Brock Rumlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ukase) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
checkingout2015-06-25 09:43 am
ukase) wrote in checkingout2015-06-25 09:43 am
Entry tags:
All neat and tidy (Open)
Who: Brock Rumlow & OPEN
Where: Rumlow's Room (#119)
When: June 25th
What: Rumlow is under house arrest with a rotating guard. Come and visit or guard him.
Warnings: Mentions of nudity? More will be added as necessary.
[House arrest was such a bore, but it was apparently a necessary one as determined by the powers that be. He certainly didn't fight the fact that he was held in his own room like some kind of bad dog, but he made certain to use his time wisely too. Depending on the guard that was stationed in or outside of his room, he could access the network and privately speak to people who were like-minded or at least relieve some of the boredom. He played nice though, never doing anything that would currently be considered aggressive towards his guards or anyone who came into the room.
At this point, it was a lot of his word against someone else's, and he figured that if most people came from reasonable society, they wouldn't take that as him being guilty. Of course, he knew that humans were a gossipy useless group who often took the word of a complete stranger to heart at times because there was literally nothing better to do and people as a rule couldn't actually think for themselves and form opinions based on facts.
It really was a pity that Insight failed. The world would have been so much a better place. For now, he would bide his time. Let them come, do whatever he had to in order to keep his game face on. He had played everyone's fool for a very, very long time after all. Now, where were the people to talk real theology to?]
A.
[Rumlow spent a significant portion of his time exercising. It didn't matter who was on guard in his mind for that event because it happened a lot. He had little to actually work with, which forced him to improvise, which he was extremely good at. While his room had been stripped of anything a logical person might think was a weapon, he still had a few within reach if he chose to have one. Instead, he exercised. Over and over again until his muscles were burning, his skin salty with sweat and his clothing mostly discarded in a neat folded pile.
The middle of the floor was where he did his push-ups, at least one-hundred and fifty reps at a time. The side of the dresser had just enough space to slip his feet under where he could complete another one-hundred and fifty sit-ups. He stood at the end of the bed and quite literally bench-pressed it by lifting the back half up over and over, and while it wasn't enough weight to actually do much for him, the repetition was eventually enough to give him a tingle. With no room to run or jog, he took to practicing boxing in the middle of the floor, though there was nothing to hit and he almost always kept his back to his current guard so there was never any doubt that he had never assigned an actual target.]
B.
[Thank God for bathrooms. He spent an overly long amount of time with the door open grooming for the sake of grooming and to keep his hands occupied. His hair was generally always combed in the same way, and he shaved when it suited him. Showering with an observer was never a problem because had no body image problems, and after serving in a few tours overseas, one just plain got clean when and where they could. Hell, pissing in front of others didn't even bother him, though he took what little malicious joy he could in those that turned away or thought of respecting his 'privacy', which was such a thin illusion he could sneeze through it.
Whatever, he made do with what limited activity he could, which also involved going over every inch of his clothing looking for stains and repairing anything, which was null and void. He hand-washed his clothing with a bar of soap in the sink and hung it all the dry, seemingly content with his lot in life. A simple life wouldn't take too much off of him for the short-term while it took them however long to determine what to do with him. So, he scrubbed his clothing without complaint and peered at himself in the mirror.
Yep, still looking fine. Still a HYDRA agent. Still moving to continue his mission.]
C.
[He picked at the food that was brought to him, carefully measuring calories for what he needed based on the activity he was doing and added no more or no less to that. Any excess food, he pushed aside or, if it was able to be horded, he made a show of putting it in his little fridge to hold on to for another day. He thought that there would be at some point another food storage or perhaps his captors would decide not to feed him on any given day, which was totally what he would have done if the roles had been reversed. Of course, he might have taken a more direct hand in his little 'friends' too, but that was neither here nor there.
Laying across his bed on his stomach, he picked at the current provided meal, pushing it around the bowl plate without much interest. Instead, he had out a pen and paper and was writing as if it were his diary. There was nothing much in there but the boring statistics of his exercise and activities from the previous day. The spoon (never given a fork or knife) finally picked up some scrambled eggs, which he ate slowly like they meant little to him or his current attention.
All entries always finished with: Bored.
He sighed and peered at his current meal of the day, mentally calculating what he needed to keep the edge off.]
D.
[Choose your own adventure?]
Where: Rumlow's Room (#119)
When: June 25th
What: Rumlow is under house arrest with a rotating guard. Come and visit or guard him.
Warnings: Mentions of nudity? More will be added as necessary.
[House arrest was such a bore, but it was apparently a necessary one as determined by the powers that be. He certainly didn't fight the fact that he was held in his own room like some kind of bad dog, but he made certain to use his time wisely too. Depending on the guard that was stationed in or outside of his room, he could access the network and privately speak to people who were like-minded or at least relieve some of the boredom. He played nice though, never doing anything that would currently be considered aggressive towards his guards or anyone who came into the room.
At this point, it was a lot of his word against someone else's, and he figured that if most people came from reasonable society, they wouldn't take that as him being guilty. Of course, he knew that humans were a gossipy useless group who often took the word of a complete stranger to heart at times because there was literally nothing better to do and people as a rule couldn't actually think for themselves and form opinions based on facts.
It really was a pity that Insight failed. The world would have been so much a better place. For now, he would bide his time. Let them come, do whatever he had to in order to keep his game face on. He had played everyone's fool for a very, very long time after all. Now, where were the people to talk real theology to?]
[Rumlow spent a significant portion of his time exercising. It didn't matter who was on guard in his mind for that event because it happened a lot. He had little to actually work with, which forced him to improvise, which he was extremely good at. While his room had been stripped of anything a logical person might think was a weapon, he still had a few within reach if he chose to have one. Instead, he exercised. Over and over again until his muscles were burning, his skin salty with sweat and his clothing mostly discarded in a neat folded pile.
The middle of the floor was where he did his push-ups, at least one-hundred and fifty reps at a time. The side of the dresser had just enough space to slip his feet under where he could complete another one-hundred and fifty sit-ups. He stood at the end of the bed and quite literally bench-pressed it by lifting the back half up over and over, and while it wasn't enough weight to actually do much for him, the repetition was eventually enough to give him a tingle. With no room to run or jog, he took to practicing boxing in the middle of the floor, though there was nothing to hit and he almost always kept his back to his current guard so there was never any doubt that he had never assigned an actual target.]
[Thank God for bathrooms. He spent an overly long amount of time with the door open grooming for the sake of grooming and to keep his hands occupied. His hair was generally always combed in the same way, and he shaved when it suited him. Showering with an observer was never a problem because had no body image problems, and after serving in a few tours overseas, one just plain got clean when and where they could. Hell, pissing in front of others didn't even bother him, though he took what little malicious joy he could in those that turned away or thought of respecting his 'privacy', which was such a thin illusion he could sneeze through it.
Whatever, he made do with what limited activity he could, which also involved going over every inch of his clothing looking for stains and repairing anything, which was null and void. He hand-washed his clothing with a bar of soap in the sink and hung it all the dry, seemingly content with his lot in life. A simple life wouldn't take too much off of him for the short-term while it took them however long to determine what to do with him. So, he scrubbed his clothing without complaint and peered at himself in the mirror.
Yep, still looking fine. Still a HYDRA agent. Still moving to continue his mission.]
[He picked at the food that was brought to him, carefully measuring calories for what he needed based on the activity he was doing and added no more or no less to that. Any excess food, he pushed aside or, if it was able to be horded, he made a show of putting it in his little fridge to hold on to for another day. He thought that there would be at some point another food storage or perhaps his captors would decide not to feed him on any given day, which was totally what he would have done if the roles had been reversed. Of course, he might have taken a more direct hand in his little 'friends' too, but that was neither here nor there.
Laying across his bed on his stomach, he picked at the current provided meal, pushing it around the bowl plate without much interest. Instead, he had out a pen and paper and was writing as if it were his diary. There was nothing much in there but the boring statistics of his exercise and activities from the previous day. The spoon (never given a fork or knife) finally picked up some scrambled eggs, which he ate slowly like they meant little to him or his current attention.
All entries always finished with: Bored.
He sighed and peered at his current meal of the day, mentally calculating what he needed to keep the edge off.]
[Choose your own adventure?]
B.
He stands in the open doorway now, watching Rumlow go about his business, whatever that business happens to be. If it seems like Steve just finished a guard rotation, well, maybe he did. He's always up for extra, volunteering in someone's place or just to fill in the gaps. Rumlow isn't a guy you take chances with, but neither is Steve.
But he's watched another man comb his hair more than any man should.]
What's with all the sprucing up? You think you got somewhere to go?
[Rumlow, you've got exactly one hot date today and he's standing right there.]
no subject
Steve, clearly, held a few grudges. That wasn't very nice. Funny but not nice.
He was combing up his hair because taking a nap seemed to be out of the cards when Rogers was at the door. He wasn't going to be murdered in his bed, so he'd hold off for more favourable and less attentive guards than this one. Yet, he smirked at the question, running his fingers over his lightly stubbled cheek.]
Sure am. I got a hot date; maybe I'll even earn a kiss good-night... oh wait, your kissing is probably back from the Stone Age of ramming one's forehead against the other person's.
[He sighed and set the comb down.] Guess it's another day counting the knots on the wood.
A. with Trip
She wouldn't be alone for her post. Trip would accompany her, which did make the time pass a little more quickly than sitting in the hall by herself. Still, she wondered about the need for two people to watch Rumlow at the same time. Trip probably didn't want to be alone with the guy. Don't worry, Trip. Gamora will protect you.
As she waited, she leaned against the door and looked into the room where Rumlow was nearing the end of a set of sit-ups. Yup, he was in good physical shape, but she already knew he was an assassin. They had that in common.]
no subject
Trip found the entire scenario extremely sketchy. First there had been Ward's meeting with Coulson in an attempt to round up Rumlow only to have the man go willingly with SHIELD when surrounded. Granted, it wasn't until getting caught in an attempt to kill Skye (because no one would tell Trip different about the incident).
Brock Rumlow was a smart man. He would not have climbed up the ladder in SHIELD otherwise, duping the powers that be for as long as Hydra had. Maybe it was as simple as seeing the situation for what it was; he had nowhere to go like the rest of them and made the grave mistake of attempting to assassinate a SHIELD elite only to find that things don't work the same in the hotel as they do back home.
Whatever the case was, Trip planned on remaining close and watching out for all the other hotel residents. He worried about how Gamora seemed to feed into the line of bull Rumlow was feeding everyone. In fairness, Trip could see how an outsider might view the entire situation as the word of one against another. They didn't know what Hydra was capable of. Every agent was a snake, slithering amongst the unsuspecting and waiting to strike when most vulnerable.
Trip dressed in his more tactical clothing (cargo pants and jacket on top of a t-shirt) to keep a number of items at his disposal. Lately, his favorite item was the pair of earbuds he found in his room. They did the trick of blocking out some of the annoying high pitch scream that hadn't stopped in the hotel. He didn't have any music but they could plug into the tablet and he played back what video was available at times just for a mental reprieve.
He also recorded as much as possible of time spent guarding Rumlow. Should the man attempt anything, there would be more than the word of one or two against him. Trip played back the video for any insight later on. It sickened him that so much time and resources were being wasted on the traitor but no one had yet to come up with anything better.
With a tense swagger, he walked up and met Gamora at the room. ]
They didn't wait for me to get here? [ Trip was far from the positive and happy person she had initially met. Not that many had slept since the irritating noise began but there was the added stress of Rumlow thrown in. ] There shouldn't ever be just one person guarding this asshole.
[ Unless you were Captain America but that was another subject entirely. ]
no subject
Of course, they didn't actually know what his worst was because all of his little acts were covered up or listed under a faked name. His alias along with those in deep cover were all held very highly so that there was no leaks in the system that might generate early suspicion. He and those of the STRIKE teams part of HYDRA had done their song and dance for long enough to know how the game worked and they all always covered for each other. That's what made them such a great team.
It was too bad he was on his own. He would have enjoyed elbowing Rollins at least, but he was content to operate alone as well.
By now, he recognized the quiet way that Gamora stood guard, and of course, Triplett's voice was staggering in how much disdain it could contain. That man was clearly hurting in the ass from all of this HYDRA business; he thought Triplett might hate HYDRA almost as much as Skye seemed to. At least Coulson could be cordial at times. Damn kids, they had lots to learn about controlling their emotions if they wanted to get anywhere in this world.
He finished his sit-ups, letting his back settle on the floor as he stretched his arms above his head and rotated his hips and legs from one side to the other to flex the muscles of his back and set his spine into alignment.]
Pretty sure the nice lady can tear out my tongue before I realize I'm dead from blood loss, Agent. [He pushed himself to his feet and rolled his shoulders.] Take some anger management courses, kid. It will do you wonders.
no subject
As for guarding Rumlow alone, Gamora had no qualms about that. She told the previous guard that she was more than capable of dealing with the prisoner if he got unruly, and it was the truth.
Rumlow seemed to realize it as well. At the man's mention of tearing his tongue out, Gamora only smirked a bit and tilted her head. Yes, she really could.]
He has behaved, from what I've heard. Your people need to decide where to go from here, Trip. We can't continue a guard rotation forever.
no subject
[ There was no point in being cordial with the enemy as far as Trip was concerned. He'd leave the diplomacy to the politicians. Maybe it was something he'd learn with age though a part of Antoine hoped to hell that it wasn't. Rumlow had been the reason for a number of deaths within SHIELD like most Hydra agents, but the worst had to be the deaths of people who trusted his position in SHIELD. The bastard had even tried to go against Steve Rogers.
Rumlow was embodiment of Hydra as far as Trip was concerned. And Trip was raised to be the ideal of everything that SHIELD was meant to be. It was nothing short of devastating (which translated easier into anger) to find not only a traitor in the ranks but that person being someone who'd been admired and respected. Trip had already lived that once with John Garrett. That contempt carried over to Brock Rumlow.
Trip stood solid with hands in his pockets. He spoke with contempt but in a very matter of fact method. It was all the attention he gave to Rumlow before addressing what Gamora had said. ]
They're working on it. But I'm not gonna discuss any of that within earshot of him. If you'll have dinner with me after this, we can talk about it then.
no subject
And oh sure, he'd killed two people. In the grand scheme of things, they came back and no harm, no foul. He never cared for people holding grudges like that anyway. If anything, they'd look back on all of this and laugh before cutting their throats the next time.
Well... STRIKE would. These stuffy misconceived individuals clearly liked to run around yelling a lot.
He moved to the floor by the bed and lay himself down, sliding his head and shoulders underneath so that the back of the bed frame was where he wanted it to bench press it. He hummed a tune to himself as he began those reps while listening in on whatever they had to say, though he knew for a fact that all information was being pushed around him for fear he might do something with it. Up and down. Up and hold for ten seconds then down again.]
Awww yeah, the ol' Triplett asking out his guard partner on a dinner date. That is so romantic I can barely stay still.
no subject
Discussing your fate is not romantic dinner conversation.
[And Gamora doubts she'd be good at actual romantic dinner conversation anyway.]
But if SHIELD cannot determine what to do with you, I will not keep you here much longer.
[Trip gets a little side-eyed at that, since she knows he won't like hearing her say that. But still, they can't keep a man imprisoned indefinitely. Especially if the one's keeping him don't know what to do with him.]
no subject
One thing's for sure...No one's died since he's been confined to quarters.
[ His gaze turned to Gamora, shedding his contempt for an earnest look that he valued her input. ]
You don't have to do this. There's enough people among SHIELD to take the shifts on our own. We might not be able to prove he was responsible for Coraline but he's dead to rights with Coulson. You've heard it's more than just Coulson's word on the type of guy he is [ A head nod toward Rumlow's direction. ] right? Hydra isn't to be trusted.
no subject
Oh and are you going to be the one to open a hand to allow me my freedom again, Gamora? That sure is kind. Almost like we're friends.
[At least he knew he had someone sort of at his back. He didn't trust her not to snap his neck at any time he toed a potential line, but he could use her reasonability to ease back out into his freedom. He'd just have to be a bit more careful taking out his enemies... or pair off with Ward and really start a war. Very exciting.]
no subject
We are not friends.
[But yes, maybe she sees a little too much of herself in him.]
If the people in this hotel came from my galaxy instead of yours, you would hear a thousand voices insisting I was the killer. [She looks to Trip as she says that.] I could easily be the one confined to my room right now if the residents were different.
[And the ones who would accuse her of being a cold blooded murderer wouldn't be entirely wrong. She was that for most of her life.]
Even if you do intend to keep him here for a crime, this place will eventually experiment on us again. He could use that to his advantage and escape during the chaos. [Because that's what Gamora would do.] Then this whole scenario would play out again indefinitely.
no subject
You're nothing like him. You at least have the decency of taking responsibility for what you've done while he hides and cries fowl knowing damn well he got caught going into the cookie jar by trying to choke out Skye.
[ Contempt was heavy in his words even if Trip didn't give Rumlow the satisfaction of seeing any physical response. ]
So what do you think the best --wait, no. Not here. We can get into details later. How are you holding up with this never ending scream?
no subject
[He was, of course, shamelessly listening in on their conversation because normally his guards just ignored him and wanted little else to do with him. They also didn't always pair up when all it took was standing by a door like some bouncer at a bar. Too bad there was no party inside.
It was amazing how blind a guy could be. Triplett needed to peel back the illusions because it was obvious that Gamora was a piece of work, and she could and probably would throw her weight around regardless of her relations with anyone. That's what made her effective; there was a time and a place for emotions.]
no subject
I block it out as much as I can, but I think we'll soon suffer from the lack of sleep.
[Which doesn't make guarding a prisoner any easier. As for being unlike Rumlow, perhaps they weren't entirely the same in every way.]
You're right about that. If I had killed Coulson, I would admit it.
[Her eyes go straight to Rumlow as she says that. Gamora wouldn't attempt to lie about it. She's an assassin. Killing is what she does. Why pretend it isn't? If she killed someone and they wanted revenge, they could try and take it, but they'd probably end up dead, too. As for the details, she sees no reason not to voice her opinion in front of Rumlow. She's not really making the final decision on all of this.]
I think he should be sentenced if he committed the crime. Then exact the punishment. If your people want to lock him up, at least give him a term. A month. A year. Don't leave it open ended.
[She crosses her arms and leans against the inside of the doorframe.]
Whoever is keeping us here doesn't seem to mind if he did kill Coulson. If we were gathered here and they don't care if we die, then why are we here?
[The question is more for the air. She doesn't expect either of them to actually know the answer.]
no subject
It really isn't feasible to keep him locked up indefinitely. They'll come up with something that makes sense and keeps people safe.
[ Unconsciously, Trip mirrored Gamora on the opposite side of the doorway with his hands in his jacket pockets rather than his arms folded over his chest. It was a short distance together yet comfortable. A fleeting throught came to mind; he didn't know since when but the green no longer struck him. She wasn't an alien first but someone he called a friend. ]
That's a thought that's been bugging me since I learned about Coulson. But if they really don't care, why bring us back? How do they get into our rooms without anyone noticing? --These aren't just regular people but highly trained who would never miss the intrusion.
no subject
He just wanted to see if they could prove it was him. If they has feasible and good usable evidence, he would. He'd even do a re-enactment for the benefit of all on the stupid look on Coulson's face as he choked the guy on his bedroom floor.]
Social experiment. [Yeah, he was still eavesdropping.] Put a bunch of mice in a cage and see what happens. We just happen to be the mice.
no subject
[Because if it were people, at least one of them would've noticed by now. Especially given how well trained many of them appear to be. Gamora looks to Rumlow next at his suggestion.]
Perhaps. But many of the people they've gathered here are highly skilled. You and I don't fit the normal social-anything.
[She doubts they make good test subjects if someone wanted to learn about normal social interactions.]
no subject
[ Trip twitched at Rumlow's response. The muscle in his jaw flexed enough to be noted under his bearded cheek. It had been his same thought--a social experiment. One invented by Hydra. But while history showed the venomous agency as one who would have all the interest in running such an experiment, even Trip doubted their ability to the extent of what the hotel produced.
He glanced and stared for a moment at the Hydra agent. ]
What'd be the point? What're they gettin' out of this? If it's really an experiment, there's a result they're looking for. I'm not seeing one.
no subject
[He hadn't been here long enough to know that people could come and go, but that didn't matter. This was probably the first time that Triplett had ever engaged him in conversation that wasn't a barbed comment or question. They were practically friends or something, but he knew they would stab each other as necessary. See, friends.]
Hey, Gamora, you're not of Earth. What did dad-o want from you, hmm? Why'd he take you? Probably because he could. What do our grand overseers want? Who knows, but we're here because they could.
no subject
Even so, he had a use for me. A purpose for me. I see no purpose in our being here except to be tormented.
[So whatever that purpose is, she'd like to find out about it.]