they never told you it was like this

[brainsqueeze]

CHARACTERS: Maria Hill + anyone boozing up for Shepard + Javik
LOCATION: Space bar
WARNINGS: Swearing + manly tears
SUMMARY: A 'wake' for Lydia Shepard and Javik
NOTES: Be sad, drink and mingle??

Comments

[brainsqueeze]

( The message had said 1900. Maria had arrived there a lot earlier. She'd gotten a drink, had slowly drank it, had gotten a second and it was still sat on the table in her booth, untouched. The message hadn't quite sunk in despite the truth of that day. Maria had heard the transmission before the jump - she'd been making sure that all SHIELD personnel were in their pods, particularly those that had gotten lost when Shepard's message had come across. Maria had listened for as long as she possibly could, the klaxon blaring down with the length of time left before the jump. Minutes. She hadn't heard the rest of the transmission until later that day but going into her pod Maria knew that Shepard was still out in the ship. Still lost.

She'd looked afterwards for her - checking the pods, the showers and lockers and even the comms... just in case. There was nothing. The end of the transmission really hit that home but it wasn't something she wanted to believe. They hadn't gotten out with everyone else, and they hadn't gone back. There'd been those advocating against it despite knowing that people were still lost - that Shepard was. That frustrated her, and the fact that people were now dead because of inaction... the break in her finger showed her feelings on that.

As Maria waited for others to arrive she tried flexing her fingers again, but there was nothing but pain to be found there. The bruising and swelling had come up quickly, but it was her own stupidity. She took a sip from her drink, shifting her thoughts, and looked around the bar for anyone that had since arrived. A few minutes after seven Maria slid out of her booth, glass in hand )

I only knew Shepard, but it shouldn't have happened to either of them. They were good at what they did, and good people. ( And left an impact. Shepard had gotten a lot of people together and Javik had left them with a strong message. It sounded like something to follow, or look to ) They kept going until the end - searching, fighting. ( Fight until you die )

We can't give up. ( Can't let the damn ship win, or go against good advice. Or what good people tried to do. Finishing off, Maria raised her glass ) Lydia Shepard and Javik.

[cabins]

So say we all. [Roslin raises her beer in solidarity, speaking the refrain familiar to any from the colonies.

She had barely known Shepard. But that didn't matter. She was still one of them, and she had risked her life to keep them safe. No one's sacrifice like that should go unnoticed. That was something she thought every day as she adjusted the survivor count on-board Colonial One. She was thankful for each and every man, woman, child, civilian, or military personel that had given their lives.

This extended to both Shepard and Javik.

Some time after Maria was done with her speech, Laura, further into her bottle, moved to find her.]

This was, I hesitate to use the word lovely, but necessary. Appropriate, I suppose. Thank you, Maria.

[brainsqueeze]

( Necessary. Maria would take lovely over that. She knew what Laura meant - doing something to honour the fallen was needed, but hell if it didn't make anything about this feel a little bit better. Lovely... at least what she'd said had come across right. What the hell were you supposed to do )

They deserved something.

( And something better than this, but what else was there to give them? No burial, anyway. Just an attempt at a bit of peace for their friends )

Shepard had the opportunity to leave before - on the outpost. She wouldn't - too interested in knowing what was happening here.

[darkart]

[ Severus does not check in on the network when the announcement is posted, and he does not show up on time - or even fashionably late. It's impossible to tell if he was actually present for Maria's eulogy or not for how unnervingly quiet and unobtrusive he can be when he wills it (opposed to how intimidating he can be, at other times). Only belatedly does it occur to Severus that Maria might not even recognize him: he's one of those stubborn text-only people on the network, and he stalks fleetingly in and out of the comms liaison HQ, only interacting when necessary.

But she's quick. He assumes she's picked up on him before now, and if not, she'll figure it out swiftly. ]

Shepard had hand-written notes in her quarters. [ An abrupt, but soft-spoken opener. Severus is careful to approach Maria with this when they're unlikely to be overheard. ] They're in a shorthand I don't immediately understand. I believe it's imperative they be processed along with the rest of the recon intel.

[brainsqueeze]

( He's not immediately familiar, at least not with a name. Maria had seen him in the hallways as part of Nathan's group, though there were many there that she hadn't spoken to then or since. Many she didn't know.

It doesn't take too long to put a guessed name to him. Someone that Shepard would trust, and part of the recon. Someone that she might have left notes to. Out of the people Maria knew there weren't many names on that list. Nice to meet you, Snape - the unsaid greeting )

When can I get them?

( Because she certainly didn't expect that he'd have brought them here, not if he was already doing this privately. After the network message earlier that day about someone wanting to take over recon? She was more than glad for some secrecy )

[c24]

[ Shortly after her speech, John comes forward to sit beside her with his own drink that he nursed patiently. One or twenty, it's not going to have much impact, so why go to the trouble? ]

Short and sweet. That's the best kind really...

[ He hates long speeches, and not just because they're fucking long. When someone goes on and on during a funeral or a wake, it always seems to gradually revere the speaker and not the dead. Every time. Besides, what in the hell are the fancy words going to help? The person's dead. Telling everyone about what lessons we can learn from their passing is pointless. He knows what lesson to take: Don't die. Not that he has to worry about that anymore, he supposes. ]

[brainsqueeze]

It gets it across.

( Everyone was here because they knew Shepard - they all had their own stories. Outside of recon Maria hadn't known her well. Emphasising what had been done, and what still needed doing.. it was better. Don't give up. Don't die.

Maria took another sip of her drink before putting the glass down on the table, turning the glass around slowly for a few seconds )

This is what I was doing before I arrived.

( She'd been faking someone's death really, but there were still preparations for a grave - a bit of a service. Her job again )

ota.

[kutte]

[ this is a hell of a wake. it's not like the one they'd given half-sack, or the one they'd given his father. there's no casket, no body, no nothing. it's a bunch of people sitting together and drowning their grief in alcohol. that's not really new, but the lack of ceremony is. maria says some pretty words and that's it, that's all there is to it.

it's just as well. he didn't think shepard would be much for any kind of ceremony.

but it leaves jax at loose ends, slouching against the bar with a bottle of whiskey at his elbow. he's not swigging from it yet, holding a glass loosely as he watches the people assembling, but it's still early. he might yet abandon his glass. ]

[darkart]

[ Severus is not mingling, or sharing, or properly utilizing this (honestly very thoughtful) moment at all. When he does show up - late - he immediately goes to speak privately with Maria, and only long enough to get across the information he's shuffling.

It's after that when he makes his way over to Jax. Wordless, Severus reaches over the bar and grabs a glass. He sets it on the bartop, picks up the bottle of whiskey Teller's keeping for company, and pours what's probably just over two ounces - he's not a drinker, but it's not a bad eyeball for a double shot's worth. Bottle is set down, glass is lifted. He looks at Jax for a brief moment then knocks the liquor back.

Severus sets the empty glass down overturned on the bartop, and leaves. ]

[kutte]

That's it?

[ jax calls after him, a little louder than is probably necessary. alcohol doesn't do much for volume control, sorry severus. ]

You got somewhere to be?

[ which is as near as jax gets to issuing a request for severus to stay and get trashed with him. isn't that how you mourn for people you've lost, wizard or no? ]

because you didn't have enough already right

[brainsqueeze]

( She owed him a drink. Maria hadn't said it to Jax but he'd done her a favour with her hand, and he looked like he needed it. She'd let herself be a distraction for his pain after the jump, now he could drown it some more.

Maria doesn't say anything after walking over. There's an empty glass in her left hand, and once she's sat down Maria grabs his bottle of whiskey, pouring some into her glass before making to take his own glass and fill it some more for him. Drink up )

there is never enough

[kutte]

[ jax huffs a laugh, watching her. he doesn't stop her pouring herself a whiskey, doesn't stop her filling his glass. he appreciates the gesture. it's the best one he can think of, just this quiet exchange of alcohol, maria saying pretty words jax doesn't think he'd have managed to call up himself. ]

You want to toast to her?

[ he asks, tipping his glass, liquid sloshing. ]

[makedo]

[ brad is angry. he's angry with himself for forgetting what happened between losing contact with their comms liasion and waking up to severus shaking him on a beach, he's angry with the ship or whatever entity has been getting into his head, manipulating him, he's angry with shepard for dying.

there's no outlet for that anger, and so he pushes it aside, swallows it down, ignores it. that's what you do, isn't it? he's trained to stay combat effective even in emotional situations and he knows how to square himself away.

he was never supposed to do it for this long without relief, without being told, at some point, to stand down. but this is hostile territory, and what happened to shepard and javik just proves that. so he's not letting his guard down.

he's got a responsibility, here — but for tonight,he's got a glass of something clear and clearly alcoholic in one hand, and his m4 is in his quarters. he's here; he won't look approachable because he doesn't feel it. ]

herro frand!!

[c24]

[ Self-pity talking here, but lately John wonders if he's cursed. Or maybe he's just hit his stride and he's peaking. Which fucking blows now that he's super human. How shitty is it to be an impotent immortal? First his friend, then his whole squad, and now the closest thing to a CO they had on this boat. Or, fuck, maybe he's just drawn to shitty odds.

Either way, it's the worse time to be immune to alcohol. Sister's even here--Goddamn, today is awful.

Alright, pity-party over. He drags his glass off of Hill's table to leave--Or find another one. He considers passing Colbert by, not exactly up for a one-sided conversation here, but... With one less man standing, he figures he can't waste time avoiding his own anymore.

So he sits what he's got left in his short glass on Colbert's table and takes a seat. He's got nothing to say, but what's there to say? ]

hulloooo

[makedo]

[ what's a wake good for if not some self-pity and drowning sorrows? though that makes brad wonder whether reaper can actually still get drunk at all or if the weird martian supergene means he can't even get drunk anymore.

he's not going to ask, though.

instead, he gives john a nod, acknowledgement of his presence more than anything, and doesn't say anything either for the longest time.

brad's a mess, he can admit as much in the silence of his own mind, to himself. ( there better be no telepaths around. )

when he does speak, it's with a wry curl of his mouth. ] You know, you left something behind when you left last time.

[ he used chef bouyardee and a skin mag to cheer up the men in his team; he can do this now. what's the cardboard lady good for if not this? ]

[debts]

[ Natasha shows up late. Well-- within some discernible definition of late. She ran one mission with Shepard, talked briefly, liked her in so much that liking anybody matters in this place. This is the first time in a little while that Natasha's felt clear-headed enough to rattle around in an environment that's near sociable. That is to say, felt okay enough to give a fuck whether her smile reaches her eyes, plays convincing for a community that's going through the paces of grief.

It's probably no surprise that she makes a beeline for behind the bar, smelling and uncapping odd bottles to try and figure out which has the closest approximation to vodka. ]

[brainsqueeze]

It'll probably work faster if you drink it.

( Maria had seen her come in, and had pulled herself away from whatever little bit of conversation she'd been involved in. There was a lot of conversation happening, and steadily going to more than she wanted. If Natasha hadn't shown up then it might have been time to grab the vodka and let Pepper know she was leaving. Where was a little bit of quiet when you needed it? At least now she wouldn't have to talk - they didn't have to, not talk. No expectations were a good thing )

[debts]

[ Her brow lifts. ]

Is that what we're doing?

[ Like Natasha's never been to wake at a bar. She has, in her time, and she liked Shepard. But mourning isn't quite the same for someone who has lived one too many lives and names. Split enough hairs, and none of it matters until you decide it has to matter -- until you think about how precious life is. And Natasha, she's been doing that a lot lately.

Another beat, then Natasha picks up a bottle. Clear, or at least clear enough in a way that makes her approve of it. ]

Heading out?

ota.

[lostsoldier]

[ It's a funny thing, mourning. If he's done it before, the soldier doesn't remember. People die. Without much warning or ceremony, in his experience. Most the time he'd caused it, and even when he hadn't, well, the kind of people he remembers weren't known for their longevity. (None of the cars he’d remembered seeing below the fire escape when he’d snuck into Natalia Romanova's bedroom window for the last time had been manufactured after 1960, and even if she was a survivor, he knows her life wasn't the kind that lets anyone grow old.) You live today because you expect to die tomorrow, or the next day, or the next, and it’s no surprise when that day comes.

There’s something alien to him about dwelling on it, then, about having the luxury of stopping and expecting the world to stand still long enough to appreciate loss. He’s quiet in his corner of the bar, lurking in black jump suit against black bar stool in a spot where the light doesn’t shine so harshly, and he swirls whatever space moonshine was nearest in his glass.

(He’d listened to Shepard’s message a dozen times since. He’d rifled through her things with detached efficiency. He’d taken the book from under her mattress and slid it above a ceiling panel in one of the half dozen empty rooms he has coded to his nanites, and he’d sat, wondering if it shouldn’t have been him, if the orders she hadn't had the chance to give sooner wouldn't have been to go back out there to find her team, coordinates or no coordinates. If she would have left anyone behind the way they did her.)

At times, though, he presses his mouth flat in resignation, offers to reach around for a bottle or pour a drink, or just nods greeting to a stranger. Shepard had sent him on a mission, after all, and that mission’s not done. There’s no time like the present to start regrouping. ]

kate bishop.

[lostsoldier]

It's not that he doesn't know anyone else -- or rather, it's not that he isn't perfectly content to lurk in the corner of the bar creepily watching people all by himself, but Kate's here, and he's here, and there's enough that he wants to talk to her about and enough that's not worth expending the energy of hiding from everyone else that, for once, it's him who seeks her out, sliding into the empty seat at her table and half collapsing his elbows onto it with a distinct wince at the bend of his flesh-and-blood shoulder. He looks tired, but alive, and sane enough to fake it.

"Are you even old enough for that?" he starts with a nod to her drink, in lieu of a hello. His voice is rough, the humor dry and understandably strained, but that he has a sense of humor at all right now is probably a good sign.

[alsohawkeye]

"If I'm old enough to live it I'm old enough to drink about it," Kate replies, which is more bitterness than she was aiming for, and so she tightens her fingers where they wrap around the glass and lifts it in his direction, adding with a hint of a smile: "Legally? Just barely. Twenty one a week before I got here." Cheers.

She's in long sleeves, some ship-issue black crew-neck tee that covers the damage the hallways have done, except for a fading shiner on one sharp cheekbone and the pink of a new and already disappearing scar nearly hidden along her hairline. Her eyes are sharp despite the suggestion of circles beneath them, and she looks him over as he flops down. "Age finally catching up with you?"

[debts]

[ Later. When things quiet down (as much as they can -- grief doesn't exactly make people known for loose lips, so quiet is a relative term), Natasha makes herself known. Her hair is a little less uneven than it was last, the hacked off ends grown out, red and tickling the curve of her chin. To say Natasha's here to mourn would be an error, because mourning is a funny thing -- you live a certain way and you know that you'll die. That you've made others die. That everybody dies. Dramatic, maybe, but also the truth to a certain kind of reality.

Natasha, her smile barely reaches her eyes when she sits next to him. Close enough that their shoulders touch when she leans across to take the bottle from him, thumbing at the rim. ]

I want to ask you something.

[ Notably, it's left open. He can say no if he wants to. ]

[lostsoldier]

[ His eyes follow her the way you watch a cat casually invade your personal space, without hope or particular desire to deter. Trust is a capricious thing for either of them, but a certain physical comfort level comes easier, and the corners of his mouth make tired curves in return. He's not unhappy to see her still in one piece (even if she is stealing his booze). ]

What?

[ She can ask, anyway. ]

William Tsang | OTA

[dogbane]

[Initially, William is uncomfortably sober. This is partly because a friend recently triggered in him the certain instinct to camouflage his substance use tendencies, playing at sound mental health the way that parrots play at French.

This is partly also because some tragedies deserve to be felt. And if not at a wake, then fucking where, right?

His face is blank, though, when he shows up with his ID discs but dressed down. A general failure to express one's emotions is not actually exceptional, given the trends of male socialization in near about every universe ever written about; he drops his eyes when Maria Hill makes her speech, raises his glass, with a little less appetite than he usually has in anticipation of a cup of liquor. Knocks it down fast, though, and abandons the glass on top of the counter.

Afterward, William is the figure stooping over the end of the bar, cupping a single, crudely-hewn stick of incense in the shadow of his hand, the other end of it plowed into the silky white silt of an ashtray. He lights it, and the scent is immediate-- savory and sharp and hopefully nobody's allergic or that would be profoundly embarrassing. There is something very familiar, quick, almost automatic about the way he dips into a bow. Three times. His hands stay interlaced, head down. He doesn't say anything; one presumes that that is how it is done, even in absence of a shrine or proper symbol of either of the two soldier.

He hunts his glass down again, though, and that is very deliberate.]

Closed to Kate Bishop

[dogbane]

D'you smoke? [He hangs his head into view by her right shoulder, though standing far apart enough to qualify for polite distance. It's been a few months since Fire Team Hastings, and Fire Team Hastings didn't turn out to be as memorable as the latest nightmare, but still. You don't forget who you were in the foxhole with.]

I dunno why I di'nt ask in fucking May. Probably 'cause I was hoarding like a selfish prick. [Grief causes generosity though apparently. He offers her one bright stick, the second-last of the two in the little box clamped loosely between his ring finger and middle. William looks somewhere between sober and drunk, friendly now in a more staid sort of way than he used to be.]