Agent South Dakota (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ownperson) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
goneawayworld2020-12-26 04:59 pm
ownperson) wrote in goneawayworld2020-12-26 04:59 pm
Entry tags:
[closed] common enemy
Who: Agent South, Agent Washington & the Counselor
What: Wash and South encounter the Counselor
Where: One of the common rooms
When: Now
Warnings/Notes: Mild violence, probable references to past psychological torture/manipulation
Nothing has gone right for South since she arrived at the rig. You'd think that finding out your dead brother and teammates were alive and here would be a cause for celebration, but all it's ended up a cause for is arguments and frustration and upset and feeling more alone than when they were all still dead.
Of course, it's her own fault, really, even if she refuses to accept it. She made choices she never intended to face the consequences of and here, now, those consequences have become unavoidable. She was never exactly the best of friends with Wash and York anyway, so fuck them, but North...
They've never gone so long not talking, before.
The longer it goes on, the less likely it seems that anything will change. The longer it goes on, the clearer it is that North meant it; he's picked the AI over her. He's picked the computer program over her and the worst part is, she isn't even surprised. It had been clear for months, before the rig, where his priorities lay. Doesn't mean it hurts less to have it confirmed, though.
So her non-scheduled time is spent alone, and time alone means time to stew in her anger. Arguing with North is unsatisfying because he doesn't fight back and she won't be the one to break the stalemate between them, but he's not the only one she grows angrier at.
Agent fucking Washington. He told North what happened, he made confronting it so unavoidable, he ruined everything—that's what she's decided, anyway. That, and to return the gesture of hunting him down to let him know where things stand.
She finds him alone in one of the common rooms and blocks off the doorway, her arms spread across the space to grasp either side of the frame.
"This is all your fucking fault."
What: Wash and South encounter the Counselor
Where: One of the common rooms
When: Now
Warnings/Notes: Mild violence, probable references to past psychological torture/manipulation
Nothing has gone right for South since she arrived at the rig. You'd think that finding out your dead brother and teammates were alive and here would be a cause for celebration, but all it's ended up a cause for is arguments and frustration and upset and feeling more alone than when they were all still dead.
Of course, it's her own fault, really, even if she refuses to accept it. She made choices she never intended to face the consequences of and here, now, those consequences have become unavoidable. She was never exactly the best of friends with Wash and York anyway, so fuck them, but North...
They've never gone so long not talking, before.
The longer it goes on, the less likely it seems that anything will change. The longer it goes on, the clearer it is that North meant it; he's picked the AI over her. He's picked the computer program over her and the worst part is, she isn't even surprised. It had been clear for months, before the rig, where his priorities lay. Doesn't mean it hurts less to have it confirmed, though.
So her non-scheduled time is spent alone, and time alone means time to stew in her anger. Arguing with North is unsatisfying because he doesn't fight back and she won't be the one to break the stalemate between them, but he's not the only one she grows angrier at.
Agent fucking Washington. He told North what happened, he made confronting it so unavoidable, he ruined everything—that's what she's decided, anyway. That, and to return the gesture of hunting him down to let him know where things stand.
She finds him alone in one of the common rooms and blocks off the doorway, her arms spread across the space to grasp either side of the frame.
"This is all your fucking fault."
no subject
He'd just been about to settle in with a book, but upon seeing her he tosses the book over onto the couch.
And rolls his eyes.
"Sure," he deadpans. "All your terrible life choices are definitely all my fault."
no subject
"You fucking told him!" Her knuckles are white from grasping the frame so tightly and her jawline is taut with tension. "Worse, you fucking told him what you decided happened from what the little green asshole said! You weren't there! You didn't see—"
She cuts herself off with a slam of her open palm against the wall and a curse. Every time she tries to explain herself, she hesitates. The details don't matter to Wash, or to North; the details don't change anything, but they matter to her. The details matter to her.
no subject
A tired roll of a shoulder.
"Do you think that would've made you look good? Even if you hadn't screwed North. Shooting one of his friends in the back in cold blood?"
He and North hadn't exactly been best buds - that was York - but North had still been there at his bed side when he'd woken up from Epsilon.
"After I ignored orders to save your life and set you up to get everything you wanted. All you had to do was give me cover and run for the ship."
no subject
"We would both have fucking died, Washington! No one survives an encounter with that thing! I heard the reports just the same as you," except, of course, she didn't have to go to the bodies, "and I watched it kill my brother right in front of me. Sorry that I didn't wanna stick around long enough to join him."
Of course, Wash is right. South's problems aren't built on the back of a single choice; no, they're the result of making the selfish choice again, and again, and again, and—
One choice after another, culminating here.
no subject
The ultimate insult, honestly. He mowed through how many Freelancers before then?
"It wasn't about sticking around. I defied orders and gave you an out. And I probably would've died anyway and you'd have been the one that returned an important asset. They would've gone from wanting you dead to rating you for implantation for that."
He'd have wound up dead anyway. To save Delta, spare more ex-Freelancers from Maine by not letting him get Delta, and giving her a chance.
"You didn't just leave and you know it." He shakes his head. "All that betrayal worked out so well for your survival in the end, didn't it."
His tone is acid. "And none of it is ever your fault."
no subject
Sim troopers? A bunch of sim troopers stopped—? Wash has no reason to make up a lie that batshit, so she assumes it’s not a lie at all, but sim troopers?
She doesn’t want to unpack that, so she rolls her eyes and bites: “Fuck, you are predictable.”
That he would have put his own life on the line for her to get away is exactly what made shooting him and claiming it was the Meta a good out. And going back to Command had never been an option for her, not when she could avoid it.
“Last I knew, asshole, I wasn’t dead,” she says, finally stepping out from the doorway into the room. “You may shoot me in whatever fucked up future you came from, and y’know what, that’s a very me thing to do, well-fucking-done, but right now? I’m doing just fucking fine.”
No, she isn’t; not there, not here. Not in any way beyond physically and barely even that. She looks rough, like, ‘hasn’t slept properly in days’ rough, in a way she didn’t when the first fought.
“I did what I had to do. North was the one who wouldn’t.”
Deflecting blame, again.
no subject
Like sure, he's playing games behind everyone's backs, but at least he's thinking about who it might hurt, how he might mitigate it, maybe how he can use it to help people.
He's thinking about what the ultimate answer might be to Me vs. Them, when it comes to the other New Hires.
He's thinking about it. Making actual moral choices. Understanding possible consequences his actions might have.
"And sure, you look like you're doing great. Tell me, is there anyone here - or anywhere - that'd care if you were gone? Judging from North's drunken cleaning bender, it looks like maybe he's finally coming to his senses on that one."
no subject
For a second, just a split second, the veneer of untouchable rage falters. Something else flashes across her features, something infinitely more vulnerable and human than South would ever admit to, something raw—
“You fucking asshole!”
And then the anger comes back with a snarl and South lunges, as if it had never gone away at all, with a clumsy punch aimed at his head.
no subject
They begin to fight again in earnest. He's less angry than before but somehow that almost makes it worse. His own blows aren't as aggressive, but being looser and more relaxed means he's even harder to hit.
"I only have the muscle memory from it, thanks to my other memory problems, but do you who my regular sparring partner apparently is?"
The sudden kick he snaps off is definitely not his old style.
"Carolina."
no subject
"Enough." he says sternly. All eyes are on him, now.
no subject
South narrowly dodges the punch aimed at her throat but the kick lands and she stumbles back, almost falls, just in time to watch the ice wall go up between them.
“What the fuck—?!” Even she isn’t sure if the exclamation is more at the ice or at the mention of Carolina, who should also definitely be dead and not sparring with Washington. Does no one stay dead?
no subject
It is their god-given right to pummel each other to death and who does he think he is, that he has the authority to tell them to stop? WHOMST?
He looks over at a South through the ice.
"Do you want to take a break from trying to hit each other to go hit him?"
no subject
Well don’t things here just keep getting better and fucking better? The Counselor, too? The fucking Counselor?
South looks at Price with wide-eyed disbelief, but her head snaps back to Wash when he speaks up. As much as she wants to finish the fight she already started, it only takes her a second to decide on an answer:
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
no subject
Price takes a couple of steps back. If York didn't want to listen, surely Wash and South won't either. He hates how everyone ever is always willing to solve issues by kicking his ass,
even before freelancer, but alas, he has to expect it. The thing here is that usually talking people into shit is what SOLVES the problem instead of causing it."Agents, please, we can talk about this..."
no subject
It's followed by a deadly serious: "No."
Wash grabs a nearby blanket with one hand.
"If he tries any ice beams again, we can just wrap this around his head."
So now he has two irate ex-agents coming for him. Wash grabs him by the front of his jumpsuit and yanks him farther into the common area.
no subject
"Who the fuck decided to give this guy ice beam eyes?"
South circles around to cut off Price's exit, on the off-chance he somehow gets himself free and makes a break for it—not that it's likely, with both of them corralling him, but being prepared never hurts.
She grabs Price by the shoulder and pushes him back against his own wall of ice.
"Were you out there fucking listening to us?!"
no subject
He gives South the tiniest push, obviously without managing to move her at all. It will definitely not make her less angry.
no subject
"I recommend you stop the eyebeam thing. If you try to fire ice or...whatever else you can do when something's that close to your eyes, who knows what will happen to them?"
Someone's gotta hold and someone's gotta punch. He promised York he'd try to be good so he's doing the holding.
no subject
no subject
South snorts. She almost likes this side of Washington when it's not directed at her, not that she'd say that in a million years.
"Good call," she says to Wash, before cutting straight to the chase with a hard punch to Price's jaw.
Sure, hitting bone dead-on with your bare fist hurts, but she's wanted to punch him in his smarmy little face for years now, so it's worth it.
"What the hell makes you think you get to fucking come in here and talk to us, let alone to fucking try and tell us what to do, huh?! I, we, don't take orders from you anymore, Counselor."
no subject
"You can try to dress up what you did in all the oblique language you want, but let me make one thing very clear: I promised York I'd play nice with others, but if you make the tiniest misstep I think even he'd think you were an exception to that. You have no authority over us. You aren't our friend and we're not yours."
His voice drops even lower.
"And it's a long way down from the rig's top deck, with a railing that looks very easy to slip over when the techs aren't looking."
no subject
"Fine." he surrenders.
He's used to being seen with suspicion from long before all of this happened. It sucks, and it slightly does make him wish that they would go through with their threats to save him the chore of being alive among people that are aggressive to him once again, but it's nothing new. He'll manage as he always does.
Soon someone will be nice to him, for their own good. He clenches his fists, although of course he won't do anything for now.
no subject
Hearing a second threat of murder come out of Washington's mouth should be concerning, and, well, it is, but it's also aimed at Price this time, and South can't honestly say she wouldn't do the same given the provocation.
Price's psychological bullshit got to all of them in different ways. South always hated that crap in the first place, but Price's brand was ten times worse than any school counselor who tried to get her to stop starting fights or whatever else the underpaid, non-caring assholes tried to talk to her about every now and then. Price makes her squirm, the way he talks, the way he looks at people, the way he'd pick apart your brain whenever you were forced into sessions with him.
She has no doubt he's partially at fault for the unfair treatment she faced. He was responsible for the profile that paired Theta and North, after all.
So when she hits him again, in the gut this time, it's vengeful. Full of rage at the system that broke her in ways she's still not able to fully face.
no subject
"Someone's coming."
He shoves Aiden aside, bodily, and goes to the door at his back, looking and listening.
"This one's clear."
Does he basically hate her guts? Yes.
Is he going to give Price the satisfaction of one of them getting in trouble for this? No.
Not even her.
no subject
Washington is heading to the door. If only that didn't earn him more pain, he would freeze it. Sure, he can do it and 'pretend' to be a victim - as if they didn't actually hurt him - but it's probably not wise. To think that he was only trying to save them from each other.
no subject
"Fuck."
South's almost surprised that Washington's not leaving her to take the heat—she wouldn't exactly have blamed him if he did because, well, that's what she'd probably do.
Luckily, he's not her.
She jumps over Price and follows Wash out of the other door without a second thought, except to wish she'd thought to get in one more hit on the way out.
no subject
Down a stairwell, down a hall, into an open area where the hallways just happen to converge on an open space.
And then he stops because there's room to fight, and turns to her, but he doesn't take a swing; he just looks thoughtful. They took their anger out on someone actually responsible for the way they both are now and it's making him think.
"Are we going back to fighting now or are you done?" he asks, suddenly sounding a little tired.
no subject
The escape hits her with a rush of adrenaline that's still fading when she skids to a stop behind him, a rush still visible in the idle way she bounces on the balls of her feet, ready for whatever comes next. Whatever Washington does next, now the brief moment of camaraderie has passed.
She wouldn't have blamed him for throwing the first punch again, catching her unawares, but he doesn't, and at that she cocks her head.
"As if this will ever be fucking done," she bites, but doesn't lash out. She slips into defensive posture, just in case, but she doesn't make a move. Punching Price was... satisfying, took some of the edge off her rage. "What, worried I'll beat you this time?"
no subject
What's the point of him slamming her down either?
There is something reaching up from the core of him. Something trying to say the right things to her - and to himself. His right hand - the same had he keeps losing control of - starts to twitch.
"Why are you like this? Even if what you did blew up in your face, North is alive. You have a chance to be something different. Why aren't you trying?"
no subject
The twitching catches her eye, prepared for a fight as she is. Her gaze flicks to it instinctively, motion to be wary of, but her brow barely gets to furrow as she wonders if the guy's developed a tremor or something before he keeps talking and she snorts dismissively.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" she all but spits, some syllables hisses through clenched teeth. "Why am I like this? Do you fucking hear yourself? My brother fucking disowned me not even because I let him die but because I don't get on with his stupid computer program and you think I need to fucking try to be different?"
It's all but admitting he was right, earlier. That North came to his senses. That no one cares if she lives or dies anymore.
"Fuck you. I made my fucking choices. I don't regret them," she does, "I'm not ashamed," she is, "and I don't need to fucking change," she does.
no subject
The thing...the person buried down in the dark gains steadier footing.
"You make people miserable. You make them want to kill you. There's no way you're not miserable too."
There is a sudden calm that takes over. He's ready to dodge a fist if he has to, but there's a sudden presence. Something stronger and wiser and more dignified. Less broken, less bristling with damage, less feral.
"You're in denial. You think you're going to fuck up if you try to be something else, so you don't even try at all."
no subject
South visibly bristles, that same raw and vulnerable look from earlier flashing in her eyes before anger pushes it away, pushes it down.
Always pushing it down, because if she doesn’t something will break and South Dakota doesn’t break. She fights. She rages. She kicks and screams and pushes everyone away, because it’s all she knows how to do.
“Shut the fuck up. Who— who do you think you are?! Lecturing me like— like—” the words cut off with a frustrated noise, her fists clenched, but she doesn’t lunge. Not this time. “You have no fucking right.”
no subject
A wince.
"I lost time. But part of me remembers. I think."
He huffs out a breath, brows knitted in confusion, but then the steely look returns.
"You messed up. So did I." The words come to him, and for a moment he is someone else, saying words with the surety of someone who's said them before. "But mistakes are the dirt we grow from. In the end, you can't argue with cause and effect. And we can use it to try to be different. You made a mess, you need to clean it up. "
He steps back, away from her, a clear and open gesture that he barely understands himself.
Someone has to at least try to break the murder cycle.
And Wash - not Agent Washington, Wash, because that's what his friends call him - is not the person who would shoot South in the head while she was defenseless. Not anymore.
The tremor in his right hand stills because there is nothing to fight here. He's doing what he should be doing.
"And so do I."
no subject
For a second, South is rendered uncharacteristically speechless by... she’s not quite sure what. Confusion, that much she recognises; confusion that grows with almost every word out of his mouth. What the hell just came over Washington? What the hell is he saying?
“What the fuck are you...” she trails off, her teeth grind. “Who the fuck do you think... you... you...”
There’s no frustrated noise, this time, just a tight jaw and clenched fists and that flicker of vulnerability behind her eyes.
“Sanctimonious little fucker.” The bite in the words is dulled, almost defensive rather than offensive. She didn’t expect this. She wasn’t prepared for this. Washington was supposed to fight back, not... whatever this is.
no subject
He's not sure where it's coming from either.
"And I'm done using people like you as an excuse to do the same."
He keeps her in his line of sight the entire time, but moves towards one of the hallways.
"We both have to decide who we want to be."
The Wash that came out of his well to shame ex-Freelancer kind calms down and is at rest again. And the Wash in control? His expression is pensive and a little confused as he starts to walk away.
no subject
South doesn’t move to follow him, to try and drag him into another fight that she’d inevitably lose. She just watches as he walks away, stood with her fists balled at her sides and her whole body tense.
She calls out a token, “Oh fuck you!” but says nothing else.
She turns and storms off before he’s even fully out of sight, ignoring that she doesn’t really know where they are or how to get back to more familiar areas. She’ll figure it out. She always figures it out.
What was that? What the fuck did she just witness? That wasn’t anything like the Washington she knew or the new Washington she’s not even had time to adjust to. What is with this guy?
And who is he to give her advice?
She doesn’t need advice. She doesn’t need to change. She’s fine on her own. She doesn’t need anyone, not CT, not North, not any of the others here or at home, not anyone. Everyone leaves and South always survives. So what if no one cares about her? She survived. That’s what matters. That’s all that matters.
Isn’t it?