Festival Simulation + Empathy Bond; cw: war, simulated violence
[ It’s curiosity that has Steve wandering into the VR simulations, and mental fatigue that has him leaving shortly after. When you’ve been through real war - gritty, ugly, horrific trench warfare - entertainment like this loses its appeal fast. Seeing details of the conflict this festival revolves around, one that’s had a heavy hand in shaping this world, may have been worth the reconnaissance, but once he’s gotten the general idea, Steve’s not interested in sticking around to top the leaderboards.
A little too vivid, a little too real, and while he’s largely desensitized to violence and gore these days, it doesn’t mean he’s immune to it. A thread of unease grows into stark discomfort. The VR sim is a sensory overload for someone with senses like Steve’s, and the visions of death and destruction leaves a twisting knot in the pit of his stomach as he shuffles out of the booth. One that’s briefly shared when he bumps into the next prospective gamer on the way out, skin brushing just long enough for a pinch of that discomfort and tension to filter through. ]
Sorry. [ For the collision, yes, but maybe more for unloading some of that mood on them. Steve flashes a polite, slightly sheepish smile, as he steps back to clear the way, giving the stranger plenty of space to pass by without another empathy-incident. ] It’s all yours.
[ good luck, hopefully graphic warfare puts you in a better mood than it did him. Any warning he could’ve given about it was probably translated clearly enough in the brief exchange of emotion. ]
Escape;
[ Another day, another catastrophe in the mob district. Steve Rogers doesn’t belong here, and the Petrov family is now well aware of that, as security breach alarms go off inside a club and patrons pour out into the streets. Clearly something went awry in his game plan, but the intelligence Steve came to nab is securely uploaded to his implant, and now he’s getting the hell out of Dodge. ]
Need a lift?
[ Steve’s asking from the back of a hoverbike (that is not his), to someone else looking frantically out of options in the mass exodus. Shouting sounds from the club door, a couple angry looking men built like brick walls point in Steve’s direction. Uh oh. ]
Offer’s expiring fast.
[ The part where he’s never driven one of these hoverthings is a detail Steve’s not concerning himself with too much right now. It can’t be that different from a motorcycle, right? As soon as the passenger’s onboard, the bike swings around (fishtailing a little more than he’d meant to, but that happens when you lack friction), and they’re speeding down the street. ]
Network; @steve.rogers
Say I’m looking for the best cricket burger in town. Suggestions?
steve rogers | marvel cinematic universe
[ It’s curiosity that has Steve wandering into the VR simulations, and mental fatigue that has him leaving shortly after. When you’ve been through real war - gritty, ugly, horrific trench warfare - entertainment like this loses its appeal fast. Seeing details of the conflict this festival revolves around, one that’s had a heavy hand in shaping this world, may have been worth the reconnaissance, but once he’s gotten the general idea, Steve’s not interested in sticking around to top the leaderboards.
A little too vivid, a little too real, and while he’s largely desensitized to violence and gore these days, it doesn’t mean he’s immune to it. A thread of unease grows into stark discomfort. The VR sim is a sensory overload for someone with senses like Steve’s, and the visions of death and destruction leaves a twisting knot in the pit of his stomach as he shuffles out of the booth. One that’s briefly shared when he bumps into the next prospective gamer on the way out, skin brushing just long enough for a pinch of that discomfort and tension to filter through. ]
Sorry. [ For the collision, yes, but maybe more for unloading some of that mood on them. Steve flashes a polite, slightly sheepish smile, as he steps back to clear the way, giving the stranger plenty of space to pass by without another empathy-incident. ] It’s all yours.
[ good luck, hopefully graphic warfare puts you in a better mood than it did him. Any warning he could’ve given about it was probably translated clearly enough in the brief exchange of emotion. ]
Escape;
[ Another day, another catastrophe in the mob district. Steve Rogers doesn’t belong here, and the Petrov family is now well aware of that, as security breach alarms go off inside a club and patrons pour out into the streets. Clearly something went awry in his game plan, but the intelligence Steve came to nab is securely uploaded to his implant, and now he’s getting the hell out of Dodge. ]
Need a lift?
[ Steve’s asking from the back of a hoverbike (that is not his), to someone else looking frantically out of options in the mass exodus. Shouting sounds from the club door, a couple angry looking men built like brick walls point in Steve’s direction. Uh oh. ]
Offer’s expiring fast.
[ The part where he’s never driven one of these hoverthings is a detail Steve’s not concerning himself with too much right now. It can’t be that different from a motorcycle, right? As soon as the passenger’s onboard, the bike swings around (fishtailing a little more than he’d meant to, but that happens when you lack friction), and they’re speeding down the street. ]
Network; @steve.rogers
Say I’m looking for the best cricket burger in town. Suggestions?
I’d take cricket-hot dog too.
Wildcard;
[ hit me ]