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Entry tags:
we were lost before she started
CHARACTERS: Ilde & Open
WHERE: Station 72 / Waypoint Shril
WHEN: Day 28 - 32
SUMMARY: It lives.
WARNINGS: N/A, will update as necessary.
Days 28 - 31 On the Station: Wildcard, Pick a Spot, Do a Thing
[ The Station is, at last, peaceful enough for her -- with the others elsewhere. Like being hunted, she had skulked around the edges of their attention, and yet they always had a nose out for the blood trail she left behind her... She moves around in the open now. Free to frown irritably over the piles of books in the recreation wing, digging with determination for something that would read in the language she knew. She longed for the touch of her own decimated culture, as if it would vindicate her ways, her memories.
Free to lie on her back in the pool and stare up at the ceiling. Free to climb up the highest of the spiraling tiers in the Circle Garden and weave her odd little totems of wire and twine in silence. Free to sit vigil with the unmoved remains of her brood in the nesting deck, and think on how much she wished she could free them for their empty suffering. In the caverns beneath the palace, she had not spent so much time contemplating upon others. She had stepped over mangled bodies, ignored starving hands reaching from behind iron bars.
Maybe she could keep on like this, a priestess to their solemn sleep, watching until they awoke, or didn't. Maybe. Maybe. ]
Days 28 - 31 On the Station: Range Shooting
[ Just the way Angel showed her, days and days and days ago, when she had never before seen a firearm, Ilde maintenances a practice gun. She has her head cocked, listening to the murmurs of the Hive, feeling out for the threads that sound like her friend. The ones with clever hands and an admiration for all that the right arrangement of mechanical parts could achieve. Those she breathes in. In the void where the others are not distracting her, she opens up and breathes in the lessons.
There is a different look on her face when she leaves her workstation and takes the practice gun to the range. She hears the suggestions: this drill, this stance, this caliber. She begins to enact. ]
Day 32 Waypoint Shril: Wildcard, Pick a Spot, Do a Thing
[ She comes down what they call 'an avenue' slipping seamlessly through the press of the crowd. She has no one with her, and no luggage, and so her movements within the crowd are unencumbered. No one notices her, not so much as a glance. There is so much other noise in the alleyways, with her presence carefully dialed down to nothing, one might have to know to look for her.
She explores, peering into vendor stalls and restaurants, contemplating over gaudy ABA souvenirs, but she also watches. Posted up beneath the awning of a restaurant, eyes following from the shade, or from overhead, or from the crossroads.
Noisy, she dislikes it as she had disliked Concordia, but she likes that she does not have to pretend to be much of anyone here -- not even herself. ]
WHERE: Station 72 / Waypoint Shril
WHEN: Day 28 - 32
SUMMARY: It lives.
WARNINGS: N/A, will update as necessary.
Days 28 - 31 On the Station: Wildcard, Pick a Spot, Do a Thing
[ The Station is, at last, peaceful enough for her -- with the others elsewhere. Like being hunted, she had skulked around the edges of their attention, and yet they always had a nose out for the blood trail she left behind her... She moves around in the open now. Free to frown irritably over the piles of books in the recreation wing, digging with determination for something that would read in the language she knew. She longed for the touch of her own decimated culture, as if it would vindicate her ways, her memories.
Free to lie on her back in the pool and stare up at the ceiling. Free to climb up the highest of the spiraling tiers in the Circle Garden and weave her odd little totems of wire and twine in silence. Free to sit vigil with the unmoved remains of her brood in the nesting deck, and think on how much she wished she could free them for their empty suffering. In the caverns beneath the palace, she had not spent so much time contemplating upon others. She had stepped over mangled bodies, ignored starving hands reaching from behind iron bars.
Maybe she could keep on like this, a priestess to their solemn sleep, watching until they awoke, or didn't. Maybe. Maybe. ]
Days 28 - 31 On the Station: Range Shooting
[ Just the way Angel showed her, days and days and days ago, when she had never before seen a firearm, Ilde maintenances a practice gun. She has her head cocked, listening to the murmurs of the Hive, feeling out for the threads that sound like her friend. The ones with clever hands and an admiration for all that the right arrangement of mechanical parts could achieve. Those she breathes in. In the void where the others are not distracting her, she opens up and breathes in the lessons.
There is a different look on her face when she leaves her workstation and takes the practice gun to the range. She hears the suggestions: this drill, this stance, this caliber. She begins to enact. ]
Day 32 Waypoint Shril: Wildcard, Pick a Spot, Do a Thing
[ She comes down what they call 'an avenue' slipping seamlessly through the press of the crowd. She has no one with her, and no luggage, and so her movements within the crowd are unencumbered. No one notices her, not so much as a glance. There is so much other noise in the alleyways, with her presence carefully dialed down to nothing, one might have to know to look for her.
She explores, peering into vendor stalls and restaurants, contemplating over gaudy ABA souvenirs, but she also watches. Posted up beneath the awning of a restaurant, eyes following from the shade, or from overhead, or from the crossroads.
Noisy, she dislikes it as she had disliked Concordia, but she likes that she does not have to pretend to be much of anyone here -- not even herself. ]