't be a rocket; it would be his own flesh and bones.