heavyhitter | IC CONTACT (futuro & prisma)

[ she knows immediately what she THINKS he's asking, but man, give a girl some context. there's no way she's just gonna come right out with the answer to that ]

uh did you forget to include me on the beginning of this convo

[Nah. C'mon Ramir you're a smart girl.]

I thought getting right to the point might be disarming.

[Y'know, for once. This is probably supposed to be a joke, but it falls flat in a lot of ways. Not least in that he's at least aware enough of his already-historically-shitty grasp on his temper to realize he has to bite down on the swell of unearned aggravation when she dodges. There's a pause, in which he ditches text for once to open a voice channel.]

Should I start over?

[ oh god, now he's using voice. that's serious. apparently she'll have to humor this after all. she switches over in kind, but spends a few seconds silent anyway.

eventually: ] I dunno how long. Since I noticed -- a few days.

[Atta girl. He might've started taking it kind of personally if she tried giving him the runaround for too long. On the bright side, cutting out the crap does manage to go both ways, because it's a little harder to be vague and dodgy himself when he isn't smokescreened behind text. (He sounds tired, mostly. Rougher around the edges.)

He waits her out and then some, keeping quiet for a while even after she's done confirming his suspicions, rapping his knuckles restlessly against his knee the whole time. It doesn't come as a shock so much as settles in to cement itself as known, burns low and poisonous against his nerves.]

How bad?

[Clipped, a little tense. First things first. He'd probably know firsthand if he hadn't been such a stranger over the last few days—but she's not the only one who's been pinning down symptoms and coming to grips with how to handle them. Still, to say he doesn't want to hear from her would be lying.]

[ That tiredness doesn't escape her. Now that she's finally admitted it in herself, she's on the lookout for it in others. Denial doesn't do anyone any good, it turns out. But is this due to working himself hard, or something else? ]

I mean, it's not great. [ A quick sigh. ] But it's alright so far. I got Sigma, that helps. And I don't think it's too far yet.

[ A beat, then a little hesitantly, because she knows how he feels about this question: ] How're you doing?

[It could be both. Especially given his answer starts out snappish. He's technically a little behind her in timeline, but he hasn't been doing much in the way of mitigating symptoms. So—]

Well, I could really go for a chili dog, if you're asking.

[Or like. A dozen. This doesn't quite have the right amount of humor in it. Comes out a little more acidic than he probably means it while he's still swallowing this new measure of added outrage on her behalf. He bites down on it and backs himself up.

He could be a hypocrite and give her the runaround. Or he could lie and tell her he's fine—play dumb until later to spare her the stress of one more thing to worry about. But she's a smart girl. And as bittersweet and experimental as it is to know she would worry about him, denial doesn't really help anything right now.

He closes his eyes and exhales, sharp and short.]

Been that way for a week or two. Maybe more. I wasn't sure until recently.

[Good thing misery loves company.]

[ A hint turns into a confirmation of the worst possible answer, and this time Ramir's breath out is a little louder. Shit. She should've asked about this sooner — she should've been suspicious when she hadn't talked to him in a while, sought him out...

Well, no time like the present. ]

Want some company? [ Because she's already pulling up the magitek map to figure out where he is. ] I'll bring over some snacks.

[Should've, could've, would've. In her defense, he didn't voice his suspicions for a while. Until they stopped being suspicions and started being symptoms.

He can already guess what she's up to. Since their tense exchange months ago in Oska, Ramir's been better about giving him space when he needs it. But this probably doesn't qualify. Hell, at least they don't need to worry about being contagious. After a beat, by way of permission—]

Door's open.

[Feel free. He's holed up in a top-floor apartment downtown. And after getting up to unlock the door, he settles in next to a cracked window with a cigarette to wait for her.]

[ It doesn't take her long. It's not that big an area, and she's found a moped somewhere. It's not the most exciting vehicle, but it's easy on gas and no one's going to miss it. So she's there in about ten minutes, and knocks once to announce her presence before letting herself in.

As promised: a bag of snacks dangles from one arm. Chips, crackers, some convenience store hotdogs. ] Hey. [ She heads right for him, inviting herself to drag over a chair to better suit her needs. With the bag thrust out and a small, tired smile: ] Twinkie?

[Aw. Company and the comfort food.

He's been mostly rationing what he's eating. Because he's read the dossier, and logically he knows the false feeling of constant starvation is a matter of faulty biology and misfiring synapses. That eating himself sick isn't going to do anything significant but waste his supplies. And—maybe even more importantly—there's something in knowing he still has the will to stop.

(For now.)

That doesn't mean he isn't feeling the constant pressure of it. Or that it isn't getting a lot harder to ignore. He's partway through his second cigarette when she wanders in and makes herself comfortable next to him. Despite himself, he manages to crack a small and crooked smile in response to hers while he stubs his smoke out on the windowsill.]

My hero.

[It's only sort of ironic. (Just because he's shit at asking for moral support doesn't mean he doesn't need it.) Besides, self control is all well and good, but there's a time and a place for empty calories.]

[ The bag is all his. She compulsively snacked on the way over and, like Jason, she knows it doesn't actually do any good. She's always loved food, but eating constantly isn't actually that great for anyone.

She's in her chair for a record three seconds before abruptly changing her mind. This is stupid. She's close to him, but not nearly close enough — so she pops up and leans over, settling herself in a drape over Jason's shoulders, head leaned to press her forehead into one of them. She might usually at least pause to check that it's alright, but not today. Today it has to be alright, because it's happening. ]

You smell like cigarettes. [ She wrinkles her nose, buried in the cloth of jacket. ] You're not gonna start that up every time shit gets bad, are you?

[He hums irritably under his breath. Hovers like half an inch from saying something mean before the beneficial effect of actual human contact starts to trickle in. Starts winding some of the desperate ache out of his system and some of the brittle irrational aggression out of his head and makes it that much easier to bite himself back and focus. Like breaking your head above water. It's subtle but tangible, he keeps quiet but relaxes a few inches back into his chair and leans into her cling without comment, shifts to knock their knees together and better bridge the space between chairs for her. It's—well, it's better, even just that little bit. Any reprieve at all. A second or two off-beat and not as sharply edged as it could be—]

Why, are you gonna tell me it'll cut my life expectancy in half?

[Threaten to make him eat the pack one butt at a time? He's heard that before. The window is still cracked just enough to let a little fresh (cold) air in, but clearly chainsmoking has been his casual coping mechanism of choice, so far.]

If you've got better options for self medication, I'm all ears.

[Nicotine suppresses appetite, y'know, that's science. Who knows if it's even enough to combat the virus or if it's just comfort in old habits. Everyone's got their vices.]

No, but I'm gonna tell you that you smell like ass.

[ Not that it's discouraging her. It just encourages her more when he loosens up and accepts this forcible snuggling, and she scoots closer still to drape a leg over his. Sigma would understand. Hell, she'd make Sigma join in if he'd come over with her. ]

I hate this fucking world. Have I mentioned that? [ It doesn't sound like her usual never-quite-serious whining, there's an underscore of genuine and taut anger to it. ] I thought it'd be fun, going somewhere that wasn't fantasy bullshit or aliens. Turns out it's the worst yet, though.

[Well, that's fair enough, knock yourself out.

That amount of getting friendly gets a little more of a reaction, a cant of the head back down at her and a momentary pause where he weighs the pros and cons of just tugging her over into his lap and speeding this creeping over along. (Sorry, Sigma.) Hell, the clinging is doing a hell of a lot more good than the food at this point. He settles for shifting to set her haul by his feet so he can hook an arm over the chair behind her instead and commit to the general slump.

Her voice is tight with real anger—which is not common, and not lost on him. And not at all unreasonable, given the circumstances. (And now that he's thinking a little more clearly, he can't help but do the unkind math on the worst case scenario for someone like Ramir. Superpowered, bulletproof, and sick. It's not like she's got a kryptonite as far as he can tell.)

It leaves a sharp and sour taste in his mouth, a sharp spike of dread in his blood. If nothing else, it's motivating.]

You could take it up with HR, but I don't think they're gonna hear it.

[This whole mess hasn't done wonders for his opinion on ALASTAIR's approach to chucking field agents into the wild willy nilly. And it wasn't very high to begin with.]

Working theory right now seems to be that it's more of an extraterrestrial problem than a local one. Wish I could tell you I had it all worked out already, but I guess I'm a little out of practice.

[Or, y'know, a little distracted. But directing that anger toward something sure would be nice right about now.]

[ God, she doesn't care what the cause is. She doesn't care what the cause is and she doesn't even care if this whole world gets infected and tears itself apart — she just wants Audentes making it out whole and in one piece. The selfish thought has a frown on her face, which eases only slightly when she drops her head to rest against Jason's chest. ]

It's called PR in ALASTAIR. [ HR, that is. As nice as bitching is, it doesn't fix much. And she definitely can't help in the speculation department, she's leaving that up to brighter minds. ] For personnel resources. Don't be so fucking speciesist, Jason.

[ See, she can still do jokes. Kind of. ]

[He throws her game attempt at humor a tepid bone that's more scoff than laugh. She'll feel it through his chest more than she can hear it.]

Duly noted.

[He's at least mostly aware that this is a venting visit and not a conspiratorial one, so he lets the change of subject stand. But he can't not think about it. As far as coping mechanisms go, Jason's always been prone to leaning on aggressive productivity. Having run into nothing but dead ends at the moment, then getting confirmation on Ramir's own status, he's wound up tight and turning things over compulsively in his head. Looking for the things he's missed that could lead them to a crack in the case. Even if the horrible hunger has dulled on the edges, it makes it a lot easier to feel the things it had been overshadowing. Exhaustion, frustration. Anger that has nothing to do with the virus and everything to do with how out of his control this is getting.]

D'you think they'll hold zombie sensitivity seminars? Cannibal cookout nights? Or hey, if we're all just gonna go native, I guess that's a few less bodies for Lloyd to worry about shipping home. Maybe they'll just cut their losses.

Yeah, they would. Cut their losses, I mean. [ And she can't even be mad about it. She would. ] If we fuck this up and everyone gets infected, why would they bother pulling us out when we'd be a risk back in Oska? Maybe they'd come back and see if we're still alive in a couple years, if they got a cure by then. Maybe.

[ That could be an overly pessimistic view... but she's not inclined to count on any kind of favorable outcome from anyone not directly in her group, the way she's decided Audentes is. Her hands clench once, then forcibly release and settle down again. ]

But we got some talented nerds around here that aren't gonna let it get that far.

[Since this has tipped back into serious discussion territory, he cuts the contrary crap and watches her fists clench and unclench. (If she decided right here that she wanted to take a bite out of him, she's be inches away from snapping his neck with one of those. Caving his chest in without breaking a sweat. He hadn't thought of her that way, much, save for once, when she'd pinged back from the future and looked at him like he was a wild dog. Even then, that was limited in scope, narrow in focus. When do you start coming up with contingencies?)

Maybe the worst part of this is the increasingly likely possibility that he's going to need to rely on the aforementioned "talented nerds" to fix it if he runs the clock out on his own sanity too soon. Audentes are her people, maybe, even if ALASTAIR isn't. She has faith in the crew at large that he doesn't.]

And if it does anyway?

[Get that far.]

If it does... Audentes is pretty strong. Some of us, anyway.

[ Her voice drops a little, flattening out its usual expressive ups and downs, as she stares absently out the window to Jason's left. ]

I asked Koltira to take care of me if it comes down to it — he could do it pretty easy, and I bet he could take down anyone else that's too strong, too.

[ And not to have Sigma do it, that's the important part. Or Jason, now that she thinks about it — although, honestly, who could tell who would go first between the two of them? Timelines are a little tough to figure. ]

[They could just go out together, do the whole blaze of glory thing. Nice and dramatic. All things considered, Kolitra's probably a safer bet.]

Making arrangements, how responsible.

[Dry, like he hadn't been weighing options on the matter, himself. He's so proud of you, bud. She knows her capabilities best, so he doesn't argue it. He realizes a little belatedly that he's been restlessly rapping his knuckles against the back of her chair, and he makes an effort to stop it before posing the next obvious question.]

Does Sigma know?

[ She hadn't even noticed it consciously, but the rapping against her chair had been gently fraying at already frayed nerves somewhere in the back of her mind. She only notices it at all when he finally stops, and a little more ease filters in again. She takes in a slow breath to let that seep in a little. ]

Yeah. [ Please, like she wouldn't tell him immediately after finally coming to grips with it herself. She closes her eyes, brow furrowing a little. ] He's infected too, but — symptomless. It's like he's immune, or something.

[ lucky jerk ]

[Does he look like a guy who knows what healthy communication between couples is like. (Spoilers, he sure doesn't.) Some dudes might not react all that well to learning their superpowered girlfriend is taking out contingencies in case she needs to be put down like a rabid dog, probably. Good thing Sigma's a trooper, ig.

He exhales sharply, dropping his hand away from the back of her chair, sitting up where he'd been leaning into her.]

Lucky Sigma. [Somehow, it manages to come out breezy and biting and at the same time. Some unkind reflex of petty resentment that's been long swallowed but not deep enough to be strangled out, mixing terribly with the acid burn of aggression being fostered and facilitated by the virus.] Front row seats without having to worry about being in the splash zone. Wonder what the betting odds are on that.

[ The lean away from her would be fine, but not paired with the comment. That has her own short temper flaring up a little, and a frown crosses her face like a dark cloud. ]

Yeah, lucky. [ Which, true, she'd just been thinking herself -- but it's different when someone goes and says it. She pulls back a little as well, the better to direct her frown at Jason. ] Lucky that he might get to watch me -- and a bunch other people on this team -- lose our minds and get put down without being able to do anything about it. That sounds super lucky.

IC CONTACT (futuro & prisma)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject