( tdm 11 )

[hownkai]

T E S T D R I V E

ABOARD THE MOIRA Whether adjusting to space travel has been difficult or not, there is always something to be done. From working to leisure, the Moira offers a multitude of opportunities to get to know your crewmates a bit better. Exploration of the ship is highly encouraged, but as another planet grows closer to being docked, things start to get a little hectic. You'll notice a slight change in the artificial gravity as the Moira is pulled into a gravitational field; however, more noticeable changes can be found in the overall morale as you prepare to descend. ☄ on your own There are plenty of other communal areas on the ship to explore! Pick a place, and see where it takes you. ( These scenarios can be used as in-game canon. ) H A I S T O S Unlike previously visited locations, the sweltering heat of this planet can be felt long before arrival. The surface of Haistos is not a place for those with a weak constitution. It’s in a constant state of low-level volcanic activity as its land masses are dotted with many volcanoes—all of them spewing black ash into the air. Breathing is difficult without the aid of a respirator due to the potential of breathing in ash, and the plant life is stunted, adapted to living in an environment with little sunlight. The weather is unpredictable, and ash-storms will often blow in fiercely, leaving people trapped for a hours at a time before they blow themselves out. But that same ash which chokes everything on this planet is what also provides its livelihood. Haistos’ volcanic resources are a highly sought-after commodity elsewhere in the universe, and as long as gathering the ash is profitable, people will continue to return. Looking closely, etched into the curling paths of ignimbrite deposits that swirl along the base of the volcanoes is a language that is easily translated by the MID, often resembling Latin. Carved over time by visitors and travelers, it tells a tale of fire and stone and power. Some might even say there are mystic abilities associated with these volcanoes, though the rumors and myths behind it seem to be nothing but a warning to those who think to go looking for it. It’s also hard to tell if the words carry any true meaning since there are no natives to question, and all those who harvest the ash can only tell stories. Still, it’s apparent that people from many different times have all added to the scrolling messages. A word of caution: you cannot build here. Stone, metal, and wood all burn, all crumble. Only what is true can survive, and fire will show its true quality. ☄ breathing sparks Despite the haphazard lay of the land, there are things to do. Or, at least, things to see. The rocky terrain often leads to some inactive volcanoes that are perfect for exploring and harvesting the ash that continues to rain down across Haistos. There are step-like structures built into the sides of the volcanic craters, narrow but sturdy. With each move down, the air gets even thicker, and your respirator takes longer and longer to filter the unbreathable atmosphere the deeper into the planet you travel. Yet, the risk of asphyxiation is worth what awaits at the bottom of the staircase. Still warm, the volcanic rocks that are sunk into the deposits are both smooth and clear as crystal. Most of these gems retain heat permanently and can be used to warm small spaces. Gathering too many together in a single place, however, creates a reaction with the limited air supply and can spark a faux volcanic eruption—yes, these rocks are capable of producing lava at an impossibly quick rate. Is it possible to outrun the flow and reach the steps before it begins filling the bottom of the crater? The only thing worse than a sudden swimming pool of lava would be the respirator finally breaking because of the abrupt, extreme heat, wouldn’t it? ☄ under pressure Despite being unable to actually build any structures of substance on Haistos, walking around the planet itself is surprisingly easy. Due to its unusual composition, the ground itself is a noticeable mixture of dark rock and shining surfaces. More than that, each step around the bases of the volcanoes reveals something both amazing and rather fascinating: the ability to create diamonds without much pressure at all. It only takes a single step or even a hand print. Take a break and sit to rest? Diamonds. Wrestling over what pile of ash is yours to claim? Diamonds. Tripping and falling and refusing to get up so that no one sees your embarrassment? Diamonds. Suddenly, moving around on Haistos has taken a whole new turn. Especially when it’s completely possible to keep what you make with your very own body weight. ☄ if you break it, you buy it Out of the eater came something to eat, and out of the strong came something sweet. At the base of one of the smaller volcanoes, this message is carved into the rock in large, curling script. The volcano is currently inactive and is dotted with openings large enough for visitors to enter through. Stranger than the message is the faint tinkling sound - almost like glass clinking against glass - that grows louder the deeper into the volcano you go. The intricate honeycomb of paths all lead in the same direction—towards the sound and a mellow blue glow. At the center, the sound is loud and the light illuminates a large space. Thousands of crystalline creatures swirl and bump against one another, the source of both the sound and light. They appear to be a cross between a lightning bug and bee, glowing and noisy and harmless. The beautiful sight may, or may not, be dampened by the fact that the cavern is littered with glass honeycombs that have been built up within the bodies of fallen travelers. It’s clear that the organisms didn’t harm them, perhaps the result of too much ash or broken respirators, and the honey they’ve produced is light blue and clear. It’s sweet if eaten, bright and citrus-y, and carries an earthy undertone, making the skin glow temporarily after ingesting. If careful, visitors may harvest the honey, but do not disturb the creatures. Their wings are sharp, and when agitated, they swarm out of fear. OUT OF CHARACTER INFO FAQ | LOCATIONS | RESERVES | APPLICATIONS | NAVIGATION For mature or graphic content, please label. For questions, please direct them to the FAQ. As always, be kind and have fun!

Comments

lmao don't be THIS IS GREAT

[abide]

[ There are too many words being thrown around for Steve to actually pretend to understand. Yet, he knows Alva is Alvary, and whoever this man is to Andyr must mean more than he's assumed because he gets so defensive over it and practically bristles. Calming someone isn't the easiest thing to do, not when they're strung high on nerves from being dropped into a strange environment, and it especially doesn't help that Steve's own appearance seems to unsettle him more than help. Yet, he can't do anything about that, and as much as he's already tried placating an entire crew of people from wanting to kill one another, he feels this is different in some way. (It also doesn't help that he's wearing Bucky's face, the one he really remembers, and though he doesn't show it, this is just as difficult for him as it is for Andyr.) ]

I don't know what those are, but no one owns this place. [ Sort of. Their captains probably do, but that is a conversation for another time. ] This is the Moira's medbay. It's a ship. [ Steve's eyes drop to follow the other man's body language, and he finds himself responding unconsciously before he forces himself to relax. There isn't going to be a fight here. He isn't going to risk the safety of the others around them, and he certainly doesn't want this new person to get hurt either. If he had to, he'd subdue him, but that's a worst case scenario he'd rather not think about just yet.

He eases up, his stance open but careful now. ] I know this doesn't make sense, but no one's gonna hurt you. I'm trying to help. [ Keyword there. ] I came here just like you a while ago. [ He isn't sure that will mean much. Still, he has to do something. ]

sob OH GOOD poor steve

[deconstruct]

Are you? [ Barked out, half a laugh. Trying to help, he means. Help who? Sure as hell isn't him, Andyr thinks. Maybe help someone else get an army of petri-dish people that look like him. Maybe help some 90 year old rich fuck who's not ready to die yet get a new heart, liver, spine and set of kidneys. But him? No one helps him. No one ever helps him. ] Do you actually believe that?

[ Maybe he does. Maybe they sapped all of what Alvary was outside of genetic resilience from him. Makes sense. At least for the moment, the conversation has Andyr more focused on what the fresh hell is this than wanting to lash out at any of others nearby, as his head tilts at the explanation. Moira. A ship. Like what, an air ship? Nevermind the fact he'd never heard of any of the Houses equipping air ships with their research facilities, but it isn't like Andyr's ever kept in the loop about these things. What's more striking to him is the notion that this place isn't owned. ]

So, what, someone just pulled a ton of money outta their ass to pay for all the fancy gadgets and crap, then just left it? [ As if a generous benefactor just fronted the cash for this place and then gave away all claim to it. That doesn't happen. People aren't that kind, certainly not people putting together labs like this. Has to be bullshit. ] Was it Santa? Did Santa give you the lab?

[ He never claimed not to be a bitch, okay. Hell, he has to do something to entertain himself. Speaking of, there's a pause, and a squint, as Andyr mentally overlays his memory of Alvary on top of this Not-Alvary. ]

You're short. [ Alva is 6'5". He's a giant. ]

THIS IS HIS LIFE don't worry, he'll get over it eventually (probably)

[abide]

[ This guy talks a mile a minute, and still, Steve doesn't know his name. He isn't going to call him Bucky. It'd just confuse him, and he refuses to do that to his best friend, which— he's thinking about Bucky now, what he might think seeing someone with his face who isn't him and appears to have no filter. (Then again, that might just be the paranoia and fear overriding general decency; he doesn't know.) And all Steve feels is that protective spark rising up to swallow his own confusion. There are people to keep safe here, even from those who are just recently new to the ship. His mouth thins considerably. ]

I believe that. [ His tone reflects it, genuine and firm. ] There's more to this place than just medical. You don't have to stay here. [ And of course, he could pull up the map on his MID to prove it, but he doesn't know if that would do anything just yet. Steve could practically snap the tension right off him if he thought about doing it. ] But everyone on board is in the same position. We were brought here from our homes and told what I'm telling you now. Do your part, and hopefully, we'll get where we're going in one piece. [ He honestly can't say how true that will be in a few months if the crew's morale and general attitude doesn't shape up, but Andyr is new. He's scared, potentially dangerous. Steve won't risk that either.

His last comment pulls a short smile from the frown he's wearing though. ] Yeah? [ That's not entirely true. He's about 6'2, maybe 6'4 when wearing combat boots. Steve glances down, then up again to meet Andyr's squint. ] I used to be shorter. [ Long story. Don't ask. At least he sounds sort of amused? ]

:'| YOUR LIFE SUCKS, BUDDY hang in there, champ

[deconstruct]

[ Paranoia and fear are in there somewhere, certainly, but he'd lost a general sense of decency about five years back. When just shouting vitriol and profanity at anyone who'd walked by him became his last means of real rebellion, Andyr'd taken to it like a fish to water. The habit stuck, and the filter just isn't there anymore. ]

Do your part. Right. [ Repeated in a murmur, as discolored eyes (part of the blue bled into something unnatural, as the side effect of the KN gene) slide from Steve again to the room at large. Behave. Cooperate. Be complacent. It's just how things are now, so shut up and get in line. Something sinks in his chest, feeling the same old certainty that he'd never get out of any of this. For a long, quiet moment, Andyr's actually silent, seeming lost in some kind of thought, as he looks from the doctors, to the lab tables and hospital beds, to the complex machinery against the wall, and lastly, to the doors on the other end of the room. More to this place than medical, he'd said, and told him he could leave if he wanted. Well. Here's a good test for how much this place is different or not - ]

Okay. So let's go. [ Said as his eyes set on the far doors, and he's pacing straight past everyone who'd demanded he have a physical first, moments ago. If he can leave, let him freaking leave. If he's stopped before he gets to the doors, Andyr will be shooting Steve a look, with a lofted brow and a sardonic half-smile. Don't have to stay here, was it?

If not, he'll just idly carry on to the other comment about height, while looking mildly surprised at the bit of freedom. ] Shorter, seriously? You'd look like a cartoon.

fights until he's dead tbh

[abide]

[ He doesn't like that as much as anyone else on the Moira, but it's necessary. If they don't follow some sort of law, it'd just wind down into a chaos that no one could control, that would destroy the structure of the ship and ruin anyone's chances of getting home. Steve hasn't decided if he really wants to go home just yet himself, not with all the people he knows and cares about being here within easy reach, but for the others who are homesick or fighting to get back to those they loved— it's a sacrifice he'd willingly make for them.

And when Andyr rushes back towards the doors, Steve is giving some of the staff a look that says he'll bring him back when things are more settled (he has to sign the contract, has to get the MID so there's some connection to the rest of the crew), and with that out of the way, he falls into pace with him rather easily down the long corridor that would lead them in the direction of the deck quarters. There's a slight shake of his head. ]

It's sort of complicated. [ Not that anyone from his world wouldn't know that particular story. Wanting to fight for his country, drafted as an experiment for Erskine's serum and becoming Captain America. Steve isn't wearing those colors now, almost drab in the Moira's darker uniform that's much too tight in the shoulders, and his shield is absent from his person as well. Maybe that's why he'd gotten him confused with Alvary, but that's only speculation. He stops at an intersection, gesturing down the hallway. ] The mess is that way if you wanna grab something to eat. Private and shared rooms are the other way. You know - [ The Moira is HUGE. Aimlessly wandering would take them days. Steve rests a hand on his hip. ] - you never told me your name.

shine on you crazy diamond

[deconstruct]

[ It's absurd how much of a relief it is to just be out of that room, like he'd been holding his breath the entire time, only just now exhaling, and Andyr's a little baffled that he was able to walk out that easily, pausing to a moment to turn while they walk, pacing backwards a moment with eyes on the door, like he's expecting some throng of security goons to come running behind. Huh. There's an obnoxious jangle from the chains still attached to the cuffs on his ankles (that were a lot more effective in keeping his stride restrained before Mikal, the one clone Andyr actually likes, took a blow torch to them), but Andyr's ignoring it as he goes. He isn't tripping, and that's fine. Turning back around to properly face the direction they're headed in, he's squinting around at the walls and hallways, before looking back to Steve. ]

Complicated? I got time. [ Maybe. He doesn't actually know, but sure, nothing better's going on, aside from a lot of confusion. And he would like to know what the hell Steve is supposed to be. In truth, he's shorter than the doppleganger Steve knows as well - somewhere between 5'9" and 5'10", more apparent with the lack of shoes. Shorter Than We Should Be all around. ] Someone screw up the formula?

[ Without a word on which he'd like to choose, Andyr snaps his trajectory immediately towards the promise of food. The rooms he could care less about, and frankly has no interested in taking himself to an assigned room any faster than he has to. But there is a pause, to consider, before he offers his name. ]

Andyr.

[abide]

[ There's plenty of time. Steve's been aboard the Moira for nearly six months now, and still, it seems they are a long way from getting to the place that's going to take them home. But that is something he'd rather not mention right away, instead choosing to answer Andyr's question with a familiar pitch that somehow manages not to sound practiced. ]

Got it right, I think. [ It hasn't technically been that long ago for him—four years. But four years in the twenty-first century has come with so much more than the twenty-seven years he'd lived before he'd crashed into that ocean. ] Back where I'm from, when I was younger, the world went to war. Either you enlisted or got drafted, but that didn't happen for me. Got turned away for health reasons, though that didn't stop me from trying every chance I got. [ Steve remembers exactly how many times someone had told him no before one person had finally said yes. The thought brings a partial smile to his face, following the other towards the mess hall without much complaint. ] I met this doctor - [ just before my best friend got shipped off ] - who saw something others couldn't, I guess. Told me about this serum...

[ They step into the mess hall as he mentions that, a tilt of his head to look Andyr over sort of casually. He wants to ask him if he'd been on the run, considering his clothes, but that's a little too impolite to be brought up without any sort of leeway into the conversation. ]

That's pretty much how it went. [ He shrugs. ] Sorry you got dragged into all of this, Andyr. [ As if an apology would do much good, but it's something. ]

[deconstruct]

You wanted to go to war? [ Andyr's inserting near immediately after Steve's finished. There aren't any dire or noble wars, where Andyr's from, anymore. Just aggressive border expansion and the coveting of resources. They aren't even fought by citizens anymore - just however many clones you can fill a barracks with. Andyr isn't sure how many are his, but considering the specialty of Hapsburg, he figures 'a lot' is pretty right. There isn't a way he could begin to process why you'd want to volunteer yourself for that.

His eyes trace Steve's profile a moment, watchful, picking up the slight differences between him and the face he knows here and there. The cadence of his voice, the tone, trying to seek out whatever's causing that small wisp of a smile on his lips. Strange. So much about him is so strange. ]

What'd the serum do? Make you healthy? [ There's something wry, maybe a bit sour in that. But even still, there isn't just a serum sapped from the KNs in their world to cure the rest of the population. Their genome's can't sustain it - it's organs and skin grafts and all that they need to borrow. No instant cure all. So it still just doesn't make sense. None of this fits together the way is should, in his head. ] And you used that health to go to war?

[ Some judgment in the tone, but the wars he knows are much different than the war Steve fought in, and the people he'd sought to protect. But the last sentiment has another long pause dragging from him, Andyr blinking at the man like he's not sure if he should shake his hand or snap his neck. ] You really don't know anything about it, do you?

No one like me wants to be where I was. [ He was on the run, yes, for all of about twenty minutes. All the freedom he could get before Ingress snatched him up and dropped him here, which looked so, so identical to what recapture would've been. ] Walking out of that lab already means I'm better off than before.

[ if it is actually as free and safe as Steve's saying, he has zero interest in returning home. ]

[abide]

I wanted to do what all the others in my country had the right to do. [ Trying to say he couldn't had only fueled the determination to go. ] People were dying because someone else thought it was a good idea to push the power they had onto those who couldn't defend themselves. That's why I went.

[ It's a lot more complicated than that, but the end message is still the same. He doesn't want to explain how he'd spent too much time in the USO trying to convince people to support the war by buying bonds, and he certainly didn't want to explain the whole song and dance routine he'd been put through to do it. What matters is the lives he'd been able to save despite the ones that had been lost, and it's important to emphasize that. Judging by Andyr's tone, he can see what the other might have thought about him before he'd said that. Some people just didn't understand. That, and Steve's much too stubborn to give in even if it means risking his own life for the sake of others. His voice is softer. ] Some would say the serum did more. [ And it had. ] But now, it's about helping those here as much as I can. Any way I can.

[ Which had been the reason he'd been in the medbay in the first place. Then again, Andyr's face and general stature isn't exactly something to turn away from either, not for him. Even if there are those slight differences - his eyes are the wrong color, the set of his mouth and the curl of his hair are wrong too - he can still see traces of Bucky where he shouldn't be able to find them. He's going to have to have a long talk with his friend after he's done here, and Steve isn't really looking forward to it. Things are so convoluted right now anyway. Still, he swallows the sigh caught in his throat and looks at Andyr head-on. ]

No one like you? [ Did that have something to do with - what had he called him before? - Mice? ] Some of the crew here feel the same way. If you don't wanna go back, no one's going to force you to.

[deconstruct]

What right, to die for some billionaire who barely knows or cares that you exist to begin with? People with power are always pushing it to find a way to own the people who don't, what else is new? [ Andyr snaps out immediately, something sneered about the idea of calling going to war a right to be stripped of. Since when does anyone care that a sickly iteration gets put into danger, anyway? Maybe for the expense of resources. Either way, he realizes a half second after that it's something Steve feels passionate about, and even if Andyr thinks of it as stupid, this man is at least convinced he's helping him at the moment. Though it's with a flat expression, and a sour glance to the side, he mumbles out an apology. ] Sorry.

Good you tried, at least. Did you win? [ Wanting to protect, it's a good ideal. Maybe if he were still a kid out in low town, dreaming of taking on the entire House system to get his sister back, he'd idolize someone who talked like Steve. Too much has happened since then. It's say a lot about him, alone, that he was given something to take him from frail to the kind of strong that can actually boast protection, and still talks more about looking out for other people than himself. If he is one of the clones, he's a good one. For now. ]

KN1s. [ Is the answer to Steve's question, and there's a lot that would be needed to explain what that means, or why just the phrase 'no one's going to force you to' brings a small, incredulous kind of smile to him. Just talking to the man is starting to give Andyr enough proof that he knows nothing about any of this, even if he is some kind bizarre new clone (at this juncture, Andyr has no other way to come to terms with Steve's existence, or vaguely explain what he is to himself - 'multiverse' isn't something he'd ever heard whisper of before).

In lieu of an exhaustive explanation, which feels stupid reciting at Alvary's slightly more super model looking face, Andyr tilts his head forward, and to the side, away from Steve, before running a hand over the messy hair at the nape of his neck. Tugging the strands up, and bent forward enough that it isn't concealed by the collar of the guard's coat he's been wearing since arrival, there's a metal port there, about one inch in diameter, at the very top of his neck, drilled into his spine - a circle of chrome with the center filled with a strange looking gel. Around the top rim over the port, there's letters deeply engraved in the metal, that read: "PROPERTY OF HOUSE HAPSBURG". ] What I know about people getting some kinda miracle cure, like you? Comes out of something like this. Not asked nicely for either.

[abide]

[ He doesn't think everyone would get why he went, so it's not as if he tries to read too much into the expression on Andyr's face. If anything, it fuels the desire to explain better, but his own circumstances are sort of confusing to people who are from where he's from; he can't imagine what it might sound like to someone who has no idea what it had been like at all. ]

Eventually, yeah. But I wasn't there to see it. [ Steve also hadn't been around to learn the outcome of it, how it had really ended, and he swallows, mouth tight. ] That was a long time ago though. A little over seventy years. [ He'll just let Andyr try to get his head around that one and focus on what he's telling him, what he's showing him. He doesn't know what he should do with the fact that there's something like this in another person, but it's not as if he's a stranger to the terrible experiments that have been forced onto others. That is the sense he's getting from everything Andyr tells him, and Steve can't fight the slight nausea that burns its way into his throat when he stares at the port, the flash of chrome and the words pressed into the metal like they had some right to be there.

Property. Owned. Not a person but a thing.

Steve's fingers curl tight at his sides to keep him from reaching out to touch, the disbelief that another world could exist like this for the sole purpose of harvesting whatever they wanted out of someone without permission is just-- He looks away, at the floor as his teeth grind a little. It might have not been the same kind of imprisonment, but what he had fought for had been something close, to free those unable to do it themselves. Whatever reassurances he might have offered him about being on the Moira sort of dissolves into something else entirely, and he braves the space between them to gently rest his palm against his bicep instead. A soft curl of his fingers, nothing hard or gripping or confining. ]

Nothing like that is gonna happen here, and it didn't happen to anyone to get me like this either. [ That had been his choice. What was it Tony had said? Everything special about him had come from a bottle? ] I know you don't have any reason to trust me, but I promise no one will touch you as long as you're here.

Not for that. [ A pause, and he pulls his hand away. ] Not unless you want them to.

[deconstruct]

Seventy years? [ Andyr's brows loft, skeptical. ] Bullshit.

[ There's no way he's that old, not even the KN gene would keep you looking early thirties for that long. So either he's lying, he's insane, or he's some knew brand of freak engineered up from who even knows where. It's all quickly forgotten when Steve's hand touches at his arm, and Andyr nearly jumps out of his skin. After brushing his hair back down and tugging his collar back up to hide the ports again, he'd shifted his eyes, skimming around the mess hall they'd entered like checking for exits or possible weapons - a natural instinct he has these days - so it comes as a surprise when he feels contact at his bicep. And for Andyr, any contact that wasn't from Alva, Posie, Val or Mikal meant pain, or being led to pain. Thus, he jerks to the side, like it'd been a hot iron directly to his skin, eyes snapping back to Steve, wild and a bit frenzied.

It takes a second to process what he's saying, and what he's meaning by it, his mind trying to discern is this is genuine sincerity or an attempt at pacifying, because usually it's the latter. But Steve seems to have something real behind it, in the clench of his jaw, in the emotion behind his eyes, and in the softness of the palm at his arm, Andyr not having jerked so far that he didn't recoil back against the hand once he'd relaxed. 'I promise no one will touch you as long as you're here', he tells him, and Andyr watching him with face tilted down a bit, brows knit, like he's on guard, but trying to figure out if it's really a good idea to come off of it. ] You're goddamn right no one's going to.

[ though it's low, and there's that threat of aggressive defense in it, it's more murmured, distracted, because he's still trying to figure out what the hell this guy is. who he is. andyr watching him for a beat of silence, before reaching up to curl fingers in the front of his shirt. ] You want me to trust you? Sit. Don't move for a second.

[ Andyr nudges him some, pushing him towards one of the mess hall tables to sit, and if he's allowed, he'll be bringing his hands to either side of Steve's face, tilting his head back to bring his face up to the light. leaning in, it might be a bit creepy, but what Andyr's squinting at are his eyes, a thumb actually moving to push up at the lid and eyebrow. All KNs, originals or clones, have iris discoloration. It's something the Houses have been trying to get around for years, but it's just the first thing that happens when the mutations are activated. If he's a clone, there'll be at least a spec of unnatural color there. What he sees is a normal blue, with a natural green around the center, not the kind of color or pattern that comes with mutation. Any KN trying to hide would have contacts in, so the thumb lifting his brow up pushes back down, to shut his eyelid, and rubs circles over the back of it, before pulling it open again, trying to see if the color shifted at all, or if there's a hint of something in there other than just normal, human eye. ]

[abide]

[ It's just at the tip of the tongue that it's not, that what he says is true. In fact, he's technically older than that, but again, it's more complications to explain that he doesn't have time for, especially when Andyr recoils from the touch. Steve had assumed it to be safe, something generally accepted as an okay place to put his hand because he doubted putting a finger to the port in his neck would have been good, and he starts, the tip of an apology on his tongue. Andyr looks at him though, looks at him so certainly, and it reminds him of something wounded, terrified and confused with the newness of the environment around him and a face that isn't the one he knows. He almost immediately regrets it, dropping his hand as quickly as he can with a sheepish sort of expression that feels a little stiff and out of place. Would saying he's sorry actually help the situation? He's not sure, though he doesn't question it when he's pushed further into the mess hall and sits in one of the chairs.

Staring up at Andyr is strange for more reasons than he can count, but mostly, it's strange because he has to force himself to look past the familiar shape of his best friend's face to see the other person there. The color of his eyes help, violet and blue and pretty in their oddness. Yet, it still throws him, the memories relatively fresh in his mind despite the fact it's been four years since he's seen Bucky like this—young and smooth-faced and so close. He and Bucky had been like that before, aware of each other and easy in one another's company, and Steve has to force his hands to settle on his thighs and remain unmoving as Andyr inspects his face. At least, that's what he assumes until they're practically nose-to-nose and there's a thumb pushing up beneath his brow, the pressure of it not nearly as uncomfortable as the proximity they're now sharing. Breathing feels impossible, so it's a quiet little breath when he gets the chance, and when Andyr rubs a circle over his eyelid, one of Steve's hands shoots up to cup Andyr's elbow like a precursor to forcing him away and warning him not to do much else beyond that. ]

What are you doing?

[ He's been through so many examinations that it's obvious that is what he's doing, but what Steve doesn't know is why. Why the interest in just his eyes? Is this another difference he harbors in comparison to Alva? Is it... Well, he honestly doesn't know, couldn't even begin to make a speculation that makes sense, and all he can do is ask, unable to keep the slight tension out of his posture as he sits straight and becomes utterly conscientious of the fact this could become a problem if someone happened to walk in at the wrong time. There are a few other crew members loitering about here and there, but most of them are too invested in food or their own conversations to notice Andyr's a few steps away from crawling into his lap. Steve's fingers curl into the fabric of that dirty coat, gripping and holding but not tight enough to feel caging. ] How is this gonna get you to trust me?

[ Not to mention the fact it feels weird. He's positive this is probably the weirdest way he's ever met someone too, but he waits for the inspection to end, still holding his breath and forcing his heart not to throw itself out of his chest. ]

[deconstruct]

Looking for discoloration, or contacts. [ That's what he's doing, and he's explaining all this distractedly, as he squints into steve's eyes - one and then the other - turns his head some to check at a different angle, trying to determine if the color there looks at all artificial in any way. if they'd somehow painted or tattooed human irises onto him, by whatever new gross science technique. ] This is gonna tell me if you're a KN or not. A clone.

[ the hand touching at his elbow don't have him jump this time, not surprised, and given he has his thumb pressing right over the man's eyes, certainly not threatened. it's fine, steve isn't pushing at him, and he's not telling him to stop, despite the fact andyr is acutely aware of just how uncomfortable he is with this right now. he doesn't care. in the storm of bitterness towards the outside world that is andyr's constant mental state these days, he figures, if he's been uncomfortable for six years straight, someone on the outside can deal with it for just a few fucking minutes. so, about to crawl into his lap? sure, maybe. he's been closer to more intimate parts of strangers' bodies before, and done much worse things to them than he's doing right now. ]

See mine? It's the first marker that crops up from an active Kerns-Norman gene. [ andyr continues to narrate, as he's studying him. either the man knows all of this and isn't telling him, or he's a blank slated memory clone and whoever's listening in on this already knows all of this, or he's somehow a completely oblivious stranger who knows absolutely nothing, and thus, is telling the truth about meaning to protect him. so either way, he's not concerned about letting out secrets. ]

It's a gene that causes rapid, free mutation. Most obvious being heterochromia - discoloration. All KN's have it, and all KN2s, the clones, have an already active KN gene. [ And since Steve is nearly identical to Alvary, genetically, outside of some coloring and height, he can't be a KN1. Thus, he'd have to be a KN2. However, if he wasn't showing discoloration, either they'd found a way to hide it (contacts), or he really just wasn't from their world. Somehow. ] Mine activated when I was twelve. I had to wear blue contacts every day when I still lived in the city, before Hapsburg got me. So, if you were KN, you'd either have some discoloration, or you'd be wearing contacts.

[ finally, andyr seems satisfied, finding nothing unnatural in his eyes, and begins to lean back, and step away. however, before the last hand leaves steve's face, he reaches up into his hair, and quickly plucks a strand of hair free, moving to stuff it into a pocket. ] Sorry. Just in case. [ just in case he finds Alva, or someone who knows how to test DNA that he can trust here. as a DNA test would be an absolute and clear teller for if Steve isn't one of them, you bet your chiseled booty he'll do it. ]