#atwicksend

[s411l]

STATION 42; ARRIVAL

150 DAYS BEFORE MISSION END

He was intending to make a good impression on whoever ran this place - the impression of someone who knew where he was and was prepared for it, like he was meant to be there and this wasn’t some last ditch effort to be as far away from civilisation as possible. That means sprucing up — a clean shave, hair dyed, gelled and dragged over his scalp to form the illusion of no receding hairline. But then he’d been told there was no need for a meeting, and been handed the plane tickets without much fanfare after.

The cold had forced him to hide the expensive (second-hand) suit under layers of sweaters and thermals and a puffy coat. Saul was a man clearly accustomed to a better climate. Minuscule icicles clung to his eyelashes, to the tip of his nose, to his feet, to everything. Hell, it felt like if he sneezed he might send shards of slimy ice scattering across the snow. What had been a moist hair gel now felt like super-glue dried to his scalp. And all of this was while Saul was inside the snowcat ferrying him to the final destination.

Station 42, The Station, his new station, was sat squat in the expanse of endless fields of ice. The vehicle that had brought Saul there was already beginning to have a building film of snow atop its roof, the weather having come out in full force to greet him. The passenger door had swung open, the motor’s hum becoming a stuttered groan against the wail of frozen wind. A sharp look from the driver told Saul it was time to hop off. The man had to move quickly, waddling through knee-deep snow and cussing with every step. By time he reached the compound, Saul was ready to tear the door off the hinges to get out the cold. He’s gotten this far and, as far as he saw it, the only thing that was gonna stop him was an avalanche dropping on his head.

“Come on, come on, come on-“

Patience was never one of his virtues, and he stamped his feet in an attempt to get some feeling back into the tips of his toes.

“-Fuck me.. let me in! It’s fuckin’ cold out here! I’m gettin’ frostbite!”

It must have only been thirty seconds; the outer door was a reinforced hunk of metal, after all. But at this temperature, thirty seconds felt more like thirty eternities. And when it did open, only halfway, the way in was blocked. The man stood in the entrance was dressed in layers of flannel, tired looking eyes boring into his. It looked like he was more interrupted by the intrusion than excited for more company. Good. Saul wasn’t a team player anyway.

“Are you the new lab-“

The man doesn’t get to finish his question; Saul splayed his hand out and stepped forward, letting the base of his palm collide with the mans sternum to make some space. Whether it’s out of disgust for being touched or actual force, the small window of space there was became Sauls - and he was slamming the door behind him as quickly as possible.

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m the new lab.”

He flashed a cocky grin that he didn’t expect to get a warm response from. The man wasn’t a security officer, so he wouldn’t be a problem. Just as his new lab partner for 150 days opened his mouth, Saul stole the space again.

“Now. Important things first. Where the fuck is the AC here?”

Step one is to act like you’re the top dog, because otherwise you never will be.

( @atwicksend )

[station42]

Some helpful advice for new the new crew of our beautiful station here in this frozen wasteland!

[s411l]

Some people - most people, in fact - would assume the jerky stares and uppity nature a marked sign of anxiety , or nervousness. And most of the time, that was how Saul liked it. People weren’t smart. They didn’t look too far into little things like where you looked or how you stood; they were idiots. They didn’t observe the minute details — you can tell if someone is thinking by a single millisecond, a million micro-expressions with a thousand meanings.

“Who doesn’t have a hunting permit?” It’s asked innocently, punctuated with a soft pop of gum stretched too thin. Chew, exhale, pop, repeat. “I’d be a priceless rug, sure — but a polar bear would match the tiger drapes.”

And this man, his eyes held something a bit more than distaste. The gaze had lasted a few half-seconds too long — There were some brain cells firing in that sleep-deprived skull after all — and suddenly Saul was feeling noticed. It was an odd feeling; there was being seen, and there was being seen through. This was feeling more in the second category.

“ I was told I had’a job opportunity.” Chew, exhale — the pink gum stretches to the circumference of a golf ball — pop. “I wasn’t told it was in the fuckin’ arctic.” Those were probably the first and last truths Saul would tell in this place.

The glances halted immediately, though his smile never dropped. Something markedly focused replaces his wayward stares, eyes boring holes into the back of the scientists’ coat. When the other turns, Saul allowed the eye contact to break for a second- a small flicker down, answering his own question. Not that it changes anything. He still pretends to be disappointed by the lack of answer.

“ Oh, come on. What’s the phrase? Teamwork makes the dream work?”

He’s had enough time to stand still; Saul knows when he’s being taken for a ride, and this man was not leading him anywhere anytime soon. Saul stepped forward, moving to outpace the other and ‘’lead’’ the blind march through the facility. Chew, exhale…. POP — perhaps it was purposeful, being so close to Wick’s ear at the point of no return for the little bubble. He’d walked forward too fast for that to be confirmed, eyes straight ahead. He spoke over his shoulder, throwing the words back as if they were a consolation prize, meant to reassure.

“Then again, I could probably come up with some good nicknames.”

STATION 42; ARRIVAL

150 DAYS BEFORE MISSION END

He was intending to make a good impression on whoever ran this place - the impression of someone who knew where he was and was prepared for it, like he was meant to be there and this wasn’t some last ditch effort to be as far away from civilisation as possible. That means sprucing up — a clean shave, hair dyed, gelled and dragged over his scalp to form the illusion of no receding hairline. But then he’d been told there was no need for a meeting, and been handed the plane tickets without much fanfare after.

The cold had forced him to hide the expensive (second-hand) suit under layers of sweaters and thermals and a puffy coat. Saul was a man clearly accustomed to a better climate. Minuscule icicles clung to his eyelashes, to the tip of his nose, to his feet, to everything. Hell, it felt like if he sneezed he might send shards of slimy ice scattering across the snow. What had been a moist hair gel now felt like super-glue dried to his scalp. And all of this was while Saul was inside the snowcat ferrying him to the final destination.

Station 42, The Station, his new station, was sat squat in the expanse of endless fields of ice. The vehicle that had brought Saul there was already beginning to have a building film of snow atop its roof, the weather having come out in full force to greet him. The passenger door had swung open, the motor’s hum becoming a stuttered groan against the wail of frozen wind. A sharp look from the driver told Saul it was time to hop off. The man had to move quickly, waddling through knee-deep snow and cussing with every step. By time he reached the compound, Saul was ready to tear the door off the hinges to get out the cold. He’s gotten this far and, as far as he saw it, the only thing that was gonna stop him was an avalanche dropping on his head.

“Come on, come on, come on-“

Patience was never one of his virtues, and he stamped his feet in an attempt to get some feeling back into the tips of his toes.

“-Fuck me.. let me in! It’s fuckin’ cold out here! I’m gettin’ frostbite!”

It must have only been thirty seconds; the outer door was a reinforced hunk of metal, after all. But at this temperature, thirty seconds felt more like thirty eternities. And when it did open, only halfway, the way in was blocked. The man stood in the entrance was dressed in layers of flannel, tired looking eyes boring into his. It looked like he was more interrupted by the intrusion than excited for more company. Good. Saul wasn’t a team player anyway.

“Are you the new lab-“

The man doesn’t get to finish his question; Saul splayed his hand out and stepped forward, letting the base of his palm collide with the mans sternum to make some space. Whether it’s out of disgust for being touched or actual force, the small window of space there was became Sauls - and he was slamming the door behind him as quickly as possible.

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m the new lab.”

He flashed a cocky grin that he didn’t expect to get a warm response from. The man wasn’t a security officer, so he wouldn’t be a problem. Just as his new lab partner for 150 days opened his mouth, Saul stole the space again.

“Now. Important things first. Where the fuck is the AC here?”

Step one is to act like you’re the top dog, because otherwise you never will be.

( @atwicksend )

[s411l]

The clipped tone did nothing to deter Saul from continuing to walk alongside the doorman. Like a moth to a flame, the spark of irritation is far more alluring than wandering the endless corridors until he found the right doors. However, he would not be admitting he needed directions. He even did a very good job of looking like he was listening to the man waffle on about specific allotments of fuel; his eyes were occasionally flickering to each door, attempting to memorise and map out the area in the mostly subtle display of hyper-vigilance. It was always handy to have an exit route or five in mind - not a habit he had intended to keep, but some things had burrowed their roots deep. It was only the last snarky little question that Saul actually heard - and it made him let out a sharp bark of a laugh. There were many things Saul found entertaining, many more he found boring, but someone who bit back was just plain interesting.

“Nah. I was thinkin’ of huntin’ polar bears. Need a new rug.”

He purposely tilted his head down, giving the other a blatant glance up-and-down. Deflection and deception had always been his main line of defence. It was an easy way to avoid having to bother with thinking up a good lie to peddle as the real truth. And, this behaviour seemed to be working well enough to lean into fully; it was just a matter of finding out where the limit lay, and Saul was particularly good at finding that line quickly. It was nothing personal, of course — the thing is, you can’t stash too much alcohol or smoke in the lab if there’s some snotty buzzkill loitering around. It was better he snipped this budding friendship short for the sake of a bit of privacy when he was ‘working’. “Or maybe a seal or two, if I want some nice boots… it’s too bad I’m here for the lab, not the fashion, eh?”

A rustle of paper broke the seconds he had left silent. Saul had popped a frozen wad of chewing gum in his mouth. It cracked uncomfortably a few times before it became anything close to chewable,but with all things, determination is key. And that applied here too. Saul kept pace with his new working partner despite the fact it made his uneven gait a tad more pronounced, one foot colliding with a hefty thump on the sterile metal tiles of the station.

“Hey! Hang on a second- .”

It’s barked out like something important had just caught his eye. Definitely not an excuse to stop walking, just for a few moments. The dramatic pause was just for effect, of course. Now stop walking, you slippery little shit. That grin can’t help but tug the corner of his lips up, breaking the serious act.

“…You never told me your name, bud.”

STATION 42; ARRIVAL

150 DAYS BEFORE MISSION END

He was intending to make a good impression on whoever ran this place - the impression of someone who knew where he was and was prepared for it, like he was meant to be there and this wasn’t some last ditch effort to be as far away from civilisation as possible. That means sprucing up — a clean shave, hair dyed, gelled and dragged over his scalp to form the illusion of no receding hairline. But then he’d been told there was no need for a meeting, and been handed the plane tickets without much fanfare after.

The cold had forced him to hide the expensive (second-hand) suit under layers of sweaters and thermals and a puffy coat. Saul was a man clearly accustomed to a better climate. Minuscule icicles clung to his eyelashes, to the tip of his nose, to his feet, to everything. Hell, it felt like if he sneezed he might send shards of slimy ice scattering across the snow. What had been a moist hair gel now felt like super-glue dried to his scalp. And all of this was while Saul was inside the snowcat ferrying him to the final destination.

Station 42, The Station, his new station, was sat squat in the expanse of endless fields of ice. The vehicle that had brought Saul there was already beginning to have a building film of snow atop its roof, the weather having come out in full force to greet him. The passenger door had swung open, the motor’s hum becoming a stuttered groan against the wail of frozen wind. A sharp look from the driver told Saul it was time to hop off. The man had to move quickly, waddling through knee-deep snow and cussing with every step. By time he reached the compound, Saul was ready to tear the door off the hinges to get out the cold. He’s gotten this far and, as far as he saw it, the only thing that was gonna stop him was an avalanche dropping on his head.

“Come on, come on, come on-“

Patience was never one of his virtues, and he stamped his feet in an attempt to get some feeling back into the tips of his toes.

“-Fuck me.. let me in! It’s fuckin’ cold out here! I’m gettin’ frostbite!”

It must have only been thirty seconds; the outer door was a reinforced hunk of metal, after all. But at this temperature, thirty seconds felt more like thirty eternities. And when it did open, only halfway, the way in was blocked. The man stood in the entrance was dressed in layers of flannel, tired looking eyes boring into his. It looked like he was more interrupted by the intrusion than excited for more company. Good. Saul wasn’t a team player anyway.

“Are you the new lab-“

The man doesn’t get to finish his question; Saul splayed his hand out and stepped forward, letting the base of his palm collide with the mans sternum to make some space. Whether it’s out of disgust for being touched or actual force, the small window of space there was became Sauls - and he was slamming the door behind him as quickly as possible.

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m the new lab.”

He flashed a cocky grin that he didn’t expect to get a warm response from. The man wasn’t a security officer, so he wouldn’t be a problem. Just as his new lab partner for 150 days opened his mouth, Saul stole the space again.

“Now. Important things first. Where the fuck is the AC here?”

Step one is to act like you’re the top dog, because otherwise you never will be.

( @atwicksend )

[s411l]

The dead eyed stare was enough to tell him about this place; it was desolate, it was isolated. A fortress of ice and bad social connections. It was perfect. No-one in their right mind, not even Saul himself, would think this would be where he would be spending the next 150 days; picking out slivers of frozen animals and examining them under the microscope didn’t sound like riveting work, but it was better than twiddling his thumbs in a ‘safe’-house.

Saul’s grin only stretched at the threat. He’s heard them all, and this wasn’t a particularly imaginative one.

“My hands cold? Didn’t have time to put on gloves, they didn’t wanna leave the private jet runnin’. ”

He rubbed them together and blew against his palms, like the hot puff of tobacco-stained breath might bring some life back into the tips of his fingers. By time he was finished, the touch-averse doorman had turned his back. The grin dropped. Saul watched the back of the mans’ head for a few moments; walking confidently enough to show he’d spent enough time in the place to know it like the back of his hand; People weren’t that open with their distaste if they were scared of losing their job, so this guy knew what he was doing too — all in all, not a bad asset to the station. Perhaps not a bad asset to him too. A miserable little bastard if he ever saw one, though.

“This station always as icy as you? Ah-right! You’re avoiding telling me where the AC is because you’re afraid you might melt.”

When the man continues to walk without showing any signs of attending to a thermostat, Saul shifts the weight on his rucksack and lets out a theatrically exasperated sigh. He had a jaunty yet lopsided gaunt as he caught up to his new companion; one leg has an almost stiff hop to it, a knee joint refusing to bend as smoothly as the other. He was quick to slow his pace once he did close the gap between them.

“-You here for the full 150?” It’s asked with a casual innocence, that smirk slipping back on his face.

STATION 42; ARRIVAL

150 DAYS BEFORE MISSION END

He was intending to make a good impression on whoever ran this place - the impression of someone who knew where he was and was prepared for it, like he was meant to be there and this wasn’t some last ditch effort to be as far away from civilisation as possible. That means sprucing up — a clean shave, hair dyed, gelled and dragged over his scalp to form the illusion of no receding hairline. But then he’d been told there was no need for a meeting, and been handed the plane tickets without much fanfare after.

The cold had forced him to hide the expensive (second-hand) suit under layers of sweaters and thermals and a puffy coat. Saul was a man clearly accustomed to a better climate. Minuscule icicles clung to his eyelashes, to the tip of his nose, to his feet, to everything. Hell, it felt like if he sneezed he might send shards of slimy ice scattering across the snow. What had been a moist hair gel now felt like super-glue dried to his scalp. And all of this was while Saul was inside the snowcat ferrying him to the final destination.

Station 42, The Station, his new station, was sat squat in the expanse of endless fields of ice. The vehicle that had brought Saul there was already beginning to have a building film of snow atop its roof, the weather having come out in full force to greet him. The passenger door had swung open, the motor’s hum becoming a stuttered groan against the wail of frozen wind. A sharp look from the driver told Saul it was time to hop off. The man had to move quickly, waddling through knee-deep snow and cussing with every step. By time he reached the compound, Saul was ready to tear the door off the hinges to get out the cold. He’s gotten this far and, as far as he saw it, the only thing that was gonna stop him was an avalanche dropping on his head.

“Come on, come on, come on-“

Patience was never one of his virtues, and he stamped his feet in an attempt to get some feeling back into the tips of his toes.

“-Fuck me.. let me in! It’s fuckin’ cold out here! I’m gettin’ frostbite!”

It must have only been thirty seconds; the outer door was a reinforced hunk of metal, after all. But at this temperature, thirty seconds felt more like thirty eternities. And when it did open, only halfway, the way in was blocked. The man stood in the entrance was dressed in layers of flannel, tired looking eyes boring into his. It looked like he was more interrupted by the intrusion than excited for more company. Good. Saul wasn’t a team player anyway.

“Are you the new lab-“

The man doesn’t get to finish his question; Saul splayed his hand out and stepped forward, letting the base of his palm collide with the mans sternum to make some space. Whether it’s out of disgust for being touched or actual force, the small window of space there was became Sauls - and he was slamming the door behind him as quickly as possible.

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m the new lab.”

He flashed a cocky grin that he didn’t expect to get a warm response from. The man wasn’t a security officer, so he wouldn’t be a problem. Just as his new lab partner for 150 days opened his mouth, Saul stole the space again.

“Now. Important things first. Where the fuck is the AC here?”

Step one is to act like you’re the top dog, because otherwise you never will be.

( @atwicksend )