illyria_rpg | Welcome to the Illyria!

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Welcome to the Illyria!

Stardate 58561.8: Day One

Now that you've all got your room assignments and communicators, it's time to explore this ship. Please check out the deck plans to figure out where you're going. You can read about some of the existing crew members you might run into here.

Even those of you who may feel right at home on a spaceship will find that the Illyria is definitely a bit... different. Mostly because she's kind of a wreck right now. Whatever it was that threw the ship all the way out here to wherever we are, it really did a number on the ship itself. There's a lot of damaged areas, and several of the ship's systems have been compromised. You'll find that the replicators don't always work right (I asked for hasperat and I got pok tar!?), the turbolifts are unusually persnickety (I said bridge, not engineering!), and the environmental controls in your quarters may not do as they're told (why is it snowing in Room 4J?). Several corridors are blocked by debris, and more often than not the lights are flickering if they're on at all.

So what will you do? Help clean up the mess in the hallways? Try some bizarre alien food in the mess hall? Try and infiltrate restricted areas to get a peek at the ship's systems? Feel free to make your own top level comment, and treat this as a big mingle. Get to know your new crewmates, explore your new home, make friends or enemies, and whatever you do, don't try the gagh. If you need the captain or the first officer, please let a mod know, but try and stick to threading with your fellow new recruits!

(Don't worry about the entry tags for the moment, they will be added shortly. Before we throw ourselves into missions on alien planets, we wanted everyone to have a chance to get to know one another, so please use this opening log as an opportunity to kick off some CR with crewmates and bunk buddies, and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask a mod!)

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Peggy moved through the corridors, pushing her floating trolley of debris and stopping to clear out doorways and do what she could to comfort those she encountered who were injured. Slowly, though, she moved away from others and finally found herself in a completely isolated corridor.

There, she paused, resting her hand on her load of debris. Not incidentally, her hand was near a fist sized piece of metal, but she wasn't actually picking it up. Not yet.

"Now then. Who are you and why are you following me?" she asked in a quiet, even voice.

The fact that she'd been heading into more and more isolated areas hadn't escaped Bucky's notice, and he'd been trying to decide what to do about it. There was no sign she'd noticed him, and it was entirely possible she was simply chasing more of the debris she was cleaning up, not intentionally moving away from others at all.

Then she spoke, and he froze. Damn it. Granted, he hadn't been using all his skill to stay hidden, but a normal person would never have noticed him ghosting along behind her.

Of course, those vague memories that kept teasing at him said she was anything but a normal dame.

He stayed in the shadows, mostly hidden behind a collapsed wall panel, studying her. When he spoke his voice was hoarse, rusty from years of disuse. "I know you."

Peggy curled her fingers around the piece of metal, hiding the motion as she turned around and keeping the improvised weapon hidden by the bulk of the hovering trolley. Her eyes searched the shadows, seeking in vain a glimpse of her stalker.

"What do you want?" she demanded. "Come out where I can see you."

"I know you," Bucky repeated, more sure of himself this time. He edged into sight, hands up and spread in the universal gesture of non-aggression, but didn't come far enough into the light for her to get a good look at him.

He could see her just fine, though. And it was sending a swarm of memories slamming through him. "You were with the Commandos. Carter. You were his girl."

And she ought to be a hundred years old. Or, well, a thousand years, or whatever the hell time they were in. Bucky supposed if he could get pulled from one time, there was no reason Carter couldn't have been pulled from an even earlier one.

She ground her teeth. That old saw. But there was something else about him, something that seemed oddly familiar, even if she couldn't quite see his face. The gesture wasn't completely trusted, but something else made her release the weapon and take a tentative step forward.

"I'm far more than that," she said. "Who are you?"

More than that? Bucky wasn't sure what she meant. More than a Commando? More than he remembered?

Well, that last was almost certain. He'd gotten a lot of memories back in the two years since he'd left HYDRA, but most of them were still hazy. Individual moments that held no context, no connections. An hour ago, he'd have had no idea who she was. Now he was sure that he knew her, had known her fairly well.

Because she'd known him. Rogers. Steve.

Reluctantly he allowed her the step forward, though his whole body went tense as he prepared to run or dodge if necessary. "I'm not the man you'll think I am," he replied, knowing it was cryptic but not sure what else to say. She'd be expecting Bucky Barnes, the sergeant she'd known, Steve Rogers' best friend.

Not the Fist of HYDRA. And while he wasn't that man anymore, either, he still wasn't the man he'd been.

She saw him tense when she moved closer, and stopped, her own hands coming up to show that there was nothing in them. That voice...it was so familiar, and when he spoke again the recognition reared up and enclosed her throat in ice.

"Barnes?" she whispered, scarcely able to speak.

And there it was. Confirmation of what he'd suspected. She not only knew him, she knew him. It was there in the wide eyes, the waver of her voice.

Swallowing hard, he nodded and took another step, letting her see him properly. Not that he looked anything like the clean-cut, smooth-shaven man she'd known. Bucky was well aware that 'unkempt' was probably a kind euphemism. He was clean, but he'd kept the long hair and scruff because it helped him hide.

And because it hurt less when he caught a glimpse in a reflective surface, this way.

"You are Carter, right?" He wanted to be sure he had the right name to go with the face. Just because the memories had come together didn't necessarily mean they were linked the way he thought they were. He'd learned that lesson the hard way. "Agent Carter. Uh... Peggy?"

The wide-eyed look didn't go away when she saw him. There he was, there was Bucky, alive, but unlike anything she had ever seen in him before. He had never looked this much like a skittish dog who'd been kicked too many times, nor had he ever had so much scruff, such long hair. Not in the time she knew him, and never before, she would bet her life on it.

Somehow, Bucky wasn't dead.

She drew a breath and let it out, shaky. "I... yes. Yes, my name is Peggy Carter," she said. He sounded so uncertain - why? "You don't remember me?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth, and he looked away. He kept her in his peripheral vision, not willing to let her out of his sight completely, but he couldn't meet her eyes, either.

Yet another person who would judge what he'd done, who he'd become. What he'd allowed HYDRA to make of him.

Still, she was a link to the past he so desperately wanted to know and understand. And unlike Rogers, she wouldn't have the weight of decades of expectations built up for him to disappoint her in. Nor would it tear him apart to see that disappointment and censure, if it came. Maybe she was exactly the bridge he'd needed to get some answers.

"I don't remember a lot of things." He licked his lips, and dragged his gaze back to hers again. His was haunted, the years of agony and soul-destroying torture lurking in the depths of the blue. "I remember you beating me in a push-up contest. And I remember you looked drop-dead gorgeous in a red dress. You were the first gal that only had eyes for Steve instead of me. I beat you in the shooting contest, though."

Disconnected bits and pieces. That was his life, now. And at that, it was worlds away better than the one he'd had prior to this, with HYDRA. At least he had the bits and pieces, and more came every day.

"Yes..."

Peggy felt lost. She couldn't understand what could have possibly transformed the young, brash man she knew into this broken shell. She wanted to close the distance between them, to hug him as tightly as she knew Steve would have wanted to if he were here. But she was afraid that he'd bolt if she came any closer.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, though she couldn't completely banish the tears that made her eyes shimmer. "What's happened to you, my dear friend?"

The description startled him. His brow creased and knotted as he clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to make the words fit what little he'd remembered. Were they dear friends?

Comrades in arms, certainly. Saving each others lives probably made them good friends, yeah. Not in the same way as the closeness he'd had with Rogers, but still.

He shook his head, both in answer to her question and to try to break free of his own circling thoughts. "Nothing you want to know the details of. You don't look any older than I remember. When did you get snatched from?"

She nodded uncertainly. So many questions were bubbling up, but he clearly wasn't ready to answer any of them. There was little she could do but accept that.

So far as she was concerned, Bucky was dear to her - as dear as any of the Commandos, and nearly as much so as Steve. She wasn't exaggerating the affection she felt for him.

"It was 1946 when I was brought here," she said gently. "Two years after, well, after we thought you had died." And nearly as long since Steve's death, she thought, but was uncertain whether she should say. She couldn't imagine what that news might do to him if he didn't already know.

"You couldn't've known." The words were soft, but sincere. If she'd been Steve's girl, she was probably a lot like him, and that meant she'd likely blame herself for what had happened to Bucky. "I should've died. Nobody could survive a fall like that. I would've died, if that damn Russian soldier hadn't found me."

And how many times had he cursed that soldier? Wished the man had taken just another hour to find him, when he'd have been a frozen body instead of a barely alive captive?

No, Bucky laid the blame for what had happened to him squarely where it belonged. On HYDRA's shoulders - and on himself for never admitting to anyone what changes had been happening to him, after his first capture. Maybe if the Army had known about it, they would have realized he might have survived.

Or maybe they'd never have let him go on the mission at all. Or any other mission - in which case Steve would have died half a dozen times over. It was give and take, and Bucky couldn't regret the year he'd spent as part of Steve's team. Even though it had led to what happened later.

Edited 2016-07-26 22:04 (UTC)

Peggy nodded slowly. No, she couldn't have known, and she believed in his sincerity. "But that doesn't mean I don't care," she said gently. "I'm so, so very glad that you're alive. I'd like to talk, to hear what's happened to you, if you're willing to tell me. And if you're not - that's all right. Just know...whatever you remember, and whatever is happening to us right now, that you have a friend and ally in me."

It was a strange thought, to have someone... care about him. To know he could count on them as an ally. Bucky had always known that if he'd let Steve find him, he could have had that - except with the weight of their history always hanging between them, he'd feared it would never truly be what either of them wanted.

He had a past with Carter, enough that she knew and cared for him, but not so much that she'd have expectations. Not to the same level Steve did. There would be no disappointment when he couldn't be what she wanted - needed - him to be, the way there was with Steve.

"Seems like we can probably use all the allies we can get," he agreed, skirting the issue of what exactly had happened to him. "These people... I don't trust them. They seem too nice, too perfect and peaceful and understanding." Of course, he didn't trust anybody these days, but there were levels of distrust.

Peggy smiled, though there was a tinge of sadness to it. Would the old Bucky have been so mistrusting?

Perhaps, she decided. He very well might have been.

"Yes, I feel the same way, Sergeant," she said, the smile turning wry. "Call me a skeptic, but it's difficult to believe their claims of peaceful understanding and exploration. Can you believe they claim not even to be a military?"

"Yeah, that's bullshit," Bucky snorted. "If it looks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck, chances are it ain't a zebra. Paramilitary at best. I've seen some of their weapons."

Up close and personal. And while he supposed the security personnel could be considered police rather than military, the whole ship operated on what sure as hell felt like a military basis.

"Maybe some of 'em believe the party line. Maybe even most of 'em." He shook his head. "It only takes one bad apple. Just look at what Zola did."

Peggy nodded. "It could be that they truly do have our interests at heart, and what we've been told about how we got here is true," she said cautiously. "But it may not be. We simply don't know yet."

She took a step towards him, extending a hand in invitation, palm up. "But either way, I trust you to have my back, Bucky." And that was it. Whether he could trust her was another question - she hoped he could, but she didn't feel she could expect it. But for now, she was willing to extend her trust to him - whatever he had been through, he was still the man she knew at his core. That, she was reasonably sure of. He hadn't made a single aggressive move since arriving, and that was good enough to tell her that this was the right move.

If it turned out she was wrong, well, she did tend to be pretty good at surviving.

This time when she stepped toward him, it wasn't quite as much of an effort to keep himself still and not back off. He eyed her hand, not quite sure what he was supposed to do with it - it wasn't the right position for her to be offering to shake, and that didn't really make sense, anyway.

Was this another one of the million and one things he'd forgotten? Some basic social nicety written in the pages of the rulebook everyone had read but him?

It seemed like an invitation. Maybe a request for confirmation. Slowly he reached out, watching her to make sure she didn't try to grab him, and rested his hand over hers palm down.

"I'll have your back." Not that he'd trust her to have his. He relied only on himself, always. But once given, he kept his promises, so he'd damn well have hers. Unless and until she stabbed him in his, of course.

She simply held her hand out as he reached for her. Honestly, if she tried to grab him it wouldn't end well for her, and they both had to know it. But she had no such intention. She reached for him like one might reach for a feral dog - an offer of friendship, sincere and gentle even knowing that she risked being bitten out of fear.

She smiled with relief when he reached back. Her hand closed only slightly around his fingers.

"Thank you, Bucky," she said gently. "Is there anything you need?"

He'd expected to feel uncomfortable at best when she gripped him, but instead it felt... he didn't have a word for it. There was a tightness in his chest that should have been unpleasant, but instead it was the opposite.

Without meaning to, he squeezed her back, a reflexive reaction to that strangely comforting tightness around his heart.

Her question made him snort, and his lips curved in something that almost managed to be a wry smile. "I need it to stop snowing in my Goddamn quarters, but I doubt there's much you can do about that."

Edited 2016-07-29 02:32 (UTC)

She winced slightly, though he didn't actually hurt her - more in anticipation, as she felt the inhuman strength of the squeeze. Like Steve. And that just made her chest hurt even more.

The sight of the smile helped, though, and she returned it wryly. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know the first thing about how to help with that. However, if you need a place to stay, I do have quarters of my own, and I'm not above asking my roommate to vacate the premises if you need some privacy."

He shook his head, the smile fading again. "I can't sleep near other people. Even if I could, it would be... a bad idea. I don't want to hurt anyone." Ever again.

She hadn't let him go, and he couldn't bring himself to be the first to pull away. He told himself it was because he wasn't sure if it was rude, but the truth was that the contact made him feel warm inside in a way he hadn't experienced in far too long.

At least he wasn't pulling away. Peggy wanted to maintain contact as long as possible, even if it wasn't exactly the most appropriate thing she'd ever done - she sensed Bucky needed it.

"Of course," she said without hesitation. "But I don't have to stay, either, if that's easier. If your own room isn't suitable, then where else will you sleep?"

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