#livewireatalanta

[agentelevatormusic]

Vera went through the patient file once more. Atalanta had been there that night. Through the chaos of it all Vera could still remember shouting orders through the tarp dividing her own surgical charge and the crew taking care of Atalanta.

Truly, Vera was glad that the young woman had survived. Her presence did, however, bring several uncomfortable questions to mind. Questions Vera had absolutely no intention of asking. Not only was this a place of medicine, Vera… suddenly wasn’t sure she was ready to know the answers. Not today. Not right now. Maybe tomorrow the need would return to her and outpace the fear. She placed the chart on the counter, gave her rings a good twist, and opened the door. “Good to see you again,” she said with a soft, tired smile. “Come on in.”

@livewireatalanta

[agentmyth]

The first time Bailey stepped off the ship after a six month haul, she'd hit her knees. Someone higher up, someone more experience had laughed, thumped her back a few times, and gave her some mint. He said it would help, just rub it between her fingers and breathe it in, the nausea would go away. It took three days for her head to stop spinning, and she was back on the ship before she ever felt stable on solid land again.

She was good at the to and fro of the ocean. Good at rigging, at plotting a course, at studying something until someone caught her and told her to stop. She was good at a good many things, but hand-to-hand combat? Hardly.

Of course she knew enough to pass a qualification. There were certain mile-marks she needed to hit before advancement, and she was so good at hitting mile marks. There was a notebook tucked into her desk somewhere far away with all of her life goals from fifteen onward listed; goals were her thing. Her footwork, well...it hit the goal, but only enough to pass and move on.

Training felt like pulling teeth. It felt like exposing the part of her that wasn't excelling for anyone to see. While it drove her to want to be better, determination did not make her look any better. It made her look sweaty and uncoordinated, hair sticking to her temples, breath rapid. Her brows were pulled together, frustrated just around the edges. The instructors dismissed, and she slumped back against a wall. Not defeated, never defeated, but exhausted.

She was catching her breath when Nadia approached, and she instantly stood taller. Her brows pulled closer together, "My form is– hey!"

For a moment she wanted to argue, then her shoulders dropped. "My form is– it's bad. It's very bad." She shrugged a shoulder, "Got any tips?"

who: @livewireatalanta & @agentmyth where: combat facilities of site-φ when: february 21, a break in the defense seminar what: nadia approaches bailey to correct her combat stances.

So far, Nadia is not impressed. But she's filled with less despair than she expected. The recruits, almost across the board, are a fucking disgrace, but the security department appears to be more than qualified. Deft corrections and instructions leading to improvement in most cases.

Most but not all.

One operative stands out to Nadia. It's not uncommon for bigger, stronger men to not understand how to properly train a smaller woman in combat. Which means Urban Myth isn't progressing like the rest of their team.

The group breaks after a session and Nadia slings herself up from the bench she was slouching on. If no one else is going to help her, looks like Nadia will have to. If only so she doesn't end up shot in the back because Urban Myth doesn't know how to disarm.

Approaching the operative in question, Nadia doesn't beat around the bush. "Your form is bad." She gestures toward the mat where they had been running drills. "Could you tell that? Like, did it feel wrong?"

[cowboygreeting]

𝚠𝚑𝚘: @cowboygreeting and @livewireatalanta 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝: lifting session #1 and the beginning of a beautiful friendship 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎: the indoor gym, at the residential complex 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗: feb. 19, following the first day's activities

The sweatpants were the right choice, at least for the walk over. He hadn't realized how far the gym would be from his little apartment, though he'd known they were in different buildings. It's not like he has a problem being seen — he'd be jogging to the gym wearing less had he been back in Arizona — it's just. These are all professional colleagues, and Seth feels a little ridiculous. Who here is he showing off for, really? It's not like there's another point. Well. Besides feeling like God's gift to mankind when he walks past a mirror, but that's fleeting, and supremely vain — which he is, to be sure, but this is not the place to be feeling himself like that, and not the people he needs to be impressing with his physique.

Maybe one or two of them. Unprofessional, sure, but it's hardly Seth's fault this place is crawling with handsome older men. Honestly, kind of a buffet. If he didn't work with – or for – them, God. God. Shan't be spoken of. Really, even in his own head is a little too loud. He'll need to find someone to gossip with (other than Ro, he couldn't stomach what he'd hear back) at some point or he'll die, or explode, or something. To do that, he'll need to make friends, start a shortlist of candidates to be one of the girlies. And the first step to that is putting himself out there.

He said he'd be hitting the gym, so that's what he'll do. Live Wire — Nadia? Agent Atalanta? The scary woman. She said she'd be hitting the gym at some point too. Seth isn't sure if he wants to run into her or not until he makes it to the door and sees she's beaten him to the squat rack; in the moment, he says yes, okay, I can do this. If he has to trace a few steps back down the hall so she can't see him power-posing, just to get in the right mindset, whatever, it's fine. Whatever he has to do to put the right kind of smile on when he knocks on the door, crosses the threshold.

She seems... busy. He wouldn't want to interrupt her set. So he gets himself ready instead, stripping off the sweats and the hoodie, feeling — ridiculous, quite frankly, in the stupid TikTok tights. His ass looks phenomenal, yes, but at what cost? His dignity?

Too late to worry about that now. He stretches instead, glancing back at her from the corner of his eye every now and then, just waiting for a natural pause for him to say hello, introduce himself. It takes fifteen painful, grueling minutes before he can work the courage up. By then, it already feels too late, and he's half-thinking she's doing this on purpose, so he doesn't have a chance to say hi and she can avoid talking to him altogether — but. That would be ridiculous, right? They're adults. It's fine. He steels himself, and, a little too loud, a little too abruptly, projects across the gym:

"Yo. Hey. Nadia, right? I'm Seth, nice to meet you. You taking me up on the gym buddy offer?"

[livewireatalanta]

who: @livewireatalanta & @lieutenanthowellwhere: residential building when: late night, February 19 what: nadia and guin talk for the first time since their disastrous encounter with SCP-192001-1, one year ago.

Nadia tried to just let it go. They were stuck together for a year -- it didn't have to be a thing. They could both just be here and it could just...be what it was. Any other assignment. Did it matter, really, that he went ghost? He didn't owe her anything, after all. And if he had, he had more than repaid it with his testimony, his insistance that what happened wasn't her fault. Up against that, asking for a text felt impossibly stupid.

But she kept coming back to that last meeting she had with the MTFC, when she was handed down her order for medical leave. When she asked if he knew what kind of leave the LT had been given and he had just laughed. Said something about Guin being in the wind, wouldn't be surprised if that dog ran off to die.

She kept coming back to how she believed that, for too long. That he might be dead.

So she ended up tossing herself out of bed with a shallow fuck it, pulled one of Mark's old sweatshirts over her head and her boots on. Fiddling with the Foundation-issued pager, she thumbed a terse message over to Guin (ℂ𝕆𝕄𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝕆𝕍𝔼ℝ) and then wound her way out of her own apartment and down to the door of his.

She didn't hesitate, once there. Just reached out and tapped a rapid few knocks -- loud enough to alert him but not wake anyone else on the hall. At least she hoped. And then she tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and slumped against the opposite wall, to wait.

[livewireatalanta]

who: @livewireatalanta ; self para where: nadia's bunk when: the very early hours of february 22 what: nadia has a nightmare. trigger warnings: descriptions of a knife and injury (stabbing) with mentions of blood

Waking up in strange places had been a regular part of Nadia's life since getting assigned to Delta-5. Sleeping bags in FOBs, cots in temporary site bunkings, burner apartments, safe houses. Nights in her own bed, in that apartment outside Chicago were few and far between -- so much so that she hardly thought of it as her bed. (She hadn't thought of it as her apartment since Mark had died.)

Still, waking up in the middle of the forest in a snow drift, with no tent or pallet to speak of, was a first.

It was brutally cold, so cold it burned. Ate through the warm layers she had on. Boots and a hat and gloves, some sort of pelt-like jacket she didn't recognize. Rising and shaking the snow off, Nadia tried to locate herself.

It was night, but the stars, the ones she could see through the leaves, were...                                                                                  falling.                                                                                                        Spinning.

Moving, anyway, so fast it made her dizzy. No chance of celestial navigation then, even if she hadn't always been shit at it. No bodies of water visible or that she could hear but there was a slight slope to her left. Higher ground for a vantage point it was, then.

Nadia had barely begun trekking uphill when she heard the telltale snap of a branch behind her. She didn't turn, just held still (held her breath) and waited for movement to pass in her peripheral vision. Nothing came. And then another snapped branch, closer this time, and then a rustle of                              wings? Or just                                                       leaves?

                       Maybe ground movement in low brush?

Nadia tapped into all five of her senses (plus the sixth sense of pure gut instinct) but she couldn't place anything more. Fast movement, though, probably meant a prey animal. Prey animal probably wouldn't be a threat to her. Nadia kept moving.

It wasn't long before she heard                                                   the laughter.

But not laughter like a child, or any human. This was a cackle, the                                                                           spurting,                                                     hissing                                                                                           splatter of oil in a hot pan. Bristling                                         and cruel                                                                      and...hungry.

(How laughter could sound hungry, Nadia didn't know, but it did. Just like it had that night. Hungry and delighted. Hungry and hunting.)

Where her thigh was once bare but for her clothes, Nadia now had her knife strapped. She wrapped her fingers around the handle and slowly pulled it from its sheath. What little moonlight, starlight there was caught on the blade of her knife.

The crack of a branch again. Right behind her this time.

She whirled around and in one fluid motion had her knife jabbed up into—

                                              "No." The word was jagged and slick as it dropped from Nadia's mouth, and then kept spilling forward. "No, no, no, no. No, please."

It was supposed to be Dalton, on the point of her blade. That's what happened, that night. She heard the horrible cackle of whatever the fuck it was they were hunting and she could feel the blast-furnace of its breath on the back of her neck so she turned and caught Dalton through the stomach.

But here. Now. It was Mark. A horrifying bubble of blood grew from his mouth and then burst and Nadia                                                                screamed—

  and woke, in her bed. What was now her bed, in the bare, Foundation-assigned apartment. Sweat soaked through her sheets and she was gasping through hyperventilated breaths. The weak, grey light of early, early morning was just breaking through the window. 

Another day of "orientation" lay ahead of her. At least coffee was on the agenda for this day.

Without waiting for the shivers to stop, Nadia swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Rose. Made for the bathroom. She didn't wipe the tear tracks from her face until she was already under the shower.

[livewireatalanta]

who: @livewireatalanta & @rohanabb where: combat facilities of site-φ when: february 21, at the end of the defense seminar what: rohan risks it all to ask nadia for some combat pointers.

As the defense seminar came to a close, Nadia was trying not suffer the mortal sin of despair. Not all the operatives had shown, at least, which she assumed meant they would be skilled enough, like herself. Or at least had some background training. But the ones who had shown up hadn't made a great overall showing.

The goons in Xi-13 had been a collective nightmare but at least they generally know how to hold their weight up. At least until Guin bashed them with a well-time headbutt over some unfunny prank but. That was another story.

Her eyes tracked to the salt and pepper shakers from introductions. Sat together whispering the whole time. The one, Cowboy Greeting, had piqued her interest as maybe someone who might be useful. And the other. Tree Hugger. Well, he was something else entirely. A face she didn't want to meet for the memories it might stir.

There was nothing else on the agenda for that day so Nadia loped toward the exit. It may not be that late yet, but she suddenly wanted her bed.

[agentelevatormusic]

It wasn’t knowing someone's favorite food that would save a life. None of those little pieces of background detail was particularly important. No, the conversation itself built trust and understanding. She wanted to show a willingness to go the extra mile on the battlefield to save her patients from the fear that they were staring, screaming into the face of a complete stranger. Vera wanted them to know her voice in the dark and behind the treeline. She needed them to know that she wasn’t losing them without a fight. 

But she was a veteran. Accustomed to patients of all sorts. Explaining her research wouldn’t do much good here. A better call would be to ease any conflict and move on with the physical. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. If you don’t think we have anything to talk about, maybe I should just start your examination?” She smiled apologetically. “I’d like to test your blood pressure and your heartrate first.”

"Knowing my favorite food or the name of the street I grew up on is hardly going to be a benefit in the field." Maybe, maybe, back in Delta-5 this sort of exercise would have proved useful. An easy code built with truths and lies in plain sight while undercover. But in this assignment? Nadia doubted it would provide any kind of advantage, survival or otherwise.

"I don't have any questions for you," Nadia muttered. None that she was going to ask in this capacity at least. Did you tell Dalton you loved him before we headed out? Could you feel it the second he was gone, like there was some thread tethering his life to yours? Had your stomach been thick with dread the whole night before like Guin's?

Her attention pricked up at Dr Nair's last comment. Nadia tilted her head, so she could catch the doctor's eyes. "What do we have to clear the air about?" Because she had read the transcripts back and there was no mention of what had actually happened to Dalton out in the woods that night. Unless Guin told her something. Which wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility, given who Vera was and who Guin was. And Nadia might have thought that he wouldn't do that to her (whatever that was) but then again she also wouldn't have thought he would cut and run after everything--

No need to lead Dr Nair anywhere, though. Nadia would let her say what she thought was in the air between them.

[livewireatalanta]

who: @livewireatalanta & @agentmyth where: combat facilities of site-φ when: february 21, a break in the defense seminar what: nadia approaches bailey to correct her combat stances.

So far, Nadia is not impressed. But she's filled with less despair than she expected. The recruits, almost across the board, are a fucking disgrace, but the security department appears to be more than qualified. Deft corrections and instructions leading to improvement in most cases.

Most but not all.

One operative stands out to Nadia. It's not uncommon for bigger, stronger men to not understand how to properly train a smaller woman in combat. Which means Urban Myth isn't progressing like the rest of their team.

The group breaks after a session and Nadia slings herself up from the bench she was slouching on. If no one else is going to help her, looks like Nadia will have to. If only so she doesn't end up shot in the back because Urban Myth doesn't know how to disarm.

Approaching the operative in question, Nadia doesn't beat around the bush. "Your form is bad." She gestures toward the mat where they had been running drills. "Could you tell that? Like, did it feel wrong?"

[agentelevatormusic]

Good. The patient kept the medicine. It would reduce pain more than anything, but anything was better than nothing. She didn’t want Atalanta, or anyone really, to suffer. 

Vera tilted her head to the side, her brow furrowed in surprise. “No. No, we don’t have to do this.” She took a full step back with her stethoscope still in her hands and softened somewhat. “I can administer your physical exam without any of the back and forth. It’s a trust exercise designed to give us all a survival advantage in the field. If you don’t want to participate, forcing you would be entirely counterintuitive.” 

“If you want, you can ask me a few questions while I look you over. Or not.” She meant that. Vera, herself, was quite uncomfortable. She'd done a few rounds with the new patients and they had mostly gone well. But she was not accustomed to opening up to strangers. Yes, the exercise was solid. Yes, it was well researched. It was also deceptively difficult. Especially when it came to this particular patient.

“It feels like we could clear the air a bit.”

Well. Maybe she should have made a better effort toward discretion after all. At least Dr Nair couldn't tell where the bruising came from. Or who, more accurately. Nadia turned the little tube over in her hands before pocketing it. Couldn't hurt to have.

Her attention drifted (like it was doing more and more) until the pop of rubber gloves and something extra. What could she possibly need to know? Last Nadia had checked her organs were in the same place as any other body. What was a game of twenty questions going help? And, again, this obsession over honesty.

Nadia waved a hand, nodding in response. But then followed up with, "Do we have to do this?" Which, she supposed, served as her question back to the doctor. Not that she was aiming for malicious compliance but if it worked, it worked.

[agentelevatormusic]

Vera shrugged gamely and took a cursory glance over those tightly coiled braids and the rather obvious contusions. Whether it was a lack of tact or an attempted slight, there was no telling. Either way, Vera was primarily concerned about her patient’s pain level with swelling like that. She turned and opened the leftmost cabinet to fish out a little bottle of heparinoid. “This will reduce bruising and soothe soreness, if you’d like,” she said, placing the bottle beside the exam table.

Then, she turned to wash her hands thoroughly in the sink. “I’ll be running you through the usual tests today. Bloodwork. Medical history. You know the drill.” She dried her hands and snapped on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. “There is a little something extra,” Vera added, full attention on Atalanta. “I have to get to know the entire team fast. Before they throw us into the field.”

She sat down on the small swivel chair, mindful of her hands. “During this session, I’d like us to ask each other questions. Nothing terrible,” Vera followed quickly. “Little things are fine. Stupid questions are fine. We’ll go back and forth. If you don’t like a question, you can pass or ask another question of your own or omit details you don’t think are important. Same with me. The goal is not to make either of us uncomfortable. Just don’t lie. Be honest and we’ll get on fine.” 

She stood and removed her stethoscope. “I’ll start. Is it alright if I begin the physical exam?” 

Nadia was never going to be stoked for a doctor's visit, and one with a Foundation doctor fell even lower on her list. But, it was just the routine drudgery: usual exam and questions, boxes checked, and then Nadia could get back to... What was on the schedule today? Walking Club bullshit and the defense seminar. Endless fun.

She was early to the appointment and spent a few minutes undoing her braids and then resecuring them even more tightly than the first pass. Too late she realized, with the braids, the tank top and oversized flannel she was wearing exposed a bit too much of her neck. Fuck it, not like she was going to go back to her bunk and change just because--

Before her mind could ramble any further, Nadia reached out and knocked on the door. She didn't respond to Dr Nair's pleasantries beyond a shallow nod. Hauling herself onto the exam table, Nadia brought her feet up and crossed her legs like a kindergartener at circle time.

Like before, during introductions, Nadia felt a riot of anxious keening swell in her mind. All she could see was that moment before everything went to shit that night, Dr Nair and Dalton greeting Guin and all of them smiling. Dalton standing tall and alive and--

"Let's just. Get this over with, okay?"