Agent Washington (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unrecovered) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
revenance_rpg2012-10-12 11:19 pm
unrecovered) wrote in revenance_rpg2012-10-12 11:19 pm
Not As Planned
Characters: Wash, North, and Epsilon
Content: North is confused, Epsilon is shut down on account of being a jerk, and Wash is on the verge of a furious breakdown. Let's see what happens, shall we?
Location (including world): First District, Traverse Town
Time of Day: Afternoon, after this post
Warnings: Definitely language.
Wash just about ran through the street, barely a few feet behind his bat. Fang had found Epsilon and was leading the way, at least as far as Wash could tell. He was trusting the bat on this one - right now, he was so frustrated and angry and upset (though damned if he allowed himself to acknowledge that one) he almost couldn't think straight. Damn it. Damn it. Why Epsilon? Why now? He'd just barely started getting used to having North around again - something he'd never even dreamed of having - and now Epsilon's presence meant he'd have to answer all those questions he'd been avoiding, if only to keep up the illusion of Everything Being The Same, because sometimes lies were easier and he just-
/The schematics were faulty, Alpha. The plan didn't work. Agent North Dakota is dead./
He winced, swearing under his breath, but his stride never faltered. He'd learned to cope with Epsilon's memories - that didn't mean they didn't still hurt.
It didn't take long for Fang to lead him to the robot body, where a very upset Pricklemane bristled and hissed and spat at the sight of him. "God damn it- look, I'm not going to hurt him, okay?" Wash tried, patience worn to the point of snapping, but he couldn't kill a Spirit, especially since it belonged to someone. "I just. Couldn't let him talk."
That sounded bad even to his ears, and evidently the Pricklemane agreed, because it was not backing down. Lucky for Wash, Fang decided to take matters into his own...wings...and squeaked at the Pricklemane, distracting it and evidently explaining just what was going on. It was enough to let Wash get close to Epsilon.
This robot body was going to be too big and too heavy to move on his own. He could start Epsilon again, but then that wouldn't solve any of his problems - he'd just be facing a rebellious AI face to face instead of over a network - and that still wouldn't change the fact that Epsilon had talked to North, and-
His breathing had never slowed once he'd stopped running, he realized. In fact, he was starting to feel like he couldn't breathe at all, like his helmet was too constricting, like everything was trapped inside his head once again-
/Agent North Dakota is dead./
With a strangled half-scream, he tore his helmet off his head and let it fall to the ground at his feet. "God damn it, Epsilon," he gasped, "God damn it! Why did you have to show up? I was- I was fine!" That was a lie. He wasn't. He was pretending to be fine because there were questions he didn't want to answer, questions about AI and betrayal and insanity and death, and he couldn't avoid them anymore. Not now. "I was doing fine!" His voice was rising and he was beyond caring. "And you- when you show up, everything just- my life goes to hell when you're around- I- you- God damn it, Epsilon! Why couldn't you have fucking stayed put!"
He gasped for breath, rage spent. That was it. He was done- or at least he thought he was, until the memory of Alpha's torture, of Alpha's frantic grief at the thought of losing an agent seared across his mind. He let out another short, strangled yell and forced the memory down. He didn't ask for those, didn't try to bring them up, and they came at the worst goddamn times, and he couldn't deal with it now.
It took him a good half a minute of doing nothing but breathing, gasping for breath and then slowing as he finally calmed down, before he could get himself under control again. With one final breath, just to steady himself, he bent down and picked up his helmet. How the hell was he going to do this?
Content: North is confused, Epsilon is shut down on account of being a jerk, and Wash is on the verge of a furious breakdown. Let's see what happens, shall we?
Location (including world): First District, Traverse Town
Time of Day: Afternoon, after this post
Warnings: Definitely language.
Wash just about ran through the street, barely a few feet behind his bat. Fang had found Epsilon and was leading the way, at least as far as Wash could tell. He was trusting the bat on this one - right now, he was so frustrated and angry and upset (though damned if he allowed himself to acknowledge that one) he almost couldn't think straight. Damn it. Damn it. Why Epsilon? Why now? He'd just barely started getting used to having North around again - something he'd never even dreamed of having - and now Epsilon's presence meant he'd have to answer all those questions he'd been avoiding, if only to keep up the illusion of Everything Being The Same, because sometimes lies were easier and he just-
/The schematics were faulty, Alpha. The plan didn't work. Agent North Dakota is dead./
He winced, swearing under his breath, but his stride never faltered. He'd learned to cope with Epsilon's memories - that didn't mean they didn't still hurt.
It didn't take long for Fang to lead him to the robot body, where a very upset Pricklemane bristled and hissed and spat at the sight of him. "God damn it- look, I'm not going to hurt him, okay?" Wash tried, patience worn to the point of snapping, but he couldn't kill a Spirit, especially since it belonged to someone. "I just. Couldn't let him talk."
That sounded bad even to his ears, and evidently the Pricklemane agreed, because it was not backing down. Lucky for Wash, Fang decided to take matters into his own...wings...and squeaked at the Pricklemane, distracting it and evidently explaining just what was going on. It was enough to let Wash get close to Epsilon.
This robot body was going to be too big and too heavy to move on his own. He could start Epsilon again, but then that wouldn't solve any of his problems - he'd just be facing a rebellious AI face to face instead of over a network - and that still wouldn't change the fact that Epsilon had talked to North, and-
His breathing had never slowed once he'd stopped running, he realized. In fact, he was starting to feel like he couldn't breathe at all, like his helmet was too constricting, like everything was trapped inside his head once again-
/Agent North Dakota is dead./
With a strangled half-scream, he tore his helmet off his head and let it fall to the ground at his feet. "God damn it, Epsilon," he gasped, "God damn it! Why did you have to show up? I was- I was fine!" That was a lie. He wasn't. He was pretending to be fine because there were questions he didn't want to answer, questions about AI and betrayal and insanity and death, and he couldn't avoid them anymore. Not now. "I was doing fine!" His voice was rising and he was beyond caring. "And you- when you show up, everything just- my life goes to hell when you're around- I- you- God damn it, Epsilon! Why couldn't you have fucking stayed put!"
He gasped for breath, rage spent. That was it. He was done- or at least he thought he was, until the memory of Alpha's torture, of Alpha's frantic grief at the thought of losing an agent seared across his mind. He let out another short, strangled yell and forced the memory down. He didn't ask for those, didn't try to bring them up, and they came at the worst goddamn times, and he couldn't deal with it now.
It took him a good half a minute of doing nothing but breathing, gasping for breath and then slowing as he finally calmed down, before he could get himself under control again. With one final breath, just to steady himself, he bent down and picked up his helmet. How the hell was he going to do this?