Devero (EMID 771-Prosp0202-00745) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
subcircuits) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
voidtreckerexpress2021-08-07 10:19 am
subcircuits) wrote in voidtreckerexpress2021-08-07 10:19 am
Catchall log for mid-Merriment, OTA!
Who: Devero and YOU
Where: All over the train
When: Merriment 17 through 21
What: Devero potters around the train, catching up on things and pretending he's not still really, really worn out from the mission.
Warnings: Recreational drug use in the luggage car prompt.
In the days following the platform, Devero is relieved to find that he's recovered enough energy to be able to stay awake for most of a day, and even to concentrate on projects again! The lassitude is hanging on to him longer than most, so he's still not quite is robust self, but he's present and working again. Between Merriment 17 and 21, he can be encountered all over the train.
Where does your character find him?
In the lab car?
Wait, since when is Devero glowing purple and semi-transparent? Come into the lab car on the right day at the right time and you'll find this specter moving about. Perhaps he's fiddling with a door latch, or you find him in one of the labs, picking things up and putting them back down again. There is absolutely neutral, lifeless expression on his face if you happen to catch sight of it, and-- Wait, is that some kind of glowing core in the middle of the shape?
In the training car?
Devero knows how to shoot a gun. Really. He swears. But if you happen in on him practicing his marksmanship with a sleek, futuristic rifle in his hands, it sure doesn't seem like it. He's visibly frustrated as he misses another shot, dropping the gun down from his shoulder and turning his back on his target. (Claudette tilts her head and chirrups. Does this mean the game is over?)
"Rust and ruin," he swears, shoving his wrap-around tactical Interface up on his forehead. "I'm never going to get the hang of this thing. I'm sorry, Entrapta."
In the library car:
Several weeks ago, Devero had snatched down the slip of paper that he'd tacked up in the standard car, the one advertising lessons in GSL-- Global Sign Language. The day of the platform, he'd tacked it back up again. Find him at the advertised time in the library, staring into the screen of his usual Interface. While he waits to see if anyone's going to show up, he's talking to himself.
You know, with his hands. How else? This is meant to be a sign-language lesson, after all!
In the music car:
As crowded as the train's been getting, the second floor of the music carriage is still a good place to slip away to if you're looking for (relative) privacy. Today, however, Devero's beaten you to it. If you don't notice right away that he's in here, though, that's understandable-- there's no music, no sound save for the whisper of his feet on the stage, the rustle of his clothes, and the occasional audible breath.
Despite the apparent silence, Devero is dancing. He's practicing alone an energetic routine for two, but there's no mistaking the precision and grace in his movements as he performs them, even without the partner.
Do you stay and watch, or leave him to dance in solitude?
In the luggage car?
If you've been on the train for longer than a few weeks, you may already be acquainted with this particular odor: it's savory, herby, as if someone's over-toasted spices in a pan prior to cooking with them. Were it a strong odor, it'd probably be sour and unpleasant; as mild as it is, it's mostly unobjectionable.
The source of it can be easily traced to the obviously hand-rolled cigarette smoldering between Devero's lips. That's right, it's future-weed hours here in the luggage car, folks. And if you look at him twice, you'll find him holding his joint out in your direction. "Want a hit?" he asks amiably.
Somewhere else?
Devero can feasibly be found all over the train: prepping vegetables or washing dishes in the kitchen; soaking or doing yoga in the spa car; working out in either of the gyms; sleeping through a movie in the cinema; or even just traveling up and down the train. Yeah, they have transgates now, but walking (or hoverskating) the length of the train is an easy way to keep his condition up while he's still recovering from the last mission. He's not nearly as exhausted as he was before, which means it's working. Really. He swears! He didn't fall asleep here, he was just resting his eyes!
Feel free to find him wherever you want, if one of the prompts above doesn't tickle your fancy.
Where: All over the train
When: Merriment 17 through 21
What: Devero potters around the train, catching up on things and pretending he's not still really, really worn out from the mission.
Warnings: Recreational drug use in the luggage car prompt.
In the days following the platform, Devero is relieved to find that he's recovered enough energy to be able to stay awake for most of a day, and even to concentrate on projects again! The lassitude is hanging on to him longer than most, so he's still not quite is robust self, but he's present and working again. Between Merriment 17 and 21, he can be encountered all over the train.
Where does your character find him?
In the lab car?
Wait, since when is Devero glowing purple and semi-transparent? Come into the lab car on the right day at the right time and you'll find this specter moving about. Perhaps he's fiddling with a door latch, or you find him in one of the labs, picking things up and putting them back down again. There is absolutely neutral, lifeless expression on his face if you happen to catch sight of it, and-- Wait, is that some kind of glowing core in the middle of the shape?
In the training car?
Devero knows how to shoot a gun. Really. He swears. But if you happen in on him practicing his marksmanship with a sleek, futuristic rifle in his hands, it sure doesn't seem like it. He's visibly frustrated as he misses another shot, dropping the gun down from his shoulder and turning his back on his target. (Claudette tilts her head and chirrups. Does this mean the game is over?)
"Rust and ruin," he swears, shoving his wrap-around tactical Interface up on his forehead. "I'm never going to get the hang of this thing. I'm sorry, Entrapta."
In the library car:
Several weeks ago, Devero had snatched down the slip of paper that he'd tacked up in the standard car, the one advertising lessons in GSL-- Global Sign Language. The day of the platform, he'd tacked it back up again. Find him at the advertised time in the library, staring into the screen of his usual Interface. While he waits to see if anyone's going to show up, he's talking to himself.
You know, with his hands. How else? This is meant to be a sign-language lesson, after all!
In the music car:
As crowded as the train's been getting, the second floor of the music carriage is still a good place to slip away to if you're looking for (relative) privacy. Today, however, Devero's beaten you to it. If you don't notice right away that he's in here, though, that's understandable-- there's no music, no sound save for the whisper of his feet on the stage, the rustle of his clothes, and the occasional audible breath.
Despite the apparent silence, Devero is dancing. He's practicing alone an energetic routine for two, but there's no mistaking the precision and grace in his movements as he performs them, even without the partner.
Do you stay and watch, or leave him to dance in solitude?
In the luggage car?
If you've been on the train for longer than a few weeks, you may already be acquainted with this particular odor: it's savory, herby, as if someone's over-toasted spices in a pan prior to cooking with them. Were it a strong odor, it'd probably be sour and unpleasant; as mild as it is, it's mostly unobjectionable.
The source of it can be easily traced to the obviously hand-rolled cigarette smoldering between Devero's lips. That's right, it's future-weed hours here in the luggage car, folks. And if you look at him twice, you'll find him holding his joint out in your direction. "Want a hit?" he asks amiably.
Somewhere else?
Devero can feasibly be found all over the train: prepping vegetables or washing dishes in the kitchen; soaking or doing yoga in the spa car; working out in either of the gyms; sleeping through a movie in the cinema; or even just traveling up and down the train. Yeah, they have transgates now, but walking (or hoverskating) the length of the train is an easy way to keep his condition up while he's still recovering from the last mission. He's not nearly as exhausted as he was before, which means it's working. Really. He swears! He didn't fall asleep here, he was just resting his eyes!
Feel free to find him wherever you want, if one of the prompts above doesn't tickle your fancy.
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He crosses his arms atop his knees and leans on them while he listens.
"As many shards of glass as you've got in you, it's no wonder you're prickly," he says. Does he realize he's one of those people who patted glass deeper into Yondu with his outrage over what the man's parents had done?
He might just, because this time, trying to help, he asks: "Is there anything I can do? You don't deserve to be miserable any more than Koumyou does."
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After all, Yondu had his own nasty habit of not only accidentally patting those glasses deeper, but being too rough as he pried them out. Only rarely could he actually help.
"None of us should be miserable, just makes for bad behavior even if we hate a bastard." Even the shittier members of their lot, like the recently departed Jack. But he chooses a step just down from Devero to sit. "Here, lemme listen to what else you got."
It's a gentle offer to let Devero try and not be a dick about it.
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"Sometimes I don't know what to say to you, or-- or to Koumyou, or-- a lot of other folks on the train," he admits. "You've lived through hells I can't even imagine. Who do I think I am, to tell you how to-- how to feel about it now, or how to recover, or--"
He gestures helplessly. "What do I know?" he asks. The question's rhetorical, though, because he answers himself almost immediately: "I do know one thing, though, and it's how long this here will last? Doesn't have to matter.
"There's no way we can know whether our tethering to the train is stable or not. No way to control who long we stay or when we leave. So why not make the most of this opportunity while we have it?"
He lets his hands fall between his knees and lets his thigh on that side press against Yondu's arm. "I could-- I could walk unresponsive out those doors at the next stop," he says. His throat wants to close on the unpalatable horror of that possibility; he forces himself to talk through it. "I could end up back at Val-- Valdana's side in less than two weeks--"
Nope. He chokes to a stop there, gripping his hands together tight as if that will help keep the fear risen in him at bay. "Do you know what she's going to do to me when she finds out about this? About Koumyou?"
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And maybe Yondu wants that too. Someone willing to try, despite knowing how prickly he is. Someone that sees his hackles raise and still stays crouched with their hand extended, waiting for him to calm. It's a rare thing, that kind of person. He puffs a breath at that.
"I ain't no good at talkin' either." He just... rambles. He's old. He rambles. And sometimes reaching out means nothing to someone. "I got some ideas of what a woman like that might do." He has them from grim experience. Like that comfort slave. Yondu might have been lucky, valuable but only in the way of the death he could create. "I also know that man you got wouldn't let the train stop 'im from crossin' worlds to get to you, so if you did go back you best just run an' wait for 'im. He'd find his way to you."
Yondu folds his arm over his knees. "The man wears the word of god so put your faith in him. If he had one prayer left in that skinny corpse of his, it'd be for you. Trust that he's stronger than some bitch who can only think she's strong by makin' you weak."
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And he knows how much power Koumyou's capable of wielding. He knows how formidable the priest can be when he invests his willpower into something.
He laughs, a wet sound. "You're not as bad at talking as you think," he says. He sits up a little and dashes one hand across his eyes. "He would come, wouldn't he? He'll come for me." Virtues, that makes him feel better.
He takes a deep breath and then releases it, reaching across to squeeze Yondu's shoulder. "Thanks," he says. He brushes his fringe off his forehead. "Got, er, got distracted from what I was trying to say there, huh?"
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He ducks his head a little as he notices Dev near teary-eyed over it, reaching over to put a hand on his forearm, and he realizes how badly Devero's wanted this. Not just Koumyou, or the love that he gives him, but to be rescued. "I needed someone to save me once, too. No room to judge."
But he finds himself talking about him. Mentioning Stakar has never been a sore spot here. But he's only recently said the extent of his feelings about him as he'd been fresh in his mind before his arrival to the train, his want for his team stronger than ever.
"I had someone save me, a long time ago. He welcomed me into his family for a real long time. I know you won't make the same mistakes I did, I lost 'im an' all the friends I made along the way. Never felt right again after that. But I know Koumyou is a more forgivin' soul than Stakar, even if you think you cain't forgive your own sins. Which as far as I can tell is shit you had someone make up for ya."
God, he misses Stakar.
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He's known something was wrong about his relationship with Valdana for a long time, but all of the people and systems that should have alerted on his abuse... hadn't. The safety nets that should have saved him failed, time and again, and left him floundering in a sea of gaslighting and second guesses. And the longer it went on, the deeper she was able to drag him, until the part of him that knew what was happening was wrong had been walled away inside of him and all that was left was her obedient little "submissive".
Yondu's observation validates not only that his position under her had been untenable, but that he couldn't have gotten away from her alone.
Tears fall silently as he listens, lifting his other hand occasionally to wipe them away. "Stakar?" he repeats softly, when the other man's done. "Is that his name, who saved you?"
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So Yondu just moves to sit right by him, even if they're blocking the stairs, because he's learning. He's learning that his rough voice can lend to comfort someone as well as it can command, and he's learned that leathery, hard presence can provide structural support to something crumbling. So he places himself there as a prop, and as he's already slept in the same bed he doesn't shy from being a literal support, either.
"Yeah," he replies to that alone. "Stakar Ogord... He was married. Respected his wife a lot too. But that did not stop me from lookin'.... maybe thinkin' a little, too." Thinking a lot. Now that he'll never see him again, it's easier to admit.
He realizes, then, something else in what he'd told Devero. Koumyou's last prayer would be for him, but Stakar had made it clear he wouldn't even go to Yondu's funeral if he were to die. It's a stark difference, but one that he came by honest so he shouldn't bitch.
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He's still listening though. And the society he comes from, being married and respecting your wife doesn't necessarily preclude a carnal relationship with someone else. But even if it did: "Nothing wrong with thinking," Devero says. "Goodness knows I've done my fair share of it."
He tucks his arm under Yondu's where they're pressed together, taking that rough blue hand in his own if the Centaurian lets him. "I'm going to guess that 'respected his wife' means he wouldn't have done anything even if he'd been thinking the same thing about you?"
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He lets him do it, though, doesn't argue because he seems to need it and he thinks it's helping. Maybe the ease is helping him a little, too, just because over the months those layers of caution have gently been chiseled at.
"She was really good with swords so I woulda probably died so it was a healthy respect. ...But she was real good lookin', I wouldn't have minded an invite. But uh... he hated me real, real bad at the end there. I messed up. But at one time I was worth savin'. He didn't think twice about it. And I put 'im in a position where I broke his heart."
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He hugs Yondu's arm against his side. "What did you do?" he asks, low and diffident. He's careful not to look at Yondu as he asks it, giving the man metaphorical space if nothing else to answer.
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But he mulls it over. Soldat listened to him. Della listened to him. Eva listened to him.
"There was... somethin' like a god. Called a Celestial. His name was 'Ego'. He... he was goin' around from world to world, sowin' his wild outs. Knockin' up a bunch of species. Made a helluvalot of babies. An' one day he decides he wants to find 'em. He knew which one of us to ask. He knew which one of us didn't get how family really worked an'... which one of us just wanted the power that came with bein' wealthy. Bein' truly free. He knew which one of us was the weakest.
"Stakar had this Ravager code. One of the rules... we don't deal in kids. An' I thought I was bein' slick." He says it all distantly, finding some other place in the distance to look at. "If I was just bringin' 'em back to their daddy, that didn't count, right? I was a taxi service. An' he had a whole planet what he could keep 'em on. Nice place, gorgeous even."
He works his jaw. Sighs. "Started gettin' more attached to 'em, more I brought to 'im. Had fun with it. Would tell 'em big adventure stories. Promise their old man was waitin' on 'em. Then I picked up Peter Quill, an there was... I dunno, somethin' that he said when I called 'im. Made me realize none of those other kids'd be waitin' there when I took 'im to Ego's world. His own flesh an' blood, an' he'd just thrown 'em away.
"I ain't a good man by a mile but I'm better than my folks. When I knew what was gonna happen there wasn't no amount of money that'd convince me to take 'im. So I didn't. But when I told Stakar what I'd done, asked for help, that was the end of anything good I really had. Learned a real hard lesson in greed that day that I had to pretend not to know to my dipshit crew. Had to make Quill look like crew, like he wasn't nothin' special. Never had anybody give a real damn about me after that, not unless they was afraid of me."
And there, Devero could make the educated choice as to whether he wanted to sit on that step or not.
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It's a hell of a story. The general arc of it could be straight out of a historical stream set Before: the well-intentioned man deprived of opportunities and given an opportunity to gain back some of what he's been denied, who turns a blind eye to how he's betraying his ethics in pursuit of that opportunity and ultimately has to make a choice. Of course, there are a lot fewer aliens in the historical pieces, and they usually end with the main character making the wrong choice and destroying himself because of it.
Obviously, that's what Yondu thinks he's done. Devero knows him well enough by now to be clear on that, at least. But unless he's missing some context or detail, he's not sure that Yondu did make the wrong choice.
He leans forward a little, glancing sidelong at the other man. "Is that the first time you realized that he'd been-- using those kids, rather than caring for them? When you contacted him about Peter?"
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But he still doesn't look at Devero, it's his way of hiding. Just staring somewhere else.
"Maybe if I'd been less of a dipshit at 'im... I got real defensive. Like somehow he didn't understand but- He got it. He did. I was just too stubborn to listen. So I guess that's what bothers me. My one real accomplishment that was all mine was protectin' one boy an' tryin' not to be hated too much."
He sighs.
"Messed that last one up too. So when I get kicked off the train? That's what I go back to."
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He makes an effort not to tighten his grip on the arm he's holding, and his voice is laudably even-- he's leashing that occasionally volatile temper of his-- but Yondu can no doubt feel the way Devero's tensed up a little beside him.
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He does note that he tenses.
"I just wanted to see 'im smile at me one last time. I shoulda left 'im be." He thinks back to that maze, despite himself. To the smiling image of Stakar. To him yelling at Soldat that he knew he wouldn't get a happy ending, to just let him have this and pretend he was wanted.
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This time he looks directly at Yondu, rather than sidelong, and his eyes are hooded with sympathy. He has an idea how Yondu feels-- he would have done about anything to see Alejane smile at him one last time before he'd been thrown out of the Guard, or to have just one of his superiors acknowledge that what he'd done out in the field that day had saved an entire camp of civilians even if he'd shattered protocol doing it.
He moves to interlace his fingers with Yondu's now, if the other man will let him. "Even if you got mad and acted out, he still should've been able to see that you were trying to do the right thing."
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"I was greedy." He reiterates. "I'd been greedy for a long time before that. We were a team for ten years or so." And all that time he'd loved him. "I'd... Well, like I said, I fooled myself into thinkin' if I was as rich as the people what owned me, I'd never be in that kinda position again. But I was too damn foolish to realize the expense their wealth came from. It'd cost me that much, too. I think Stakar could see it happenin' but I was just... I dunno... I dunno."
He trails off and only notices then that Devero's slipped his fingers through his. In his mind this confirms how casually Devero dispenses affection. Which is fine, gives him a better grasp on it.
"I never did it again. If there was a big payout for somethin' I ought not do, I'd find a way to steal it without doin' the deed. Or I'd turn the mission around. Take less of a payout for somethin' I could claim to my crew was less risk. Made enough to get by an' keep things runnin'."
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But Devero's less worried about what Stakar understood and more about the well-being of his friend beside him.
"You were trying to protect yourself," he says. "How better to protect yourself from people with money than money of your own, right? You were making the best decisions for yourself as you could given the context. And when you realized that you were being used, you could have put your head down and kept taking that money, Yondu.
"But you didn't. You had a choice and you made the right one, and then you kept making the right one, not only for yourself but for your people."
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Finally he looks at Dev, really notes that he's looking at him. Then sputters a soft laugh, because that's not even been what's weighing on him so much. But he told the bit that might make him lose people, and for whatever reason, he's still sitting there.
"Needless to say I guess you figured out why I didn't see nothin' wrong with what you did."
It's obvious that he has difficulty forgiving himself. Like an unsurmountable peak he'd been struggling with. Yondu would probably never find it in his heart to love himself to any extent. The closest to any sort of self-care he allowed was sometimes letting someone sate his want for affection.
But it's nice to hear that someone sees something in him. Maybe it's improvement born out of guilt, but it's something he's genuinely stuck to. So finally he nods and accepts the statement. Yeah, he's done that. He's stuck by it, as difficult as it was.
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He lapses into silence for a moment, but continues before it can stretch very long. "My sense of scale about the severity of... certain things... doesn't really match anyone else's here," he says.
"Do you know, where I come from I'm... a lot of civilians would probably tell you I'm dangerous to be around? Because of my service record--" He has to pause, because this number that once felt like a heavy burden seems almost insignificant here. He actually laughs, though the sound is brief and humorless. "I have eight kills on my service record. All eight judged without recourse-- all eight, clean. But there are people who think combat vets with a record like that ought to be, I don't know, confined or medicated or directly monitored for the rest of their lives or something, because you can't trust a person who's killed so many people."
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"Eight? Well, hell, ain't you a skanky reprobate." He rolls those red eyes of his before chuckling. "You don't wanna know how many I've killed. You don't wanna know how many I killed the day I came to this train." He cringes.
"I figure y'all'd have me in some kinda mask an' a straight-jacket. No matter what my reasonin' was." He's right, to Yondu? It feels insignificant. "You ain't like me, though. Even if I wasn't trained from a young age to do it, in my very nature I'm a hunter. It's in my genes. It's in the way I watch people movin'. For someone raised differ'nt, not built on bein' a predator, and taught to be lovin', 'sgotta hurt a lot worse."
He at least understands that.
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"You wouldn't be the only one," he says softly, trying to-- reassure, almost? He knows Koumyou's body count is sky-high, and he also knows these two are not the only ones on the train who've come from hard, violent realities.
"It's more than just-- being taught to be loving--" (He likes that.) "On my Earth, human life is... indescribably precious. We almost went extinct in the Apocalypse Plague. Population dropped from over eight billion to less than a hundred thousand humans in a matter of years. We lost so much-- knowledge, skills; our history; novel genetics.
"I don't know if I can articulate how-- how taboo it is to take any human's life, where I come from."
I don't know what this metaphor is but I sure as shit typed it anyway
Sometimes there's something deeply significant in having no purpose besides prompting fondness.
But that's beside the point. The normalcy in having peers with your problems is oddly comforting, especially when they don't come with the threat that peers would usually mean in his home universe. When he first showed up, he had used his skills from doing Ego's dirty jobs to corral kids. But he can't bring himself to mention that, that their sins can help them now. It's not much of a comfort.
"You're just fucked up enough to relate to folks what need ya. Even if ya only got eight stains on your shirt, an' everbody else has so many notches on their belts they can barely hold their britches up."
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"Most folks from my world wouldn't know what to do with people like you and Koumyou," Devero continues, shaking his head. "That's the point of Scorpions like me, to keep the rest of the citizens of Gov far, far away from anything that might stain their shirts."
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