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)
goneawayworld2020-12-29 01:59 am
ownperson) wrote in goneawayworld2020-12-29 01:59 am
Entry tags:
Being Alone
Who: South and anyone who encounters her
What: South trying to avoid everyone and her problems at once, and failing
Where: Various places on the Rig
When: Several days after South and York's arrivals
Warnings/Notes: None up front
South’s not really used to being alone, not really. Growing up with a twin you can’t shake for trying does that to a person, she supposes. As much as she resents it, resents him, it’s… a difficult adjustment, to make, one made infinitely harder by her lack of anywhere else to turn.
Turns out pissing off everyone you know from home is a poor choice, who’d’ve thunk it, huh?
Dealing with things in a healthy manner isn’t one of South’s strong suits, so rather than doing so she decides the best course of action is to simply avoid anywhere she might encounter her brother or get into another fight with Washington (he’s more than capable of handing her ass to her on a silver platter and she’s getting tired of it, if she’s honest) or have to deal with York (who’s just a pain in the ass, really).
For days, rather than get involved in anything festive or going out of her way to get to know the other New Hires, South spends her time in a few places:
a) On the Top Deck, which she finds supremely uncomfortable thanks to the daytime heat, but it also means most people won’t appear to bother her, so she considers it a fair trade. Sat near the edge, she sits and watches the fucked-up world outside and finds that it is possible to miss home, even when home sucks too.
Of course, it’s not a fool proof plan. When someone does come by and join her, she sighs to herself, but comments, “Weird fucking view, huh?”
b) In the Training Area, where she spends all of her time whaling on punching bags, lifting weights, running, or beating up training droids violently enough to break a couple. She could request her equipment but she’s not training to train, she’s there to exert restless energy and rage without directing it at the poor fucks around her. Easier to focus on the feeling of punching something than on your emotional turmoil!
The sound of someone coming up behind her makes her pivot, fist raised— but she holds back and huffs, instead, rolling her shoulders as her arm falls. “Watch it. Unless you wanna get hit, stay the fuck back.”
c) She wanders the gardens, the once, because even South sometimes needs somewhere relatively quiet to go. She’s not looking for anyone; quite the opposite, really, she just wants to get away from everything else for a while.
Unfortunately for her, she’s not the only one. Fortunately for whoever else she encounters, she’s at her least combative down here and simply says, “Kinda nice in here. Don’t remember the last time I saw so many fuckin’ plants.”
d) The Mess, is one of the few times she can’t get around communing with the group, but even during their shifts there the she tries her best to keep to herself by sitting as close to alone as she physically can. Perched at the ends of tables, not looking anyone in the eye, but occasionally glancing up at the sound of familiar voices before setting her gaze firmly back on her plate.
When someone sits nearby, she rolls her eyes and swallows her mouthful of food. “There’s other open seats, y’know.”
What: South trying to avoid everyone and her problems at once, and failing
Where: Various places on the Rig
When: Several days after South and York's arrivals
Warnings/Notes: None up front
South’s not really used to being alone, not really. Growing up with a twin you can’t shake for trying does that to a person, she supposes. As much as she resents it, resents him, it’s… a difficult adjustment, to make, one made infinitely harder by her lack of anywhere else to turn.
Turns out pissing off everyone you know from home is a poor choice, who’d’ve thunk it, huh?
Dealing with things in a healthy manner isn’t one of South’s strong suits, so rather than doing so she decides the best course of action is to simply avoid anywhere she might encounter her brother or get into another fight with Washington (he’s more than capable of handing her ass to her on a silver platter and she’s getting tired of it, if she’s honest) or have to deal with York (who’s just a pain in the ass, really).
For days, rather than get involved in anything festive or going out of her way to get to know the other New Hires, South spends her time in a few places:
a) On the Top Deck, which she finds supremely uncomfortable thanks to the daytime heat, but it also means most people won’t appear to bother her, so she considers it a fair trade. Sat near the edge, she sits and watches the fucked-up world outside and finds that it is possible to miss home, even when home sucks too.
Of course, it’s not a fool proof plan. When someone does come by and join her, she sighs to herself, but comments, “Weird fucking view, huh?”
b) In the Training Area, where she spends all of her time whaling on punching bags, lifting weights, running, or beating up training droids violently enough to break a couple. She could request her equipment but she’s not training to train, she’s there to exert restless energy and rage without directing it at the poor fucks around her. Easier to focus on the feeling of punching something than on your emotional turmoil!
The sound of someone coming up behind her makes her pivot, fist raised— but she holds back and huffs, instead, rolling her shoulders as her arm falls. “Watch it. Unless you wanna get hit, stay the fuck back.”
c) She wanders the gardens, the once, because even South sometimes needs somewhere relatively quiet to go. She’s not looking for anyone; quite the opposite, really, she just wants to get away from everything else for a while.
Unfortunately for her, she’s not the only one. Fortunately for whoever else she encounters, she’s at her least combative down here and simply says, “Kinda nice in here. Don’t remember the last time I saw so many fuckin’ plants.”
d) The Mess, is one of the few times she can’t get around communing with the group, but even during their shifts there the she tries her best to keep to herself by sitting as close to alone as she physically can. Perched at the ends of tables, not looking anyone in the eye, but occasionally glancing up at the sound of familiar voices before setting her gaze firmly back on her plate.
When someone sits nearby, she rolls her eyes and swallows her mouthful of food. “There’s other open seats, y’know.”
no subject
South snorts, idly blows a strand of her purple-dyed bangs from her face. "Guess that's true."
She doesn't say anything else for a moment, gaze set on the scenery and her fingertips drumming against the floor. Thinking.
"This shit isn't all that different from what I left. Not the," she gestures out ahead of them, "but the rest of it. Went from one fucked up program pretending everything they're doing is for the good of humanity to another. What're the fucking odds, huh?"
She shakes her head with a humorless chuckle, but she doesn't sound... upset. It's simply a statement of fact. It's just how things are.
"This thing's new, course," she says, tapping her throat. "But yeah, guess I came primed to be pissed instead of freaked."
no subject
Ric isn’t aware of being in a program at this time - he sees his current situation back home as working with friends for the benefit of mutantkind. But he’s been fucked over by things like that more than once.
He rubs at his neck when she taps hers, trying to feel the definition of the implants. Ric doesn’t bother hiding his disgust when he is reminded that these humans implanted shock collars. Really, everyone should be thanking him for not trying to rip the Rig in half and end it. “I’m more fucking pissed about these things than I am being here.”
Is that messed up? He’s not sure if being here is Jorgmund’s fault, or anyone’s fault. But the collars - those are someone’s fault.
no subject
"Isn't that the fucking truth. We were meant to be figuring out ways to stop a fucking intergalactic war and couldn't even get that right. Go figure."
She's far from an angel herself, and she wouldn't claim to be, but even without knowing the full story of what went on in the Project, even with her own poor choices, she knows things were fucked on that front. She doesn't remember the last time they were actually deployed against the aliens even before everything really went to shit.
"I hear ya there," she says as she scratches a non-existent itch on her throat. Just thinking about it for too long makes her either want to hit something, or someone; the fact that someone has that much control over her disturbs and enrages her like nothing else. "This whole thing stinks, but fucking shock collars? Who the fuck thinks of that?"
The moment they demonstrated it for the first time is the moment she knew she'd never do anything they said, except so far as to keep herself alive.
Zombie thread, and the tag sucks, my apologies
“But you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have to ask who person comes up with this shit, because you’d be that kind of person.” He points down at the Rig beneath him. “They’re the same people who design motivational posters and our cozy beds.”
no worries!
South nods, idly, eye following his finger before flicking back to the view. She's a lot of things, but that kind of person she certainly isn't.
"Nah, not like, personally," she says after a moment, with a shake of her head, sitting up a bit. "The brains of it all was the head of the program. We were just the foot soldiers, meant to test out his 'magic bullet' idea to end the war. Only, we never actually got at the fuckin' aliens we were meant to be fighting before it all fell apart because they fucked it up from the top down."
She shrugs, leaning an arm on one pulled-up knee and resting her chin atop that.
"Whatever. Past's the past. Present has enough fucked up shit to deal with and we're all in the same shitty fucking boat there." She snorts. "Or guess I should say the same shitty fucking rig."
Even she can see past her own bubble enough to understand that. Though she doubts anyone else has had to deal with the level of personal ghosts she has haunting her here, but that's not a topic she's going to touch with a ten foot pole.
no subject
Then there’s the “testing a magic bullet” thing, and he dons the closest thing kid gloves that he’s got: willfully ignoring information. He’s a ‘dangerous mutant’: Ric knows way too well how to avoid saying things like experiment, test subject and disposable lab rat. Maybe he’s projecting, but he’d rather be overly cautious than turn this into a trauma sharing session, especially if he’s wrong.
“Nobody said the people at the top have brains,” he offers, matching her snort with disgust. “If they had real brains, they’d’ve avoided the whole damn war. At least your worlds fighting aliens. Mine’s still stuck fighting itself.”
He pauses and amends that after a moment. “Mine’s fighting itself while occasionally fighting aliens. But yeah, that’s the past and the future. We’re on vacation now, yeah? On this fine piece of machinery that isn’t delicate at all.”
If it wasn’t for shock collars, he would’ve wrecked the place weeks ago. Any number of them would do the same. He wants so badly to be more than just snarky, but Ric doesn’t know South well enough to trust her. Even then, some things are best kept to a whisper so the Rig noise can mask it from any open mic’s.
no subject
South doesn't even know, yet, exactly how fucked the Project was. She's unaware that she was a subject of targeted psychological experimentation and barely understands everything else they were put through, the physical and psychological damage done to herself and everyone else.
She knows, of course, that it was fucked, that the entire thing was a shitshow and no one came out of it okay, but the details are another matter. She never was kept in the loop when things started to fall apart.
"Think fighting ourselves is just a universal fuckin' constant," she says with an idle shake of her head, but doesn't elaborate beyond that. Though it gives a convenient excuse to say, "One of us blew up our own ship when it all went to hell, used its own missiles against it. Real mess that was."
She shrugs, blows hair out of her face. Shame York can't pull that shit again here, though the problem with that method of blowing the joint is the collateral damage.
"Oh yeah, hell of a fucking vacation," she says, as if the comments are unrelated, heaving a sigh. She doesn't even have to physically roll her eyes, her tone has the same effect. "With beautiful views and luxurious accommodation."