ubcs

[ubcs]

.

[ubcs]

you can trust nikolai, just look at his shirt

[ubcs]

guys. i really like you. it's nice to be on this dashboard together

[ubcs]

DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN Season 1 | Episode 01 | Heaven’s Half Hour

[ubcs]

“I didn’t even need your help. You can go, now.” - @operationnestwrecker for anyone you think would be most entertaining 🤔

sentence starters. || @operationnestwrecker

"Not really, nah. Not for anotherrr— hang on." Letting a black nylon crossbody strap take over the support of his rifle to free up his hands, Carlos pats over a pocket on his vest that he knows has what he's looking for in it. The corporal pulls out a pager, looking at the digital time display.

He's rezippering the pocket, putting the device away as his head bobs a little in estimation, "Seven hours or so? They assigned this side of the island to the team I'm on. Unless my team lead or captain tells me to hit the road? I'm not goin anywhere. Oh, and you're welcome, by the way." Harmless, accompanied by a confident tilt to his lips.

[ubcs]

“Seriously? You’re gonna finally win me over, then go get hurt like that?” (To Carlos from Nikolai)

sentence starters. || @priceforeverything

"Pretty good timing if you ask me, sarge." There's conviction aplenty in Carlos' answer somehow: Though his words buoyed woozily, and though he's gurney-bound in the med wing.

Being on Nikolai's good side had its advantages already. The young gun isn't entirely convinced he'd be here without the Russian's direct interference. So, his dark eyes avert for reasons other than physical discomfort.

The majority of the specifics Carlos remembers: And he lets the memories replay as he mindlessly looks at the medical machinery in the room. The details of how they'd gotten from the mission site to this facility is not quite in his mind's reach — Carlos searches for Nikolai's eyes again, while his are atwinkle in anticipation beneath a glassy sheen.

"What'd you do to get here so damn fast? Jetpack us here?"

[ubcs]

“I didn’t want to admit it, but you were good in a fight.” for tha boi Carlos pls

sentence starters. || @snipeheart

A sewing needle is pointed high, attached to a taut length of thread; nearly done used mending a hole in the merc's lower left pants pocket.

"I know, right?" Dark hair falls away, revealing a tilted impression of a smile as Carlos lifts his head up from his work. "Some of those shots you made back th— wait, what do you mean by:" voice adopting an impression of the sharpshooter when he repeats, "'I didn't want to admit it'? Why the hell not?!"

[ubcs]

enemies to…. friends? allies??  … sentence starters

“Don’t touch me. You still make me sick.”

“Fine. Come with. Just stay out of my way.”

“I didn’t even need your help. You can go, now.”

“I didn’t want to admit it, but you were good in a fight.”

“Yeah, you’re funny. You’re also still a pain in my ass.”

“I think they lied to us. We aren’t that different, after all.”

“I hated you. I think I still hate you. But, I need your help.”

“If I have to rely on you for this, will I be able to trust you?”

“This doesn’t mean I like you. I still think you’re insufferable.”

“Is this what your friends always have to deal with? I pity them.”

“No, no, don’t you die, now, I just started being able to tolerate you!”

“You have a point. And that might be the scariest thing I’ve ever said.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea. You still disgust me. But you can be useful.”

“Seriously? You’re gonna finally win me over, then go get hurt like that?”

“Maybe… okay, hear me out, maybe we do have something in common.”

“You think this puts us on good terms? You’re still the enemy. You were just convenient.”

“You’re a lot different than I thought you would be. Still not sure if that’s good or bad, yet.”

“I didn’t think you’d be able to change my mind, but now I’m thinking things I never would’ve.”

“Don’t look at me, don’t talk to me, don’t touch me. Let’s get this mission over with, then never acknowledge my existence, again, got it?”

[ubcs]

It's your old friend, Nikolai.

[ubcs]

left behind

drawn by req on discord

[ubcs]

[ubcs]

❝ it just occurred to me i never asked you what your last name is. ❞

—never asked you what your last name was.

Carlos mishears her. Exhausted, but not extinguished, by the endless effort of battle-ready upkeep. Could be a bit of the tinnitus flaring up, too: holding a far away but mind-numbing note in his ear.

"What was that?" Smiling. Eyes uncertain. Dark bangs hide his nearly-worried brows. A cold grip of dread dampens the warmth of his vocal chords.

[ubcs]

MM-31 doesn’t need to sleep— so now that it’s 2 AM and Carlos has dozed off, the weapon trails away from the couch in the tiny living room. He goes towards where Carlos is currently asleep, and then he just— watches. He tilts his head as he observes the man snoozing. He finds it surprising Carlos is willing to sleep so soundly with MM-31 under the same roof as him.

Carlos' room, stacked with totes, various firearms, and magazines aplenty, hardly fit the mattress and the man in it.

Stress settled his bones lead-like into bed. After a time of naive rest, Carlos senses more than hears another presence, an intuition made savvy by the art of the stalk in deep, humid rainforests.

Carlos' head jolts from the pillow in a flurry of dark hair. A moment's uncertainty, with fluttering eyes still finding the smudgeshape of @evilstalks, has him squeezing the grip of a pistol stuffed behind the headboard. Then, going still, he deflates into the sheets.

"My poor heart... you scared the fuck out of me..." Sleep-gritty and murmured words, hardly hearing himself over his own heartbeat. Taking a moment's recovery first, his head lolls toward MM-31. "What's up? You restless...?" Accustomed to not receiving a reply, he continues, sluggishly: "Sucks, still being stuck indoors... Hoping we can figure out how to make that part temporary..."

[ubcs]

he makes me crazy ngl

—-

Twitter | Ko-fi

[ubcs]

Make that confidence waxing. "Got it."

Carlos swears that he is being measured with an amount of pride. Could be wishful thinking: You know, just seeing what he wants to see in these weary moments. Still, the thought is encouraging. Doubts are replaced and redoubled with confidence. A distorted image in the blade shows a smiling young gun: The pace of his breathing, wild a moment ago, settling to that of his opponent's. Mirroring the control that he sees.

That knife tests him, coaxing memories of who's got dad's knife? in the favela shared by his brothers, of bringing down coked out soldiers in the tall weeds - there is a spark in his dark eyes that ought to be something sensible, like fear or even focus. Yet what possesses Carlos is the spirit of play.

Game on. He knows the rules. First one: Try Not To Get Stabbed. Wresting of a knife-wielding arm typically works at preventing blades from plunging into his vitals, so to start that's exactly what Carlos grapples for.

"I did better that time!" All that vim and vigor is undermined by the cumbersome, straining effort in Carlos' voice. "That had to be better than last time!" Confidence waning. "Right?!"

his  breath  is  steady  despite  the  few  nicks  and  bruises  to  his  bare  knuckles  and  arms.  he  wanted  a  real  match  this  time,  one  to  get  the  blood  pumping  and  adrenaline  racing.  he  got  his  alright.  perhaps  in  his  old  age  everything  is  finally  catching  up  to  him.  or  maybe  drengr  has  finally  found  himself  a  worthy  predecessor.  it  was  something  to  consider.

❝  considerably.  ❞  the  large  vein  near  his  pockmarked  eye  lifts  imperceptible  before  regarding  the  young  mercenary.  ❝   just  remember  not  to  stay  head  on  with  your  enemy  if  you  don’t  have  to.  ❞  his  left  hand  holds  vertically akin  to  a  shielding  stance  as  his  right  hand  points  the  knife  he  unsheathes  towards  @ubcs  in  a  close  enough  position  to  his  chest  that  it  can't  easily  be  stolen.  ❝   now.  .  .  see  if  you  can  take  this  from  me.  ❞

[ubcs]

"Hey!" Immediately followed by a deep fist staccato hitting against the front door. Accompanying her guest was a canvas tote sagging with his own foodstuffs. Couldn't remember if it was considered rude to show up with nothing or the other way around so he erred on the side of caution. Bertha was sure to let him know if he'd done something to offend her, and he could ask for forgiveness after the fact.

Carlos' look from corporal to taste-tester was identical from the belt down (all terrain treads, blacked boots, durable pants), only his shirt had been swapped for a now-gray one and a second hand denim jacket. Both still sunwarm from being left in the car all day - it's what he could spare to grab on the way over.

"Sorry I'm running late. You should have seen me driving with my knees, tryin to read the map at the same time -" Hopefully he's explaining to a person in there, and not just confessing his questionable driving methods to an uncaring door.

@ubcs is the Kartoffelsalat taster

A decent person might offer to help hauling boxes. Bertha is not a decent person, she is a soldier and she has other things to concern herself, like a trip to a grocery. Once she finds one within a reasonable distance. She nods at the response and gives a quick, "good," before passing along her address. Then she turns and leaves Carlos to deal with the boxes on his own.

Eventually the ingredients laid out in an old, old recipe book- Bertha isn't entirely sure why she holds onto it, but sometimes it actually comes in handy and she can't bring herself to get rid of it- are gathered and the recipe is followed. The smell of bacon and brown sugar fill the small apartment with more personality than it's seen in the entire time the medic has used it.

The space has generic furnishing that came with the unit; a couch, some chairs, a small dining set. A lamp in case the overhead lighting is not enough. The locker at the foot of the bed and the closet in the only bedroom are close to personal; the clothes are Bertha's, at least. There are no photos of friends or family, no knickknacks, no art. It's a cold and impersonal space, which the medic has never felt self-conscious about until the realization hits that she is awaiting a guest. It isn't like an invasion of her privacy. An invasion of her lack of personal life? No. Bertha cannot put it into words, so she does not. She instead checks the small kitchen timer and debates on whether it's appropriate to put her gas mask on.

Maybe this is too much trouble to go through for a potluck. Maybe she should have volunteered to bring napkins or something instead of an actual dish that she actually needed to practice. The only thing she cannot bring herself to regret is picking Carlos to taste test. If she is going to provide her team with food she will not allow it to be bad; but since it is for her team, she could not use any of them for this purpose. Carlos is the safest option.

Bertha retrieve a beer from the fridge- picked up along with her earlier groceries- and gulps down half of it in one go. It only slightly takes the edge off of waiting for her guest to arrive.

[ubcs]

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CARLOS OLIVEIRA FROM RESIDENT EVIL — FEAT. OTHER UBCS MERCS. — DEAD BY DAY LIGHT & WESTERN & OTHER HORROR VERSES AVAILABLE