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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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'."
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
He knows that 'cause it's how Yondu would feel in a similar situation. Only Koumyou with accept his face with depressing grace, where as Yondu would break things and sulk over the futility of it all. A ball of unsteady, volatile emotion. Koumyou was passionate but in a surprisingly controlled way (at least by comparison).
He turns his hand to look at Devero's knuckles, to see what shape his fingers are in. "Back in the maze, mission before last, I was reminded of... what happened, before I came here. I had a crew of over three-hundred men. But this upstart managed to rally a good two thirds of 'em over to his side because they all figured out that I favored Quill more'n they'd like. Somethin' happened an' my fin broke- like I mentioned when I showed. I got knocked out. Couldn't fight..."
He relaxes his hand then, letting the joined pair rest on Devero's knee. "The mutineers killed 'em. Just chucked 'em out the airlock. One after a-goddamn-nother. All of 'em beggin' for my help, all of 'em. Just left to linger. When Rocket put my fin back on I ended ever' damn last one of 'em. Later though... My last moments out there in space? I was ready for it. I deserved it. I shoulda been with them. An' if they didn't find their own places to go ahead of me then there ain't no sense of cosmic justice in any universe."
But there. He's said it. "Keep wakin' up to dreams about 'em bein' pissed I left 'em or scared I weren't savin' 'em."
no subject
He remembers Yondu's broken fin-- how could he forget, given that the first time he ever met the man he'd been tinkering around with technology connected to his brain? And he remembers Yondu telling him about fighting the like-a-god, and saving his son. But the mutiny part? That's new, and heartbreaking.
The expression on his face is nothing so much as stricken by the story-- not pitying, just full of empathetic pain for what happened to the crew loyal to Yondu, and then Yondu himself. This is definitely one of those situations where he doesn't know what to say-- almost feels like he has no right to say anything, not with this yawning gulf of experience between them.
"Rust and fucking ruin," Devero breathes. He covers Yondu's hand with his other as well, now holding it tightly between them both. "I-- I'm so sorry, Yondu."
no subject
He doesn't even know what to say about it. He can barely talk about the tragedy.
"That's why I'm all fucked up lately. ...An' I guess all the other reasons I been fucked up. I asked Raven to get one of them dream catchers for me." Which is the most he thinks he can manage. Other than that, he's just waiting until he can join them.
no subject
"'The past is a warning, the present a gift, and the future a promise'," he continues. "That's what they say on my world. You can learn from the past-- you can look at everything you did and you can figure out where you made your mistakes, where you failed your people--" That part Devero understands, even if the scope of his failure is completely different than the tragedy of the mutiny of Yondu's crew. "--but you can't live there. Only place any of us can live is in the present, and the only direction we can go from here is forward."
He pauses a moment, rubbing Yondu's hand gently between his own as he thinks about how to phrase what he wants to say next. "Your crew is-- is gone," he continues finally, "but you're not. And you're not alone here, Yondu. Maybe we're not your crew, but you're as much a part of this community as any of the rest of us."
He looks over, trying to catch those red eyes. "You don't have to carry all of this pain alone."
no subject
"I don't got much future left ahead of me." Despite saying that, he does see what he's trying to say. Even if this particular past- he didn't do anything to deserve that, he doesn't think. He wouldn't sell out his son, and some people stood by him. Then they died for it, and he can still hear their desperation in calling for him. Sometimes he doesn't even have to be asleep. The memory just intrudes.
"An a lot of the people on this train are kids. I hate puttin' things too heavy on 'em. They're dealin' with enough of their own. Hell, fresh off of everythin' just as much as I am. You're even dealin' with too much shit to be worried about none of mine." Because Yondu, even if he's been through hell, he's through hell. Devero's still in it back home, has to struggle his way out of it.
"Shouldn't have said as much as I did just now." And he's not even mentioning the paranoia- the reality that at some point someone will hurt him with what they know. He's accepted that he'll lose people gracefully, but that doesn't mean he's prepared for a lashing.
no subject
He uses his grip on Yondu's hand to bang their joined fist against his knee. "If I'm here, it's because I want to be. I'm asking you to respect that, okay?"
He's realizing he's real tired of someone else deciding what's best for him, or what he can and can't handle.
"You're right about the kids," he adds, gentling unconsciously. "None of these kids should fucking be here and it's our job to make this experience as easy on them as we can. But I'm not asking you to tell any of the kids all the stuff you just laid down on me; I'm asking you to let me and the other adults help hold you up, like--"
Now his voice goes really quiet. "Like you helped me, the other night. Is that what a community's for? Mutual support?"
no subject
Yondu has friends here, but most (with a few exceptions) of them are parents like him, he realizes. People that have raised children. Otherwise it's been remarkably hard to get close to people. Somehow he guesses with other parents that they'd not be needlessly aggressive towards him and that he doesn't get, but he's always surprised at the instant connections.
"I'm scared of y'all." He admits.
Scared of what? He'll get closer to people and have that hole in him ripped open again when they leave. He'd mess up and see someone look at him with contempt every day, every day because he cana't leave this place. He'll have to sit there and watch people die absolutely helplessly.
He's even a little scared of this man that's only got eight stains on him. But he did tell him as much as he did. He did crawl into bed with him and try to hold the cracks together when he saw him starting to break. His thumb moves in the hands wrapped around his, rubbing along the first joint of his index finger. A tiny little trapped motion. "It was a lot easier doin' what I did for you."
no subject
He opens his hands up a fraction, enough for that thumb to move more easily or reach farther, but otherwise does not yet relinquish his hold on Yondu's hand.
"What are you scared of?" he asks. He can make some educated guesses based on everything Yondu's told him so far, but he wants to hear him say it. That's what Koumyou keeps doing to him, after all, and damn if it isn't helping.
no subject
"Speakin' of not helpin' ourselves... Sanzo's pretty sure that you're gonna give up on him eventually. Now I know you don't got no intention to, an' provin' otherwise is an uphill battle. He mighta even told you as much himself.
"But I think a part of it is... an' I ain't sure about this? But I think to him that's almost a happy endin'. If he loses you that way, it ain't from you dyin'. It ain't from you turnin' out to be someone else. I know there's other shit in there but I think part of him expectin' you go is seein' that as the best outcome. He cain't think of no better."
Yondu steeples his fingers in front of him, elbows on his knees, and sneers in thought. "Just next time ya talk to 'im or somethin', don't think of it as a lack of faith or him givin' up on ya. Think of it as this really bass ackwards way to want happiness. That's probably the most realistic good end turn-out in his head."
no subject
Plus, he picked the right subject to dodge too. Devero listens to him gravely, his expression growing almost haunted as Yondu lays that out. He knows that Koumyou expects him to leave him someday, that's not news, but that Koumyou might consider that their happy ending? Oof.
It makes so much sense now that Yondu's said it, but it still makes his heart hurt. He actually has to look away to compose his expression, clasping his hands together and pressing them against his heart for a moment.
"Rust and ruin," he says quietly, sounding a little shooketh, as the kids say. "I... I think you're right. Oh, Koumyou."
no subject
"So don't get too insulted, don't take it as him losin' faith. Take it as what it is. Probably the last bit of self-preservation a holy man will allow himself."
He pats Devero's shoulder, finally, then gets to his feet so he can keep ascending the stairs towards his earlier target. It's a lot to leave him with, but it's something that needed laid out before a bigger misunderstanding could happen.