Event Log: The Stampede

[hadrielmods]

Who: All characters participating in the event
What: The event log for Stampede event
Where: All over the city
When: December 26th-December 28th
Warnings: None

There's a rumbling sound in the air early in the afternoon on December 26th. Whether you're new in town or you've seen it all, something like this hasn't happened before. Is it an earthquake? It feels kind of like a small one, and that might be endurable if not for the sudden snarling and gnashing of teeth!

As it turns out, these yet-unnamed apex predators are overrunning the city, ignoring their previous apprehension to barrel right through anything- or anyone- that stands in their way. Seemingly spooked by something, they are aggressive and violent and won't hesitate to tear anyone they meet to pieces... after trampling them underfoot, of course. They're so large and muscular that they may even take a few portions of buildings with them- how would you like to see one of these monsters crashing through your living room?

At least it's only these weird mammoths, though... right?

► This log covers December 26th-December 28th.
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If you get squished, please let us know here.

Comments

[bloodbathing]

[ Ephemera. Now he has a name to go with the armor and the voice. No face, yet. Shouldn't be a problem.

As Wash continues speaking, Maine pauses in his work. Turns to look at his friend, incredulous. Body tense, head cocked, hands flexed into fists. It's not the sort of body language he directs Wash's way often; it's the kind that reads, "Are you fucking serious?"

Ephemera mentioned having an "understanding" with Wash. This serves as confirmation. The Insurrectionist (or ex-Insurrectionist, whatever) isn't a threat to Wash. But he sure as hell wants to hurt Maine. And so the massive man snaps:

"Enemy."

A low, angry snarl. One that barely taps the surface of the rage he felt as that fucker gloated over the pain in his throat.

(Sorry, Wash. It's a little late for Maine to not take it personally.)

He turns back to the dead creature. Swings the blade again. There's no satisfaction in the spray of blood, but it's better than standing still.

That he didn't respond to Wash's question about the firewall escapes Maine's notice, for the moment. He's a bit preoccupied. ]

[hardwearing]

[ It takes a second for it to sink in for Wash that Maine isn't taking his word. He shouldn't be surprised considering the situation, but he's glad he's in armor right now because it's so strange and it hurts in a way that he doesn't know how to describe. It isn't the same as when Tucker or the others don't trust him, when they lash out. It's more like if Carolina didn't believe him about something now, after all they've been through to repair their relationship. For Maine, Wash is someone else. To Wash, Maine is his old friend, and he feels like he's stepping into the past rather than acknowledging the greater difficulty on the other side of this. Maine trying to reconcile the future. ]

Maine... he's trying. We killed his whole team but he didn't attack you, right? Please don't start anything, at least.

[ He doesn't know how to balance Maine's wishes not to know the future with the fact that he's confronted by it constantly here. So just a little. Just enough he might understand. So it can settle.

The subject of the firewall isn't dropped, but they can circle back. Not falling into an endless murder cycle is more important. ]

[bloodbathing]

[ The team. Again with the fucking team.

He remembers Ephemera's words, threatening to cook him in his armor if he thought their names. He remembers the red dot of a laser sight on the back of Carolina's head. Remembers the muzzle flashing again and again — one two three four five six seven eight — as he lay on his back, completely fucking helpless.

Freelancer killed them all. They got revenge. But Wash... Fuck, Wash sounds like he thinks it's a bad thing.

Maine turns away from the carcass. Stares down at his teammate. His friend, who, from some inexplicable reason, trusts his "understanding" with that Innie fuck over what Maine's telling him.

He ignores the sting of pain. Grabs hold of his anger instead. Wraps it around himself, warm and tight, as he flips the machete around and points the bloody blade at his own ruined throat.

"Good."

Hissed with the hated he feels every time he thinks of that moment. Every time he tries to speak and hears nothing but noise.

His fellow Freelancers killed Ephemera's team. They killed the ones who did this to him. It might be the best news Maine's heard since he woke up in that coliseum.

Maine's not sorry for a thing. ]

[hardwearing]

[ Oh boy. He doesn't just hear it -- Wash can feel the anger radiating off Maine, the rage. How he burrows down in it like a toad in the mud, holds on to it despite Wash's best efforts. He can't keep pushing, he knows. Not that he thinks Maine would hurt him, he trusts his friend implicitly, but he could get angrier. More resentful. Storm off and then Wash can't approach him again about this, can't try to warm him up to the idea that Ephemera isn't an enemy anymore. Hmm.

The way Maine growls "good" just makes Wash feel like he and Ephemera have more in common than either of them will ever admit to. He presses his lips together inside his helmet and tries to pick a direction to proceed in. Whichever path he takes, it'll have to be cautiously. ]

I get it.

[ He just breathes for a moment, the mammoth carcass forgotten beside them, then asks, because it's important and Ephemera acted like he didn't but... ]

Did he threaten you?

[bloodbathing]

[ Wash's instincts are spot on. Maine would never intentionally hurt his friend — but he could certainly get pissed off at him. Turn a deaf ear to reason and barricade himself with his rage. But before he edges closer to that point, Wash backs off.

Maine releases a breath between clenched teeth. Lets the machete fall back to his side as he waits for whatever else Wash has to say. Much as he'd like Wash to just believe him, he doubts his friend will leave it at that.

When Wash speaks again, the massive man twitches in surprise.

... Ah. Shit.

Tension drains from Maine's frame as he realizes what the problem is: he didn't tell Wash that the Innie asshole threatened him. Too blindsided by the inexplicable trust, he guesses. Stupid.

Maine gives a short nod. Yeah, Ephemera threatened him. ]

[hardwearing]

[ Well shit.

Wash goes tense, wondering exactly what was said because it's been a long time since Ephemera threatened him in a genuine way. He hadn't heard a threat besides 'don't piss me off' sort of things since the others had first arrived, nearly nine months ago. And how he'd threatened them hadn't been... Ephemera was trying, Wash knew, they both were. But Maine was another factor entirely. Far more of a challenge, considering how things had gone down. He breathes slow, tries not to overreact. ]

I'm sorry, I didn't know if he was being an asshole or if he actually made a threat. I'll talk to him. Make sure he knows that's not acceptable, that it's only going to escalate things. It won't end well for him.

[ And that's all he's going to say on the matter, for now. He doesn't know if Maine will trust him to handle it -- probably won't, will probably stay on his guard indefinitely, but. For now it's all he can do. Wash reaches over and lifts another slab of meat onto the roll of the mammoth's skin, and thinks they're just about done. Starts to roll it up carefully. ]

Help me get this to the fire pit?

[bloodbathing]

[ It's reassuring, in a way, watching Wash tense at that information. It tells Maine that whatever "understanding" Wash has with Ephemera hasn't blinded his friend. Tells him that, regardless of all that's changed, Wash still cares.

When did he start wanting reassurance? He's not sure. Isn't sure that he likes it.

Then Wash says that he'll talk to the Innie. Tell him it's "not acceptable." And—

"You should be ashamed of yourselves. I expect you to act as a team."
"They used live ammunition on the floor, sir, that's against regulations."
"Do you think our enemies will care about regulations on the battlefield, Agent Washington?"

— Fuck, it's like nothing has changed at all.

Behind his visor, Maine presses his lips together. Watches in silence as the too-old rookie moves another slab of meat and starts preparing everything for transport. Lets himself feel the fond exasperation — an old, familiar thing — at Wash's belief that rules mean a damn thing when it comes to war. He never could figure out whether he wanted to protect Wash's idealism, like some rare flower ... or if he wanted to crush it underfoot, because that's not the way life works, and Wash needed to understand that to survive.

Guess his future-self never bothered to teach Wash that lesson. Or maybe it just didn't stick.

(Or maybe he didn't have the chance.)

At Wash's prompting, Maine shakes himself from his thoughts. Nods and moves forward to help out. As he does so, he grunts out:

"Sorry."

Sorry that he got irritated with Wash. Sorry that he failed to communicate important information. ]

[hardwearing]

[ Wash is oblivious to the thoughts going on in Maine's head. The (correct) assessment of him as someone who still longs for protocol and agreement and plans, that he's now paranoid enough to worry will go awry but still craves on some level and is still upset when things change. The person who has learned to improvise when necessary but just wants things to go smoothly. They don't. They never do.

He's learned, but he hasn't. And the fact is Maine wasn't there to help him change.

If it was pointed out maybe he would think of the Meta, of the way that Wash had hoped and planned but known on some level he'd be betrayed... and hadn't quite been able to handle that. How he'd had to adapt for Felix and Locus, how much he'd hated them. It's a mess. He's a mess, but he still thinks this situation is salvageable.

Wash leans down and grips the mammoth fur on the outside of the roll. ]

You've got nothing to apologize for. We'll deal with the problem. For now... three, two-- up.