CASH ME OUSSIDE

[miscreant]

CHARACTERS: Seviilia and YOU
WHERE: Anywhere!
WHEN: DAY 005 and Onward
SUMMARY: Downtime related things! Feel free to hit me at stabs if you want something specific
WARNINGS: None...yet.

CARDS AGAINST THE LIVING

[Most of the recreational wing had been lost on Seviilia. Many of the games and other assorted means of entertainment were entirely foreign to her, and she was too proud to bother seeking out instructions on how to play things properly. Exploring was enough to keep her mind off other things she was meant to be doing -- things she couldn't be doing while surrounded by the Nest.

She's dressed in half of her armory today -- the strong shoulder-pieces and arm-guards have been abandoned, leaving her her heavy armored dress and boots beneath. In spite of how it drags, she seems comfortable enough. Maybe it just comes with the territory of being undead.

The deck of cards was less vexing -- she'd seen enough games in bars to understand their general function, even if she didn't possess knowledge of how to play anything other than fantasy poker (and most her knowledge on that was purely based on intimidation and no real knowledge on how to actually play). At any given point in the evening, she can be found stacking them in a pyramid on a table. In fact, she gets rather intricate with her sculptures -- not anything particularly artistic, just simple structures that hint at her mechanical attempts to keep herself occupied, rather than an attempt to express herself in art.

Maybe you're interested in helping. Maybe you want to interrupt. Maybe you want to knock it down -- but that's a very bad idea.]

WHATCHA LOOKIN' AT?

[Seviilia's quarters are most unlike the rest of the station's living spaces. After a few days of having to adapt to its host, a small condensed fog seems to leak out of the front of it -- not exactly inviting, as the temperature drops noticeably the closer someone gets. The temperature difference means she spends a lot of time inside, and she can be found there at almost any given moment of any day.

The recreation room might have vexed her for the most part, but books were familiar to anyone, particularly the physical kind -- the digital was left behind for more technologically advanced users. Finding a book that she was able to read was challenging and frustrating -- even English, which seemed to be the closest thing to Common she could find managed to vex her. Perhaps that's why she has hardly progressed through what appears to be a fantasy romance novel. Her fluency in Common was not all that strong to begin with, and it was fortunate enough that the symbiote allowed her to adapt as much as she had. It was its presence as much as her stubborn force of will that kept her going.

She lounges on the only furniture in the room in a temperature that few would find comfortable -- its easily approaching below freezing. Seviilia herself wears a loose white shirt worn through in several areas to leave the glowing blue rune circuit on her skin in plain sight, joined by a pair of dark blue slacks in similar condition.

Any time a lifeform lingers near the doorway, she can be counted on to lower her reading material to address them.]

Sinu a'manore.

[Well met. The meaning comes across, even if her words might have sounded strange to hear at first. Her voice echoes in a manner that is most unwelcoming, but given the fact that she rests the book down in favor of standing to invite her guest in, she's not entirely opposed to company.]

WILDCARD

[ooc: As always, feel free to set something up yourself!]

Comments

wake greg up (wake greg up inside)

[unfavoured]

[ It's getting a little ridiculous, the length Parker is willing to go to avoid sleeping in the common quarters. And to be fair, there is a relatively high number of options to go about, considering the size of the station (or what she perceives to be the size of it, at least), but after being in that quiet, empty chamber (a graveyard, or whatever you wanted to call it, but so silent), she has been trying to find it again.

However, it's proving to be really difficult, considering her unwillingness to cooperate with the whole symbiote deal. And it's been a while since she last slept, so she kind of ended up drifting off to slumber on a chair in the recreational area - not an usual place for her to be, as too many people come by, but she was trying to look for a distraction that wasn't purely physical (the lack of sleep, the stress and the lack of appetite are slowly taking a toll on her).

She's dreaming of buildings, neat and stacked evenly on one another. Or was, until the dream veers into a more nightmareish territory (memories and guilt). She awakes with a startle, pushing back against the chair and hitting the back of the Seviilia's as she's stacking her neat card pile. If she notices what she did, she doesn't see too interested in apologizing, leaning forward on her legs with a groan, rubbing her face slowly.

No Valium packs here, she'd guess. ]

why did you wake up

[miscreant]

[Seviilia had been largely ignoring Parker's presence. It was easy enough, until she started drifting into a dreamscape. Without control over their link, even with her experience, there's no real way to ignore it. Stubbornly, she continues stacking the cards -- its mechanical. One over the other, one over the other, build another layer--

The guilt eats up her insides, a completely unfamiliar emotion that her mind doesn't even know how to process, and it freezes her in place. She can't remember a single time where she had ever felt this emotion, or what name to even put to it.

Its the only reason that her startle causes Seviilia's arm to lock, and for her tower to go toppling. Any other scenario wouldn't have moved the pillar of plate that was the dead elf -- and fortunately, she is still confused enough over the strange emotion that she doesn't immediately turn and crack Parker across the face.

There is a very distinct flicker of irritation that comes across the link when she does seem to finally realize that her tower had been decimated. Her sigh out of her nose is entirely false and forced -- so much so that it rattles and echoes inside of her chest cavity in the most unnerving way possible.]

Why exactly are you sleeping in here?

greg can't wake up (save greg)

[unfavoured]

[ For all that's worth it, if Parker had her way, she would never let any fragment of her thoughts into others. Often, it is a thing she can avoid with the constant effort of putting up walls, but drifting into unconsciousness has the tendency to take away the forcefulness of her distance. Letting other privy to her mind, both to thoughts and, more so, to memories, it kind of disagrees with her. A lot.

But she isn't thinking about that, just rubbing her face slowly on her hands, as if that would dissolve the lingering, uncomfortable weight on her chest and head. She only half hears what the other woman says, didn't even notice her there until that creeping feeling of a link that should not be there crawls up her spine and up her head. It's almost instant, the way it feels when you're warm and accidentally turn on the cold water in the shower, the way she puts up walls. The flicker is muffled,and so is everything else. Parker makes a sound in the back of her throat, tired and irritated, and straightens up, looking ahead like she's in The Office ]

Why exactly would that be any of your business?

[ Parker looks over her shoulder to her, looking more tired than she looks annoyed. ]

[miscreant]

[Her voice is a lightly irritated echo.]

You are sleeping in public, that makes it the public's business. I happen to be apart the public. And aside from that, you just made it your business to interrupt me personally.

[She might not have her memories of being an elf, but she still knows how to complain like one. Seviilia spots the look on Parker's face, but her well of sympathy is shallow. How could the living be so reckless in caring for themselves? Sometimes, she can't even fathom it.]

There are plenty of more suitable sleeping areas.

[unfavoured]

The public? Please.

[ It's half confused, half mocking, and with a bit of unexpected surprise that she repeats the word back to the very pale woman. She stares at her for a second long and then shakes her head, as if saying how far down the cuckoo's nest can you go.

Now, objectively, Seviilia is entitled to feel irritated. But Parker cares about her irritation as much as she cares to get to know anyone in this place. So instead of recognising her mistake, Parker just gets up to her feet, grabbing the blanket she had wrapped around herself like a professionally made burrito.

Parker does, however, spare a glance of a very sceptical variety when she mentions suitable sleeping areas. Not in the sense that she doesn't believe her, but more to the fact that she knows there are not any - not for her stubborn self, anyway. But to be fair, she knows she isn't the only one that is appalled at the lack of privacy and, above all, of doors. Even community colleges can afford that. ]

There really aren't. But enjoy being a creep.

[ Clearly the only people that are okay with the sleeping situation are creeps. Clearly. ]

[miscreant]

[Fortunately, Seviilia is used to those sorts of insults, and she is actually a bit of a creep -- just perhaps, not in the way Parker imagines her to be.]

Oh? What's your problem with the sleeping quarters, then? You needn't explain the pods -- I have heard enough about them.

[Its said like she believes Parker owes her some sort of explanation, to justify her need to sleep in public.]

I do not know many people who sleep in the open air of a common room.

[But she also didn't know many people who actually needed sleep anymore.]

????? IM SORRY I THOUGHT I HAD TAGGED THIS

[unfavoured]

[ Folding the blanket a bit haphazardly while she talks, Parker stops halfway through the motion to look at the pale woman with a frown. She will one day understand, maybe, how are people comfortable in this place. She doesn't get it. ]

I fell asleep reading a book. [ She says, making sure they are on the same level of understanding. ] My problem with the sleeping quarters is my problem with this whole shit hole.

[ Like that explains anything, but she doesn't look inclined to give anything else other than that as she shoves the blanket in her backpack, which she carries her shit around. She has long decided to move around the Station. ]

Don't like it, never will.

cards

[shiro2hero]

That's pretty impressive. How tall have you gotten it?

[Part of that rec wing is where he's been spending a lot of time. The exercise areas. With no real fighting to do, he's got to do something to keep himself going. Keep himself busy. He could be training with the symbiote, but... he's got no real desire to dig into that portion of his mind without safeguards.]

[So here he is. Emerging from the depths in loose sweats, in contrast to her heavy armor, tilting his head curiously. Mental walls pulled carefully into place, the better to keep to himself, as much as possible. The cards are familiar -- from when he'd played with Cathaway. But the person building a tower with them is not.]

[She must be like Misato -- newly arrived while everyone was away on mission. She looks utterly alien, even if the ears remind him of an exaggerated version of Allura and Coran's. Maybe she is an alien.]

Are you one of the new arrivals?

[miscreant]

[Seviilia's mind finds his walls -- unlike many hosts, she doesn't seem to bother with her own walls, and simply expects her presence to be tolerated like a cat waiting to be let into a room they're sure they've always been allowed access to. The elf herself pauses to glance over her shoulder at Shiro when she hears his question, one rotting ear twitching as she processes his question.

She still wasn't entirely sure how she could understand so many of these creatures that seemed to speak differently than she did -- but they understood her in turn, so perhaps it was best not to ask. Shiro looks human, even if his choice of dress is only something she's come to recognize here on the station.]

Chest height. It is a menial task -- I grow bored before too long.

[She turns back to it, circling the table like a lion sizing up its prey.]

New enough. Do you prefer titles, or names?

[She found that almost everyone here preferred the latter -- but it was conversation.]

[shiro2hero]

[He's fairly well shielded these days. Mostly thanks to working with Sam. And out of a desire to keep the thing his symbiote woke in his head at bay. When she turns, he inclines his head a bit, in greeting. Hands shoved into his pockets.]

[Looks casual enough.]

There are worse ways to pass the time. Believe me. [Says the guy who spent months in a ship with four (probably) teenagers. He lets a bit of amusement slip out from behind the stars. See, he's kidding around.]

I don't mind either way. But it almost sounds like I should ask you that question.

[Since she asked and all.]

Me? I just go by Shiro.

[miscreant]

Shiro.

[The name flows pleasantly off her tongue, and she seems pleased by it -- as she had been with Misato's name. Some syllables were simply easier, when you were raised on Thalassian.]

Then you may call me Seviilia. Titles appear to be in short supply on this Station.

[The Darkling and Commander Shepard had been the only ones who cared to offer one. She's fine with that for the present.]

I am unaccustomed to free time, I'm afraid.

[As if the armor wasn't hint enough.]

[shiro2hero]

Seviilia. Nice to meet you.

[He'd offer up a hand, but. Hey. They're busy hanging out in his pockets right now. Maybe he shouldn't judge by armor. Maybe she'd be fine with metal fingers and alien design.]

[Maybe later.]

There's a few. I hear there's someone calling himself The Prince here. Are titles more common where you're from?

[Then he's shaking his head. Amusement in his next words, even if it's depreciating.]

That makes two of us. I don't know what to do besides weights, half the time.

[miscreant]

I have met him.

[She appears charmed by his admission, and returns to her task of stacking cards as she answers his questions.]

Quite common. Monarchy is still a common practice, and almost everyone is involved in the war in recent times. Even if the title is not particularly prestigious, almost everyone has one of some sort.

["Deathlord" won't mean anything to him. It hadn't meant anything to anyone else.]

A living body requires conditioning and upkeep. It is a good use of your time.

lookin' at you dead lady

[erbier]

[ The chill does not bother Ilde much. Nights in the burned world were very cold, little sunlight made it through the smoke to warm the baked earth, and thus when night fell, what little might have been there would evaporated uninhibited. In the higher regions, where the heat was indeed trapped inward by the clouds of ash, it was temperate. In the flattened lowlands, nights were frigid.

In a way, it seems almost appropriate for this corpse of a creature to remind her of nights spent shivering in the wastes. ]

I have felt you, like a spider, stalking our web.

[miscreant]

[To that, Seviilia closes her novel entirely and sets it aside in order to appraise Ilde with a curious tilt of her head. She doesn't smile outwardly, but there is plainly an amused sort of feeling floating between them. She'd been called many things, but a spider? That was new.]

I was always told I was a bit difficult to miss.

[She gestures to invite Ilde inside, using some long-compartmentalized instinct to stand in order to be polite. Ilde feels more familiar than she'd prefer to admit -- she remembers her as one of the few who seemed to have a world similar to Azeroth. One that understood her words and manners.]

Do you dislike spiders?

[erbier]

No.

[ She says it simply, and she does not even slightly attempt to play to the euphemism. Ilde almost has the inkling of liking Sevilia, but there is a caveat: ]

But I am concerned, for our weak ones. Can you reassure me?

[ A new tact from Ilde, to reserve her judgments and inquire of a monster. She does try to learn from her past mistakes. ]

[miscreant]

[She is continuously surprised by the candor of the Nest. Perhaps it was the nature of it that allowed people to be more open -- she could not have imagined anyone on Azeroth approaching her with such a question.]

That depends what would reassure you, I suppose. Perhaps you will take heart in the knowledge that I am not interested in cutting off my nose to spite my face.

[She folds her arms where she is standing, resting her weight on one hip.]

But on the other hand, it is up to the strong to offer themselves to protect the weak. Such is the way of things.

[erbier]

[ To be true, this is not the first such conversation Ilde has had. Approaching the dark-minded of the Hive to offer, in her practiced hand, a succor that she has spent many years of her life providing to a mad Godking. ]

We are as weak as each other.

[ A platitude, really. ]

Perhaps I would be reassured if I better understood.

[ The 'perhaps' there is very literal, but she is willing to hear it first. ]

[miscreant]

Indeed.

[And if she had her way, she would cull the weak without blinking, but given her encounter with The Darkling, she has already learned that such is not possible and that the Nest would make certain of it.

But if Ilde wishes to try and understand, it would only be polite for her to entertain the attempt -- even if, as she believed no one would understand without experience.]

I do not feed as you or other living do. My sustenance comes from the suffering of the living. Bodily suffering is the most sustainable.

[narcissithstic]

Well met indeed. [He can feel it, her meaning - thrumming down through the wire of their connected thoughts: his symbiote is advanced enough that it's practically second nature where it runs under his skin, binding them together.

They'd met once before, when he'd brushed against her power. Another encounter is...welcome, to say the least.]

You seem to be settling in.

[He steps in beyond the threshold without bothering to wait for an invitation.]

[miscreant]

As well as to be expected, until we are planetside.

[She's not as comfortable as she looks, but she doesn't say as much. Instead, she moves the book to the side table to sit beside her twin runeblades and instead allows her hands to rest on her knees.]

How long did it take you?

[narcissithstic]

Not long. [His arms are folded behind his back, attention drifting - and then returning, this time to settle on those blades instead. Brilliant as they are.] Cathaway was...unnaturally accommodating.

She shared with me much of her memories, her experiences. It was an advantage few others were granted.

[He says it with false humility; he doubts she cares.]

[miscreant]

Oh? She must favor you. How charming.

[She does sound almost delighted by the idea -- she didn't care much for anyone on the station that was not The Darkling, Shepard, or Ilde when the mood struck her. But Cathaway...well, she wasn't so bad either.

She follows his eyes.]

Do you like them? They were difficult to obtain.

[narcissithstic]

I made a lasting impression. [It isn't confirmation or denial; she did favor him for a while, but what lied between them is no longer as relevant as it once was. Instead he takes the segue with ease, moving closer with a clear curiosity.

For a primitive weapon, it's an expert craftsmanship.]

They suit you. [It's calm. More objective than complimentary.] The cost must have been worth it.

[miscreant]

The cost was necessary.

[She watches him appraise them in his studious manner. In truth, if anyone had tried to tell her that she would one day be wielding an amalgamation of Frostmourne, she would have called them mad. And yet.]

Their forging was not an easy task.