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Shakedown dreams walking in broad daylight

The ship had taken sixteen people. Led by Nathan Petrelli, they’d stormed the bridge, only to be confined behind the closing doors. Now the only way out was to somehow pry them open, blow them apart or technologically beckon them to release the mutineers.

Enjoy those doors, guys, and the impending deaths of your fellow crewmates.

[OOC: This is the rescue log! But feel free to use this log for things that aren't rescue attempts as well. The staging is very loose so that it can be used for any purpose you have in mind.]

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[Edgeworth's head pounds. He feels sick to his stomach. He scarcely registers that first prod; his head stays bowed, and he just stares at his hands. It isn't until the second tap of foot against leg that he even looks up.

He doesn't even bother to guard his expression. His brows are drawn, his eyes narrowed, his lips thin. He looks miserable. But he says to Sirius - ]

Help me up.

[As soon as he's on his feet again, he can make another of it.]

[Sirius is no master of subtleties, especially as subtleties relate to human emotion and their expression. But he can read his friends fairly well--and, anyways, it's not as if Edgeworth's expression is closely guarded or subtle in the least bit. It's bloody miserable, and it doesn't take a Seer to realise that.]

Don't be stupid.

[Don't get up, he means, because Edgeworth is white beneath that expression. He crouches beside him, wand in hand.]

You're eating. That's why I called you. Not so you could get up.

[He looks down, swallows, shakes his head.]

We don't have...any time left. I -

[He tries to push himself up. It goes badly; he only rocks forward before falling back again. It's a faint movement, nothing more.]

We can't take breaks. Not now.

It's a break so you don't exhaust yourself and die, you git. You are aware that your nose is bleeding, right? I'm hardly a medical expert, but even I know that's probably a bad sign.

[He pushes at Edgeworth's shoulder, pushing him back against the wall.]

Stop. Wait. We're going to get them out, but not if you bloody well exhaust yourself in the effort. We need you, don't be stupid.

We only have - an hour and a half. It's...

[He drags the back of his wrist across his upper lip, scrubbing away the blood, like that solves the problem. At once, more wells up; he dabs again as he speaks. But he doesn't try to get up again.

And he admits, quietly:]

I could use a - drink of water.

And we'll get them out.

[He says it, firmly, his jaw set. There's no one in particular that he cares about, stuck on that bridge. That doesn't mean that they deserve to be crushed at the jump. Far from it. But he levels his gaze at Edgeworth and doesn't let up with it, like his conviction is going to be strong enough to hold him together. Who the hell knows if they will or won't, really. But there's no room for that.

But at Edgeworth's admission, he nods, tightly, and shifts so he can get out his wand. He conjures up a glass, gets a bit of water in it--magic is more than useful at these mundane tasks, at least, for all that it's bloody useless on the door. It's a bleak thought, one that makes him feel bloody useless. He holds the glass out to Edgeworth quickly, trying not to dwell on it overmuch.]

Here.

[He's shaking when he takes the glass, and the water jumps and jitters; he has to use both hands to keep from spilling. But the water steadies him a little bit; when he lowers the glass again, his hands are better, and his face is less pinched.]

Thank you.

[But he takes this as a cue to try to stand again, leaning forward and getting to his knees. He's stronger, but not nearly strong enough for this.]

[Gently, though not without a nudge more force than maybe is necessary, Sirius pushes him back.]

How long have you been at it?

[And he sinks, exhausted, back down onto his haunches. Not back to sitting yet, still squatting, still ready to rise - just not able to.]

I...don't know.

[He smiles, tiredly, and shoves at Edgeworth's shoulder again. This time it's more bracing than an honest attempt to push him back.]

Give someone else a chance at it. You aren't even very good with that stupid-- ability of yours. Magic. Whatever.

I know.

[But that isn't an admission of defeat - not precisely. It is a hollow admission of guilt; it is not, as it should be, any indication that he feels absolved of anything. It is miserable.]

I don't know...why I didn't spend more time - I ought to have trained it more than I did.

[He takes the glass out of Edgeworth's hand and refills it for him. Pity there isn't a wine out of nowhere spell, he could bloody well use it right now.]

No. You're meant to say that you are good at it, I don't know what I'm talking about--and it's not magic, by the way--

[He grabs Edgeworth's shoulder with his free hand, in a bracing grip.]

C'mon, mate. Stay with us.

[And that does break through a bit. For Sirius to admit any sentimentalism, for him to be girlish enough to confess he's trying to cheer someone up, is rare enough that he does pay heed. He takes the glass again, drinks again.

Sirius has lost his pretense. Edgeworth will as well: his voice has a tremor, but he doesn't turn away from what he says.]

It's not going to work. We're going to have to leave them. To die.

[He looks to the door--firm, impervious, made of God knows what--and his mouth tightens again. But he doesn't admit to anything that he's thinking. He shoves away from Edgeworth, busies himself with refilling his glass.]

What, you're a seer now? You don't know that. We've got-- hours left, hours and hours. Makes all the difference.

[He doesn't even shake his head. He just looks down and says, quietly:]

We've been trying for six days. Nothing will change.

Shut up.

[He looks up, abruptly, though the glass isn't yet full.]

Just shut up, Edgeworth.

I'm sorry.

[He raises a hand to his face. He shouldn't be saying this where others can hear; they still might be clinging to some hope that this will turn out all right. He shouldn't be saying this at all. He should have solved this, through wits or brawn or something.

He's Security; his job is to keep people safe and secure, even those who got themselves into stupid situations. Never before, never in his life, has he had to give up. He's never given up, even when he thought he wasn't smart enough or good enough, even when the odds seemed against him; always, he's kept fighting. And now it comes down to this: keep trying, or preserve his own miserable hide.

And he can't deal with the decision he's going to have to make. Because he didn't have the wits, or the brawn, or the something.]

We need to start - mobilizing people to get to the jump. We -

[His voice catches; he feels tears welling up. He drags the heel of his hand across his eyes.]

[Sirius is quite capable of lying to himself. He can put off thinking about a great many important things, if necessary, by just not talking about it, not confronting it, not considering it. And he doesn't give up, and he doesn't leave people behind. He wouldn't know where the hell to start with that. There is a little selfish impulse in him that seeks to protect those closest to him with more ferocity--but that doesn't mean he turns his back on anyone.

He doesn't look at Edgeworth. He looks at the doors, which are as immobile as they were yesterday, an hour ago, six days ago. Merlin, what a stupid chancey scheme, and it's stupid for Sirius to cast that judgement--he's only capable of it because he's not in there, he didn't mobalise with the rest of them--but he might have, any other day.

Doesn't matter. None of it matters--they're trapped, that's what matters, and he narrows his eyes at the door before he turns back to Edgeworth, grabbing at his shoulder again in earnest.]

Let someone else worry about that. You've done more than enough, with this shit.

[And he drops his tone, but his voice is no less steady for it--]

We're getting them out. One way, or another, we're getting them out. All right? We're getting them out, they're not going to die in there. Not like that. So stop talking like they are.

[And Miles Edgeworth - he wants to have faith so badly. It's almost a joke, that cranky pessimist Edgeworth, who refuses to believe anyone or believe in anything, would be so desperate to believe. But the abandonment of those people - but giving up on them, leaving them to die - is so utterly counter to everything he is, everything he needs to be, that he'll seize onto the least encouraging word. He has to.

And so he nods. He swallows hard. He looks up again.]

I haven't done enough yet. Please help me up.

[He stares at Edgeworth, a moment, his jaw set--and then he grabs for his arm instead, grips at his forearm, and stands, making to tug Edgeworth up with him.]

Come on, then. But if your stupid nose starts bleeding again, I'm tying you to a sodding chair until you wait it out.

It won't.

[It will; this isn't the first nosebleed he's gotten in the past few days, nor the first headache. The first time, he'd wondered if he'd given himself an aneurysm; he still worries that he might be causing himself damage. But there are things that are important, and in the grand scheme of things, that's not one of them.

And Sirius won't go through with that threat.

He locks his knees, strains, finally rises to standing again with Sirius' help. He's far from steady on his feet, and holds onto his friend longer than he'd like; but a moment, and then he drops his grasp, nodding firmly a moment thereafter.]

All right. Maybe - if we do it at once.

[He keeps that firm grip on Edgeworth as long as he's permitted to, without making any sort of big deal about it. And he won't make good on that threat of his, and he knows it, just as well as Edgeworth himself knows it--because he knows what it is to have to act, to be useful, to do something, to the last possible second. He understands that better than anyone.

So the inclusion in the action is appreciated. He gets out his wand, ready to square off against the doors once more.]

Are you trying to push 'em down or pull 'em open?

Push them.

[He'd tried to pull at first, knowing that when they came down there would be less risk to the people behind them. Now he just needs brute force at any cost.]

Are you ready?

[No more plan than that. Nothing beyond push.]

[Even another round of pushing is better than nothing, and so Sirius doesn't question it. He raises his wand, sinking back into a firmer stance.]

On three, then. One, two-- three--

[And he pushes--something very like depulso or flipendo, but much more aggressive--a charm that comes more from within than anything else, a great exertion of force. It would feel like a massive hand shoving at you, if you were in its way--but it's the door that he focuses on, his jaw set--]

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Shakedown dreams walking in broad daylight

oh I know that....personally

unsure...........................

:')

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