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Entry tags:
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Who| Brock Rumlow, and Open
What| Xenos and airlocks and murder, oh my?
Where| Upper levels of the station
When| Week 1
Warnings/Notes| Aiming for fights, rescues, and Brock using other people as meat shields. Unless you were one of the few to get into his good graces at the start. Any questions or potential ideas, pm me.
There had been a grand rush for the Cornucopia, as he'd imagined, and the temptation to try and edge someone out in the effort to grab something useful had been there. He wouldn't lie about that. But priority had to be given to finding a secure location to defend, to last as long as possible. That meant figuring out the station, what was on it, and finding food before anyone else got the bright idea. Then he could worry about getting the drop on someone and stealing their weapons or tools, or whatever else he needed. Couldn't be any harder than the struggle of the initial rush, or so he supposed.
He had to remember that there were in fact other people when the station around him was so resoundingly quiet. Lights flickered and cast sharp shadows against the wall, abrupt enough to set anyone on edge as they moved between puddles of light and dark. Moving to the end of a section and tapping at the airlock, Rumlow found this way cut off. No amount of button pushing seemed to be gain him access. Oh well. The station seemed circular, so maybe he ought to double back the way he'd come.
And that might have been the plan, had he not heard something drop to the floor behind him in the darkness. Instantly he shrank back against a nearby wall, dropping to a crouch as his breath fogged the inside of his helmet, waiting.
A tribute? Or something else. This damn suit was clunky as Hell, going to slow him down if it came to a fight. Was he really going to bite it because he refused to be seen wandering around in a pink spacesuit?
What| Xenos and airlocks and murder, oh my?
Where| Upper levels of the station
When| Week 1
Warnings/Notes| Aiming for fights, rescues, and Brock using other people as meat shields. Unless you were one of the few to get into his good graces at the start. Any questions or potential ideas, pm me.
There had been a grand rush for the Cornucopia, as he'd imagined, and the temptation to try and edge someone out in the effort to grab something useful had been there. He wouldn't lie about that. But priority had to be given to finding a secure location to defend, to last as long as possible. That meant figuring out the station, what was on it, and finding food before anyone else got the bright idea. Then he could worry about getting the drop on someone and stealing their weapons or tools, or whatever else he needed. Couldn't be any harder than the struggle of the initial rush, or so he supposed.
He had to remember that there were in fact other people when the station around him was so resoundingly quiet. Lights flickered and cast sharp shadows against the wall, abrupt enough to set anyone on edge as they moved between puddles of light and dark. Moving to the end of a section and tapping at the airlock, Rumlow found this way cut off. No amount of button pushing seemed to be gain him access. Oh well. The station seemed circular, so maybe he ought to double back the way he'd come.
And that might have been the plan, had he not heard something drop to the floor behind him in the darkness. Instantly he shrank back against a nearby wall, dropping to a crouch as his breath fogged the inside of his helmet, waiting.
A tribute? Or something else. This damn suit was clunky as Hell, going to slow him down if it came to a fight. Was he really going to bite it because he refused to be seen wandering around in a pink spacesuit?
no subject
Kaito probably would have taken a more measured response here, except that he'd almost gotten his face eaten by a cheetah alien earlier and so he was just a little
jumpier
than usual.
Which manifested as him smashing his elbow into the face of the glass cabinet and hurling the biggest, sharpest, throwing-friendliest shard at Rumlow.
Well, not at Rumlow; he wasn't homicidal or anything. More like at the space between him and the controls, which he would be occupying pretty soon if he didn't make a detour.
no subject
"Bad call, kid." The helmet distorts his voice as he reaches for the panel. Of course, whatever was in those cabinets was likely going to go flying right along with them out into the cold of space. Could be some stuff of use in there somewhere, though if they hadn't found anything yet it was entirely possible the place had already been picked through.