goneawayworld | Maybe There's a Place to Rest Our Heads Better Than This [Closed]

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Maybe There's a Place to Rest Our Heads Better Than This [Closed]

Who: Dan, Ric, and Sam
What: Party Triple of Troubled Young Guys Who Like Beer and Saving Lives
Where: Dan, Ric and Sam's dorm room.
When: Sometime after Bunny, Sam and Dan go hunting.
Warnings/Notes: Nothing yet, but given this crew you can expect that there will be lethal levels of manpain going on beneath the surface and lots of profanity.

A little over two weeks into being on this rig, Dan finally begins to accept that he's well and truly stuck here, and tries to talk himself out of being miserable and into looking at the positives.

Positives: lots of new people to meet, some sort of shady conspiracy to uncover, lots of things to do, and supposedly they're going to be saving the world from nightmare goo or whatever, so that's cool.

Negatives: this piece-of-shit machine moves at two miles an hour, which is the kind of speed that Dan thinks God invented just to fuck with people. Somehow, Dan finds this worse than if the rig were just totally stationary. "Two miles an hour" is like smearing salt in the wound, like the universe's playground taunt, like someone out there decided they were going to find the one petty thing that would really piss off Dan Sagittarius personally.

It shouldn't bother him that this place moves two miles an hour, and yet it does - when he thinks about it too long, he gets into that listless mood where no matter how many cities you can fit in this massive vehicle, it feels too small and cramped, and once he's in a pissy mood about it he starts finding the faults in everything else, from the tasteless mess hall beer to the mind-numbing meditation sessions to the lack of easy cigarettes. Dan's never been someone who's thought of themselves as high-maintenance - for God's sake, he's spent at least a year sleeping in his car and eating gas station hot dogs - but suddenly he's feeling like quite the diva about all this.

He's finally been assigned a room with other people - he had a very lonely single for a bit there, before corporate decided to shuffle him around - and no one else is home when he gets there. His only belongings appear to be a lighter, his communicator and a few changes of uniform, so he dumps those on the corner of the most unclaimed-looking bed and flops onto it. He pops the tab on one of those terrible mess hall beers and looks around the room to see if there are any hints of who else he'll be sharing the space with, but the rig does a really good job of anonymizing everyone. Very few personal possessions or decorations, which means Dan has to draw his conclusions from one of the beds being unmade and one of the pairs of shoes in the room being a size something-much-larger-than-his.

He's weighing the option of being really intrusive and just going through his new roomies' drawers to sate his curiosity when he hears someone coming down the hall. He hops up, thrilled that some other poor soul is going to break the tedium for him and solve at least one of the mystery roommate questions, but when he looks around the doorway, the guy he sees isn't exactly looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

"Hi, I- Jesus shit, you okay?"

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Ric grabs the edge of the mattress, testing the thickness. His ass already has a good measure of the sag, and it doesn’t take long to render a verdict. “Your car really was a piece of shit.”

The mattresses aren’t the worst he’s encountered, but X-Force used an abandoned Murderworld as a base so these standards Ric’s proclaiming are a recent addition.

Nobody drinks only one beer, but he’s milking the last quarter of the can. It’s not his six-pack, and he didn’t even expect the first one.

“Yeah, I know. You’ve been here longer than me, though. It’s something. “ He shrugs, at a loss for how else to describe it. Compared to what Rictor knows about this place, the beer and the roof access make Dan a Rig genius.

Dan returns the shocks, and Ric gives him a wary look. He wants to stay on Dan’s good side, for overall cell harmony or some shit (and beer), but he doesn’t know the guy well enough to judge if honesty is preferable to being able to toe the Jorgmund line. Enh, screw it. “I told HR to go fuck herself. It’s not sass if you mean it.”

It's not that Sam has been enjoying living on his own. He normally hates it. Too many years spent barely an arm's length away from his brother in shitty motel rooms across the country. And Dojima hadn't been like Dean in the least, but he'd been another body and another person breathing and that had been enough for Sam to at least sleep.

Maybe it's punishment for getting caught out of bounds or maybe someone in the Jorg finally realized Sam isn't sleeping well. All he knows is he's rousted out of the room he'd had by himself for a while and told to get his stuff together. Then he's marched to an entirely different room.

Luckily, the officious looking fellows who had grabbed him were content to leave him at the doorway, heading off while Sam takes a moment to listen in. Dan's voice he knows. The other is...new. Younger, but with the voice of one who has seen a lot. Sam's heard that tone too many times.

Still, he can't help but laugh slightly at the final pronouncement, shaking his head as he knocks on the door jamb. "It can be both. Believe me, my brother's made an art of being both truthful and full of sass."

"Well, you get what you pay for, and it was a rental I never returned, so..." Which someone recently informed Dan is grand theft auto; he's grateful that he just got that factoid as friendly advice instead of learning it the hard way. Dan actually guffaws at Ric's description of what he did to get into trouble. Dan's trashy, but he's polite and loath to insult people; that doesn't mean he isn't thinking it, and he's certainly got a mental litany of choice words for these corporate yahoos.

"Sam! Hey, you." Dan lets him in, beaming. He doesn't know Sam well, but he's already really liked what he's seen. Someone who knows their stuff and takes things seriously and doesn't buckle under threats. The priorities are different, of course, when you're talking about rooming with someone than when you're talking about hunting a killer with them while under the thumb of the sketchiest corporation in history, but there's promise here.

He gestures around the room. "This is Rictor. He's new here, and they already put him through the same wringer they ran us through, so we're drinking to celebrate having that rite of passage done. Have a beer, Sam. We got a sixer so it's two each."

He's noticed that Rictor's babying those last few sips, and wants to offer up the second beer without making Ric feel watched.

When you’ve been raised by a pack of teenagers lead by overgrown teenagers, some of the finer intricacies of social interaction may be lost forever. He’s now aware that he can’t go around telling staff exactly what he thinks of them if he wants to continue enjoying solid food, but he’s not looking forward to metaphorically biting his tongue either.

And she deserved it.

“No offence to your brother, but I’m not sassy.” Turning towards the door, Ric glances up... and up at the new arrival, who is Tall. Almost as tall as Cable, definitely taller than Shatterstar. After a second, he nods and breaks into an easy smile. “I guess we know who’s taking the top bunk. Sam.”

The name is a greeting separate from the comment about the top bunk, and there’s another nod to go with it. It’s still not nice to meet either of them, and Ric’s not going to make them lie about it.

He catches the invite to another beer, and his next swig is more casual and less calculated. He swings the near empty can between Dan and Sam. “Both of you, too? What’d you do?”

If it’s something other than mouthing off, they might spare him a few brain cells.

Sam was raised by Dean. It's nearly the same thing.

The corner of his mouth kicks up in a half smile, just hinting at dimples. "One of you guys. I'm already high enough off the ground."

What? He can absolutely make jokes about his own height.

He grabs one of the chairs and brings it over, sitting down and accepting the offer of the beer. "Went someplace we weren't supposed to be in and when we got caught, called into question their abilities to keep themselves and the rest of us safe. And their commitment to that as well." He shakes his head. "The world 'asshole' wasn't mentioned, but it was definitely thought. Several times."

To take one for the team, Dan kicks off his shoes and tosses them up onto the top bunk to claim it. "I could use the vantage point around you titans."

Sure, Ric's not tall, but Dan's actually short - and like Sam, has no reservations about poking fun over it.

"There's a thing around trying to kill people - already got at least one poor fucker, you'll probably see a lot of chatter about it on the communicators - and we went looking. Figured we were good people for the job, and the suits weren't doing jack shit." He tosses Ric's empty can into the wastebasket and kicks back; just because this bottombunk is no longer "his" doesn't mean he wants to vacate it just yet.

"We found a trail, too, and might could have had some luck if that Washburn fellow and his goons hadn't showed up and lit us up like Christmas trees. He didn't listen to reason worth anything. We could have helped and kept people safer and instead he thought it was more important to remind us to stay in our place."

Is Dan still mad? Dan's still mad. He's calm, but his voice is thicker than usual with disgust.

"They've made it pretty clear to us what their priorities are around here."

“Oh good,” Ric says to cover a low groan as he stretches to snag another beer, “you clean.”

He’s perfectly capable of throwing out his own can, he assures himsel, but if Dan is going to to do it for him, Rictor will oblige and be “lazy” and sit here.

Sam’s version of the story is interesting, because Ric is already curious about the places they aren’t supposed to go to, but Dan’s makes him sit up straight. Putting the two together gives a glimpse of the kind of quality shit they’re in. “Asshole is right. What the fuck... I don’t get it. I mean I get it: subjugate the muties before they rise up against you, but make it PC. But nobody wastes the time or money putting implants in something they’re not going to keep alive. Catching the killer should be somewhere in the top five priorities.”

Implants are an investment, so the hires are clearly worth something to Jorgmund. Not enough to keep unharmed, but alive. Ric rubs his neck too hard, not for the first time. He’s not about to hop to his feet and go chasing a killer, but it’s not like he can just ignore that that’s what his roommates were doing. Or that they didn’t find it. Can he put off helping hunt it down until his joints stop twinging? “When you say you found a trail - you mean a literal trail and they swept it up, or something might still be there?”

Just nonchalantly asking for a friend.

"God, this stuff is shitty." Sam tends to avoid the beer from the cafeteria for just that reason. "Corporations. Always contracting to the lowest bidder rather than for what's actually decent."

Doesn't stop him from drinking it. Or complaining about it.

He turns his look back to Julio, tucking that 'muties' comment away. Something to consider later. "It's not that they're actively trying to get us killed. Or even passively. They have their security on it and giving us access to try to find the culprit would mean allowing us access to areas where we're not meant to be. Therefore, they'd rather not do it."

Another swig and a grimace before offering, "Scent trail. Something that can apparently walk through walls, at our best guess. Believe it or not, the Easter Bunny is really good at tracking."

Yes. He says that with a straight face.

Dan makes a little waggle gesture with his eyebrows and smirks when Sam brings up the Easter Bunny.

He's picking up what Ric's putting down, and tries to put a gentle stop to it. "I highly doubt it's a trail that's going anywhere live by now. It's been too many hours, and we don't got other leads, so we're sitting and waiting."

Which Dan hates on a visceral level. He's never been the patient type, but sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop reminds him of his youth, of knowing something horrible was coming, some devastating loss, and not being able to do anything about it. Even just saying it out loud makes him feel his chest tighten, and he covers for it by drinking some more beer.

"As for keeping us alive...well, they may be working on it some, but it's not a priority for them. We obviously got value here or they wouldn't have given us the entire training floor," or the implants, "but there are at least a few things more important to them than us, and some of them are definitely in those hidden access areas."

Does Dan want to do a heist? Dan absolutely wants to pull a heist.

“I don’t know,” he says as he finally cracks open the second can. Ric holds a swig of it in his mouth to really taste it, making a face when he actually swallows a few seconds later. He works his tongue against the roof of his mouth to dull the aftertaste. “It could grow on me after a six pack or ten.”

He swallowed just in time to not choke, because Sam namedrops the Easter Bunny, and Ric has to double take. The in-between glance at Dan’s Groucho Marx isn’t reassuring. They’re hazing him, they’re crazy, or they actually know the goddamn Easter Bunny.

“The Easter Bunny,” Ric repeats, as if saying it again will change the meaning of the phrase. He is temporarily distracted from the idea of pumping them for information about the trail and the other off limits sites to go check it out on his own when the after effects of the warm welcome wear off.

He gives the beer can a mock suspicious look. “How many of these did the two of you have?”

Oh, Ric will definitely be going snooping, but he now has to make sure they’re grounded in what he likes to call reality before going with them.

"In a row, right? Because you're going to need to be pretty damned drunk to like this stuff. This is worse than Coors Light, and I probably lived on that stuff during college."

He didn't. Sam's not much of a drinker most of the time. After all, his father was (and his brother is) a functional alcoholic. So while he sometimes does drink, he's not as full on as his brother. Not normally, at least.

Sam waits impassively for the reaction he knows is coming from mentioning the Easter Bunny. "Before this beer, the last time I touched alcohol was the night before I arrived here. We were hunting a shōjō, a Japanese spirit you can only see while drunk." He shakes his head. "Story for another time. But the hangover was only barely worth it. That said, the Easter Bunny is definitely real here and doesn't particularly like being called Harvey."

Sam has definitely called Bunny 'Harvey'. At least, before he learned what to call him.

Dan snorts "not enough" when Ric asks them how many they've had, and then again when Sam talks about how he hasn't had a drink in weeks. Months? All Dan knows is that Sam's been here much longer than him, and has managed to remain much more chill about than Dan can imagine sustaining. "I want a monster you can only see while drunk."

It took Dan a grand total of five hours upon arrival to figure out how to wheedle alcohol and cigarettes out of the mess hall staff.

"Easter Bunny's a stand-up guy. I'd trust him with my life."

It's more than just the aborted hunt they went on; one of Dan's first experiences on the rig was getting chucked into other people's memories. He wound up in Bunny's, and vice versa, and they were both held captive, involuntary witnesses to the loss that formed each other, and both felt like intruders and victims in having such private pain shared.

He and Bunny made a gentleman's pact to never, ever speak of what they saw in each other's memories.

"Anyway. It was the three of us, but I think Bunny was giving the scent trail to some other folk here with heightened senses, werewolves and the like. And Rictor, if you think the Easter Bunny's throwing you for a loop, I can't wait to see your face when you meet the talking cowboy doll."

“Yeah, in a row. If if you spread it out, my taste buds might recover.” His liver might not recover, but Ric is currently weighing his options.

Ric gives Dan a look like he’s really crazy now, but that’s just in response to wanting a monster that you can only see when you’re drunk. He’s about to interrupt to ask why the hell he’s not wishing for NO monster, but then...

Then...

[ Rictor.exe has stopped working. ]

He stares blankly at Dan for a good ten seconds and then gets up unsteadily. The beer isn’t good enough for this. However, the hallway seems very far away, and he doesn’t know where to to stalk off to. Ric sits back down.

He tries again to shape this into a scenario that he knows how to handle, preferably by breaking something. Looking back and forth between them, Ric recounts the information again. “The Easter Bunny is here, and there’s a talking cowboy doll.”

A beat. His head snaps up, and he starts scanning the room rapidly. “This is Murderworld, isn’t it. Are we in Murderworld?”

"And the spaceman doll, don't forget him."

Sam tries. Talking dolls are weird. But the cowboy at least saved his life once, so he can't be too upset about them.

He takes a sip of his beer and makes a face before sitting back. "I'm not sure what Murderworld is, but considering everything?" He makes a motion with the can to encompass the entire Rig. "Near as we can tell, we're being pulled here from multiple worlds. Which means there's a lot of weirdness being thrown at us. The one mission I've been on so far? Involved Barney the Dinosaur doing a Godzilla. As well as the attack of Saturday morning. So the weirdness is not going to stop any time soon."

Dan gives Ric a concerned glance when Ric gets up, but no, he's fine. Just dealing with the usual shocks of absorbing a universe that holds everything from the sublime to the straight-up stupid.

"We might not be in Murderworld, but I wouldn't put it past them to have sold Murderworld some real estate here." Whatever Murderworld is. Clearly something pretty upsetting, from the way Ric's scanning the room and the fact that, well, it's called Murderworld.

"My understanding is that the Stuff we're supposed to be in charge of gets inspiration from reading our minds, so some poor bastard was thinking of Barney when the Stuff wave hit. But that's distinct from the rest of the hires, because Bunny and Woody and all don't seem to be made of Stuff, just brought here like us. But, naturally, the locals here can't tell the difference and they get tetchy around folks who don't look like them, so you got to be a little extra cautious if you're watching out for someone who don't look like us."

He makes a gesture at the three of them and, damn, he's out of beer. Right as they're getting started with the topics that one needs a beer for.

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Maybe There's a Place to Rest Our Heads Better Than This [Closed]

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