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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
Sigma has no choice but to retreat somewhat, to take a step back before Rumlow comes within arm's reach. "I..." He is still blinking spots back from his eyes, where his sight is returning from the doomed world to the present one. "I can predict death," he blurts out, which is not quite the truth, but the brevity might save his life. Now Sigma steels himself, plants his feet at shoulder's width apart, and holds out his hands. "Stop. We do not have the time for this. You are going to die if you don't listen to me!" It was another quick half-truth, but Sigma feared what might come down those halls more than a broken neck.
no subject
So when Sigma signals for him to halt he does, albeit with a look that says he better keep talking. He wouldn't kill him for his gift, no, he's not prone to wasting something useful like that. Of course, this could all be some distraction tactic so the old man could shiv him in the back at the first given opportunity. Who's to say?
Rumlow's jaw works tight in frustration, but he's obviously willing to listen. For now.
no subject
So Sigma straightens, grateful for this man's eagerness if not to work with him, then to preserve their lives long enough to part on a neutral ground. "Alright. I do not know how much time we have. It seems to have given us enough time to begin backtracking together, so I presume less than ten minutes. It will come towards us from that direction..." He points down the hallway they both came.
He stops his rushed explanation to think. "Perhaps if we hurry, we can head it off. Or, we can take our chances with a barricade and hope someone else attracts it interest. Any ideas...?"