pain_train | SANCTUM INBOX

It’s something that’s hitting a bit too close to home, and though he’d be reticent to admit anything, everything she’s saying is putting him on edge. He’s not a resident of this world, he doesn’t know the ins and outs of how things are managed and controlled, but everything that she’s saying strikes a familiar chord with things back home.

He knows what it’s like to be thrown into things time after time, to be sewn back together and pitched back out to break again and again, it’s plain obvious from the stretches of scar tissue that maps his body, and he’s always prided himself on that. He’s always been a wall, a roach, surviving things that shouldn’t be possible, the entirety of his world up until recently has been focused on how physically strong he could be, and…

Though it’s difficult to come to terms with, he can see it, though he’d like to deny with all his being, Wrath makes sense. If he hadn’t known, if life had apparently continued the way it was supposed to back home, he would have welcomed everything. Fine, implant something in his brain, anything to be stronger, ignore the way it would eat away at him, because as long as it would help, would make him a more effective killing machine, it would have been fine.

Except knowing now what would happen, it wouldn’t have.

“’s fucked up.” Everything is. His apparent future. Her actual past. He gives a heavy sigh, locking his gaze onto her hand.

"Yeah," she says quietly. "It is."

Everyone keeps telling her that she's more fragile than she realizes. It's a fucking joke. They're all more fragile than they'll ever admit.

She should probably let go of his wrist, she thinks. Main doesn't like being touched, so it's a bad thing. But maybe he'll let her hold on a little bit longer, because she just needs something solid to hold on to. And there isn't anything more solid in the world than Maine, for all both of them could shatter apart with the right words aimed just so.

"Just be careful," she says quietly. "About what words you let into your head. Cause you're important to me." She gives his wrist a little squeeze and then lets go.

He’s never claimed to be good at anything involving deeper emotions. Forethought and introspection aren’t needed when you kill people for a living, and trying to think too hard on anything in regards to his line of work could only lead to horror. It’s easier to push everything away, put the reality of his actions and their impact (their potential) to the back of his mind and barrel on forward. Trying to parse out dangers that don’t immediately involve grievous physical harm is difficult, makes him uncomfortable.

There’s a quiet exhale as he rubs his face with one hand, eyes closed; it’s too much. Perhaps it’s good for him in the long run, but it’s too much for now. Fingers dig lightly into the bone near his eyes, a paltry attempt to chase away an impending headache, but it’s a certain failure. How is he supposed to deal with her saying that? No one says that. No one has said that.

No, there aren’t words, there isn’t a gushing acceptance of the weight of everything, because he’s not good at this. Frustration bubbles in the back of his brain, and he tries to ward it off. Inhale. Exhale. It doesn’t work. There’s a tremor in his hands, it makes him angrier. Makes him afraid.

His eyes don’t open, and he remains still, save for reaching out and grabbing her wrist, unfortunately none too gently. There’s nothing further though, save for the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Wrath glances up at him when he grabs her wrist, and that tells her everything she needs to know immediately--simply that he's not trying to hurt her. So she doesn't fight his grip or make a noise; it's tight, but not painful. And she leans over, very carefully, just enough to rest her forehead very lightly against his shoulder.

For once, there’s no immediate tension, no flinching away, though he is acutely aware of the contact, hyper focused on the sensation even as slight as it is. Better that, though, than getting caught up in his head. It’s grounding, gives him an out, and maybe, maybe just this once it’s alright.

Breathe. It takes a conscious effort, but he manages to loosen his grip. He wets his lips, voice failing for a moment, but eventually it comes. “Told you you’d make it a half hour.”

Deflect. It’s easier.

God, soldiers are dumb sometimes. She has her turns. It's apparently Maine's turn, though. And sometimes it's okay, to escape stuff like that when it's too difficult. But if you spend all your time running away from yourself, you'll eventually just run out of ground. And that's when things get really ugly.

Wrath shakes her head a little, forehead still against Maine's shoulder. "It's okay, Maine. It's okay to feel shit when it's not live fire."

But she'll still offer him the out, tilting her head enough that he can see her lips quirked in a wry smile. "I'm not even that hungry."

It may be okay, but that doesn’t mean that it’s something that he really wants to deal with. He’s never been one to think too much; anything beyond what would help out on the battlefield wasn’t important after all. And really, the stress of being shot at is far easier to deal with than the stress of making difficult emotional revelations.

Better the devils he knows than the ones he doesn’t, after all.

She’s giving it to him though, a chance to push everything away and throw all of his difficulties back into a locked corner of his brain. He’d be a fool not to take it.

“Asshole,” it’s weak, but there’s a tinge of amusement in his tone, “doesn’t matter. Still supposed to eat.”

"You started it." Wrath groans theatrically and turns, leaning her shoulder against Maine's instead. "Oh fine. And since you brought me the food, you get to pick the movie."

"Didn't start. Finished it." There's a barest hint of a grin, and he's actually reticent to move, instead letting his head fall back to rest on the back of the couch.

One eye opens, and he shoots a look over at her, brow raised; he's been here two weeks, he has absolutely no idea what about any sort of pop culture in Proles. Movies? Haven't really been a priority since he's arrived.

"Nuh uh." Intelligent repartee there, Wrath.

Wrath gives him a look right back. "There's some ones about the army that are fucking hilarious," she offers.

Alright, that actually provokes a laugh, and a friendly shove; thankfully he's mindful to be gentle this time. He doesn't look away though, brows rising further, he'll play this game of chicken don't even try it.

"Always are," because really, when has the media ever known what it's actually like out on the field. "Be there's sixteen things wrong in the first ten minutes."

Wrath giggles and nudges him back with her shoulder, though very carefully.

"I thought you weren't betting with me any more ever but you can't resist me, you really like me," Wrath says in a sing song. She whistles to wake up the holo display. It's an old one, but good enough for movies and news and stuff. The control panel for it gets projected in front of her, but she nudges it over to Maine.

"Said no more bets. Bets imply money down. 'S a turn of phrase." Betting also implies having to do something, and after getting put up to talking to the person who dragged him down the street, he's not at all keen on putting up again.

Te technology in Proles is interesting, similar to home in some ways. Oh, wait. He shifts, nudging her away, though it's less out of discomfort and more because a moment later he's vaulting over the side of the couch to grab the bags. They're summarily dumped in her lap, no warning.

"Mmhmm. I believe you. Yep. Sure I do." She's got your number, Maine. Watch out.

"Hm--oh!" Wrath starts sorting through the bags immediately. "Awesome, what are you gonna eat?" She's just teasing. Seriously. "Hey, if you hit the refrigeration unit, there's some orange juice in there that I can drink and some beer if you want it." Since she can't drink it, why waste it?

Orange juice, beer, and a lot of pudding. Well. You know. As you do.

There's that look again, but it's tempered by the fact that he's distinctly trying not to grin. Yeah, this is much better than emotions talk, and the more banter that's exchanged, the easier it is to shove everrything back into the neat little corner of his mind where he can forget about it.

Don't get between a hulking space marine and his food though, that's just asking for trouble right there. As he passes to grab things for her, one hand shoots out to flip her hair into her face;there's a snort of amusement that follows.

A minute or so later, the bottle of juice is hucked into her lap as well, albeit carefully so that it hopefully doesn't spill. The beer is left in the fridge, and really he has no room to judge the contents. His own apartment is pretty much baren, after all. Cooking is hard.

"Jerk!" Wrath laughs as she gets her hair sorted back out. "You better watch it. You'd look super cute with pink hair too."

Huh. No beer for himself? Well, hey. Whatever. "Okay. You can share my orange juice." She tucks the bottle between them. so they can both get to it and it shouldn't fall over.

And then back to sorting the food back out. "Oh, this is awesome." She peeks into another container of fried noodles and yep. That smells like curry. Perfect. She offers the curry over, since there should be enough to share. She's not that hungry. "Okay. So. Hilarious army movie."

Reaching over to poke through the control panel finally yields a promising film titled Demon Marines of Draconis-9. "I think... I wanna say this is like the third movie in this series but the other ones don't count. You just need to know the main character, Terrace Sevrens, has been like... injected with the blood of demons so she's super badass but it means every time she falls in love with someone they get horribly mangled in like three days. So she's been hunting the demons to their home planet and just like burning a swathe of destruction through the galaxy. And then in the last movie her little brother found her and got hurt really bad so she gave him a transfusion, so now he's got awesome demon blood too and can walk through walls. Got that?"

Alright, that’s a thought that’s somewhere between terrifying and hilarious, and thankfully there will never be a chance to ever test that out, because there’s no way in hell he’s ever going to stop shaving his head. Non-negotiable. No amount of incessant wheedling is going to change that. The results would be horrifying, after all.

The flavor of the night is ‘cheap’ and ‘a lot’, because he’s never claimed to really have a taste for anything nice, and frankly with how fast his metabolism works, it’d be way too expensive to try to buy actually decent meals. He’s more used to eating MREs, after all. Everything is pretty protein rich though, he does remember that note, even if he’s not going to bring it up. It’s the little things to help, after all, and pointing any efforts out would be detrimental. Wrath doesn’t need to be babied, after all. Well, maybe goaded into actually eating; the carton is pushed back at her with a raised brow. Not getting out of it that easily.

Her choice in movies is hilariously bad, and he couldn’t approve more. The plot is convoluted, it sounds ridiculous, and he can’t help but snort at how awful it seems like it’s going to be. “Mn. Think that’s up to five right there in not even a minute.”

Somewhere there are horrifying high school class pictures of Maine. If only Wrath knew this and knew where to look. She'd be dead, but she'd die laughing.

Wrath has spent the only 26 years she can remember eating MREs and mess hall food. When she moves out of Orion's, unless some poor bastard moves in with her she'll probably just be buying surplus ready meals by the case and eating those because hey, they're nutritionally balanced, right? So no complaints here. "Huh? Oh, okay. Curry's mine. Well good. I like curry." Fried noodles get pushed his way instead then, and she searches through the bags to locate a plastic spoon and some rice. Because of course the curry needs rice.

Wrath smirks. "Just wait til you see her 'power armor.'" The sarcasm quotes are actually audible as she speaks. "And then just think that her little brother's is even dumber."

And tinier. You know. Armor that doesn't actually cover anything that really should be covered. She gets the movie started. It has a bass-heavy opening credit line and voice-over narration delivered by the main character with just the right amount of drama. But hey, if Maine likes him some tall, dark-skinned, super muscular women, Terrace ought to do just right by him. Wrath's a fan. (Terrace reminds her a bit of the stories she heard about Nomandia, really.)

Edited (decided blonde was boring) 2014-12-27 17:56 (UTC)

Considering that they’re an entire universe away, everyone is thankfully spared from those horrors. Small favors.

But really, cooking is overrated; mess hall food and mres are so much easier than having to figure out how to actually do things. And premade meals and takeout can easily supplement those when the former aren’t available. He can understand her logic entirely.

Food though, food is important, and it’s still important that she’s eating, but for as much as he’s all about making sure that Wrath is at least making attempts to stay healthy, he’s also selfish and yes, those noodles are definitely going to be gone rather quickly. After he’s certain she’s eaten, though.

There’s a visible cringe at the mention of power armor, because no, power armor is what he used to live in, and there’s no way that the media can accurately portray what it’s like to be stuck inside a metallic alloy suit for three weeks at a time. It’s not pretty, no one would want to see that in a movie.

Whatever, bad movies are great, and the less realistic and more terrible they are, the better. He can definitely dig the main character, if that’s not evident by his raised brow and smirk, regardless of how terrible the armor is. “She gets shot once, she’s probably going to bleed out, demon blood or no.”

She can dream, Maine. She can dream.

Wrath does eat, not as fast as Maine, but maybe she was hungry after all. She'll polish off that curry pretty quickly, and then move along to whatever is next. Some kind of fried protein in sauce.

Wrath nudges him with her elbow lightly. "I know, right? You should see the silly things they do with guns too, it's awesome. And the demolitions are just silly." Yeah, they kind of ignore all of the sweat and dirt and blood that doesn't look sexy or dramatic. "But hey demon blood fixes everything right? Or something."

She leans against Maine a little as the movie gets started, as long as he doesn't seem to mind too much. It's just... companionable.

“Should be looking into demon blood then, fuck better weapons and shit.” Alright, he can’t help it, that’s too absurd an idea, he has to laugh. And…it feels good to be able to joke around; at least after the tumultuous arrival he’d had, this is pretty much the first chance he’s been able to really relax. Never mind the fact that things had been pretty heavy less than an hour beforehand, he’s steadfastly ignoring that right now.

She’s leaning against him, pressed against his side, and that should set off his issues with space and touch, but there’s no quickening of his pulse, no fight instinct rocketing down his spine, nothing but a slight tightening of his grip on one of the containers. It’s actually weird, weird in the fact that he’s not used to not having a violent reaction. But everything is so casual, and it…it can be good too. That can be okay, he can trust enough for this.

“Assuming she loses the armor at some point?”

Wrath snickers. "We'll go hunt down some demons and you can squeeze them like oranges." It's hilarious. "Tall glass of demon juice and you're ready for the day."

It's just good to be able to relax after the heavy subject she'd covered before. And maybe she should have pushed Maine more, but she really hated pushing people unless she felt like they really needed it. This is good. Things don't happen all at once, even if she feels kind of impatient at times.

And it feels like something important has happened, considering she's leaning against Maine and he's letting her. It's nice. She hasn't gotten to spend a lot of time with people like this, not that she can remember, and she feels starved for it. So she's grateful that Maine's willing to put up with it. She just keeps leaning against him, still eating her spicy fried protein.

Wrath laughs. "Well of course." Smirk. "And so does her brother. At the same time. They even manage it without making it too weird." Just. You know. Hilarious and a little sexy in the best cheesy action movie tradition. "There's a shower of boiling hot demon blood involved if I remember right."

Alright, that sounds absolutely disgusting, and it’s hilarious; popping heads is all fine and dandy, but there are a few lines even he won’t cross. Drinking pulpy demon? Definitely one of those.

There’s a snort, a toothy grin to go with her smirk, and a very careful elbow in her side, and for all intents and purposes, this is as close to relaxed as he can possibly get. Shitty food, cheesy movie (although he’s very here for the eye candy siblings), and good company. Friend. It’s a strange word, feels strange to parse over in his head, but it fits. He shifts a bit on the couch, letting her lean a bit more comfortably, and yeah, that seems to be okay. He could maybe get used to this. Funny, how such little things are so hard. Violence, sex, all par for the course, but companionship? Still difficult.

He mutters something about blood being awful for showering around a mouthful of noodles, but it’s pretty difficult to make out the actual words. Whatever, they’re not too important, especially not when there’s a loud explosion from the holo display, because alright, that’s pretty cool. Explosions? Always good in his book, unless they-

Oh, there’s an incessant noise from his glasses.

Annoying, really. There shouldn’t be anything important going on, he doesn’t really have any other acquaintances (friends, really) that would bother to message him at this time of night, and sure as shit he’s technically off the clock. Really, the urge to ignore whomever is trying to get ahold of him is incredibly high, but the noise won’t stop, and so he regrettably reaches to grab the damn things and figure out what’s going on.

All it takes is a cursory glance at his messages. Tension bleeds back into him, evident in the way his jaw clenches and his eyes narrow ever so slightly. He’s careful to not jostle her too much as he extracts himself form the couch, and there’s a mumbled apology as he rises. Everything is set down, and there’s a casual wave, “back in a moment.”

With that, he exits Orion’s apartment, and it’s certainly more than a moment; nearly fifteen minutes pass before the door opens again, but he’s true to his word. He offers no explanation as he worms his way back onto the couch, there’s a very faint acrid chemical stench that fades after a moment or two, but then it’s back to steadfastly concentrating on the movie. If he’s a bit quieter than before, he brings no attention to it, “did I miss much?”

"Huh? Sure!" Wrath just pauses the film when Maine gets up. She's seen this one before; she doesn't need to see it again to know what happens, for sure. She occupies herself while Maine is gone by screwing around on her digital painting frame, playing with some ideas for the painting she's going to do for Christine. She might not have actual paints yet, but she can do sketches and play with ideas for what might work once he has some actual space.

Wrath gives him a smile when he gets back, one that becomes puzzled when she catches a whiff of him. She saves her work--sketches of ballerinas--and sets it back aside. "You didn't miss anything. I paused it. Future technology--it's awesome!" She grins at him.

Once Maine's settled back down on the couch, she leans against him again and offers him the bottle of orange juice. "Everything work out?" Since presumably he had some kind of call he needed to answer. It must have been urgent.

The sarcasm is appreciated, and it gets a good natured eye roll from him. Real futuristic shit, here; there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep up, might as well give up now and admit defeat. Okay, he can’t even continue with that train of thought, it’s too ridiculous.

It’s a decent distraction though, lets him deflect; god, it can’t be healthy to push away this much, she’s got to be right about that. But no, he’ll deal with it later, maybe. Perhaps never. He’ll deal with it when he’s able to deal with it. Yeah, that’ll have to do. At least it’s a start, even if he knows he’s lying to himself.

“Mn,” comes the reply, noncommittal enough in its own way. Things are worked out for better or worse, his knuckles kind of hurt, and now he’s back, the couch is fairly comfortable, there’s takeout and movies, and being relaxed was really nice, so he’d kind of like to go back to that. He takes the bottle, doesn’t figure to be polite enough to inquire about a glass and just takes a draw from it before handing it back, shifting a bit so that she’s not pressed up against his shoulder so much as she can lean on his chest, because that has to be better for her back. “Worked out just fine.”

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