Lyle Norg (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
atippleoftransparency) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-03-02 09:33 pm
atippleoftransparency) wrote in thecapitol2014-03-02 09:33 pm
Entry tags:
These Pants Are Optional
Who| OPEN to Lyle and YOU; closed to Lyle and Brainy
What| Vegan acrophobe wakes from death-by-falling to leather pants. NOPE.
Where| Suite 10, the elevator between Suites 10 and 8, Suite 8; Brainy's room
When| Week 4
Warnings/Notes| Swearing, out-right refusal to wear pants. Anything else TBA. Put where you find him in the subject line.
Lyle woke as he always did in stressful situations: instantly alert and betraying no sign of having done so other than the jack-hammering of his heart in his ears.
This time, it's flavored with distinctly more panic that he's used to.
Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod.
He doesn't...feel injured, though. Which he should, because ohgod nope, not going there, not thinking about--
Lyle rolls out of his (really soft) bed and into a defensive crouch, looking around for signs of a threat. Seeing no obvious ones, he makes for the door, scrubbing a hand over his face to make sure it's completely under his control.
Okay. Not dead. Good job step one. Step two: find Brainy. He'd said he was representing District 8. Surely there was going to be a sign somewhere indicating where to find the District 8 rooms.
...what the sprock was he even wearing?
The shirt was fine (sleeveless, high-collared, black, clung to him like a second skin), but the (black, fitted) pants were weird. They almost felt like they were made out of the same material as Brin's jacket, but the texture was slightly different. He'd felt this before, where had he felt this--
--Oh. Oh yeah.
"Ew!"
Lyle had never gotten out of his own pants so fast, and he'd had to strip down due to hazardous chemical spills before. On the other hand, he'd never found himself wearing pants made out of actual skin!
On the upside, there was a clothing dispenser in here. On the downside, the only pants in it were also made out of skin, buttery and smooth and as black as Darkseid's soul. The selection of boots likewise appeared to be made from skin as well.
Fine. Lyle was a grown man, he'd worn less to the beach more than once. His underwear (well, "his" underwear in the sense that they were the underwear he was wearing, because the death match and the skin pants weren't creepy enough) was also black, so at least they kept the theme.
Lyle strode out of his room; face impassive, feet bare, and utterly sans pants. Bring it, Panem, Lyle Norg was on a mission.
Hey, elevators. That looked positive.
What| Vegan acrophobe wakes from death-by-falling to leather pants. NOPE.
Where| Suite 10, the elevator between Suites 10 and 8, Suite 8; Brainy's room
When| Week 4
Warnings/Notes| Swearing, out-right refusal to wear pants. Anything else TBA. Put where you find him in the subject line.
Lyle woke as he always did in stressful situations: instantly alert and betraying no sign of having done so other than the jack-hammering of his heart in his ears.
This time, it's flavored with distinctly more panic that he's used to.
Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod.
He doesn't...feel injured, though. Which he should, because ohgod nope, not going there, not thinking about--
Lyle rolls out of his (really soft) bed and into a defensive crouch, looking around for signs of a threat. Seeing no obvious ones, he makes for the door, scrubbing a hand over his face to make sure it's completely under his control.
Okay. Not dead. Good job step one. Step two: find Brainy. He'd said he was representing District 8. Surely there was going to be a sign somewhere indicating where to find the District 8 rooms.
...what the sprock was he even wearing?
The shirt was fine (sleeveless, high-collared, black, clung to him like a second skin), but the (black, fitted) pants were weird. They almost felt like they were made out of the same material as Brin's jacket, but the texture was slightly different. He'd felt this before, where had he felt this--
--Oh. Oh yeah.
"Ew!"
Lyle had never gotten out of his own pants so fast, and he'd had to strip down due to hazardous chemical spills before. On the other hand, he'd never found himself wearing pants made out of actual skin!
On the upside, there was a clothing dispenser in here. On the downside, the only pants in it were also made out of skin, buttery and smooth and as black as Darkseid's soul. The selection of boots likewise appeared to be made from skin as well.
Fine. Lyle was a grown man, he'd worn less to the beach more than once. His underwear (well, "his" underwear in the sense that they were the underwear he was wearing, because the death match and the skin pants weren't creepy enough) was also black, so at least they kept the theme.
Lyle strode out of his room; face impassive, feet bare, and utterly sans pants. Bring it, Panem, Lyle Norg was on a mission.
Hey, elevators. That looked positive.
no subject
So rather than trying to force Lyle into laying down he simply pulled the blanket up over his legs.
"We have no idea what technology they used to revive us so I want to check your vital signs. I can't do much without a proper medical scanner but I'd like to ensure that they're at least stable," he said, reaching his hand for Lyle's wrist so he could take his pulse.
"You can also stop giving me that look. If I showed up in your room after a trauma, laughing hysterically, sans pants, you'd be concerned, too. Unconsciousness aside, our perception of events is that what happened was only minutes ago."
no subject
Maybe the type of people who wanted to watch you starve and fight and fall to your messy death? Lyle shoved the thought aside, visualizing a storage crate (thick dura-plast panels, a little battered around the corners, used and reliable) to store it and ones like it inside until he was somewhere safe to deal with them.
"You look good. Better. Like you haven't been digesting your own muscle tissue."
Yep. That was a change of topic all right.
no subject
But they were a team. There was no shame in stumbling when everyone else was eager to help anytime it happened, and this was just a stumble in Brainy's eyes. This was merely a time where they both should perhaps take a moment to breathe before moving on.
"I suspect that the form of revival the Capitol employs may somehow reset our physical condition to our pre-arena state."
The way his eyes flicked to Lyle's showed that he had theories but wasn't comfortable voicing them where they could be overheard. He didn't want to display he had that kind of technological or scientific expertise so he stuck with the obvious.
He looked relieved as he took Lyle's vital signs. Pulse was normal, respiration was somewhat fast but the anxiety caused by that ordeal was the most likely cause and it wasn't at a rate that was alarming. He had nothing to measure blood pressure with but color and circulation appeared normal.
He got out his communicator and fiddled with it until it emitted the light that was meant to be used for low-light filming and shined it in Lyle's eye to check his pupil dilation.
"I'm fine now."
Yep, perfectly fine, despite all of that being rather horrific.
Of course, it was possibly not actually front but sometimes it was hard to tell with him whether he was covering up fragility or genuinely that stubbornly resilient.
no subject
As Brainy shined the light from the communicator in Lyle's eyes, Lyle's hand snaked up to capture Brainy's free wrist. Since Brainy was taking his vitals, it seemed prudent to return the favor, if only to be certain they had the same information on both of them post-arena. He quirked an eyebrow at Brainy, daring him to object.
no subject
"Pupil dilation is normal."
He withdrew the light and turned it off and for a moment, he just sat there and let Lyle take his pulse.
no subject
"Everything seems within the normal range for you, too," he said, lowering the communicator to his thigh, the outside of which rested against Brainy's hip. "I suppose that's positive."
It was always hard to tell how Brainy was dealing with an emotionally stressful situation. He pretty much always seemed fine until suddenly he wasn't; which was basically how his term as Legion leader had ended. By that point, a few other people had recovered enough to be able to step in. But that didn't do them any good here, where it was them against the world and neither of them was going to have time to break down all the way.
Brainy could help Lyle carry himself through some things, and Lyle could help Brainy carry himself through some things, but Brainy first had to know that Lyle was there to do it. And they couldn't exactly have that conversation verbally, what with the surveillance; and a hug...well, a hug from Brainy was always Brainy indulging you, not offering comfort to him. So, this called for something else.
Lyle sat up from his slouch and made eye-contact with Brainy before slowly slumping forward to (effectively) head-butt him in the shoulder.
no subject
But there wasn't a time travel device to be seen so this wasn't the past.
For only a moment, Brainy looked surprised at the headbutt but then his expression tweaked into a sympathetic one. Though he was stiff at first, he wrapped his arms around Lyle's shoulders and pulled him in close, wordlessly.
Brainy's hugs were considered something of a legend among the Legion. In many ways they were the unicorn of the hug world: rare, mired in skittishness, and more often found in the company of young females. And just like unicorns they were rather majestic. When Brainy relaxed enough to give people a proper hug, he hugged them as if he'd been waiting his entire life in anticipation of hugging people. That was how he hugged Lyle now, with warmth and a gentle firmness, as if infusing the hug with the same loyal reliability - and protectiveness - the Legion could always expect of him where they were concerned.
"You're going to be fine," Brainy reassured him. "This was traumatizing - and it's perfectly acceptable if you feel that way, Norg."
His tone was sharp and critical.
"It'll make it easier for you to collect yourself and regroup if you acknowledge it. That's what I'm doing. I'm just fortunate enough to have...better context to process it all with."
no subject
(It made more sense in Durlan.)
Since Brainy had actually initiated the hug, Lyle felt no compunctions on hugging him back. Even if he was going to insist on amateur psychoanalysation.
"That sucked."
no subject
The hug went on for a little while, maybe a little longer than was appropriate.
"Affirmative," he said. He added somewhat awkwardly, "On the suckage."
no subject
Lyle pulled the blanket up around his shoulders. The room seemed to have been calculated for a temperature more comfortable for Brainy's pants and long sleeves verses his own bare arms and legs. Then, on impulse (he had a part to play, after all), he flipped the corner of it over his and Brainy's heads.
He wondered if the surveillance in here included microphones, or just image recording.
"Are we done now?"
no subject
"Are we done what?"
The hugging? Because with Lyle doing that, they were done the hugging but he wasn't sure that was what he meant.
no subject
(Besides the cowlicks. He could already see those forming.)
no subject
In the time since they'd lost their universe, he'd loosened up just a little bit. In fact, the most alarming thing about the end of his run as Legion leader, when he'd started to breakdown, was how regimented, humorless, and self-controlled he was getting. That backtracking was their first clue something was wrong.
Now that he'd gotten over it, it was back to Brainy-with-almost-a-sense-of-humor.
So his response to having the blanket pulled ever more over their heads was to simply sit there, upright, as if nothing had changed.
"What subject of discussion would you prefer?"
no subject
Yes, he was going to stop any second now.
"What was that thing you were fiddling with when I came in here?"
Lyle stuck his arm out from under the blanket and started fumbling around for the device. Brainy had been sitting on the bed with it, it couldn't have gone too far."
no subject
Brainy would've been lying if he claimed he didn't need a little levity himself.
"It's a communications device. Rather primitive in design compared to our flight rings and omnicoms, but serviceable."
no subject
Something crumpled under Lyle's questing fingers and he frowned, grasping the strange object and pulling it under the blankets instead of the communications device.
"...What the sprock."
no subject
When he saw what it was, he sighed.
"I'd hoped after we subverted the UP's resources for the Legion for our own ends that I'd never see one of these again. "
It was an action figure. Of him. Much like the ones toy manufacturers used to make of the Legion during the height of their popularity with the public.
no subject
"Wow, it has been ages. I wonder if they've made one of me yet."
He began fiddling with it, testing the points of articulation, for a lack of anything better to do with his hands.
no subject
"Hello, Norg."
Now Brainy's eyes rolled blanketward.
"Asking you to put it back in the basket right now -" before he discovered what other phrases it said "- would most likely be pointless, yes?
no subject
"I wonder what mine says about you."
Because if Brainy's talked about him, his must say something about Brainy. Plus, thinking about that meant that he wasn't thinking quite so hard about how and when they'd recorded the words the Brainy figure had said.