Agent Washington (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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goneawaycomms2020-09-23 11:18 pm
parannoyed) wrote in goneawaycomms2020-09-23 11:18 pm
Entry tags:
AGENT WASHINGTON
● AGENT WASHINGTON
ONLINE
[video | audio | text]
● AGENT WASHINGTON
ONLINE
[video | audio | text]
no subject
Wash!? [ There's feasible acceptable limits in the "I'm not a doctor, I dunno how brain damage goes, maybe this was gonna happen, maybe it's that Stuff bullshit" walls, and then there's a real solid wall of "okay no you know what that should definitely not be what's happening," and this is about where the wall sits.
Like most theoretically good prospects, Wash remembering something goes hand in hand with some kind of awful consequence. It doesn't matter what happens or how many times it happens, consequences suck. So by the time the alarm's doing its thing and Special K runs over, Tucker is broadly just glad anyone even kinda medically competent is available to be on the scene. He's reached the peak of tense, white-knuckled notebook-gripping shrillness. ]
Fuck if I know! [ That is not even slightly useful. In his defense, his brain is busy looping I believed in you. And also, he's an idiot. ] We were just talking and he--
[ Tucker makes a vague and fruitless gesture at the man, the myth, the legend himself. Memory is the key. The key to a fucking aneurysm, apparently. ]
no subject
[Waking up after brain surgery, his head wrapped up, being told about the implant, with the stark reality of his situation laid before him, subtle threats artfully threaded through over the prospect of his noncompliance - he remembers that. Remembers the calm, remembers the quiet hopelessness, before he was dragged in for further questioning, and how calm those proceedings were too, even as he was getting zapped. They asked questions, he gave the right answers, they moved on.]
[It doesn't jive with the other point in time he keeps flashing to. Getting physically dragged into some strange shadow Infirmary different from this one. Bodily, because he kept throwing himself out of his gurney, fighting orderlies the whole way, even after feeling a pinch at his neck he knew was some kind of sedative. It'd made him more clumsy, but he hadn't stopped struggling and his adrenaline had been so high they couldn't even get him properly restrained. Like there'd been something important he was fighting for.]
[He was screaming something until he was hoarse, but he can't remember what it was, doesn't remember that the words had been a slurred, "You can't take them away!"]
[He doesn't remember the words but looking at Tucker - and the Infirmary around him - the panic is drawing from that moment, even if he can't fully remember it.]
[He's digging and a natural extension of pushing to remember what he lost is remembering some of how hard he fought to hold onto it.]
No. No. Nonono. I'm not staying here.
[He somehow knows K wasn't a part of it, faces blur but none were hers, but it doesn't matter.]
[Because he remembers Glotfelty's had been in that place. She hadn't been around after he was out of surgery, but now he remembers her being around before.]
I need to leave.
["Wash you're still hurt," Special K says.]
I need. To leave.
["We still need to monitor you -"]
I'm almost to the point I don't need to be on any IVs. Just taper me off, give me some crutches, and I'll come in for antibiotics and to get the bandages changed. I can recover in my room.
[He turns to Tucker and suddenly looks and sounds more like the Wash he knows.]
It's not safe for me here.
[He's bristling with the kind of profound agitation that almost inevitably precedes a fight, because it's rare for Wash to demonstrate this much lack of cool unless he's about to Mcfreakin' lose it.]
no subject
On the other hand, fuck Jorgmund, fuck the Rig, and fuck their facilities. This could be the 100% proven Fort Knox of ethical care and safety and it kinda wouldn't matter as long as Wash thinks otherwise.
Tucker won't pretend he's feeling all saintly and selfless about the situation they're in. Wash is gonna take priority over everything and everyone else here. If someone else happens to get their bacon saved while Tucker's trying to keep a handle on Blue business, that's a happy accident.
So it takes all of zero seconds for him to jump on the support train. ]
You heard the man. Time to fast-track it. Trust me, him busting out unofficially would just be worse on all of us.
[ And worse on the medical equipment, realistically. ]
no subject
[She puts his chart down and starts pulling some gauze and a vial and syringe from a nearby cart, sanitizing her hands and gloving up. "First, starting right now you've got to get your blood pressure down before I let you out of here. I'll give you something for it, but the rest is up to you. Seems like mostly nerves. Second, if I let you out you are to come and get your bandages changed once a day religiously, and do some PT on that leg. And third, I'm going to get you crutches and you need to stay off that leg for another two weeks minimum. No weight on it whatsoever. No exercise unless it's part of the PT." Her voice goes firm, even a little imperious. "Are we understood?"]
[Wash's voice is almost meek. She's kind of intimidating.]
Yes, ma'am.
["Religiously."]
Yes ma'am.
["Now let's take care of the fact that you're a mess." She comes closer, gauze in hand. Wash tenses and looks like he's about to push her away. She raises an eyebrow. "The magic words, Washing Machine." He relaxes a little.]
Nurses are underpaid and underappreciated.
[He untenses just slightly and lowers his arm. "No pudding this time, you'll just bleed in it," she says. She cleans the blood off Wash's face. He lets her, despite being in the throes of a burgeoning panic attack, something that makes it clear she's got a rare bit of his trust. She throws the gauze away and gets him some fresh gauze to hold against his nose. "Pinch your nose here," she pinches it where he's supposed to, "and lean forward." He does as he's told.]
I dow how, I'b had a few busted noses in my dime.
["I don't doubt that," she says. "I don't think this is serious. A spike in blood pressure can do it." ]
[She reaches for the vial and draws it up in a syringe. "This is a very, very mild sedative for your blood pressure and to get you to chill the fuck down."]
[Wash squirms uncomfortably but before he can say anything, she assures him, "Very, very mild okay? I'll even just give a half dose."]
[Wash nods reluctantly and she injects it into a port attached to his IV line. After a moment, he relaxes noticeably. The beeping starts to slow down and stop. He feels a calm settle over him but also still feels aware and with it, as promised.]
[She takes off the gloves, sanitizes her hands, and grabs his chart again. "I'll go sign off on the paperwork, and get those crutches and requisition a set of PTUs to send you out with, and a new uniform since yours got wrecked. And then I'll change your bandages before you go out the door."]
[Wash breathes out a sigh of relief.]
Dank ew.
["No problem. You hang tight," she says, and then she walks away, already checking things off on the chart with the attached pen. Wash collapses back against the bed, his shoulders finally untensing just slightly. He still looks nervous, feels the panic crowding in, but the heart monitor shows his vitals stabilizing a little.]
[He finally looks to Tucker again. Tucker, who immediately backed him up and looked ready to help him limp out of there.]
And dank ew doo.
I had flashes. Something...something bad. They...did someding to be.
no subject
They did something to me.
They did something, while none of the others were here to watch his back. They did something, and Wash doesn't remember exactly what it is. Just like he conveniently doesn't remember joining up with the Blues, or any of the crazy shit they've been through, or how they wound up being friends with him. Something bad.
Tucker sees red in a way he hasn't for a while. It dumps into him all at once, about as graceful as a stampede.
The fact that there's no one here he does trust 100% to watch out for Wash sort of keeps him tethered to his seat by a white-knuckled grip. The extremely enduring memory of what happened to Wash because of him the last time he got mad and charged into something without thinking, that takes care of the rest. Pulls him back by the proverbial collar.
But he does still vaguely look like he's trying to math out how to fight the overall concept of Jorgmund, in lacking specific targets at the moment. ]
Of course. Why would a bunch of sick assholes get a life when they could sign off on mad scientist bullshit instead?
[ When's the universe gonna cut Wash a break? Tucker's starting to have some beef with reality. ]
Whatever sass I was throwing about the buddy system, I take it back. You're so not doing any of that follow-up stuff by yourself. No fucking way. If Murderer McPsychopath gets caught anytime soon, we'll bullshit some other excuse.
[ Sometimes good strategy is basic common sense in a different wrapper. ]
no subject
I was just...going to ask. I don't want to keep coming back here alone, even if I don't have to stay.
[His heart sinks at the thought of it, of coming back over and over, of being under Glotfelty's cold gaze when he knows she was there when - when what? What was it, what did they do? If the implant was going to help him, why was he screaming and fighting so vehemently? Was it just because they hadn't told him what they were about to do? Had they told him about how they were going to use it for leverage?]
[What was it they were taking away? A dawning anxiety starts to sweep over him. Was the "them" Tucker and his...his supposed friends? Was the Stuff not what had taken the memories?]
[A problem to solve later.]
For whatever reason, I...I think I trust you? Which, by the way, is mystifying because I don't trust anyone.
[A pause.]
Except for North, I guess. I trust him a little. I think I might ask him to stick around sometimes when I have to come back here, too.
[He wipes more blood from his face.]
He's here, and alive somehow when he was dead back home, like he got pulled from right before he was killed by Maine.
He's a Freelancer. Agent North Dakota.
[A trustworthy Freelancer other than Wash or Carolina: a wild concept for Tucker to try to wrap his head around.]
no subject
Tucker doesn't plan on dropping the ball on that. Not if he can help it. Once you've broken time for a dude, there's really no not being fully committed. Straining against the ever-present desire to do something angry and impulsive and stupid to get back at Jorgmund is a tragic burden he will have to bear for Wash's sake.
So he'll bottle that up in favor of the face-scrunch of obvious Freelancer-based distaste. Trustworthy Freelancer? Sounds fake. ]
Trust him a little like you can actually trust him, or trust him a little like "when he finally decides to sell us out or screw us over, he at least won't do it in public"?
no subject
[For good reason. Apparently the Meta was going to betray him (not shocking but he was hoping things would hold out long enough for him to get his freedom.) Before that, South shot him in the back. Before that, he'd dealt with the bitterness of other agents because the implantation program had been suspended thanks to his reaction to Epsilon.]
["What about the hostility from other agents who lost out on assignments once we suspended the use of implants?"
"What about them? Am I supposed to feel bad for them or something?"
"Do you think you could work with an A.I. or another agent ever again?"
"...No, I don't."]
[There is no "us." There hasn't been an "us" in a very long time. And even the last time there was an "us" it wasn't exactly like they'd been tight knit enough for anyone to care about him.]
[Each other, sure, for a few of them. Some of them had covered each other in their exits. While he sat in the Medbay, the crashed ship's emergency lights slowly fading.]
[And Tucker did it so casually. Talked about them like they were just automatically a unit. Like any betrayal would be something they both faced. Like Tucker wouldn't try to get in on it, and side with whatever side let him save his own skin.]
[He doesn't comment on it. He wants to be careful in how he assesses Tucker's trustworthiness over time. The unconscious instincts are promising - something vestigial left over from what he can't remember but...]
[He's been wrong before. He's tired of trusting people and being wrong. So he's treading carefully with this new unknown quantity.]
North was the one they gave Theta to. The AI fragment that was the Alpha's trust. Theta is...almost child-like. They chose North because he was the most nurturing.
He was always good at being supportive to the rest of the team. But in the end, right before she shot me in the back and left me for dead, South Dakota set him up to be killed by the Meta.
[His tone went tart.]
The fact that North was her brother apparently wasn't enough to make her hesitate. Somehow this place pulled him from before his death.
He wasn't the type to back stab. He was good at being trustworthy - but in the end it meant he was too trusting himself. Out of anyone from Freelancer, he's the one I'd distrust the least.
[Of course it was "distrust the least" and not "trust the most."]
no subject
Freelancer loved fucking people up at the front and center before siccing them onto sim troopers, huh.
So North gets... about 85% of a ringing endorsement from Wash as he is right now. Noted. With genuine seriousness, despite all appearances, because when it's Project Freelancer, there's always some super serious bullshit to thinking around it. ]
Eh. I guess that's not like the worst answer. Y'know, it's not curb-stomp on sight. Which is cool because I'm not into getting curb-stomped and someone else already curb-stomped you. I'm a lover, not a punching bag.
[ Sure, he'd try to do the fight on principle if there was beef. But mostly on principle, because he's pretty sure literally any Freelancer could kick his ass any day of his life. ]