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Whatever you do it's all good
Who: Steve Rogers + assorted others
Where: 5031, the sheriff's station
When: Backdated to the night of the 26th and a couple of days after.
What: Wayward Pines' rendition of Weekend at Bernie's, i.e., transporting a dead body.
Warnings: The corpse-related grossness that's par for the course of this event; feel free to use headers liberally.
[Closed to various]
For all his experience with all of the ways a body can fail, it's always been something he's resisted down to his bones, trying to shrug it off even as it's lodged itself there like frozen winters and gunshot wounds. He's always just figured that as long as he had a chance to keep ahead of it, he wouldn't slow down long enough to let it catch up to him. Watching someone else die, though — that's a different story. A familiar one, maybe, but he's not any more interested in getting used to it now than he was when he watched his mother coughing herself to death. (Or Bucky falling, or Peggy's mind failing her.) So he doesn't. Instead he carries Natasha to the car, stumbling as he goes like he's ninety-five pounds soaking wet again with two left feet. It occurs to him he's still never danced. He doesn't count memories of things that never happened, and he knows she wouldn't either.
After two days of sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair, he's almost relieved when Bucky tells him he's needed elsewhere. Somewhere he might actually be able to do some good.
He knows now that the cameras get replaced when no one is home to see it, so Steve leaves them for the time being, and he and Bucky drive towards the water, first making a pit stop to pick up Prompto and his camera. When they get closer he's careful to leave the car where it won't be seen, well back from the cordoned off section of the river though it'll mean a longer trek back with the body in tow. Still, he and Bucky have both recovered somewhat just in the day since they stopped drinking the water themselves, and between the group of them (and one fairly loud explosion, which he imagines he'll hear about later), they're able to wrangle the body into a tarp in the rear of the station wagon.
(Part of him can't help but regret that they had tarp in the garage at all, but he grabs it anyway out of some residual gratitude for the car's last use in getting Natasha to the hospital.)
Steve goes ahead of the group into the house to break the cameras along their path after telling Izumi he can lead the way a few seconds behind him, up the stairs to Bucky's bathroom. The cameras in the living room and kitchen are left alone, however, so once the body's settled and their motley crew begins to make their way back downstairs, any conversation about it must still remain hushed. There are, however, safer spots for such conversations thanks to Natasha's careful angling, so anyone who seems inclined to do so might find themselves nudged in that direction by Steve. It's not the only thing he's learned from her, and he knows it will only look more suspicious if they all leave now, looking various stages of wet, muddy and exhausted. ]
Can't get that kind of workout at the gym. Who's hungry? Pretty sure we've got bottled water in the fridge, too.
[ Yum. ]
At least it gives him a chance to visit Ibaraki at the station after he gets home from school to find the tub empty. He's not worried; if they were planning to arrest him, they would've done so already. He's been in the same place all day, so it seems they're more concerned with keeping things quiet than exposing him as a troublemaker. That he holds himself stiff and straight while the officer at the front desk inspects the tin of cookies he'd brought with him has little to do with worry for himself and more to do with the fact that they're keeping a young girl locked up in a jail cell. He doesn't necessarily mean to be imposing but can accomplish it without much effort when he's unhappy, and the officer seems only too glad to hand it back to him and point the way through.
Steve heads in that direction and peers inside at the sleeping horned girl; there's some faint sense of recognition for her that probably precedes the last couple days, but he can't place it beyond that. He taps the tin once, lightly, on a bar to announce himself before speaking. ] Ibaraki?
Where: 5031, the sheriff's station
When: Backdated to the night of the 26th and a couple of days after.
What: Wayward Pines' rendition of Weekend at Bernie's, i.e., transporting a dead body.
Warnings: The corpse-related grossness that's par for the course of this event; feel free to use headers liberally.
[Closed to various]
fellow lawbreakers at the rogers-romanoff-barnes residence; the 26th[ Bucky's been keeping Steve briefed and in the loop ever since Nyx brought him in on what they found in the river. While the body is certainly a mystery, it does confirm one thing Steve's suspected since he'd first started to wrap his head around the dichotomy of memories here — that whatever lies have been put in their heads by the people who don't want them asking questions, those same connections can only work against the powers that be in the end. For his part Steve is glad to let that happen.
For all his experience with all of the ways a body can fail, it's always been something he's resisted down to his bones, trying to shrug it off even as it's lodged itself there like frozen winters and gunshot wounds. He's always just figured that as long as he had a chance to keep ahead of it, he wouldn't slow down long enough to let it catch up to him. Watching someone else die, though — that's a different story. A familiar one, maybe, but he's not any more interested in getting used to it now than he was when he watched his mother coughing herself to death. (Or Bucky falling, or Peggy's mind failing her.) So he doesn't. Instead he carries Natasha to the car, stumbling as he goes like he's ninety-five pounds soaking wet again with two left feet. It occurs to him he's still never danced. He doesn't count memories of things that never happened, and he knows she wouldn't either.
After two days of sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair, he's almost relieved when Bucky tells him he's needed elsewhere. Somewhere he might actually be able to do some good.
He knows now that the cameras get replaced when no one is home to see it, so Steve leaves them for the time being, and he and Bucky drive towards the water, first making a pit stop to pick up Prompto and his camera. When they get closer he's careful to leave the car where it won't be seen, well back from the cordoned off section of the river though it'll mean a longer trek back with the body in tow. Still, he and Bucky have both recovered somewhat just in the day since they stopped drinking the water themselves, and between the group of them (and one fairly loud explosion, which he imagines he'll hear about later), they're able to wrangle the body into a tarp in the rear of the station wagon.
(Part of him can't help but regret that they had tarp in the garage at all, but he grabs it anyway out of some residual gratitude for the car's last use in getting Natasha to the hospital.)
Steve goes ahead of the group into the house to break the cameras along their path after telling Izumi he can lead the way a few seconds behind him, up the stairs to Bucky's bathroom. The cameras in the living room and kitchen are left alone, however, so once the body's settled and their motley crew begins to make their way back downstairs, any conversation about it must still remain hushed. There are, however, safer spots for such conversations thanks to Natasha's careful angling, so anyone who seems inclined to do so might find themselves nudged in that direction by Steve. It's not the only thing he's learned from her, and he knows it will only look more suspicious if they all leave now, looking various stages of wet, muddy and exhausted. ]
Can't get that kind of workout at the gym. Who's hungry? Pretty sure we've got bottled water in the fridge, too.
[ Yum. ]
ibaraki at the sheriff's station; the 28th[ The body disappears sometime late morning or early afternoon — hard to say and no one's fault, really. There was only so long they could expect to keep it hidden once the cameras were taken out and lives had to be gone about as usual.
At least it gives him a chance to visit Ibaraki at the station after he gets home from school to find the tub empty. He's not worried; if they were planning to arrest him, they would've done so already. He's been in the same place all day, so it seems they're more concerned with keeping things quiet than exposing him as a troublemaker. That he holds himself stiff and straight while the officer at the front desk inspects the tin of cookies he'd brought with him has little to do with worry for himself and more to do with the fact that they're keeping a young girl locked up in a jail cell. He doesn't necessarily mean to be imposing but can accomplish it without much effort when he's unhappy, and the officer seems only too glad to hand it back to him and point the way through.
Steve heads in that direction and peers inside at the sleeping horned girl; there's some faint sense of recognition for her that probably precedes the last couple days, but he can't place it beyond that. He taps the tin once, lightly, on a bar to announce himself before speaking. ] Ibaraki?
no subject
If you know oni, you should know my legend! The pinnacle of all vulgar life forms, the avatar of life prolonged by devouring others! Leader of the oni of Mt. Ooe, rampage and destruction incarnate — I am Ibaraki Douji! Ku, kuaha, hahahaha!
[ and just like it begins, the aura of power surrounding her dies off, and ibaraki scoops up the tin of cookies again. ] But this is not my true form. [ MUNCH. ] Ever since gaining this Servant body, I do not hunger as I should. When humanity disappeared, I was forced to try your human foods instead.
[ considering the amount of food she does consume as is, what she must be like normally is probably out of this world. a tiny pause, then: ]
Mu... it is fortunate you created chocolate, or I would have never helped your kind.
no subject
For someone without a great appreciation for theatrics he can read between the lines well enough, parse the poetry (or monologuing) to find the heart of the matter. Which tends to mean the heart of the person in question. Steve's known (and loved) a lot of killers in his time, all with varying levels of intention and culpability. It's not necessarily what he needs to focus on. He crosses his arms after that display, the brush of his sleeves over his chest combined with her chewing creating a rather mundane punctuation. ]
That's really the only reason?
[ He doesn't have an expectation for her answer one way or the other, except that it's the truth. ]
no subject
the silk scrapes across the concrete floor of the cell as she sweeps back to the bench, settling down with the tin. the stare she gives steve is petulant, and stubborn — this human is probing for weaknesses she would not share even with her comrades. the fact that she's doing time here is a result of whim and reward, not necessarily any strong closeness with those who found the body. she doesn't have to say anything.
and yet... ]
I am no fool. [ this is a conversation she's had before, in a different story, with different characters. elizabeth's castle and her foolish governance was a different matter entirely, one that was contextualized by the other servants, and the sole human she interacted with on a regular basis. its less than a year of experience against a dozen human lifetimes against this budding human life she remembers in flashes and images and perfect recounts of events.
the way she sits, with her legs folded up against her chest, hands curled over her knees as he just looks at her like that, only prompting for more information without offering an inkling of what he thinks going through his head is familiar. the tin of cookies is different from a paintbrush, and there'd be a table, but... it can't hurt to tell him, right? and if she has to, she'll just kill him later.
the words start out slow, her teeth bared as she divulges each syllable. ]
What is a story if there is no human to tell it? The demon world was built on human fears and nightmares. Servants are human stories with form of their own, and I do not wish to fade away, forgotten. Would you not fight to exist as well?
no subject
Like the fact that anyone who knows him doesn't need to ask that question, rhetorical or otherwise. ] I fight for other people. [ His hesitation is small, but doesn't pull his focus away from her through the bars. ] And to not do it alone. Don't see much point otherwise.
[ So . . . he guesses the answer is yes, he fights to exist in his own way, in stubbornly continuing to make a life in between the sacrifices. Not something he'd usually say aloud, but she's familiar to him, too. Still a kid, according to some part of his brain. Her reluctance to answer, the sullenness in her gaze when she does anyway: he remembers detentions that had become voluntary hours spent in his classroom in the safety of relative silence and companionship. He just doesn't know if she's the thing to be afraid of in reality, or whether they really have anything in common.
He supposes he'll find out. ]
Enjoy the cookies, Iba. [ Steve nods to the tin, indicating he's leaving it with her for now. ]