🤢

[naloxone]

Part I. Hello Nurse! ❷

[ it seems only right that in marta's initial exploring, she would happen upon the infirmary first. call it fate, call it coincidence — whatever the reason, her feet have taken her here first (before she could even find a room to call her own for the time being). it shouldn't bring her as much comfort as it does, but that's why she lingers in the space despite not having any ailments or injuries of her own to tend to.

she turns a corner — had there been a person on that exam bed the entire time? she could have sworn it was empty just a second ago but no, it's definitely occupied now. by you. whether you're in distress over having suddenly woken up here, or simply dazed and confused about your current condition, marta is walking over before she can even think twice about it. instinct just kicks in. ]

It's alright — My name is Marta. I can help you.

[ it seems a pretty bold statement from someone who'd just happened upon the scene, but despite the quiet aura about her there's an assuredness that's hard not to notice. ]

Part II. Knives In ❸

[ the armory is probably the last place anyone would expect someone like marta to be in, but curiosity and a desire to be prepared has her finally venturing into the room after a couple days of waffling outside of it. standing in front of the console, staring down at the knife she'd just picked up from it, she realizes why she shouldn't have come in the first place.

with a dry look, she presses her palm into the tip of the knife, but rather than the blade piercing through skin, all that happens when she pushes down is triggering the mechanical spring in the knife to retract into the hilt. a fake knife. of course.

she shakes her head. but despite her exasperation, there's a hint of fondness in her tone as she says (to no one in particular), ]

You're laughing at me, aren't you, Harlan?

Part III. Red Herring ❾
CW: SYRINGE, MURDER, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE & THROWING UP

[ the beginning plays out like it has so many times before, only this time it's made all too real by the spell of the orb rather than just the memories and nightmares of her guilt bearing down on her mind: marta pushing the medicine through the syringe into harlan's port, the old man sighing wearily over his family's undoings. they share a tender moment, ruined all too quickly by the realization she'd been mistaken — the vial had been wrong.

fast-forward to harlan on his couch, holding a knife to his neck, pleading with her to go, hurry, remember his instructions do it now— but then she blinks, and this time it's marta's own hand around that hilt, pressing the blade against his neck. still he pleads with her, hurry, do it now. ]

No. It's not real, [ she says to herself, over and over like a chant as she watches from the other side of the small room, ] it's not.

[ each time she says it, she waits. holds her breath for the telltale churning in her stomach, the fluttering and contracting in her throat. but no such signs come, and each time she breathes a little breath of relief. it's not. ]

Comments

[sgr]

( the armory might be the last place most people are expected, but in troubling times like these, it's the exact place they might eventually show up. while steve isn't the most vocal supporter of people taking up arms if they aren't prepared for it, he can understand that even the most unlikely of person might just want to learn a thing or two when it comes to their own survival. he'd never deny them that.

so, it isn't entirely unusual that when he walks into the armory he finds a woman there with a knife in her hand. he decides to leave her to it, but when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye, he looks over again in time to see her press the blade against her skin. he fumbles over a sound, the bulk of it stuck in his throat as he takes a step toward her in an, eventual, aborted bid to stop whatever the hell she's doing. but—

the blade retracts and nothing at all happens. she speaks, but he doesn't really hear what is said; his balance more on his toes and one arm reaching toward her, his body frozen as the situation catches up to him. were anyone to look in, it might seem somewhat ominous )

It's fake?

[naloxone]

[ marta hadn't expected to be walked in on, despite standing in such a public space. caught up as she had been in her quiet moment thinking of an old friend, she'd been wholly unprepared to hear someone speak, and suddenly so close to her too. she looks up, ready to explain—

and then her entire body freezes with a flash of fear that the man (the myth, the legend) is probably unused to seeing directed so viscerally at him. she stumbles on a step back, away, but even in her obvious fright it never occurs to her to actually lift the weapon up (fake or not) to defend herself.

of all the people she thought she might see here, he was not one of them. she'd not known him to have any regrets, after all.

and yet? something's... off. his hair a little too short, a little too blond; smile lines around the corner of his eyes that don't match up to the scowls she's so used to seeing in family gatherings.

still. still she has to ask, has to make sure— ]

—Ransom?

[sgr]

( true that isn't a look he's accustomed to being sent in his direction, but he also doesn't really think much of it, not in the way she might. he can only imagine he's scared her half to death just rolling all up in here like a silent, stealthy slab of beef. that's, at least, what he's thinking as she backs away from him. steve has the foresight to remain in place, instinct kicking in that he needn't go a step closer.

his arms lower, shoulders dipping slightly as if he somehow means to make himself a little smaller, narrower, to not cut such an imposing figure. the situation needs diffusing and he'll do what he can to get it there.

at the question — just one little word — he opens his mouth then immediately closes it. ransom? ransom? what in the world does that even mean? is she asking if he's going to hold her for ransom? steve's used to this body now, how much taller, how much bigger he is, but he'd like to think he isn't some sort of terrifying villain. even if he startles someone from behind. not only that, who would he even ask for ransom? )

What? ( his head tilts slightly, hands lifted slightly in a placating sort of gesture. ) I'm not looking for money.

[naloxone]

[ marta watches the emotions play out on such a familiar face, but they are so contrary to what she's used to seeing there that face now looks strangely foreign. truthfully, the more she looks at him, the more stark differences flare up like neon signs in downtown boston.

the genuine confusion. the startled sincerity. the large hand once outstretched now held back, gentle. she watches him hang back, almost fold in on himself in an effort to make himself look smaller and—

it's so antithesis to everything ransom tries to be that somehow, as strange as it is to think it, she just knows this man who looks so very much like him simply cannot be him.

she forces her shoulders to relax. ]

Sorry. [ she attempts an apologetic smile. ] For a second, I thought you were someone else...