Pathéma Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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pathemaooc2017-04-26 04:26 pm
pathemamods) wrote in pathemaooc2017-04-26 04:26 pm
Entry tags:
Test Drive #2
Now I’m certain that you all have many questions, so perhaps you’ll permit me to explain. I, Eros, Son of Ares and Aphrodite, God of Love and Sexual Desire, have brought you to Pathema for a very simple purpose. I offer you sanctuary from the trials and tribulations of your all too dreary existences and in return, I ask only one thing of you. Your devotion. I have seen how reluctant you creatures can be when it comes to matters of the flesh, and so I have ensured that all of you shall have the proper encouragement. Surely you must be aware by now that each of you have been fitted with a collar. I wouldn’t try and remove them if I were you. Your petty magics, or force, will do little more than cause them to tighten I’m afraid. Over a period of fourteen days, your collars will tighten. I’m told it’s a terribly uncomfortable experience and I wouldn’t suggest you push your limits but you mortals are rather a stubborn lot. Still, never let it be said that I didn’t try to warn you. Now if at the end of those fourteen days, you have still refused to show your devotion to your God? You will simply cease to exist. Oh, come now. I am not a cruel and capricious God. You’ll be permitted to return to your previous state of existence, for the mere price of something that you hold dear. A memory of those trivial times from before you were brought to your new home Ah, yes. I do believe I have your attention now, don’t I? But of course, how can you, mere peasants, show your God how much you adore him? I should think the answer is very simple, don’t you? I am the God of Sexual Desire after all. |
SPRING FESTIVAL: Flowers are in bloom, birds are singing their love songs, and the residents of Pathéma are celebrating the arrival of Spring! Stalls of flowers can be found in the market place, fresh pressed juices and berries are sold and everyone feels more friendly than usual.
At night, bondfires are lit on the beach, and tables of food from your world are displayed alongside food from foreign places. Music is played all night long, and dancers pull strangers to join them, while the fire breathers put on a show for all to see. At midnight, fireworks light up the night skies before the party rages on until the sun comes up.
Blankets are available all over the beach, some giving more privacy than others...
NETWORK: Everyone is provided with a communication device that gives them access to an island-wide network. These can be used for so many things! Send pictures of the drunk guy at the bar, your boobs or whatever you want!!
WILDCARD: There are forests, mountains, marketplaces, all sorts of places to go and explore on the island. Ideas for settings can be found on the locations pages!
**TDM threads can be used as your sample in your application! It can also be considered in game canon if it is agreed on by all characters involved in said threads.
network
The pictures aren’t half bad either, all things considered.]
Agent Carter. [Polite greetings are appropriate even under unexpected reacquaintanceship.]
I think you could work on holding it more level to the ground when you're taking shots, but otherwise I wouldn’t say you come across as picture-mad. Maybe a little creepy, sure, but I think most people would kill to have someone like you stalk them. Or, y’know, be killed trying to be since you probably wouldn’t be doing recon on ’em unless they were suspect anyway.
no subject
Sergeant Barnes. Forgive my rudeness, but I mourned you at a very moving funeral.
[It had been lovely, even if she hadn't cried the most, but lovely all the same]
Is everyone able to hear us?
no subject
[Long story, obviously. But, y’know, devil’s in the details. He figures that’s enough leeway into the matter without getting too specific, and he doubts she’d prefer hearing it over a device when she could hear it face-to-face. Mission Report: That Day You Fucked Up. Yeah, it’ll be a real grand time.]
Everyone with one of these puppies like us, sure, if they bother looking. So. Pretty insecure and definitely more open ended than you’d probably like.
no subject
I don't understand any of this. I don't understand where we are, what these devices are, how I can be speaking to you, and what these bloody collars are.
[Her temper is starting to flare, which is a terrible thing because she doesn't think there's anything to punch around here. He's alive and they hadn't gone looking, which is good enough to send her to a spiral of guilt, which only makes her angrier and more frustrated at the whole thing]
no subject
He takes a deep breath, trying to keep focus in the conversation.] Easy there, Carter. Easy.
That last photo you sent. I’ll meet you there in five. Okay? [And for posterity’s sake:] I’m not unarmed. Combat knife. Just the one. No guns or anything else.
no subject
Yes. Fine. Five minutes. [Barnes hardly deserves the clipped tone, but she's having a particularly trying day and men coming back from the dead are a touch too much for her to deal with]
Bring one for me, if you can.
> action
Rather than respond, he chooses to wait for her on location. It was a message posted publicly, so the sooner they move away from the point of interest, the better it’d be anyway. That means no dallying or fumbling with any distractions.
She’ll find him standing near where the shot was taken in a pair of dark jeans and a long-sleeved red shirt, arms crossed. There’s a glove over his left hand, and of course he’s much scruffier than he used to be, even if his hair is still rather neat despite the length.
no subject
She takes brisk strides (that are ruined by the sandals being an utterly ineffective mode of transportation) and she lets the first question in her mind be the one she focuses on. "How did you get clothes?" she demands, gesturing to the ill-knotted toga she's wearing. "This is all rather embarrassing, people keep staring at me," she says irritably.
no subject
His hand reaches into his pocket to dig his out, the smartphone looking device that wasn’t connected to anything but an internal network. Ultimately not too useful, but a nice paperweight at least. “I’ll show you on mine, but we probably shouldn’t stand around. That was a public post and all.” The “unless you want other people finding us” is implied.
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"Yes, I know that," is her sharp response, fiddling with buttons irritably. "Bloody technology, it's as bad as Howard's bad babies." She's in a particularly foul mood and she finds herself tugging at the binding collar around her neck, wishing for it to loosen.
no subject
“Hey— Hey, don’t pull at that. It’s not—” He sighs through his nose, trying to keep his cool. Her frustration is anything but surprising, but even as much as he respects her right to get upset, it’s hardly helpful at present. “Just follow me, okay? I’ll take you to my place. You can... You can borrow something. Won’t be pretty, but it won’t be as revealing, and then we can figure out the rest from there, okay?”
no subject
"That sounds good, lead the way," she says, wondering whether it'll ever be the time to ask her other questions, but priorities dictate that they get out of public and she becomes far less noticeable. Ill-suited clothes are still better than an ill-suited sheet, so she's more than happy to take up Barnes on his offer.
no subject
A curt nod signals his acknowledgement of her words, and he’s immediately on the task, leading them toward where he finds his residence on the isle. It’s thankfully not far, though in the sandals, it’s likely not the most convenient journey. As if anything on the island is convenient anyway. Once arrived, he holds the door for her and gestures her inside, keeping an eye out for any prying eyes.
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Peggy fears if she does that, even more will be revealed. "Were you kidnapped too? Did you hear that odd voice in your head, left with nothing but these awful things to wear?"
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“Yes. The god fancies himself something quite special. Thinks sexual slavery is within reason as it’s. Fun. Or whatever.” He tried being as formal as he could, but it’s hard to think of a polite way to say it.
He tugs out one of his smaller dress shirts, from the old days, and a pair of brown slacks. “Here,” he offers with his left hand holding out the clothing as his right hand searches for a belt or... Ah. Suspenders. When it’s in his grasp, he hands it to her as well. Bucky adds, “You can change over there. I’ll wait here,” while gesturing to the bathing area that’s walled off to the side.
no subject
She hooks the suspenders and makes a noise to let Bucky know that he can turn around, even as she fiddles to look for the clasp to her necklace, though finding none. "Sexual slavery," she deadpans, far from impressed. "That sounds the sort of thing deviant men in Hollywood prattle on about to claim themselves enlightened," she notes with distaste. Hands on her hips, she studies him pointedly.
"Now," she says, "what happened to you? How did you survive? What happened to your arm?"
no subject
The question doesn’t really beg an answer.
“Don’t know if this is a story you’re ready to hear though,” is the reply he provides for her latest questions. His teeth clamp against his lip as his eyes search aimlessly for a moment, presumably for words, before he drifts toward the bed to take a seat. There aren’t many things in the way of comforts in the house, including seating beyond the stoop by the fireplace or the toilet in the bathing area, so the bed is his best bet. “Not that I think anyone is really ready for it, honestly.”
no subject
Some stubborn part of her insists that if that's the case, she'll go out choking. "No, I don't," she concedes, trying to regulate her breathing before she truly embarrasses herself. "Sergeant Barnes, if you think I don't care about what happened, you're wrong," she reminds him, gentle but with steel in the words. She crosses her arms over her chest as she looks down upon him. "You don't have to tell me, but I want to know how we could have missed this."
no subject
Sighing with a huff, he shakes his head at her presumption. “Ain’t saying you don’t care. It’s just. Really complicated and. There’s nothing good about it. At all. I can barely talk to anyone about it as it is without people lookin’ at me like some kinda ghost. That’s just the fact of it. I ain’t playing you on that. Promise.”
He knows she’s sure though. In the same way that Steve is sure, and even if it means that Peggy might slip in the same way that Steve consistently has for the last couple of years, he knows he would feel more guilty to keep the truth from Peggy. Also that he’d likely cave eventually anyway, and if it happened at a later date it wouldn’t be pretty.
“Maybe you should sit down? Hell, I need to sit down. To really talk about it. So.” A shrug follows, trying to ease off the weight of the request as much as possible. Hard to do when gravity drags it down anyway though.
no subject
"In your own time," she allows gently. "I don't want to rush you." She manages to catch his gaze, reaching out to lightly squeeze the fingers of his hand with hers before relinquishing, letting the tips of her fingers trail, as if she's reminding herself that this is real.
"We all thought that once you fell from the train, well, we thought that was it."
no subject
But he doesn’t feel rushed, even with what likely should have made him feel so, her discomfort from earlier and the barrage of questions. Though it could likely have something to do with the training Hydra had given him to ignore meaningless anxieties, he feels that this particular cause has more to do with the fact that it almost seems a legend now, something so old and untold that only he is aware of the full details anymore.
“I did too,” he starts after a lengthy pause, used to gather his words. “Thought I was a goner. Until I wasn’t.” His fingers fold together, laced as if natural, but the metal is always stiff against his flesh. “Steve made it so I didn’t have to say much. About what Zola did to me. And, well, I wasn’t really lying in the debrief. Saying I didn’t remember much.”
Bucky swallows now, reaching the point he knows would stir Steve’s anger if his best friend was listening to the tale. “He was trying to make the serum though. Erskine’s. Trying to remake it. Beat it. When Steve got put all over the papers and the radio, it only moved the plan forward. They started taking test subjects. Choosing the weak. The sick. Y'know, like Steve used to be.
“I caught pneumonia a couple weeks after capture. Shit conditions, shit sanitation. Of course we heard about the experiments and how people weren’t comin’ back from the medical wing, so I fought it off as much as I could, but with the munitions manufacturing they were making us do, my body couldn’t keep up, and... Well. Got several of those prototypes. I think. A lot of it’s a blur. But I do remember injections. And lying on that table for hours while a bunch of ’em were leaning over me. Just didn’t expect any of it to make me stronger until it actually did.”
He couldn’t have known it would have succeeded. All the other test subjects were dead, after all. He was Zola’s last guinea pig. And then later his Soldier.
no subject
Still, for all that his story is awful, it still means that he's managed to make it out alive. She can only imagine what they had done with Barnes, knowing that they hadn't simply done the experiments for the purpose of science. "Then?" she says, quietly. "How did you escape?"