Travis Touchdown (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rank1) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
returnjourneynet2022-03-12 11:59 am
rank1) wrote in returnjourneynet2022-03-12 11:59 am
#8
[The recording flickers on to the ground, and the toes of red and white skater shoes, flanked by the tattered hems of a pair of jeans. The camera sways, the recorder's attention elsewhere, and there's a peek at a pair of sleek stiletto high heels on a woman's feet. Off-screen, Travis sniggers –– he just can't help it. When he speaks, he's thoroughly self-satisfied:]
Play nice, okay?
[When the camera is finally pulled up, it drags along a pair of long, stockinged legs until it's fixed on a beautiful young woman with long blonde hair. Rouged cheeks, long lashes, the whole package –– she pouts for the camera like a pro. She's wearing a blouse with bishop sleeves and what would normally be a pussybow collar, but it's worn open to the ribs, low enough to reveal the gore of her bra. (It might be a little familiar.)
She is flesh and blood and bone. No foam to be found here.]
What do you think of the ship so far, Sylvia? Sweet digs, right?
[Sylvia tosses her hair over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. When she speaks, it’s with a French accent and an attitude.]
It is a prison. I’ve seen worse. One of you had better be a trained manicurist!
[Travis scoffs and wheels the camera around so he's in the shot, too. He reaches an arm out to her. She checks her nails and sighs before stepping under Travis’s arm, wrapping her own around him and resting her head against his chest. She pouts, turning big doe eyes up at him.]
At least I have you, darling. You’ll protect me, right?
[Travis's eyes widen briefly, but he doubles down to declare:]
Of course, baby. Best ten tickets I ever spent.
[Yes, this is the most obnoxious video the network will ever have. Fortunately, it is over: the feed cuts off there. Just be glad Travis isn't into PDA.
And no, Travis has not become a VFX specialist. Sylvia, a flesh and blood human being who is totally not someone else, can be found with Travis around the ship. Maybe you'll catch them eating lunch together with food taken from the mess hall, with Travis waving down anyone who shows even a glimmer of interest to introduce his wife. Maybe you've stepped into the observatory and found them on a weird little "date", arguing about the multiverse –– Travis seems to approach the subject from a purely sci-fantasy approach, while Sylvia's take is more grounded in reality. Or you've just stepped into the gym, and here's Sylvia bored as Travis lifts increasingly heavy things in an attempt to impress her. Or just around!! You do you!! In-person meetings may happen before the network post because William is gonna come down on Travis' ass ASAP after this post.]
Play nice, okay?
[When the camera is finally pulled up, it drags along a pair of long, stockinged legs until it's fixed on a beautiful young woman with long blonde hair. Rouged cheeks, long lashes, the whole package –– she pouts for the camera like a pro. She's wearing a blouse with bishop sleeves and what would normally be a pussybow collar, but it's worn open to the ribs, low enough to reveal the gore of her bra. (It might be a little familiar.)
She is flesh and blood and bone. No foam to be found here.]
What do you think of the ship so far, Sylvia? Sweet digs, right?
[Sylvia tosses her hair over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. When she speaks, it’s with a French accent and an attitude.]
It is a prison. I’ve seen worse. One of you had better be a trained manicurist!
[Travis scoffs and wheels the camera around so he's in the shot, too. He reaches an arm out to her. She checks her nails and sighs before stepping under Travis’s arm, wrapping her own around him and resting her head against his chest. She pouts, turning big doe eyes up at him.]
At least I have you, darling. You’ll protect me, right?
[Travis's eyes widen briefly, but he doubles down to declare:]
Of course, baby. Best ten tickets I ever spent.
[Yes, this is the most obnoxious video the network will ever have. Fortunately, it is over: the feed cuts off there. Just be glad Travis isn't into PDA.
And no, Travis has not become a VFX specialist. Sylvia, a flesh and blood human being who is totally not someone else, can be found with Travis around the ship. Maybe you'll catch them eating lunch together with food taken from the mess hall, with Travis waving down anyone who shows even a glimmer of interest to introduce his wife. Maybe you've stepped into the observatory and found them on a weird little "date", arguing about the multiverse –– Travis seems to approach the subject from a purely sci-fantasy approach, while Sylvia's take is more grounded in reality. Or you've just stepped into the gym, and here's Sylvia bored as Travis lifts increasingly heavy things in an attempt to impress her. Or just around!! You do you!! In-person meetings may happen before the network post because William is gonna come down on Travis' ass ASAP after this post.]
no subject
"I don't have any money back home, either." And then, as if she really is Sylvia: "Don't worry, though. I'll go kill someone so you can get the new spring collection."
He still does not know any designer names.
"You think humanity would unite against a robot uprising, or would we struggle to set aside our differences?"
no subject
He should probably be discouraging, uh, killing people for money, but then again that isn't inherently a bad thing, right? Loki can't judge without context. He thinks. This is a moral question to ask the other wardens when he's wearing something less revealing.
"In my experience, humanity is always more concerned with itself than anything else." He likely wouldn't have gotten so far with New York if anyone other than SHIELD had any awareness of life beyond Midgard. "They'd probably put a little team together. One for each country, or something. Then those teams would probably end up fighting each other more than the robots."
no subject
"Yeah, sounds about right," he replies. "That's fucking grim, though. We'd get annihilated because we were too wrapped up in politics. And that goes for anything, right? Aliens, zombies, mole people..."
no subject
The full face of makeup, impeccably applied. The use of Travis' communicator—to be honest, the fact that she'd let him hold it. When William checks the ship's manifest she's nowhere to be found; when he checks the dorms there's no newly arrived selection of designer clothes. (There is, however, a familiar foam form laid out on Travis' bunk behind a drawn curtain.)
As he follows the tracker—showing inhumanly fast movements in rigid lines reminiscent of, well, a video game—he reflects that he should have skipped the footwork, gone with his gut. The post had been smug. There'd been none of the happiness—stomach-churning as it had been—he'd glimpsed when Travis first introduced Sylvia.
He enters the storage facility quietly—not that it matters much, humming as it is with activity. The machinery drowns out most of what's being said, though he catches the cadence, the lilt of it. He watches the tracker a moment, gauging how fast Travis is moving, what direction. Entertains for a short, pleasurable moment the idea of bringing the machine to a smoldering halt with a stun bolt.
Who does he know who's fucking smug?
He calls Loki.
no subject
He plucks it out from where'd tucked it into his bra (which thank God he was able to conjure that for himself, at least), frowning when he sees who it is. On the one hand, it isn't Jack so he's not obligated to answer. On the other, curiosity and cats.
Switching fully to his own voice, he answers, "Yes, William?"
no subject
"Come on, babe, you're taking a call now?"
Like he can course correct.
no subject
Glaring, he slaps a far-too-small hand over Travis' mouth. Shut! Up!
no subject
William's voice is—well, it's competing with a similar ambient mechanical rumble, but it's even and toneless to the point of severity. "I have a message for you. From the Navarch."
The pause is deliberate.
no subject
His mind is racing with possibilities, none of them good. Shit, she probably heard about him threatening Malekith. Shit shit shit.
no subject
"Get the fuck off that forklift." He enunciates carefully, the words grim. "And if he's hurt coming down, on your head be it."
no subject
“Huh?” There’s a note of confusion as he adds: “Hurt?”
Somehow that feels more pressing than getting caught sitting on a forklift with a warden “dressed” like his wife.
no subject
When he opens them again, he looks like himself. A nervous version of himself, but still. Lifting the CommLink once again, he says, "You'll have to be more specific about which 'he' you think has been injured."
But he's already moving to drop down onto the ground, disappearing his CommLink in favor of looking for wherever William is. When he spots him, he shouts over the din, "It was just a bit of fun."
no subject
The jump off the machine is hardly graceful, and he ends up jogging a few steps after the landing just to not trip on his face, but he recovers quickly and jams his thumbs in his belt. He’ll let Loki make the excuses —- he doesn’t have any for a bit of fun.
no subject
He leads them out of the warehouse, away from the noise and rumble. A bit of fun grates on him—a schoolboy excuse, well-worn. At least Loki isn't smiling. “Fucking up is one thing. Needing someone to explain how—that's inmate shit.” His voice is contained. There's some trouble along the line of his jaw—he studies Loki a long, long moment.
“What was funny about it?” Barely a question. He tips his head toward Travis. “Tell us both.”
no subject
At William's question, he raises his gaze from where he'd unconsciously dropped it, glancing between Travis and William. Then does it again, confusion furrowing his brow.
Is this a trick question?
"I mean, this we did together. This-- the last broadcast. People thought the foam figure came to life." That's what is funny. Does William not get that? Really?
But then he considers Travis. How he could have taken it. The point he had been trying to make.
"Oh..." Pause. "Shit."
He's such a condescending asshole.
no subject
He looks between the two of them.
“What? We had a good time, and look at her. She’s—” Travis gestures at Loki, which occurs to him as a rather useless gesture, given its visibly Loki. He forgets what he’s about to say. Okay, redirect. “People can’t seriously be bent out of shape about this.”
no subject
For starters. The more immediate thing is a little harder to admit in present company.
He turns a little to face Travis more directly. "As...fun as the joke was, I did intend to teach you a lesson with it. Initially."
His eyes cut to William, not sure if this will make him less or more annoyed.
"I meant to remind you that there are people back home who would want you to focus on getting back to them. And that they-- and everyone else here --aren't objects for your amusement." Even if teasing Rhys was really amusing.
"But that was...very obviously deceptive and manipulative. Now that I say it aloud." He inclines his head, contrite. "I apologize, Travis."
no subject
He has a strong desire to put his head in his hands, or turn and walk away.
“You thought,” he says, his voice low and precise, “that by letting him feel you up on the network and go for a joyride, you were teaching him to focus on the reasons he's here? You thought that by playing everyone on the ship for fools, making them witness an inmate cuddling up to a warden in lingerie, you were teaching him not to use people as objects for his amusement?”
His tone doesn't dip into sarcasm, tempting as it is. He regards Loki levelly, flicks a look to Travis. “Is that what you got from this?”
no subject
"Dude, I didn't get any of that," he says, "I thought we were just having some fun."
No harm done, right?
no subject
"That's how it started. Then Travis suggested we play a prank and it-- it sounded harmless enough."
The defensiveness in his tone shifts a little, going melancholy as he thinks through it all. He shrugs, crosses his arms across his chest.
"I suppose I missed my warden, a bit." His eyes stay resolutely on anything but either of the other men. "And I was looking for a distraction from...recent developments. Selfishly. So it got out of control."
His brow furrows as he continues, mostly to himself. "And it's been a while since..." He clears his throat, glancing up again. No need to get into that. William might understand the complexities of gender expression but he gets the feeling Travis would make it, well, weird.
"I'm not the God of Role Models, alright? I've got some...bad habits. And this hasn't been the best couple weeks." He blows out a breath. "So. Thank you. William. For jogging me out of it."
He licks his lips nervously. "Are you going to ask the Navarch to demote me, or...?"
no subject
This is the second time he's ditched him to talk to a warden.
Once they've shaved off a sliver of privacy, he sighs. It's guarded, his gaze fixed on Loki. “None of them know what it was like. But you were there.” He swallows, works his jaw as if around a broken tooth. “You can't—this isn't about you. You know how many times I saw inmates forgotten because some warden decided it was time for their bullshit to take center stage? You have to handle your shit. You can't make them answer for it. Talk to someone. Hell, talk to him”—a vague gesture in Travis' direction—“but you can't decide to mask your bullshit with someone else's. I don't care if you're a god where you come from or a fucking mailman, wardens don't do that.”
He shoots a glance in Travis' direction, lets out another sigh. “Tell me why you should be here. What you have to offer.”
no subject
no subject
He listens attentively to William, which is clear in the myriad emotions passing over his face at every word. This is humiliating. William is right-- he shouldn't need to be told to be better than the wardens on the Barge.
But maybe he isn't.
When William asks what he has to offer, that's where his mind lands. Maybe nothing. Maybe this was a mistake, just as much as Malekith's presence feels like a mistake. He scrubs a hand over his face, takes a deep breath to try and force himself to think of something. Something that makes him worthwhile.
William really couldn't have asked a more difficult question. Honestly, the thing that begins drawing him out of the self-loathing spiral is the fact that he feels ashamed rather than insulted and enraged. That's...something. That's proof that he has become less of a unrepentant asshole, at the least.
Tentatively, eyes flicking between William's and the floor, he starts, "Well. Experience, like you said. Knowledge of the worst I've seen, both in inmates and wardens." He licks his lips. "And with how floods and ports can go, I can fight. I can get people out of the way of danger." A hesitation, then, "And, respectfully, though this--" He gestures vaguely around the room and back at Travis. "--was misguided, perhaps a sense of humor is exactly what some inmates need. You know how self-serious some of them are. It's...good, to laugh at yourself, sometimes. It humbles you."
He's not going to be laughing about this anytime soon, but it was part of the initial idea. Tease someone into recognizing their faults when pointing them out directly would only lead to defensiveness. It worked. Sometimes. He's certainly feeling humbled, particularly given he had been so dedicated to ignoring Malekith's presence that he hadn't really considered how he would react if Loki was caught doing this.
"I think...I think that might be the main thing, actually. For both of us, really. Proof that you can improve enough to get your second chance, but you still fuck up and have to try again. So if you fuck up while you're an inmate, it doesn't mean you're a lost cause." He meets William's gaze more steadily, now. "I didn't think I was capable of graduating, at first, but I managed. So, maybe not a role model, exactly, but. An example."
He cocks his head and raises an eyebrow as he points out, "Besides, if wardens were meant to be infallible, I doubt the Navarch would have hired the literal devil."
no subject
He doesn't agree with some of it—most of it. But it's an argument, better than Loki telling William what he thinks he wants to hear. Far better than a warden who doesn't think about these things at all.
“They're not the joke,” he says, his voice tight. “And you should try talking to them before you go playing Lear's fucking fool. It's not as flashy and you don't get anywhere near the attention, but who cares? If it means they spend one less month here.” He breathes out, looks over to Travis.
“Okay. In the name of fucking up and trying again, I want you to go to Warden Command”—he points down the hall—“and write a report on this shit you pulled. I'm gonna talk to the Navarch about your powers.”
He almost turns to go, stops himself at the last moment. “I know it's a lot of pressure, but it's invaluable, what you can give them. It could make all the difference.”
no subject
"Understood." And then, hesitantly, he adds, "Thank you, William."
It's sincere, but it's all he can manage at the moment.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)