WHO: Root + Hera + Lee, Root + Victor, Root + Shaw WHERE: The Hangar, Oros WHEN: February 1-4th ish WHAT: Catch-all log post for various rescue mission related threads WARNINGS: Other than thermonuclear genocide? No other warnings as of yet, will edit the header if needed be.
( Victor jerks his head up, a reaction to his name more than anything else. He's been running on empty as well, grimly determined and pushing his body in ways that are like and unlike his demands during the competitive season back home. He admires the effort Root's gone through, knowing that even as a toddler, any one Fek is no light burden.
The youngster holding on with its antennae to Root's side earns a glance, but he nods his head, offering an exhausted smile. )
Root, sure, just give me a moment...
( He comes over, reaching out to stroke down the length of the antennae that clung on so tightly, limbs being a sturdy gripping, but lacking many of the fine motor functions they take for granted as humans. He murmurs quiet nonsense, talking about coming here, it's okay, there are others who will help, you are not alone. Slowly, the toddler's antennae uncurl from their death grip on Root, reaching out and tentatively, then assertively, looking past him and staring intently at the adults beyond him.
They are very unlikely to be anyone this toddler knows, but the Fek are nothing if not accepting of all the refugees filing off the few ships that had been able to manage the trips down and back. Squirming, the toddler reaches out, and Victor moves to scoop them up much more like how one might hold a dog. Not that the toddler minds. Quadruped as they are, it's simply more of an alignment they're used to supporting. )
Mind walking us over?
( The antennae are running over his shoulders, neck, and then his chin, one tip prodding at his mouth and then flicking at his nose. He breathes out in a tired huff of amusement, and mild irritation as he closes an eye after getting his bangs tossed to the side, but it is what it is. He's still waiting to see Yuuri come back up. Until he finds his lover in all this mess, things just aren't going to be okay.
Not that they'd be okay after the fact, either. But it'd be better. Some important, slim margin better. )
Everyone's been running themselves ragged. From the newest arrivals... about when I arrived and after.
[Carrying the little Fek isn't an easy thing to do, but Root has carried heavier weapons before; she's never done it while exhausted, hungry and sleep-deprived, though. Victor doesn't look much better than she does, now that she's taking a closer look at him, but that's only to be expected, isn't it? A good number of people have been trying to fix the horrible mess that their interference caused. Not that saving a handful of aliens from extinction while their home planet suffers a nuclear holocaust fixes anything, but still.]
Sure, [she says in reply, unusually quiet. She watches Victor's interaction with the Fek in his arms with a little smile of amusement, but it quickly fades as her mind focuses on concerns far more pressing than inappropriate alien tentacle touching. She follows Victor in silence, letting the other Fek hold on to her arm for a little longer as she scans the crowd around them for Shaw.
She's so immersed in her own version of Where's Waldo that she doesn't even realize Victor is talking to her again. Root blinks, as if having trouble focusing on reality itself, and her tired brain decides that she might as well tell him what's happening.]
I'm sorry, I didn't hear what you just said. I-- [she catches a glimpse of long dark hair at the other end of the hangar and her eyes widen, until she sees that it's not Sameen, and she goes back to looking completely lost.] Shaw boarded a different ship for the rescue mission, and the emergency comm I set up for us stopped working just a few hours after she left the hangar. I don't know where she is, or if she's okay at all.
( She's distracted, and he lapses into silence, merely flicking his eyes back her way when she speaks. It's a direct sort of truth; one he can understand, even when she'd sent the woman she cares about down with much more of a lifeline than Victor had in his capacity been able to provide Yuuri, or be provided in turn. He'll look into that, he decides. They need something that will keep them in touch, no matter what's happening. A strong enough signal to make it through. )
Yuuri hasn't come back yet either.
( Is what he says instead of platitudes. They're adults. They know the world, or worlds, and how there are few certainties, even if probabilities might determine outcomes long before chance or luck have room to play. He hups the toddler up, bearing with both antennae circling his shoulders. He ends up carefully crouching down to deliver the toddler to the ground, the adult Fek shifting as one to look down at him and his young burden; a few look to Root after, antennae weaving in distressed patterns alongside the wide expanse of their necks. )
The waiting doesn't get easier. Even when you know, logically, they should be okay.
( The toddler is collected by the elder Fed, hustled into a nest of legs and caresses and weeping water-sacks under eyes, all measures of comfort being given freely and without hesitation. )
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The youngster holding on with its antennae to Root's side earns a glance, but he nods his head, offering an exhausted smile. )
Root, sure, just give me a moment...
( He comes over, reaching out to stroke down the length of the antennae that clung on so tightly, limbs being a sturdy gripping, but lacking many of the fine motor functions they take for granted as humans. He murmurs quiet nonsense, talking about coming here, it's okay, there are others who will help, you are not alone. Slowly, the toddler's antennae uncurl from their death grip on Root, reaching out and tentatively, then assertively, looking past him and staring intently at the adults beyond him.
They are very unlikely to be anyone this toddler knows, but the Fek are nothing if not accepting of all the refugees filing off the few ships that had been able to manage the trips down and back. Squirming, the toddler reaches out, and Victor moves to scoop them up much more like how one might hold a dog. Not that the toddler minds. Quadruped as they are, it's simply more of an alignment they're used to supporting. )
Mind walking us over?
( The antennae are running over his shoulders, neck, and then his chin, one tip prodding at his mouth and then flicking at his nose. He breathes out in a tired huff of amusement, and mild irritation as he closes an eye after getting his bangs tossed to the side, but it is what it is. He's still waiting to see Yuuri come back up. Until he finds his lover in all this mess, things just aren't going to be okay.
Not that they'd be okay after the fact, either. But it'd be better. Some important, slim margin better. )
Everyone's been running themselves ragged. From the newest arrivals... about when I arrived and after.
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Sure, [she says in reply, unusually quiet. She watches Victor's interaction with the Fek in his arms with a little smile of amusement, but it quickly fades as her mind focuses on concerns far more pressing than inappropriate alien tentacle touching. She follows Victor in silence, letting the other Fek hold on to her arm for a little longer as she scans the crowd around them for Shaw.
She's so immersed in her own version of Where's Waldo that she doesn't even realize Victor is talking to her again. Root blinks, as if having trouble focusing on reality itself, and her tired brain decides that she might as well tell him what's happening.]
I'm sorry, I didn't hear what you just said. I-- [she catches a glimpse of long dark hair at the other end of the hangar and her eyes widen, until she sees that it's not Sameen, and she goes back to looking completely lost.] Shaw boarded a different ship for the rescue mission, and the emergency comm I set up for us stopped working just a few hours after she left the hangar. I don't know where she is, or if she's okay at all.
no subject
Yuuri hasn't come back yet either.
( Is what he says instead of platitudes. They're adults. They know the world, or worlds, and how there are few certainties, even if probabilities might determine outcomes long before chance or luck have room to play. He hups the toddler up, bearing with both antennae circling his shoulders. He ends up carefully crouching down to deliver the toddler to the ground, the adult Fek shifting as one to look down at him and his young burden; a few look to Root after, antennae weaving in distressed patterns alongside the wide expanse of their necks. )
The waiting doesn't get easier. Even when you know, logically, they should be okay.
( The toddler is collected by the elder Fed, hustled into a nest of legs and caresses and weeping water-sacks under eyes, all measures of comfort being given freely and without hesitation. )
I still worry.