big barda (ex_bigbarda714) wrote in newalliance, @ 2013-03-16 12:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | [event] retro, big barda, mr. miracle |
Who: Scott Free & Big Barda
Where: Apokolips
When: Many decades ago... like over 100 years. Seriously
What: BB!Scott and BB!Barda at Granny's Orphanage. Started in email, finished in comments.
Rating: PG
Barda heard the noise before she could see it. Everyone could probably hear the noise now, not that it would stop any of the participants. And she didn't need to hear the words, sharp and childish, before she recognized who would be in the center of all of it. There was only one person at Granny's Orphanage who was ever in the center of trouble. She wasn't the biggest kid in her cohort, nor was she the smartest (she had no qualms about admitting who was, at least in her opinion and when he put his mind to real things instead of daydreaming) but she was certainly one of the fiercest. Her dark hair was cut into a chin-length bob, stark and a little ratty in places, which was not accentuated by the too-thin limbs and bright blue eyes beneath the fringe. She was lithe and already a head taller than most of the others - at least for now - and that gave her a sense of authority when she went to see about wading through the gaggle of assembled youths to see what the problem was. It was that bearing that had already made Granny look at her, remarking almost off-handed lot that she could be more than cannon fodder if she worked hard. Or harder, as Barda didn't know any other way to work. She knew what was expected of her more than she knew what she expected of herself. But even as she elbowed her way through, she knew that today wasn't going to be one of those days. Scott Free had figured out that he could do something remarkable. If he put his lips together and blew air through them, he could make a sound. And depending on how he moved his mouth, he could make the sound change pitch. Scott Free had just learned how to whistle-- and like any ten year old who'd just figured out how to do something new, it had become his new favorite past time. But not everyone was as excited about this revelation as he was. Even his one friend, Zep, refused to stand next to him if he was going to keep up making those noises. So Scott made sure to stand by himself when he wanted to practice his whistling-- and he was getting pretty good. He could even make a little tune-- or at least string a few notes together. He wasn't sure where the song came from, but he felt like he almost remembered it from somewhere, like maybe there was someone... a woman... who had sung it to him at some point. But that was entirely impossible. No one sang on Apokolips, and certainly not to children. The boy looked up when Barda came by, breaking in his whistling long enough to grin at her. He patted the front of his pants, looking for a place to put his hands- but his pocket privileges had been revoked not long ago, after it'd been discovered that he was carrying contraband in the form of a brick of charcoal and a rock of chalk which he'd been using to draw on other stones, scraps of paper and really, whatever he could find. Where Barda was nearly a head taller than most of the other children, Scott's shaved head only came up to nose of most of the others. He was thin, and gangly, and short-- which earned him no small measure of bullying from other children who clearly saw him as the weakest of the herd. "Runt" was a name that he'd gotten used to by this point; and really it was one of the least offensive. "Do you like my song?" He paused in his whistling to ask, then took it up again, "I'm trying to remember how it goes... it's like..." He whistled a few notes of the lullaby then stopped, frowning, "And then I think there's some more, do you know it?" It was the sound that was causing a problem. Like most things with Scott, he couldn't do it quietly. No, he had to make a scene in the middle of the grounds and draw all kinds of attention. It was always the bad attention, too. Barda just didn't understand why he had to keep that up knowing that it was going to get him into trouble. Even Zep was avoiding him when he started doing that. Didn't he ever learn? "What are you doing?" Her scowl would have rivaled Granny's at this point, especially as it came with crossed arms, gangly and awkward, crossed over her chest. It might have looked impressive if she hadn't been sporting that slightly intrigued look. Like she was both annoyed and also a little curious about his behavior. That was a common thing with Barda. She never rebelled (at least not in ways anyone saw) but she always had a soft spot for the Runt among them. "Song?" That wasn't a song. Not like the ones she would have recognized. Those were typically directed at the glory of Darkseid and the power of the anti-life. And that was only on the rare occasions they were allowed to sing at all. Drudges weren't allowed much of anything and children, until they were assigned into positions, weren't much better. Even those of them that came from Granny Goodness's orphanage - the special children - weren't given that much consideration. "I've never heard it before." Skeptical. Ridiculously so. And there were murmurs from some of the other children that weren't nearly as friendly as hers. "Sure you have." He said and started whistling again, waving one hand and trying to get Barda to go along with him. He'd lived in the Orphanage with Barda (and Zep and the others) for his entire life; if he had heard it somewhere, she must have heard it too. Or at least one of the other children, but they were all regarding him with growing suspicion and unease. "It's pretty and it goes like..." He tried whistling the few bars he could remember gain, but still couldn't get much further than four or five notes before he frowned in frustration, trying with all his might to remember. He was thinking about this so hard that he didn't see the rock that sailed across the yard and nearly hit him in the temple but for Scott moving slightly as he tried to ponder out the missing notes. Instead of actually connecting with his bald skull, it cracked him in the jaw, just below the ear. It surprised him more than it actually hurt, though it did hurt, and the impact spot turned red and bled from an awkward cut. But Scott Free had endured worse. In an attempt to cut his rebelliousness straight out of him some years ago, Granny had begun to turn his more severe punishments over to Desaad, Darkseid's chief torturer. Scott Free knew pain -- and it was no wonder that he was a pariah among the other children. He slapped his hand to the wound and whirled around, looking for the culprit- though he was unable to single one kid out from the entire group snickering. He wasn't sure he wanted to find the culprit anyway. If he did, he'd have to call them out on it and they would fight. He didn't want to fight.... but he didn't want to get hit with rocks either and he especially didn't want Barda to get caught in the middle and hurt accidentally. He knelt down under the pretense of adjusting the laces of one of his boots, keeping a wary eye on the other children around them and palmed a large stone so smoothly that it practically disappeared the moment he touched it. If they threw another one, he would be ready. Then he stood again and smiled at Barda, "Sorry about that. Some people don't know good music when they hear it. You're okay though?" He asked, wanting to be sure that she hadn't also been hit with anything. Barda did not whistle. She didn't even know what whistling was until Scott had started making the sound with his mouth. It wasn't singing and it certainly wasn't a song she recognized. No, she hadn't heard it and the confused, exasperated expression on her face probably told him more than actual words would. She'd grown up her entire life here at the Orphanage. There was nothing else but this. No family. No home. And nothing but Granny and the chance that if she did well, she wouldn't end up toiling beneath the ground for her entire life. She couldn't do that, even to serve Darkseid. Even for the good of the Anti Life. So she was good. No, she was excellent, at least where it mattered. She'd never be as clever as Scott - but she was fast and strong. And never backed down. Which made this particular rocking throwing incident all too familiar. Barda was fine, even as she'd turned from Scott and his bleeding cheek. Glaring a the assembled kids, hands planted firmly on her hips now and stance wide and aggressive. Definitely not the cowering kind of girl "Who threw that?" Was the bark of an order and there was much shuffling to be had in the group of youths milling around as Scott She didn't answer his question because that would have shown weakness of some sort and that wasn't wise. Nor was putting herself in this position in the first place, actually. "You shouldn't keep doing this." Though she was standing more between him and the direction the rock had come from now. "They'll get over it." He said, gingerly touching his cheek and frowning a little when his fingers came back with blood on them. He wiped his hands on his pants and otherwise ignored the wound because the best he could do was put his hand over it-- and it really didn't hurt that bad, it was just bleeding because it was a head wound and that's what head wounds did. He said they'd get over it, that their peers would get past Scott's differentness and leave him- and her- alone; but he wasn't sure he believed that anymore. They were afraid of him; and no matter how hard he tried to fit into the mold that had been set in front of him (and he did try; he was fast tracked to become an Aerotrooper and really that was a pretty good gig, if you could get it), he never seemed to get it quite right... and some days he wasn't certain that he should even pretend at all. He'd picked up all kinds of ways to pretend, and distract, and hide, and escape... but none of that had endeared him to his peers. He was still different, and being different was a death sentence on Apokolips. And yet, for some reason, he wasn't dead yet. Even Scott knew this was an anomaly. All he could figure was that his skills on aero-discs had endeared him enough to Darkseid's cause that they were willing to overlook a few (okay, a lot) of screw ups on his part. Which was exactly why Barda was right. They weren't going to tolerate him forever, and one day-- probably soon-- they were going to take him away and he wasn't going to come back. The problem was, that was exactly why Barda was wrong- why he had to keep doing this. Life on Apokolips was brutal, and short-- even a child knew that-- and while Scott still had one, he was going to fill it with as many good experiences as he could. Passion, pleasure, joy, love, expression, freedom; they were all things banned by Darkseid... which only made Scott strive for them that much harder. He gave Barda a sympathetic kind of smile, and shrugged one shoulder. "It's fun. You should try it." Sometimes Barda didn't know why he was alive either. Even as young as she was, sometimes as she watched Granny banish him to Desaad's dungeons, she wondered if he would come back this time. And if he did, would he still be the same person? They were anxious sorts of thoughts that a girl her age shouldn't be having. Barda should have avoided him entirely. She could not understand why he fought against this so much. When things could be so much easier for him - and more than that, that he could fulfill his destiny - if he was just obedient. She'd suffered a few of her own punishments over the years and if anything, they had shamed her enough to inspire her to work harder. Pain was not a deterrent for Barda; her own sense of honor was. She was expected to do great things. She was expected to live up to Granny's expectations and to be the warrior she was growing into. They'd all sworn their loyalty to Darkseid as young as when they were capable of speech. But had Scott? He didn't fit. She recognized it. They recognized it. But he hadn't been sent for reprogramming nor was he labeled defected and removed altogether. He was good and he could be a great aerotrooper. She saw that in him as well. He just didn't seem to want the job. He wanted to make noises with his mouth and play games that got him into trouble. "No." Came the staunch reply to that, steadfast and with a flicker of surprise and well, looking scandalized at his suggestion. "I don't wanna." Wasn't exactly true but she was sticking with this. "They'll hear you if you don't stop this nonsense." She sounded like she was repeating something she'd heard somewhere. Not the other kids, who were already scowling for the most part, but someone in charge. Someone who would come to punish him - and maybe the rest of them if they didn't stop him. It was no wonder someone had thrown a rock to shut him up. Or that someone was in the process of throwing another one at him as they spoke then. |