I'm currently drafting up the OC interactions scenarios between the members of Outpost 51 and Polaroid, since he's relocated to a new site for temporary recovery, after being severely injured in Russia in an Astro confrontation.
Paralipsis isn't glad about the new development, nor the addition of another unit on base, but doesn't have the authority to turn down an official order issued by the chief artillery engineer of the Alliance (Styro).
Polaroid gets his private ward on the base, and Sawmus takes care of his needs. After he regains some strength, he begins exploring Outpost 51 out of curiosity and encounters Hubble out of pure luck.
Hubble has been curious about this newcomer for a while, but never gets the chance to have a formal greeting. Paralipsis only informed the occupants on base that a camera unit, which is a special ops sniper and a member of the Alliance artillery development team, is going to stay on the base for medical reasons.
Apparently, Hubble is physically superior to Polaroid in many ways, but Polaroid has a youthful and optimistic charisma. Polaroid admires Hubble's physical capacity, while Hubble respects Polaroid for his resourcefulness in tech. Sometimes, the two would play Battleship (space edition, because why not) to bond or exchange stories with one another.
Additionally, the sequestration doesn't limit the amount of shenanigans being exchanged.
Polaroid suspected Tattle & Prattle were twins due to their shared mischievous disposition. Guess he just needs more time to familiarize himself with the personnel on base.
Very excited to see what you do!!! Going to be a fun time for sure <3
Hubble is so happy to have made a friend! Probably also impressed with Polaroid's aim too (Since Hubble can't hit anything 8'3 so good aim is so impressive to the guy)
But oh the shenanigans on the window! You can bet Prattle and Tattle are going to draw so many things back and forth with Polaroid. If he isn't careful, they are going to declare him a "bro"!
also probably others drawing things on the window....
Medic would write some encouragement on the window and pay a visit. Little gal always likes to be positive energy on the base. Hubble also maybe got Biggs to make a Hazelnut Latte... if someone needs a pick me up c:
(Who knows who drew the chicken bot picture...)
Biggs and Tremolo would warn Polaroid that an "armadillo with a knife" is roaming the base. Best to watch out for that little guy....
...and the twins do draw some memes but sometimes draw some kind of spooky, cryptic things on the window...but probably means nothing, right?
(Outpost 51 sometimes feels a little isolated, a little spooky at times. But that is probably just because it is far from everything)
This is an ANGSTY fic with feels, but it is sort of in a set of fics that follow one into the other?
I love you Titan Speakerman, but I imagine he's the Titan that is really going through shit the most...
Also more explanation/Exploration of how Tremolo's condition works and plays out in his behavior :<
Title: Beyond Repair
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Trauma, mental health things, Titan Speakerman tears and sadness, language
Characters: Tremolo, Titan Speakerman, Mr. Biggs
Guest Appearance: The chillest speaker chief engineer of all Whistle (belongs to @tabieeee cuz I can't imagine Whistle not comforting poor sad Titan :<)
Summary: Desperation was a loss of control as everything fell apart. It was the need to try and fix everything. It was a need to try and put together a family that was gone. It was a need to try and keep everything together, even as everything was coming apart and breaking.
It was a want to be able to repair what was broken.
But some things are simply beyond repair.
-------
“Papai! Wait! Please!”
The moment those pleading words rang out, there wasn’t a speaker present that couldn’t help the small wince. How could there not be when those three words were filled with so much pain, a plea that would lead to nothing, a desperate thing like a wounded wolf, howling for the pack that was abandoning it.
Because in a way, that is what this was. An abandonment, but one that all parties involved, save for one, had agreed upon.
Tremolo himself had been the first to speak up about leaving when his mind felt clearer. It had been a thought he had grasped upon in the swirl of babbling thoughts he constantly had to sort through. It was like his mind was a radio, rapidly moving through the channels and through the static and noise, words were thrown out that he grasped onto, like he was hunting for the words of ghosts that were once such clear thoughts.
There was so much pain in his head, and not just the migraines that tore at the back of his mind from time to time. There were so many memories. Faces he would never see again. People he loved that were gone like a void that was only growing larger and above all, there was a titan sized ball of static, melded around anger, hate, love, sadness, grief, guilt, and all the spectrum of human emotion that were experienced all at once so strongly in a way his mind couldn’t sort out. There weren’t words yet created to explain it all and his own constantly failed him, lost in the babble of voices that talked in panicked circles.
All Tremolo knew was those three words brought too many emotions to bare and he was doing his best to keep his back to the one who spoke.
If he didn’t turn around and kept walking, hearing those three words, Tremolo could pretend it was coming from his adopted son again. That pipsqueak of a speakerman that tripped over his own two feet and had all the grace of a two legged capybara rolling about in the mud. His son, so full of spirit, never keeping down for long despite the hard training Tremolo put him through.
How he had grown into a confident fighter, loud and boisterous, and willing to do what it took for victory. He walked with confidence, no longer that shy, runt of a speaker. Still that son that at times needed those father-son talks to lift spirits and sort out the world. How many had Tremolo been the one to sort things out and explain the world?
Once he had been able to sort out everything. Now his mind was crackling, broken, and unable to focused, but some clear thought murmured he couldn’t look back.
If he kept walking and didn’t look, it was his son pleading for him to come back. Just his most dear adopted son.
Tremolo could feel the slight tremor under his feet as something heavy landed on the ground close behind him, the thunder of a large form that sent panic right through his mind, ringing in his ears, and the sound of gunfire and explosions and screams started to build up in the static. The screams and noise was growing louder and louder until it was like a force reached inside him, wrenching his head to look. That he had to turn around now, just to make it all stop.
Fear gripped him, along with rage. The cognitive dissonance that had settled in his mind stared at the titan Speakerman who had knelt down, trying to look less intimidating, but all Tremolo saw was red. Red like blood. Red like death.
And this thing, this weapon, this monster spoke with the voice of his son.
“Don’t leave, not like this. Please, I ...I can fix this, I promise. What I did, I can-”
“Tania, Valencio, Bricker, Abi,”
Tremolo spat the names out, feeling that anger and grief burning up in his core and out through his speakers in a vicious snarl.
“Henson, Urie, Avonte, Primerose, Kirina,”
His hands clenched tight as he turned to face the Titan, “Nate, Minimi, Fransceso, Liam!”
Tremolo pointed at the Titan Speakerman, watching the massive speaker flinch back, “How are you going to fix all of them, all the family you killed!? How are you going to fix death, eh arma do diabo!?”
Those words might as well been loaded bullets for how they had the titan sitting back on his heals like a child being yelled at by a parent. The massive titan trembled, head tilted to the ground and a thrum was in the speaker system. A low thrumming sound of distress as he shook his head.
“I..I can’t, but I can do better. I won’t let it happen again. No one else-”
“Just like you were suppose to protect your family! No, murderers do not deserve family! Outcast! Exile! A shame upon everything! I would spit on you, strip you of everything, you Diabol! I will not listen to your words! I know the truth!”
He didn’t know any truths. All the thoughts in his head ran in panicked circles, screaming and shouting about the monstrosity before him. It was not his son. It was a weapon. A monster. Something built that no longer could feel like before. Terrible. The thing could probably read his thoughts and try to sway him. Using words to-
“You’ll kill us all. You’ll lead us right into the jaws of death. Sacrifice all of us! No one listens that you are the harbinger of our doom! Nothing but death! Nothing else! Hands that only destroy now, unable to create! Monster! Someone...someone has to kill the monster! Someone-”
Tremolo jumped as a hand came down on his shoulder and he looked up sharply at Mr. Biggs. The large cameraman just tilted his head before firmly turning Tremolo around to push him gently towards the vehicle, “We need to go now, I think at least,”
Biggs looked back at the titan that knelt there, wordless, trembling, that static in his speakers growing louder, choked out, as if they were breaking. The large speakerman looked as if he would say something, but didn’t. Tremolo hated when he could tell his life partner was not speaking up and even worse that Biggs held his silence for his benefit.
His life partner still could read his moods, even if they had grown more erratic and turbulent inside his own head as the voices of that skipping radio of his thoughts spat out random phrases and words, mixed with a deep-seated terror that dominated everything now.
“Can we at least say goodbye properly?” the question was a weak one, stuttered out and small from the Titan, head listed a bit, “Can we at least do that? Just once more?”
If he didn’t turn around, it was his son speaking to him.
That rapscallion youth who ran headfirst into trouble but always held a smile in his laugh. That damn fool. His most precious son. The son he always wanted and never had the chance to have. How proud of him he was. The moment his son defeated him in a training session and laid him out flat on his back and the stuttered apologies of horror expecting Tremolo to be upset.
How could he be upset to have his student surpass him though? He had laughed.
How could he ever hate his most precious son?
Because he was dead, the voices in his head whispered fearfully. He was dead and this thing mimicked him. Knew all the things to say, didn’t it? Sounded like him, but not him. Its a demon, a weapon, a killer. Given the chance it would kill the rest of his family if he put his back to it-
Tremolo struggled, wanting to turn around but Biggs large hand were firm on his shoulder pushing him along.
“Come on Tremolo. We need to go, “Biggs said quietly.
Yet Tremolo struggled, trying to twist away, wanting to face the thing that his thoughts couldn’t comprehend entirely. Everything didn’t match. Monster or son? Loved one or demon? A person or a weapon? Someone who was just as broken as him or a liar?
“I buried my son long ago! No! I will say nothing of a goodbye to a monster!” Tremolo howled, “I know your tricks, fiend! You shame him, using his voice like that! Shut your mouth, charlatan! My son is dead! With the rest of my family! I saw him die! I saw it!”
Frantic were his thoughts as he struggled, wanting to turn around and curse more at the thing, even when it felt like something in him was dying with every word. That part of him lost in all the static crying out not a word of it was true. None of this was true. His son wasn’t dead. He never saw him die even if his delusions tried to create these new memories and ideas and force him to believe them.
A part of him was screaming, trying to claw its way out while other parts were screaming back until it felt like there was a war in his own mind and he was being torn in every direction.
“I’m not dead! I’m right here! And I’m sorry, even though I know no apology will ever be enough for what happen or any excuse won’t bring everyone back!” The voice was angry, cracking with a grief that was hard to understand, “I’m not-”
Tremolo managed to turn around, wild like a beast himself as he looked at the Titan Speakerman. That monster that spoke with his son’s voice, looked like his son with that baby-faced that even being made into a titan couldn’t seem to cure.
That was his son. It wasn’t his son. His son was alive. His son was dead. A monster was trying to steal his memories. Those memories were all they had left. He loved him. He hated him. He wanted to apologize. He wanted that thing to pay. The thoughts swirled and swirled, the static growing louder and faster, spitting out more strings of words that rambled out of him as he wriggled and roared.
“Murderer! All that blood is on your hands and it won’t wash clean! You can’t fix anything! Broken, all of it! The whole family! Gone! You didn’t hear them scream! You didn’t see them dead, blown apart, in pieces, covering everything everything!”
He felt Biggs’s hands more firmly grasp onto him and drag him along as he howled like some animal, trying to chase off some perceived threat, unable to recognize anything in the swell of his own disillusion. Biggs carried him along crushed to his chest, only pausing at the vehicle to turn to someone at the side.
“Take care, Whistle,” the large speakerman murmured, “Please take care of everyone now. I know it is a lot to ask-”
“It’s fine,” Whistle gave a small wave of her hand, “I figured I would have to take up the reigns of this rodeo now that the head rodeo clown is on his way out,”
Tremolo twitched at that, turning to look at the chief engineer. That had been their joke between the two of them all this time, something said in jest, and meant in jest now, although the words were more hollow. The chief engineer was putting on a smile.
Even though she had her head turned towards the titan and that loud, rumbling, like thunder, that prelude a storm about to come. Only this one would be a terrible grief.
That comment though was grounding at least, helping to calm all those horrible screaming voices to a quiet murmuring whisper at the back of his mind as the radio skipped a little slower.
“… this rodeo clown wants to leave now,” Tremolo murmured, going limp as his thoughts settled some, grasping onto those silly little banters in the past that could quiet it all, “Take me out to the clown farm and let me run free and silly in the pastures of my fore bearers,”
Biggs shared a look with Whistle, the latter blowing out a shrill sigh of air, that had the tell tail soft whisper of a whistle sounding, “...take care both of you, alright? I’ll keep things steady on this end. You two just,” she shook her head, “Just get your heads on straight and maybe come back into the saddle when you’re ready loves,”
“We will, uh…” Biggs sighed, “We will see you later,”
“Whistle,” Tremolo murmured, “That one is Whistle,”
The static was still so loud and chattering in his head. His hands gripped at his head, as if that would be something that could silence it. If he could make it stop, then maybe he could articulate everything he really wanted to say. Maybe he could-
“I won’t let anyone get hurt again,” the cracked voice of his son spoke up again, heartbroken, but still that idiot young speaker that thought if he just tried hard enough, he could defy every rule in the book and forge ahead, “I promise you papai! I’ll fight harder if that is what it takes! I’ll do everything it takes to keep everyone safe from now on! I’ll make you proud again, okay!? Next time we see each other, I’ll be someone you can be proud of again, even if you don’t forgive me!”
Tremolo clutched his head harder, fingers digging along the scars.
How could he say he was proud of him?
How could he say he was guilty?
How could he say-
“There are worms in my head and they are eating their way out,” Tremolo whispered frantically, “Wriggling around. Need to put on some dubstep to crush them all away,”
“We can do that,” Biggs said, gently setting him into the back of the vehicle.
“I promise you, I’ll fix it, even if you say I can’t, I will!”
He couldn’t see anything from where he sat. Tremolo could pretend that was his son yelling out there. He scoffed.
“Idiot filho,” he murmured out like a soft whisper, “You can’t fix this, don’t even try. Just move on and… just move on. Do something with your stupid self, filho,”
Biggs and Whistle were the only one who heard him speak, the former just quietly moving to sit besides him, glancing over as the chief engineer let out a soft sigh, shaking her head, “Take care you two,”
Those were the last words before the door shut with the ringing of something broken, like a speaker that was cracking with a blistering sort of noise. Tremolo let his head fall back, hating how that awful sound, that broken, terrible sound, was mixing with the final farewells of all the other family he had lost so far.
Such a terrible sound.
“Why are all the goodbyes screaming in my head,” Tremolo murmured before sinking down, arms moving up to cross over his head, “Why do they always scream?”
Such a terrible sound his son made, but he couldn’t think straight enough then to register anything at all. Tired. He was just very tired.
In sleep, at least, the static in his mind finally quieted down and he could try and rest. A least for a few blissful moments the world could leave him be.
--------------------------------------
Whistle watched the vehicle leave, but she didn’t linger to watch it cross over the horizon. She was the Chief Engineer and she had her own duties to tend to and she was never one to linger on goodbyes like this.
Especially not with the horrible din the titan was making that promised to break into a full-blown breakdown. Grief was a powerful thing and heart-break from losing family was hard for anyone to take, let alone someone still swimming in guilt from what destruction had been done and lingering effects from having been controlled by a parasite. All of that was a cocktail that promised nothing good if not handled right away. The chief engineer turned, intending on offering some comfort to the titan in her care, only to catch the Titan Speakerman stumbling to his feet, thrusters to take off in a rush. At the very least, it seemed he was going to the hangar to hide away, like a creature crawling into its den to howl.
A sigh whistled out of her as she took off, knowing trouble when she saw it.
The Emergency Medical Cameramen had already told her a dozen times that units that were rescued from parasites often had a host of lingering issues from intense trauma and the overwhelming guilt that could trigger extreme bouts of depression. Any sense of losing control on their situation could trigger intense episodes and there had been serious concerns of how that would play out in a titan as the Titan Speakerman’s symptoms had started to grow worse by the day, especially with all the added trauma of seeing a loved one fall into a terrible mental state.
Added to that, the therapist had stated there were signs of growing paranoia about how other speakers saw him, not quiet to the level of delusions, but a marked concern that his own faction was shunning him. Social problems were creeping up along with a growing sense of needing to “fix” everything that led to irrational decisions that were impulsive.
Adding abandonment of important family figures and seeing someone loved turning into someone they weren’t, well, that was just he cherry on the pile of cow droppings for this whole thing Whistle was doing her best to ride out.
Whistle entered the hangar and was greeted by the sound of bangs and metal screeching against metal. The engineers present were silent and clearly unsure of what to do. Most were trained to help build and maintain a titan, not act therapist to someone who was clearly spiraling and entering a worrisome outburst. The chief engineer felt her core sink just at the sight before her.
The Titan Speakerman was letting out choked sounds, peaking his volume as he banged his head into the wall with some worrisome force, one hand clawing at the side of one speaker with clear intentions of causing some sort of damage. There was a few sparks, a yowl of pain and pause only for the fingers to dig right back like the Titan was set on tearing himself apart and banging his head into the wall. Whistle put her hands on her hips, coming over and letting out a sharp, loud whistle, “Oi! Don’t go undoing all the repairs I just did!”
The words seemed to snap the titan to his senses some, at least to stop the banging of his head, although he just leaned against the wall, looking down at her like some wounded, frightened animal, trembling and still crackling in his grief in those speakers like a constant feedback loop that wouldn’t abate.
“I don’t...I don’t want to do this anymore,” He whispered, “I don’t want to be a titan. I want to go back. I don’t want- I’m- I’m really just a monster now. Murdering, stupid, horrible-!”
And the banging resumed with a loud shriek that was peaking the sound again in the hangar. Whistle sighed, moving to hop up to get on the titan’s back, patting along his shoulders as best as she could.
“Come on big guy, shhh. Head banging isn’t permitted in the hangar unless we are playing some mad heavy metal rock, you know that,” Whistle said, voice raised to be heard, “How about some floor time yeah? Good old floor time, just me and you,”
There was a strangled crackle in the speakers, but the titan relented as he slid slowly down until he was face down on the floor, sprawled out like he truly was dying of a broken core. Whistle sighed, settling down to sit in the titan’s back, continue to pat where she could, just to let the massive speakerman know she was still there, as any chief engineer would be.
“There we go, there we go. Settle right on down like a tired bull in the pastures. Just you, me, and the non-judgmental ground,”
“I killed him didn’t I? I killed my own father. I did this to him. And to Biggs. And- and-!” another choked sound, the sound of metal screeching as fingers curled against the metal of the hanger, no doubt going to leave marks, “I deserve to be scrapped! I’m a shame, a fucking-”
Whistle had to get back to her feet to avoid falling off the Titan as he started to just bang his head on the floor, not with the same force as before, but it was still a worrisome trend that he was developing of being distressed and going right to finding something to bang his head off of. Apparently though that was common among those who were victims of parasites. A reaction to be under the control was to want to try and pry it off, leading to desperate codes to bang the head against surfaces that didn’t manifest until the control relented.
Such violent shows of self-destruction were normal, if horrible to watch and try to prevent.
“How about we wait for the therapist to get here and you can tell them all about how you feel?” Whistle said, hopping down, moving around so she could get in front of the titan’s face, giving a pat along the side of the head.
“None of the other titans have therapist,” the titan speakerman groaned, “Because they aren’t fuck ups like me! I’m the weak one! The stupid, murderous, can’t fight off a damn parasite-!”
“Oi! Who cares about the other titans! They got their own issues and problems and giving people the runaround! Optical says Titan Cameraman is like an unruly damn yearling stallion, jumping the fence to go prance about in the world like an idiot and don’t get me started on the Titan TV-man! Parallax made a real monster stroking his ego like he did,” Whistle said with a huff, hands on her hips, “If you don’t think you are good enough, then guess I’m a hack of an engineer since I put you together, eh?”
The titan let out a low warble of a noise, turning his head towards Whistle then, “No, you’re the best engineer-”
“And if I’m the best engineer, then what does that make you?”
“The best titan…?”
“There we go. Now you are finally starting to talk some sense again,” Whistle moved to start with more pats, using both hands to help sooth the distraught titan, “It is okay to have some thoughts that ain’t the brightest around. Always storms to get through now and then, and things can hurt a lot, but you still got me and the engineer team,”
The Titan Speakerman let out a warble, head thunking to the ground, but he let it rest there now, curling up a bit with a noticeable list of the head to keep the back of his neck away from sight, “...I miss everyone,”
“I do too,”
“And its my fault-”
“No one’s fault about the parasite love,”
“Could have been stronger. Could have-”
“Shhh, let’s not talk about that right now. Save it for when the therapist gets here. They are on their way and then you and them can sit and let all of that out,” Whistle murmured, “Until then, how about you do me a solid favor?”
“Favor?”
Whistle nodded as he leaned up against the titan, “When I get a mite down like this, longing for the greener pastures, reckon those are times when I’m needing some good old music, yeah?”
“I guess,”
“You still got that playlist I shared with you? The one that is only supposed to be played during emergencies?” Whistle asked.
“The one that is made up entirely of stupid meme songs?” the titan speakerman murmured.
Whistle chuckled, “That’s the one. Think you can focus up enough to play that until the therapist gets here, or are you too soggy to peel yourself off the floor?”
The Titan Speakerman let out a huff that could have been a laugh, voice still small as he slowly sat up, “I’m not soggy,”
“You’re looking flatter and wetter than a roadkilled armadillo in a rainstorm,” Whistle said with a small kick to his side, “Sadder than a cowboy who’s horse kicked him square in the nuts and ran off with his wife,”
She hopped up into the titan’s hand when it was offered, letting him lift her up as he rose to his feet, shuffling back into the hangar seat proper. Calmed down some, but Whistle wasn’t so foolish as to think the worse was over. Outbursts like this came in waves, sometimes just the shouting and self-hate, sometimes as violent as this one with the self harm and shrieking. The EMCs had said this would probably go on for a long while.
Therapy was the best medicine for now and just getting the titan talking through everything jumbled up inside from being out of his mind, the significant personal losses, the paranoia, the spats of delusions. In a way, it almost felt like he had taken on a part of Tremolo’s behavior as his own, like a dumb father like son parody gone wrong.
“How about we get some music going now,” Whistle said as the titan lifted her back to her hangar station.
“Which song do I even start on?”
Whistle paused before chuckling as she started to sort the things on her desk, “How about some Rick Ashley. This is the one time I’ll let you rick-roll me and not smack you over the head with the largest wrench I can find, yeah?”
That earned a quiet laugh from the titan as he slumped back, looking for all the world, tired as hell, “All right,”
Whistle gave a hum as the dulcet tones of Rick Ashley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” came over the speakers, drowning out those crackles and broken sounds of sadness. It was a good distraction for everyone. Things were broken, maybe beyond repair, but that just meant picking up the pieces and trying to see what could be made of what’s left.
At least that was what the engineer in her stubbornly held onto.
If it couldn’t be fixed, then they were just going to have to rebuild it from the grounds up with what they had and there was nothing more to it.
Just they all needed the time to figure out what they were working with and what the blueprints were.
