Route 29: ｍｏｄｓ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
these_balls) wrote2010-04-27 11:40 pm
these_balls) wrote2010-04-27 11:40 pm
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Understand the secrets and have some fun
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Agent York | Red vs. Blue | No reserve
Name: Asher
Personal Journal:
E-mail: ash (dot) sofman [at] gmail (dot) com
AIM/Plurk/Etc.: asherdashery
Timezone: EST
Current Characters in Route: N/A
Character
Name: Agent York
Series: Red vs. Blue
Timeline: The end of Out of Mind Part V
Canon Resource Links: York on the RvB wiki | Project Freelancer on the RvB wiki, for context
Personality:
"I don't think talking is your problem."
"Oh no."
Red vs. Blue, an action-comedy set in the Halo universe, introduces Agent New York as part of an experimental Special Operations program called Project Freelancer (PFL), and understanding everything this man chooses to be is impossible without putting him in that highly specific military context. PFL, like many different groups during the Great War that serves as the backdrop to RvB, sought a way to combat the alien Covenant. Their proposed solution is to implant already greatly-skilled soldiers with AI fragments that will help manage their powerful, but dangerous, power armor enhancements. They determine the order of implantation partially according to a leaderboard that ranks the Freelancer agents according to their performance both in training and on missions. This leads to bitter competition among the Freelancers, despite their need to work as a team on the field. York ends up at the top of the lists just behind Agent Carolina, who is the undisputed leader of the elite squad pulled from those top players.
It's against that dangerously competitive, high-stakes backdrop that York establishes himself as a calm, grounded thinker, irreverent banterer, and all-around laid-back guy. Like many of the Freelancers, he's got a penchant for flashy entrances and dramatic one-liners, but he's just as likely to say something stupid as something clever. He keeps his speech patterns light and casual, as if everyone's included in some running in-joke of his, as if they're all bros even when they're at one another's throats. He talks incessantly, even at the most inappropriate moments, and cracks wise on the field and off. One might assume he doesn't take PFL's mission seriously and then forget to take York seriously in return. Some of his teammates do.
That would be a mistake. It's clear, both from the leaderboard rankings and from watching York in action, that he's one of the most capable and versatile soldiers PFL has to offer. He is one of only a couple operatives we see sent into missions alone both by Carolina and by the Project's Director himself, and when he's left to his own devices off-screen, he always returns having efficiently satisfied his objectives.
(It's only on-screen that he fucks up.)Thus, he can back up the easy confidence he projects; his seeming disinterest in the battle for leaderboard slots underlines, not undermines, how he's earned his position behind Carolina.York rather uses his levity--well, mostly to entertain himself, but also to gauge his team's emotional state and keep the bonhomie flowing. If Carolina is understood to be leader on the field, York sometimes lands in the unenviable position of peacemaker for PFL's most arrogant--and most dangerous--squad. This is sort of terrible because he's kind of insufferable, but he's the only one who even tries. He makes jokes to lighten the mood on missions and prevent their competition from interfering with their teamwork; if it isn't received well, he makes a note of it and adjusts his behavior to account for it so as not to strain communications. He breaks one of PFL's rules to help ease the AI implanted into his closest friend and thus make life easier on that friend, for a time. He tries to pull squad-mates back when they take their violence too far and shows himself to be, for the most part, of a team-oriented mindset. He's perspicacious and supportive and, while he can be stealth-mean (it's sometimes hard to realize he's just insulted someone when he still sounds like he's cracking a joke with them rather than at them) to the less-skilled members of his team, he gets vocally excited when any of them shows off a cool new trick.
"Of course I can! It's just much harder. I just brought it up 'cause I wanted you to realize how kick-ass I am."
York likes to play himself up to people as if just begging to be shot down. While he's happy enough to accept the praise should someone go along with it, he seems most comfortable when people respond sarcastically to his bragging. It follows that he treats others the same way; while his tone is never serious, he's constantly picking on his teammates, and if they don't push back he just comes off as an insensitive asshole. And he is an asshole, but he's an asshole who accepts this back-and-forth mutual bullying as the military way of life and is more than capable of taking his own licks in return.
He does this because he's well aware of his own weaknesses and limitations. He doesn't oversell his abilities when people need a straight answer--he notes when Carolina or Delta will have to factor his bad eye into their plans--and he makes no effort to hide his obvious attachment to Carolina, despite their positions as leader and subordinate within PFL. Rather than hiding his vulnerabilities, he maintains his and others' awareness of them so that, should anyone ever feel the need to attack him, they'll choose the routes he's left open for them; and because he's so conscious of them, he'll be prepared to defend himself.
(You know, in theory. This doesn't always work out as well as he plans. York fucks up a lot, and usually because he's overestimated himself.)
But those weaknesses remain weaknesses. York's relationship with Carolina, while never explicitly named, defines his life almost more than PFL itself does. He's seen to linger at her bedside for days as she recovers from nasty complications from her AI implants; he watches her training into the late hours of the night because he's worried about her furious rivalry with Agent Texas; when she's presumed dead, he clings to hope for her return and a chance to make things right between them once again. It's hopelessly romantic and honestly really sad. York would have done almost anything for her.
"He hasn't left her side yet."
"It's been days."
"And he's dedicated."
Still, for all that dedication, he leaves her in the end.
Without going into too much detail: A few PFL agents independently realize what the Project has done to procure the AI fragments implanted within them. York, perceptive and analytical as he is, is one of those agents. They stage an attack to free the Alpha AI, which ultimately fails, but York escapes with his life and his own AI fragment, Delta. They go into hiding and turn to petty theft for a living for the next several years.
It's a sticky moral situation: He attempts to do "the right thing" only to resort to stealing from others to survive when that fails. But it's telling. York cares much more about those immediately in his circle than humanity or justice in general; his stake in turning against the Project was to save Carolina from being hurt like she had and to prevent AIs from being implanted into any more of his fellow Freelancer agents. Afterwards, though, he's on his own except for Delta, and his world narrows to keeping him and his helpless digital friend alive. The people he steals from don't really factor into his thoughts.
So he survives and he holds out for Carolina. He keeps tabs on Freelancer communications in hopes of tracking her down, of hearing that she now understands why he did what he did so they can reconcile and be what they once were. It's selfish wish-fulfillment and grossly unrealistic, but he doesn't give up until he has to.
But when he does have to--when he has no other reason to believe Carolina's alive--he lets her go. York isn't a stubborn enough man to pursue a lost cause, and for all his strength, he's smart enough to recognize what he cannot change and bow to the inevitable. To focus on what he can do.
So when one of the other rogue agents tracks York down and asks him to help her destroy PFL property (and maybe one of its agents, too), he agrees. For pride.
After giving so much of himself--the years of his prime, his strength and brain, the love of his life, his eye--to the Project only to find out he and the other agents were just used and lied to all along, and then sinking into obscurity and poverty after throwing away everything he ever wanted, the pull of doing something about it is irresistible. He's always been one of the best, even if he's made a point never to make a big deal about it. And if he's lost everything else, he might still redeem his life a little bit by helping out one person he'd never be able to best.
"Oh, so it is pride. I was registering an emotion, but I incorrectly categorized it as 'stupidity.'"
"Yeah, they're closely related."
Tl;dr: York is a grounded, confident, devoted, but obnoxious asshole who just wants to do good by his people. You know, people in general, too, theoretically. But in practice he mostly just looks out for his own--for the poor souls who manage to put up with him.
Strengths/Weaknesses:
+ Combat and infiltration: York is a talented and highly-trained military operative. He fights with keen spatial awareness, despite his damaged eye, and attacks precisely and efficiently, with little wasted movement. He's also a "locksmith," and by locksmith we all actually mean lockpick. He's used to the tech of the Halo universe though and may not have much truck with any locks in Pokéworld. It does mean he's got a good grasp of computers and encryption, though.
+ Analytical thinking: While it's often hard to gauge what York really thinks with all his joking around, he's sharply observant and realized fairly quickly after the AI implantation process started that something was wrong. He can gauge a situation with speed and come to his own conclusions about how best to tackle it, without orders.
+ Multi-tasking: Look, the guy can talk and fight and deal with an AI in his brain all at the same time. It's an important skill for a Freelancer.
+ Cool under pressure: Don't trust York not to screw important things up. He's going to. What he is reliable for, though, is keeping his head and adapting his strategy on the fly. He will get you into trouble, but he will also, with grace and humor, get you out.
+/- Dedication: When York devotes himself to something, he is all in. Just ask Carolina. It can get kind of annoying. And unhealthy.
+/- Pride: Pride leads to so many of his falls, but it keeps him on the straight and narrow, too. Or, well, mostly on it. While he's not as competitive as some of his fellow Freelancers, he's not proof against showing off. Once people know what to look for, they could very well try to manipulate him in this way. He also tends to overestimate himself and mess up, even in critical situations.
- Injured eye: York can't really see out of his left eye, and even ubiquitous tasks like reading cause trouble for him. This sight problem led directly to his death and is his most glaring physical weakness.
- Obnoxious: His jokes and teasing get old really, really fast. He's not even funny. He just makes people think he is because his voice is so charming.
- Unused to this age's technological situation and cultural mores: He's a space soldier. These are fuzzy alien creatures who could kill a man by looking at him, all in a world where human violence is a punishable offense and not a lifetime career. He's not ready.
- AI implant: York's spent the last several years of his life with a brain tenant who ended up being his combat partner and sole friend, and it's going to take some time for him to acclimate to the emptiness where another mind used to be.
no subject
Affiliation: Breeder
Starter: Elgyem
Password: Cherries Strudel
Samples
First Person Sample:
...Okay, I guess we're live. Hold it steady now, D-2.
[The video feed bobs a little as whatever's holding it gets comfortable, though it still seems to be meandering up and down very slowly, as if it sits on the crest of a small wave in slow-motion. The speaker--a strongly-built man with a serious scar from his left eye down the side of his face--sits back from the 'Gear and crosses his arms, easy and confident. He looks almost lazy, but in a practiced kind of way; it's a life's effort to pose this casually.]
Hey there. You can call me York. As you might see, I'm new here. Yeah, hey, nice to meet you, pleasure's yours, et cetera.
[York shrugs expansively.]
I've gathered over the last couple days that if you've got a question or some fascinating commentary to offer, broadcasting it on an open frequency seems to be the local standard. And who am I to knock a system that works?
[He lifts one hand to wave vaguely at whatever's behind the camera.]
I've heard enough about these Pokémon guys to understand the idea's to train them up, though I think I'm still missing some crucial, cosmic why to it all. But that's not my issue. My deal is, Delta Two here's--[And something interrupts with "El, Elgyem." With only a brief pause in his speech, York reaches over and takes the 'Gear to show this cute kid, who ducks her head shyly.]--clearly some kind of...brainy...supernatural telepathic thing, judging from the floating and the unsolicited cerebral noodging.
[York hands the 'Gear back to the Elgyem, recrosses his arms, and shifts his weight, still somehow looking all I'm-not-a-model-the-Pokégear-just-turned-on.]
I don't think our traditional method of throwing her straight into supervised CQC matches with safeties off is going to do much for Miss Cleo over here. So, any of you folks who've gone before--got tips to offer the new guy on non-physical training, or some other form of engagement for the little lady? Either way, I appreciate your time and attention. York out.
Third Person Sample:
All right. He'd left the bizarre little Earth town--and the delusional woman calling herself his mother, despite being probably his age, if not younger--behind, taking the only road out of Dodge he could find. Once those quaint, picture-book houses disappeared behind the treeline, York took the opportunity to duck into the shade and get out of sight, too. It was high past time to take stock of himself and get his bearings.
He wasn't sure what the hell this place was supposed to be, here, but 'supposed to be here' sure wasn't what York was.
"Well, D, this isn't unsettling at all. What's our status?" he asked without taking his gaze off the road. Was it really just grass and dirt? Did these people not have vehicles? Why wasn't anyone wearing armor, and what had happened to his? What had happened to him? Where in the goddamn galaxy was he?
Delta didn't answer him.
York frowned and looked to one side. "Delta?"
Nothing. Delta wasn't there. For the first time since Project Freelancer had implanted the persistent little AI into his skull--for the first time in years--Agent New York found himself truly alone with his thoughts. The memory came to him unbidden: 'The spontaneous ejection of A.I. can be catastrophic to the psyche of an agent.'
"Not helping, D," he muttered nervously to himself. To himself, and only himself. Delta was gone, and they'd had that conversation only a little while ago, York remembered, and he also remembered--
Pain. Massive pain punched right through his chest like a train drove right through him, falling and hurt and Texas yelling. Gunfire. Delta didn't yell, but York heard his voice above it all, like the AI was speaking in his ear, like the AI was right inside his head. He was. He had been.
'York has sustained two wounds to his upper-left chest. Recommend evac stat.'
York felt at his chest and took a deep breath. One to five, in; five to ten, out. Nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway. It sure didn't feel like he'd taken two slugs to the ribs. Also, he wasn't dead. Living and breathing sort of disproved the whole 'shot in the chest' thing, as far as York was concerned.
"Unless this is some kind of death hallucination," he said, and then looked around again at the impossible greenery, went over again the illogical behavior of his 'mother' and the other townsfolk he'd briefly seen. Something had been weird with the fauna, too. Something he didn't really want to think about. "...Whhhhich I guess it could be, all things considered."
He listened to the faint rustling that defined the silence there on the road, and added, "Man. If this is a hallucination, I'm a goddamn basket case."
And if this were all a figment of his dying mind, York might have hoped to see Carolina there. Ah, man. He always had been a lost cause.
Delta didn't reply, and York had to remind himself again that he was gone. Alone, now. It made sense, maybe, if he were dead or dying, that Delta wouldn't be able to reach him anymore, even if he were plugged directly into York's brain. He couldn't help but reach up to run his hand over the back of his neck, like he could physically trace the wires there back to Delta somehow. He didn't think he was going crazy--not like Reggie--but maybe he just needed time to let the loneliness sink in. He could feel his thoughts still reaching back for Delta, waiting for a clinically dry retort to his totally witty one-sided banter.
Instead, he felt a shy, gentle nudge against his mind. He froze, but then, wary but curious, brought the mental sensation gently into focus, the way he had when they'd first given him Delta all those years ago.
"Hey there, little guy," he murmured as a...something. A something floated timidly towards him from behind a tree.
York had given his whole adult life over to fighting aliens. To killing them. The little grey thing--well, it definitely wasn't human. He remembered seeing it in the room he'd woken up in, crouching just beyond the bed to watch him with its button green eyes. But its head took up more than half its body and its eyes looked like a stuffed animal's, and its posture was that of a diffident child's, and all it was broadcasting was the particular anxiety of someone who already liked him, but wasn't sure he liked them back. He watched it for a moment, then crossed his arms and leaned back against the tree whose shade he was borrowing, easy and casual.
"It's okay, dude. I'm not gonna hurt you."
The little grey thing moved further forward, encouraged, and sent him another mental wave of impressions: something of safety, something about belonging, 'nice-to-meet-you,' 'hi,' 'wobbly-shy-embarrassed-laughter, girl-identity,' 'elgyem.'
It--she?--repeated it out loud, from. Somewhere. Did she have a mouth? "Elgyem."
"Elgyem," he repeated, too, in an obliging mood. All disbelief had now been temporarily suspended. Everything about this was completely fucked up, but in a way, the mental connection--however she was doing it, since he doubted his neural implants were involved--helped, somehow, form a buffer against losing Delta.
York shifted his shoulders and lifted his chin, regarding the creature with his one good eye. There was still a lot of background information to sift through; he could sense it beyond the surface of her mind, as alien from his as Delta's was, and as alien from Delta's, too.
But Delta had been his last friend, in the end.
"All righty then. I guess this is what's happening now." If he were dead, then what did he have to lose anymore? York smiled wryly, knelt in the undergrowth, and offered his new companion a hand. "You mind if I call you D-2?"
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