[closed] and since we've one place to go

[nonscriptum]

Who: Nathan Drake, Elena Fisher, Agent Washington, Agent Maine, Kyna Midha, Staci Pratt, Poe Dameron, Taako Taaco, Lup Taaco, Peter Parker
What: Nate leads a polar expedition out to the mountains.
Where: Out on the tundra; at an undisclosed excavation site in the foothills.
When: February 1-14
Warnings: PG-13+ for swearing, descriptions of dead bodies/science torture. :(




[source]

WELCOME TO SNOW HELL

the journey | the door | the bunker | the lab

Comments

[bloodbathing]

[ Honestly, Maine's not too interested in what they might find on this expedition. He's not an archaeologist, adventurer, or even a particularly inquisitive person. What he is is restless. What better way to alleviate his boredom than trekking across the tundra?

The space marine spends most of his time either hauling the sledge (which he can do without assistance) or circling the party's ever-moving perimeter. His white armor may sometimes make him difficult to see in the snow — quite a feat, given the fact that the massive man stands at a staggering 7'4" — but the gold dome of his helmet catches what light there is well enough. He's always armed with a handgun and a grenade launcher with a curved blade. He only removes his helmet to eat, and he prefers to do that well away from others — catching sight of his face may prove difficult.

Saying that Maine isn't the most social of traveling companions is an understatement. Aside from grunts and growls, he doesn't speak. (In fact, he can't speak, but he's not broadcasting that.) The only person he appears to relax around is Wash. Most others receive an expectant head-tilt if they approach, as Maine waits to see what they want.

Chat him up while he's pulling the sledge? Try to figure out why he doesn't eat around others? Join him as he patrols the perimeter? Or maybe try pleading fatigue to see if the huge man will haul along people as well as supplies? ]

[nonscriptum]

[So they kind of started off on an impossibly, hilariously shitty foot. It's fine. They're all working together, sharing the weight and responsibility of supplies and general morale, and if one of the party happens to be the size of Andre the Giant to whom Nate happened to inadvertently imply he's a grave robber, it's fine, right?

Right?

Nate catches him just as he's finished eating, barely getting a glimpse of what looks like impressive scar tissue before the helmet goes back on with a muted click.]

Hey.

[Third time's the charm.]

How're you holding up?

[bloodbathing]

[ Impressive scar tissue, indeed. Most of the damage is concealed by the high collar of Maine's bodysuit, but what peeks through is certainly significant.

The Freelancer checks the seal on his helmet before turning to look at Nate. He's convinced that Nate is a grave robber back home. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if — when they crack open whatever bunker they're traveling toward — the whole thing is filled with alien bodies. And yet here Maine is, tagging along.

Broad shoulders rise in a shrug, then he nods. He's doing fine. Question having been answered (according to him), Maine turns it back to Nate, indicating him with a little gesture and then tilting his head. ]

[nonscriptum]

[Nate is fully aware he's in no position to dissuade Maine from the idea that he's some kind of thief, because honestly, he is - or was, once - so he might as well just continue being himself.

A vague shrug is enough of an answer that Nate can glean the guy is okay, if not terribly enthused. He doesn't seem the type to emote.

Or talk, apparently.]

...Fine, I guess? It's been a while since I've been somewhere this cold. Would've preferred a jungle or something.

[bloodbathing]

[ A low grunt of agreement is Maine's answer to that. He's never liked the cold, and he's grateful for his climate-controlled armor. There's no way in hell he would've joined this expedition without it.

But a jungle seems oddly specific to the Freelancer. Maybe it's just the first warm place that came to mind. Maine considers for a moment, hesitating...

... And then he catches himself hesitating, so he immediately goes through with it. Because fuck that.

From a compartment of his armor, Maine pulls his phone. Types out two words before he holds the screen out for Nate to read: ]

Why jungle?

[nonscriptum]

[It occurs to Nate, when Maine pulls out his communicator, that the guy probably can't talk. Hence the phone, hence the general silence, hence the few words tapped out on a little screen that he leans in to see. He hasn't exactly been uncharitable in his estimations as to why Maine never spoke, but he pieces it together with the scar fairly quickly and feels bad he ever assumed something else.]

Before we came here, there was this mass vote. They got everyone in Hadriel to choose between this place-

[He gestures at the expanse.]

-and a jungle planet. Pros and cons to each one, but for some reason more people voted for the icy wasteland we can't spend nights outside in without freezing our asses off. Go figure.

[itsnotaonesie]

[chat him up while he's pulling the sledge YEAAAAAH. Honestly Peter is fascinated by this dude because he is absolutely massive. Peter is easily impressed okay.

Maine's also been pulling the sledge like the whole time, and Peter kind of feels bad that he's doing all the work sooo here he is.]

Hey man, you want me to take over? You've been draggin' that thing like forever.

[bloodbathing]

[ Alas, being impressed by the other's physical stature ... isn't something that goes both ways, in this case. (Sorry, Peter.)

Maine slows for a moment as he glances over at Peter. His helmet tilts as he looks the younger man up and down. Assessment made, the Freelancer lets out a low, disbelieving grunt and resumes his march.

Yeah, he doesn't think that Peter can take over hauling the sledge. ]

[itsnotaonesie]

...Cooooool.

[Nobody is impressed with the size of Peter Parker. Peter Parker isn't impressed with the size of Peter Parker.

He lets Maine march on past. Rather than protesting, he decides to go the 'show don't tell' route and just plants his foot on the back of the sledge, stopping it dead in it's tracks. NOW WHAT]

[bloodbathing]

[ NOW WHAT????? Now, Maine thinks that the sledge is stuck on something. And so he digs in his feet, leans his weight against the ropes, and pulls harder.

Because Increased Effort is the best way to deal with problems, right? Right. ]

[itsnotaonesie]

[it is stuck on something, it's stuck on a spider-man. Peter lets Maine struggle with the sledge for a moment, pausing to check his phone all casual like before being a little smartass.]

Y'know, just because you're the biggest guy here doesn't mean you're the strongest. Just throwin' that out there.

[hardwearing]

[ Wash is glad Maine came along -- not just because he's excellent to have your back in a fight, but he wants to keep an eye on his friend, make sure he's handling everything okay. Maine keeps saying he's fine. He's decidedly not fine. He's healed up, but he's not okay, Wash knows a thing or two about that. He doesn't chatter as much as maybe he normally would if it were just them, the group having him a little bit on guard, but Wash sticks close to Maine whenever he can. Walks alongside him as he's pulling the sledge, seeks him out at meals even when the larger soldier intentionally sits away from everyone else. The latter is what he's doing right now, while the rest of the group is making camp for the night. ]

Hey.

[ He sits himself down besides Maine and pulls his helmet off, gives the heating packet for his MRE another shake and pops it into the sleeve to get to work. The snow dusts his hair and eyelashes as he looks up at his friend. That's all they've seen on this journey, really. A whole lot of snow, the occasional mammoth... nothing terribly interesting. And Maine can't exactly talk to anyone to entertain himself. ]

Whole lot of nothing out here so far, huh?

[bloodbathing]

[ "Fine" is Maine's story, and it's what he's sticking to. He doesn't consider it a lie. He's not dead; he can still fight. Therefore, he's fine. Everything else — all of the emotional turmoil that keeps trying to rear its head and he keeps having to bludgeon into submission — is just bullshit that he doesn't want to deal with.

This mission, such as it is, has been a blessing. It's given him something to do. Something to focus on. He always performs better when he has an objective.

With his back to the rest of the group, Maine removes his helmet in turn. He's lost a bit of weight since arriving in Hadriel, but not a concerning amount. Nothing that affects his health or physical strength. He makes a face as the cold air hits his skin and starts digging through the portion of his MRE that doesn't require heating; the main course can warm while he eats the rest.

To Wash's question, Maine grunts in agreement. He glances up at his friend and snorts, amused, before reaching out with the intention of brushing snow off of Wash's hair.

"Just snow." ]

[hardwearing]

[ Wash grins and lets Maine ruffle his hair, causing it to stick up in all directions as it's prone to do. It'll be dusted with snow again soon enough -- too bad he doesn't have a hat or a hoodie big enough to wear in armor or anything like that. ]

Thanks.

[ He has noticed the weight loss -- that happened back home, too, after the injury, so Wash isn't all that alarmed yet but he does pass Maine his side dish when he digs into the MRE. The cheese spread and crackers, actually pretty tasty but he doesn't need the whole thing. He's used to being on tight rations and Maine's the one who's been pulling all their supplies. His friend can have a little extra. ]

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine hums his own note of gratitude as Wash hands over a portion of food. He looks at the crackers, thinks of the way they'll scratch his throat as they go down, and promptly divides it into two portions to give one back to Wash.

His throat doesn't hurt anymore. Not really. Not the way it would have had it been treated in their universe, rather than being healed here. But it's still uncomfortable. Still feels wrong. It's still sucked the joy out of eating anything that isn't soft and soothing.

Snow cones aren't bad. Maine has made a few — further evidence of boredom setting in. Ice cream would be better, he thinks, but he doesn't know how to make it.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, Maine starts spreading cheese over crackers. Indicates the party somewhere behind him with a jerk of his head.

"Interesting group."

He's not put off by them; he's just making an observation. ]

[hardwearing]

[ Wash makes a sound that's almost but not quite a laugh, glancing back over his shoulder at the others. Interesting? Well they're definitely that. ]

They sure are. And I wouldn't mess with most of them.

[ He refrains from sharing how Lup set him on fire inside his armor, once. They're past that. She's done him a few favors since then, even, though he wouldn't call them friends. Friendly acquaintances, maybe. Wash considers Maine again, how he's sitting apart from everyone else, isn't comfortable taking off his helmet around them yet. Hm. ]

Think you're making any friends?

[storyseeker]

[Elena doesn't know much about Maine, just what Nate's told her, and secondhand information only goes so far. She absolutely does appreciate that he's prepared for any danger that might come their way; her gun's bullets are limited, and she's still a novice mage. Other people who make things go boom, should it come to that, are very welcome.

The third night or so, she falls into step beside him as he patrols, out of her own nervous energy and, well, why not?]

Mind if I join you? I've got snacks, if you're hungry.

[bloodbathing]

[ The company isn't expected. Maine's well aware that he's not the most approachable person; it's something that he's comfortable with and sees no reason to change. The only person whose company he wouldn't be surprised by is Wash. But, aside from the blond hair, Maine sees no resemblance between his friend and Elena.

Maine pauses for a moment, looking down as he studies Elena through his visor. Like most of the people on this trip, he doesn't know her. He thinks she's close to Nate, but that's about it. A fellow grave robber, maybe?

She doesn't look like a grave robber. Then again, neither does Nate.

After a moment, Maine shrugs — he doesn't mind if she joins him — and resumes walking. Belatedly, he shakes his head as well, refusing the offer of snacks. ]

[storyseeker]

[For a moment, Elena thinks she's going to be turned away. Maine is one of the few people on this expedition she's not at least a little acquainted with, so her company isn't necessarily a boon. But she's awake anyway, and two pairs of eyes are better than one, and she wouldn't mind getting a sense of what he's like.

She'll take the shrug as assent, and falls into step beside him, not too close but not so far they'd have to raise their voices to talk. For a few moments, she lets the silence remain.]

Done a lot of patrols before?

[bloodbathing]

[ If nothing else, Maine makes it easier for Elena to stay in step with him by shortening his own stride. No sense in making her jog to keep up if she's determined to follow. Besides, if she fell behind, that would only result in the group being more spread out and harder to keep an eye on.

The Freelancer is comfortable in the silence and sees no reason to break it. Not that he can hold a conventional conversation, but he doesn't grunt or gesture, either.

When Elena speaks, Maine nods. He was never a scout or anything like that. Didn't have the temperament. But he's accustomed to watching his surroundings to protect his team. This isn't much different.

He glances over and indicates her with a jerk of his chin, silently turning the question back: "you?" ]

[storyseeker]

[The strong and silent type, apparently. Or just the silent type, who knows. Elena's not bothered. If she gets the sense that she's really unwanted, she'll probably take her leave, but she's not sensitive enough to take offense if she doesn't receive a rolled-out welcome mat.]

Mmm. A little. I'm not military, or even just security. But I've been in war zones before. It made sense for me and my partner to scout our immediate surroundings so we weren't caught unawares.

[Not that there was much they could do if they did run into anything, other than fall back to the safest place to get a good camera angle. But they'd both known what was at risk and what they stood to gain from being there.]

[evocation]

[After their incredibly awkward first meeting, Kyna has been trying to figure out a way to make their next conversation... not that. It isn't like Maine is chatty, though, so Kyna's been trying to find a good opening.

Eventually, she just goes for it, approaching him while they're all trudging along and he's dragging the sledge. She's not glowing this time.]

So, uh... Do you guys pick the color of your armor or is it like, assigned?

[bloodbathing]

[ The thing about a conversation with Maine is that it's rather one-sided. Especially when his hands are otherwise occupied, leaving him unable to type out responses. It would be easier if Maine had taken Wash up on his offer to install a texting app in Maine's armor, but the big Freelancer had refused — which means that, unless he stops pulling the sledge, the only way he can respond to Kyna is through body language.

Unfortunately, her question isn't a "yes" or "no" one. Maine glances sideways at her, noting the lack of glow beneath all those layers, and shrugs. He doesn't know about the other Agents, but he had some choice in his armor color.

(So much for a less-awkward conversation.) ]

[evocation]

Um...

[Well, this was a poor plan.]

I know a spell that would let us talk, you know. Like, telepathically. You'd have to take your helmet off, though, and it doesn't last long.

[bloodbathing]

[ That offer gets a sharp look. Maine doesn't doubt that Kyna can do it, but he doesn't know why she'd want to. Doesn't know why he'd have to take off his helmet, either. Different magic from Taako's, he guesses — he's pretty sure the other man used telepathy on him, though those first days are a bit fuzzy — but it seems strange. Maybe his helmet blocks the signal or something.

... Or maybe he should stop trying to make sense of magic.

The Freelancer tilts his head to the side in a curious motion. Wordlessly trying to ask: "why?" ]