( creative title goes here )

[rumbling]

WHO: maine ( rumbling ) + you
WHERE: random places on the ship
WHEN: throughout the day on dec 11
WHAT: idek
WARNINGS: nothing at this time, will update if necessary!


( ATRIUM )

[ He can't say he ever expected to be in space again. Not after everything that's happened. Hell, he wasn't even expecting to see land again. But, shit changes and life is often unpredictable. And now here he is. Apparently living aboard another ship, traveling through space like he has some sort of purpose. Maine doesn't know what that purpose even is. And after dealing with Project Freelancer and all the bullshit the Director did, he's not really inclined to believe he has some purpose with some faceless crew in the middle of outerspace.

Trust issues? You bet.

After orientation and locating his bunk ( it's all so goddamn familiar but so different ), he sets out to get the lay of the ship. Though Maine did give a few moments of hesitation in whether he should wear his armor or not on the friendly walk-about, he decides against it. Instead he swings by the first store he sees and purchases a few different clothing items; the charcoal grey hoodie is put on before he even pays for it, hoodie up and not suspicious at all.

After exploring certain areas, he winds up in the atrium. It's... nice, in certain ways. Something that probably would've been nice to have on the Mother of Invention. Eventually he settles on a bench by one of the ponds and—are those ducks? Weird that this place has animals just wandering around. They waddle and quack their way over and Maine gives a threatening rumbling noise in return. It doesn't deter them, however, and the next thing he knows, he has a bag of breadcrumbs and ducks all over, eating and quacking happily, even going so far as to join him on the bench in their quest for more.

This is not going as planned. And who the hell gave him this bag of bread, anyway?! ]

( TRAINING ROOM )

[ Later on towards whatever counts as evening in this ship, Maine hits the gym. At this point it's completely necessary to work off some pent up aggression. It's not that he's mad or anything, but there's just some shit he needs to work through and being trapped around all these people isn't doing much to stave off the aggression levels.

So, he's going to take it out on some punching bags. And the weight machines. Probably the pool, too. Want to race? Let's go, buddy. Eventually, though, if anyone is milling around the boxing ring, he's going to gesture to himself, to them and then to the ring. Wanna go a few rounds? ]

( ETC. )

( feel free to throw anything my way or get me on plurk ( honnleath ) if you want to discuss sth specific!! )

Comments

[sixth]

[ If this was the Meta, the encounter would likely be taking a very different turn. Wash knows this on a deep, instinctive level. There's nothing of the Meta in his posture, no signs of aggression or violence. And there's nothing of Sigma's insufferable confidence either.

Maine had always been imposing. The way he held himself. The sheer amount of muscle that filled out his body. His silence. But Wash can't remember a time when he feared him. He can't remember when Maine last made him uneasy.

Sigma is a different story. But Wash has never been afraid of Maine. ]

If you're dead, then I'm hallucinating. [ There's an eerie kind of flatness to his voice, distance and caution because he still doesn't know what to make of this. What he does know is that he doesn't want to be crazy again. Slowly, a little vehemently, he adds; ] I really don't want to be hallucinating.

[ He fights one of his clenched hands opens and rakes it viciously back through his hair. Panicking isn't going to help. He's going to have to get it together until he can sort this shit out. ]

How long have you been here?

[rumbling]

[ They were friends once. Maybe even through all the Meta shit they were too. In a distant kind of way. Probably could have tried to rebuild something if he hadn't betrayed him at the last minute.  He remembers Wash's distinction between Maine and the Meta. He remembers being called it and the bizarre measure of glee it gave Sigma. Maybe Maine had just wanted to die because that was the only way for everything to stop. The only way to do it was to force their hands to do it.

Fuck if he knows. Shit is still too jumbled up in his head. Trying to figure it out now isn't going to happen. Just like trying to assure Wash that he's not crazy isn't going to happen. Because Maine thinks he might be crazy so any kind of assurance likely won't be assurance at all... Still, he gives Wash a look that simply tells him he's not.

They'll figure something out somewhere along the way. Or kill each other trying.

Maine makes a small noise, accompanied by a roll of one shoulder. Just today. You? ]

[sixth]

[ Wash doesn't know how to qualify what they were when he'd been working with the Meta. He's hesitant to call them friends. As he's always understood it, friends don't shoot each other in the back. Of course, that's what they did in Project Freelancer. And in Blood Gulch.

So what does he know? Maybe trying to kill someone is a sign of friendship after all.

He still feels crazy. The longer he looks at Maine, the stronger that feeling gets. But he's got it under control for now. Least he thinks so, anyway. ]

Same. [ He takes a deep breath in through his nose, then slowly expels it. ] One second I was fighting off an army. The next, I was getting taken to "orientation." Didn't know what to do with myself, so I thought I'd do a little reconnaissance.

[ Old habits die very hard. ]

[rumbling]

[ He can understand that. On a basic level, he's a soldier, too. He knows how difficult it can be to just accept something at face value and not want to investigate further so there are less bogies when it gets right down to it. On a more paranoid level, he gets it, too. They just suddenly show up in the middle of whatever system they're flying around in with no clear indication how they got here. It's not something he likes. It's not something anyone in their right mind would like.

As much as Maine would like to do something about it, recon has never once been his strong suit. So sitting around trying to listen to snatches of conversations wasn't getting him very far. Even though it's likely impossible for the two of them to work together again—at least, that's what Maine is assuming—it'd be good if they could. Wash is much better at the whole agent thing. Maine is just better at the heavy work.

He doesn't ask, though. Not right now. Not about that. Instead his brows furrow and his lips pull down into a slight frown. He doesn't even know what the hell is going on. What happened after he died? Maybe it's none of his business and he shouldn't be asking, but fuck that.

What army? What happened? ]

[sixth]

[ If he took the time to think about it, or was capable of thinking about it right now, Wash would probably recognize how easily he's falling back into old patterns. It doesn't make any goddamn sense and it's going to take him a long time to reconcile that, but he's always been able to compartmentalize. He'll worry about it later. ]

Chorus. A planet in the Outer Colonies. [ He assumes Maine has never heard of it either. No one else had. ] There was alien tech there that Hargrove wanted, so he...

[ Wash trails off into awkward silence. There's another assumption—that Maine remembers everything that's happened to him. Does he? It would make all the explanations easier, but it would make the situation infinitely more horrific. To be trapped in one's mind, a prisoner to the whims of someone else... ]

Do you, ah, remember him? When—He was the one that sent me and the Meta after Epsilon.

[ He knows he's separating them, treating Maine and the Meta like two different people. He knows that they aren't. Not really. Without Sigma, it was just Maine and the damage left behind. It's simply easier this way and for once, he really wants to take the path of least resistance. ]

[rumbling]

[ It's difficult to explain just what happened while Sigma was in his mind. There's still a fuckton of a tangled mess to work through in there. Sometimes he doesn't really know what happened. Sometimes he gets images, little movies in his mind's eye, that show things he's done. People—friends—he's killed. Sure, it's easier to blame it on someone else, that he wasn't in full control of his faculties, but the fact remains it was his hands that did the deeds. The blood is on his hands and won't ever come off.

He remembers Hargrove. To an extent. He remembers still feeling so fucking angry then. Angry at everything. Angry and not really knowing what to do about it. Until he did know. Or half-knew and let things still get fucked up.

So, he nods, them folds his arms over his chest. Not that it's done to be imposing, but considering who Hargrove is, he knows he's nor going to like how this story continues. ]

[sixth]

[ Wash nods back, acknowledging his understanding. ]

Right, well, apparently there was a lot of resentment between the two leading factions on Chorus. So Hargrove sent in mercenaries to start a civil war. He figured it'd be easier to have the people kill themselves, that way he could swoop in, take the alien artifacts, and leave before the UNSC ever found about it.

[ Summing up what happened on Chorus isn't the simplest task. It's a convoluted mess and there's still so much of it that doesn't really make any sense to Wash. He sighs, rubbing at the top of his head. ]

Our ship crashed on Chorus. We got pulled into it. Me and Carolina. [ There's only a tiny hesitation before he continues with; ] Epsilon. The Reds and the Blues. We were all that was left of Project Freelancer.

[ Were, because now here's Maine. ]

It was a big fucking disaster, but we were winning. [ He frowns, brow furrowing. ] I think.

[rumbling]

[ He's kind of getting sick of the whole every fucking branch of the military—general and private—trying to one-up itself from the other and get more firepower, more everything than the other. No, they don't need to be unprepared just incase the Covenant gets a bug up its collective ass again and tries to wipe out the human race. But they need to fucking work together. Or else everything is gonna go to shit and the humans will be the ones wiping out the humans.

There's a dark thought in the back of Maine's mind that wonders if that's such a bad thing. He quickly shuts that down.

Though he doesn't make any kind of motion to correct Wash, he thinks it. Were, he says, like this matters. Back there Maine is dead. The Meta is dead. Everything about who he is is just fucking dead. He does, however, make a slight face—his expression tightens and it's almost as if he can feel that pulsing need to have the AI—but Maine pushes that aside, too.

Tries to, anyway. But it still flickers there, like one lonely soul along the watchtower. Epsilon isn't much by himself. It fucked up Wash. There's literally nothing Maine can do with it. His fingers dig into the meat of his arms but he soldiers on.

He tips his head slightly, gesturing with his chin. What do you mean think? ]

[sixth]

[ So. Epsilon's going to be a touchy subject all around, Wash thinks as Maine's expression changes. It doesn't worry him, exactly, but he makes a mental note to keep mentions of any of the AI to a minimum until he can figure out...

Until he can figure all of this shit out.

Thinking it better to just move on from the subject as quickly as possible, he hurries into an explanation. ]

We got separated. The Reds and Blues went to confront Hargrove. Me and Carolina stayed planet-side to fight off the Mantis army he dropped on us. [ He frowns a little, nearly grimacing. It sounds like a damn movie. Two former Freelancers and some poorly trained soldiers going up against a robot army. How all the crazy shit keeps happening to him, he just doesn't know. ] We weren't dead yet, so...

[ Wash shrugs. It says something unflattering about his life that he can make this kind of assessment. He knows it. But there it is. ]

I'm taking that as a win.

[rumbling]

[ He could wish it wasn't so. That they could discuss Freelancer and the AI program and have it not Be An Issue. But it's going to be an issue until Maine can somehow work through all this crap. If he can. ( Maybe he should see someone about that here... )

Hearing about what's going on back... there—it's not home, really. Maine doesn't even know what that means anymore—makes him feel a little uneasy. Not that Carolina is useless in a fight ( she wouldn't have constantly been number one or so if she wasn't ). Not that Wash is, either. He remembers how much he was underestimated. Wash is crafty, though. People never really gave him credit for that. But. Well. It just makes him feel uneasy. They're not a team anymore, haven't been for a while. But it was still Maine's job to take the brunt of the fight. Now Wash is there with only Carolina as back-up. Maine can't know that she's changed a little, so it only annoys him that she'll be looking out for herself and not having Wash's back like she should.

He doesn't really want to talk about that anymore. So, he shifts the conversation slightly; You stayed with those sims? ]

[sixth]

[ Wash doesn't mind that the conversation moves on to another topic. The sims, dysfunctional disaster that they are, are easier to discuss than Freelancer and its assorted tragedies.

He makes a face, a little bit sheepish and a lot resigned. One shoulder twitches in a shrug. ]

Yeah. Didn't really have anywhere else to go. And I'm pretty sure the UNSC would have arrested me if they hadn't thought I was dead.

[ Whether they still think that after Epsilon's broadcast of the Chorus fiasco, Wash doesn't know. It's possible they think he's just another sim trooper, which is a blow to his dignity but still better than being imprisoned. Again. ]

They're not so bad. Usually. [ Oh, who the fuck is he kidding. He sighs. ] Sometimes.

[rumbling]

[ It's a strange feeling that comes over him then. Maine doesn't really know how to explain it, just that there's something sitting there in his chest like a pit. Something heavy and loaded and he doesn't like it. Maybe if he did have a word for it, he'd be able to better figure out how to handle it. Instead it just weighs him down and will fester in the back of his mind like everything else he doesn't want to think about.

For a few long moments, he doesn't say anything. He just stands there quietly assessing everything and figuring out what he wants to say. If he wants to say anything at all. He could just walk away. There's no obligation to continue the conversation or have any interaction with Wash at all. He hates that he thinks that, but, it's not the first time. He's trying, though, to remember the human parts of himself. That's hard.

Everything is so goddamn hard.

He shifts from one foot to the other, lifting a hand and running his fingers over his chin. A breath is exhaled. Good you found a place for yourself.

That's the best he can do. ]

[sixth]

[ Yeah, so hey. Remember those guys you tried to kill a bunch of times? I decided to hang out with them. Become their leader. No big deal. It's awkward. Even in Wash's head it's awkward and no matter how he says it, he knows that's probably how it sounds.

This is such a goddamn mess.

He feels tired and so much older than he is. If there's a right thing to say here, he doesn't know what it is. He can't tell if Maine's going to stay or go or what it is he wants him to do. Or what it is he should want him to do.

And once he responds, Wash knows that he ought to let it go. Grunt, shrug, and move on. Except this isn't Carolina. He's had so much invested in Maine, he can't just brush it all aside. ]

I didn't. [ The Reds and Blues are all right. Wash cares about them. But they aren't family. His place isn't with them. It probably never will be. ] But it's good enough. Freelancer taught me that sometimes, that's the best we can ask for.

[rumbling]

[ Okay, so. This is going well.

It's going well, which means it's going terribly. Maine still doesn't really know how to feel. Only that whatever Wash is implying is likely not what Maine is thinking. Because he's thinking something not so good. And he doesn't know how to take how that makes him feel. Not knowing how to feel ( on top of suddenly being alive again and finding he's trapped in space with Wash again ) is only throwing all of his thoughts into chaos. He probably shouldn't be out here anymore.

Probably shouldn't be near Wash anymore. He could say he wasn't ready for this, but people aren't ever ready to be blindsided.

The sound he makes is mostly irritable, but it's not at Wash. Freelancer taught a lot of shit.

Because that's what it was. Shit. And thinking about it, Wash, the sims... It's not making for a pleasant mix. Maine doesn't really want to stick around and needs to find some place he can destroy something. He flexes his fingers before jamming both hands into the pockets of the hoodie. Everything in him tells him to just walk away from this and don't even look back. But, he doesn't want to leave on a sour note. So; Seen a gym around here? ]

[sixth]

[ Even now, Wash can tell when Maine's getting restless. When he's going to need to go do something, especially something destructive, to work off the energy. As far as he can tell, there aren't any overt enemies here. No dangers. Nothing for Maine to take his aggression out on properly. But there are other ways to tire oneself out and Wash is familiar with working out until the body and mind are too exhausted to continue.

So it's not surprising when the question comes. Maybe there's a part of him that wishes Maine would stay here longer, but it's a childish part of him that doesn't want to acknowledge what they've become.

He knows it's better if they take this slowly. ]

Yeah. There's a whole gymnasium.

[ He gives directions to the place as best he can. And since his memory's the way it is, that means his best is pretty damn good. There are feelings bubbling up inside him, pestering to be recognized, but he ignores them, offering Maine a faint lopsided smile. ]

Try not to break all their equipment already, okay?

[rumbling]

[ Honestly everyone on the ship will be lucky if there's any equipment left by the time Maine is done. He's getting that buzzing sort of feeling moving through his body. His veins tremble with it. His muscles vibrate with it. It's that itch that tells him he needs to get this energy out or else. And no one—including Maine himself—wants to deal with the or else.

A weight machine is definitely getting broken today. Maybe a punching bag, too.

He chews on the inside of his cheek for a split second and tries not to commit that lopsided smile to memory. ( It doesn't work. He does. And he'll be thinking about it while pounding the shit out of that punching bag. ) He breathes then nods with a noise of affirmation; No promises.

Because he can't promise that and he knows Wash knows that. Wash will probably also figure it out pretty quick the path of destruction Maine leaves behind. He looks at Wash again for one long moment, feeling like he should say something but ultimately in the end, he just doesn't. A hand lifts slightly in a farewell and then he turns and just heads off in the direction Wash indicated.

On the upside, hey, he might sleep well tonight after literally obliterating all his energy. ]