Welcome to Gaia! ::

He packs his bandages and charges his phone, counting down the minutes until they leave. Edith has sanctioned their request. Otto has agreed to be the kill-switch in case they do not return. He does not panic. He assesses what little knowledge he has and compiles it into quantifiable data, Syntax chirping all the while.

(Kostya once told a horseman that he was not afraid of death, but that had been, perhaps, an incomplete truth.

He was not afraid of his own death. Hers was another question.)

Standing in front of the portal, he fired off a text, waiting for its sent confirmation.



Pocketing the device, the Death hunter followed the moon, and watched him become someone else entirely. Kostya remained exactly the same as he always was: blank and impassive. Eyebrows not furrowed, but on their way there, mouth set into a flat line.

(The smell. The same that stained your clothes after mopping the tiled floor, the same that lingered after cleaning out stains. And, pray tell, what kind of stains were the most common among their kind? Pay attention.)

Instead of greeting in words, Kostya offered a nod of the head and a wave of the hand, pulse even and calm and placid.

(The calm before the storm.)

"Right--the Fat American and the roommate," he said with another grin. "And I'm assuming you're--maybe Bernice, right, and I think we've met, or at least crossed paths? Anyway, you're not due for a supply drop, actually--we're here to see if America would be down for a last-minute swap. We'd be shaking up one of your Eclipse teams, but something's opened up back on base she's wanted for."

Chuckling Randall nodded, "Boris will be so betrayed that you aren't a three-hundred pound Elvis impersonator."

Bernice just shot Taym a dead-eyed stare, though Kostya merited a moment of confusion that slid into pure, animal rage for a fraction of a second until she looked away and then back, and was impassive once more. "America will be back later tonight. You'll have to wait for her to come back. You can talk with her then."

"Apologies for inconvenience," Randall added to Kostya in somewhat shitty Russian that he seemed a bit too smug about knowing.

He felt her rage more than he saw, radiating off of her in a wave. Sometimes they felt familiar, strangers beholden to an otherworldly power that Kostya kept running into (not by choice, not by accident) -- but she was not one of them. Neither was he.

It was almost a relief. It was almost enough to let him forget the ever present stare pinned to the back of his neck like a butterfly.

(It did, however, remind him of the fury of a clone, remind him of the way the one who called himselfTaym had looked at him.)

"Vhat a silly image," Kostya said, blinking at Obadiah owlishly, giving him another once over. "I am pretty sure if ve feed him by tube for vun year, he vould not get so big."

He could be patient. He tilted his head at Randall, surprised that he spoke it. "Verk on your pronunciation. But verds are correct." While stern, it was without any malice. In fact, it was very often how he critiqued America on her own Russian.

"Is not problem. She mention maze-- probably very much to see. She very excitable, probably vish she could explore all in vun day."

Taym acquiesced to this as gracefully as he could, and as soon as they were alone in the room he yanked out his phone, distractedly firing off a DM with one hand while the other, without even hesitating, began a thorough search of the first thing to hand, which ended up being her dresser. This he did silently and systematically (replacing things as he went in a way that suggested he had done this many, many times before), raising his eyebrows at Kostya and mouthing angrily: "Seven hours? What now?"

He jumped, startled, and instead of answer immediately, grimly turned the screen towards him:

Obadiah Thompson @tomcatachresis
Hope you're not still pissed, because we may or may not have gotten sent out here to talk a job swap.

We were going to surprise you but maybe this is a sign from God that we underestimated your ire.


AMERICA JONES @******** fine. I'll see you when I get back.

He pointed at the last one with a flat, resigned expression. It was as well that Taym had learned to text rapidly.

dont know if that was smart but didnt trust someone else didnt have phone to check story dont trust they arent reading this s**t RIGHT NOW somehow 7 hours my a** CONVENIENT

and ******** the maze thats right out ******** the woman i dont trust any of them what now

Taym's paranoia was out in full force, but then again, it was very rarely far from hand.

im sure they want us to think hes with her but i dont believe it

yes i noticed the smell ominous as ******** did she look at you? until i know better im treating them all like potential murderers

He hesitated, eyes abruptly unfocusing as a thought occurred to him, and when he turned the phone back around all it said was:

o?

idk i just want to know what they plan on doing in seven hours

and what theyre doing right now frankly

hate were not keeping an eye on them right this second

theres ******** all useful in this room. plan?

leave or stay here? i wanna know what theyre putting us here to keep us from seeing. were both in death

He'd turned the phone around for that one, and the realization of what he'd just said flickered across his face in the same instant, waved away with a you know what I mean gesture.