lucetilogs | TERRACE Draft

Entry tags:

TERRACE Draft - Remaining Days

Who: All Draftees
What: All hell breaks loose
When: From the 27th to the 1st.
Where: TERRACE!
Summary: Information post here
Rating: Varies on thread, please mark explicit material.

This post covers the second to sixth day! Be sure to check the info post on the timeline to know what's up. At 2AM on the 27th, the attack will break out while most people are sleeping. Be sure to use the above info post for any plotting needs you might have. Enjoy!

Some random NPC quotes about the island itself.

Be sure to tag this post appropriately: [canon] character name

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Confusions flickered across her face for a moment, because there was... something, but it was there and gone in a flash and she shook her head - maybe to say no, maybe to try and clear her thoughts.

"Did you read the wrong debrief, Stark?" There's still a hint of confusion in her tone, but her gaze narrows slightly, as if she's trying to figure out what game he's playing at. "We don't have time for this."

“You’re right, we don’t.” He lifted a pointed finger at Clint then, cutting right to the point. “Because he’s not who you think he is, and he’s trying to kill you.”

A heartbeat passes and then Clint laughs, incredulous and not at all amused as he pushes forward and puts himself between Natasha and Tony, his fingers tightening around his bow. There's a challenge in his stance that Natasha can feel before she can even see it.

"Have you been drinking again, Stark? Is that what this is? You showing up wasted on missions now?"

"Wait." It's Natasha that interrupts this before it can escalate. It will. No one knows how to push buttons like these two and Tony definitely hit one of Clint's with that accusation. She fixes her gaze on Tony, patient and intent, her hands still tight around the grip of her gun. "Why do you think that?"

Her question has Clint's head jerking around to stare at her and she can see the way his lips thin. Anger, defensiveness. Not exactly what she'd been expecting, but she holds up a hand to stave off his protest before he has a chance to voice it. "I'm not saying I believe him, I want to know why he thinks that."

It took a large part of Tony’s willpower not to snip right back at Clint. This wasn’t him. His accusations didn’t matter, because they were those of a liar. At the very least, Natasha was willing to hear him out, and that was what mattered. He didn’t want to risk Clint getting aggressive, either, because god knew what would happen if he did.

“We’re not on a mission, Natasha. We’re on a draft, fighting cultists. They have dream shifters, remember? And this is exactly what they do. They wrap your mind around some ideal little world so they can kill you without a fight.”

Clint threw a hand in the air, looking aggravated and tense. "Mind-controlling Cultists? Really? That's the best you could come up with? We're all dreaming?" He motions at the dark alley they're in with an incredulous look. "Does this look like an ideal world to you, Stark? Shouldn't there be, I don't know, tropical sandy beaches and barely-dressed models?"

His tone is derisive as he lifts a hand to the comm in his ear. "I don't know what you think you're pulling, Stark, but you need to go sober up. I'm calling Coulson."

Natasha's hand shifts on the handle of her gun, a minor reaction as her gaze flits between the pair of them. She's tense, her gaze wary, because there's very little of Stark's story that makes sense, that sounds familiar. Thinking about it makes her head hurt and Clint has a point. This doesn't feel like a dream.

But she also knows what Tony Stark is like drunk. All too well, and Clint's accusations aside, Tony's nothing but earnest right now. It didn't add up.

"Don't listen to him," Tony's voice was tense, his whole demeanor on edge. "Your real team isn't here. They're back on that battlefield, fighting for their lives, and they need our help. They need your help."

He glanced at Clint, watching him closely. He remembered how defensive Pepper had gotten during his dream, and how that had been what ultimately gave away the game. If he pushed Clint to the point that he wasn't acting like himself anymore, maybe that would do the trick if she didn't remember on her own. But at the same time, he wasn't eager to push someone the cultist was impersonating. He could get himself killed.

"Bullshit," Clint shot back and there is definite temper there now, defensive and antagonistic, his form tense as he jabs a finger against the chest plate of Tony's suit. "Her team is here. She's needed here. And we're running out of time before we're fighting for our lives, because you're distracting us from a vital mission that needs done with your really bad idea of a joke. So if you're done? We're going to go finish what we're here for."

"Suppose you're telling the truth," Natasha interrupts, and oh she can feel that rekindled flare of sharp temper - directed at her? Or just the situation? It was difficult to tell. Her gaze was fixed on Tony, despite Clint's anger and impatience. It pushed at her, fed her own restlessness, the adrenaline-fueled feeling that often came with their missions, the need to get it done and get out. But she couldn't afford to be reckless. Not right now. Not with either of them.

"Suppose you're telling me the truth, Tony. Why should I believe you? And what should I do about it?"

"Tasha-"

"Let him answer, Clint." Her own voice holds a note of sharp temper, matching his, though her expression doesn't so much as flicker, her gaze remaining locked on Tony's face. Things aren't adding up. She wants to know why. So she pushes where she needs to.

This...he had been hoping to explain when she was more convinced. But evading the question now would only look like dishonesty, and he couldn't afford to lose her trust now. If he lost that, and she believed Clint, they were dead.

"You should believe me because if you don't, we're both dead." He nodded at Clint, but kept his eyes on Natasha. "Notice how tense he is? It's because he's scared that you're going to remember, and you're going to turn on him and we'll escape. But that's what you have to do to get out of here - you have to turn on him. Which you'll do, because you know, you know that this isn't your partner."

"Turn on him?" She echoes him, and there's a note of incredulity in her own voice as Tony tells her this. Does he know what he's asking of her? Does he understand what that means? If anything, Clint grows more tense at her side, more agitated, angry, defensive.

Natasha brings her pistol up, the barrel aimed at Tony, her hands steady as she stares him down. She feels Clint shift beside her, coiled energy and a hint of surprise, but her gaze never leaves Tony's.

"And if I do believe you, he dies. That's what you're telling me, Stark?"

For a split second, he thought she was going to shoot him, and that would be the end of it. Her bullet would be faster than he lower his visor to protect his head. But if she was going to shoot him, why hesitate? She would only shoot him if she was convinced that he was lying - and evidently, she wasn't.

Still, he froze, swallowing before he answered. "That's right. The Shifter dies, and we go back to our real team who needs us right now."

Edited (iconssssss) 2013-04-09 05:38 (UTC)

"This is crazy, Tasha, why are you even listening to this? We need to get moving, we're running out of time and our window is closing. Just leave him," Clint interrupted, reaching out and laying a hand on her arm, trying to give her a nudge in the direction they'd previously been heading.

Natasha didn't budge, her mind racing, her gaze not leaving Tony's face, taking in his reaction. Taking in Clint's. Tony had give her a complication, a puzzle and suddenly she wasn't sure she could trust her gut instinct. She wasn't sure who she should be trusting, and that had her jaw clenching, tension and cold dread sliding up her spine. The idea that someone - something had gotten inside her head infuriated her, made her feel sick.

But it also gave her an out.

"Manitoba."

It was a senseless word. A location. One that meant nothing to her personally, one that she had no information on beyond generic fact and a map inside her head. She dropped it in the middle of the tense silence and let it hang there, until Clint's impatience got the better of him, confusion written on his face as he tried to get them to move again.

"What? I don't... Tash, we've got to move, they're-"

This time she didn't hesitate, ignored the voice that screamed in the back of her mind. Her eyes were cold and lethal as she spun and the report of the gun echoed deafeningly in her ears as she fired the killshot at Clint.

The illusion didn't even last long enough for her to see him drop. One moment they were in an alley, the next they were back on TERRACE, in the middle of a battlefield. The disorientation lasted only a moment, like being dropped in cold water, a sudden and instantaneous waking from a nightmare.

Still. She couldn't bring herself to move, even though she knew the Shifter still towered over her. She could do nothing but stare at her hand, her grip tight and white-knuckled around the grip of her pistol.

Tony's tensely held breath went out of him with the gunshot. Reality erupted around them, and they're back on the battlefield. She did it. She ended the dream.

She shot Clint.

There would be time to worry about the implications of that later, though. They're back in the middle of war now, and the Shifter was still standing. He instinctively raised a repulsor at the cultist. He tried to shout, tried to get her to snap to it, but out of the dream his voice was gone again. Dammit.

If she didn't fire, he would.

It took her longer to respond than it should, and even lifting her head, raising her arm, seemed to take such an immense amount of strength that she wasn't sure she was capable of it. But she did. She lifted her hand, her gun, and emptied the rest of her bullets into the cultist's face without a single flinch.

The body slumped over to the ground, lifeless, and Natasha stared at it, her expression impassive, purposefully blank. Although there was something not right in her gaze, something off, and her movements were stilted as she holstered her pistol once more. Pushed herself to her feet again.

She didn't look at Tony.

This would be a really damn convenient time to get his voice back. He should say something. But maybe it was a blessing in disguise - what would he even say, if he could? Apologies were far too hollow for something like this.

Killing your most important person wasn't something that could be rubbed away with words.

He tried to catch her gaze though, a question in his eyes. He wanted to make sure she was stable enough to fight before they headed back into the fray.

She took a deep breath, trying to focus, trying to center herself. Doing her best to push this out of her mind for now. Because she didn't have the indulgence of time and safety to deal with it. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking another deep breath, her hands limp at her sides. A shudder swept through her and then she opened her eyes again, careful facade slipping into place once more, held firmly in control.

She turned her head then, meeting his gaze for a moment, her lips pressed in a thin line.

"Thank you. I..." She wasn't sure what she wanted to say. What she needed to say. She shook her head, trying to push away that last glimpse of... No.

"Don't tell Clint," is what she said instead, looking up once more, meeting Tony's gaze, and there was something quietly pleading in her look despite the simple words.

He watched her carefully before nodding. It wasn't his story to tell, even if he could. Hell, Pepper still didn't know about his encounter with a Dream Shifter, and if Natasha didn't think Clint needed to know, Tony definitely wasn't about to overstep that boundary.

She nodded once, the movement a little abrupt, but at least appearing solid and steady. Taking another deep breath, she met his gaze. "Thank you," she said again, because she owed him for that. Another thing she took seriously.

Another nod of acknowledgement. She would have done the same if it were him - he's just glad things went the way they had. Because even for how shaken she was now, things could have been much, much worse.

He gestured toward the fight. They should get back out there.

She reloads her handgun with swift efficiency, her jaw clenched as she nodded in understanding to his silent message.

"I really hate cultists," she muttered, knowing he understood. Maybe better than most, if his expression was anything to go by. "I owe you," she added a moment later, but she didn't stick around to get a response, because the sounds of fighting were growing louder and closer again and she really needed the distraction.

Everything else could wait for later. Right now they had a fight to win. She didn't hesitate or look back as she dropped herself back into the thick of it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

TERRACE Draft - Remaining Days

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject