( OPEN )

[miscreant]

CHARACTERS: Seviilia and you
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: D049
SUMMARY: Downtiiiime
WARNINGS: We've entered "perpetually hungry" mode. Escalating Seviilia's negative emotions could incite violence. PM me if you want a choking thread! (Seviilia will coma before she can do any real damage)

( WARM )

Being at least half of a magical construct, the concept of 'conditioning' was more of a 'warming up' process for Seviilia. Her muscles fed on the magic that kept her walking among the living long after her expiration date. There was nothing to tone when the simple act of feeding was what kept her in fighting form. All of that said, there was nothing to stop the itch in the Station -- nothing but other hosts, which she had already learned twice over were a poor substitute.

Slowly but surely, she is starving.

She's taken a pair of practice swords, as her own runeblades would likely tarnish communal training equipment. Its not very helpful -- they're much lighter than what she is used to. But just hitting something might take her mind of the urge to hunt the heartbeats echoing in the honeycomb chambers of the Station. The succession of the clacks of contact can be heard echoing through the hall --she's not being particularly gentle.

Seviilia doesn't sweat, doesn't tire. Occasionally, ice on her blades cushions her blows to keep from shattering them with her brute force, leaving shards and small melted spatters around the floor. She appears focused, but she does pause after someone stops long enough to make it clear that they are watching her.

"You could make yourself useful and pick up another weapon."

( NEST )

There is no necropolis to watch over, no soldiers to guide, so she continues to find solstice in the silence of the Nesting Pods. The sides of it are frosted, much like everything she touches. In her hands is a journal of sorts, accompanied by an inkwell on the outside of the pod and the quill of a strange alien bird between black fingertips. A few droplets of red run down the side of the pod from where it has dripped on its way back to her.

On the pages is a series of scribbles, notes, and small sketches, all in the same red ink. Some of birds, some of bone constructs, some of faces she remembers -- all are in a hyper realistic style, easily recognizable even from a distance. Occasionally, she pauses to think, her fingers pinching her quill just a bit tighter than she ought to be until--

Snap.

Her sigh echoes off the walls, head lolling back until it hits the wall with a clunk.

[Feel free to wildcard!]

Comments

[miscreant]

Normally, this might be where she demonstrates to show the experience of undeath. Its wholly unpleasant, soul rendering and hopeless. The kind of experience that she imagines changes a person and makes them irreparable. To this, she has no experience to draw from, only vague ideas and thoughts from others who have remarked on the few details she's offered to others.

Fortunately, Pidge has proven less than threatening, and altogether rather amusing. Torturing her with the experience of undeath would not give her enough pleasure for her to entertain the attempt.

"Painful," is the word she settles on, still smiling in her usual unsettling manner. She talks of it as easily as one might speak of the weather "You have strength, sometimes you have magic, you needn't suffer the pitfalls of breathing or bleeding...but you also have a hunger that never leaves you. An insatiable urge to cause others pain. And when you do, the pain goes away. For a time."

[greentech]

"That sounds awful," Pidge replies without a hint of hesitation. It might be a bit rude or blunt, but it does sound like a terrible situation to be in. Maybe better than being dead. She's not sure, never having been dead or undead. But death seems like nothingness. Is that better than an existence of torment? Or is it better to be able to experience the universe but still suffer pain?

"Like - I don't know if I could handle that. It just sounds like a living nightmare."

Which it pretty much is.

[miscreant]

"I was not given a choice. Few are. And we are very difficult to be rid of once we are walking again."

She doesn't bother to confirm nor deny the idea that her existence is a living nightmare. She is probably right. For a long moment, Seviilia decides if she wants to address it, folding her arms. The idea of being pitied by a child doesn't sound appealing, especially a child who seemed to ask a lot of questions of other people.

So she shrugs.

"We are returned to life to fight. Everything we are is engineered for that purpose."

[greentech]

"Don't you ever get tired of that? Fighting all the time?" Pidge asks. It sounds horrifically genuine. Pidge knows she does. Even when she's fighting for her friends or for the sake of getting her family back, it wears on her. Eventually she needs a break or just wants to stop.

And it's not what her life is about. There's more to her than being a paladin. She cna't imagine being stuck as some sort of soldier for all eternity.

[miscreant]

"You must understand," she starts, snapping her fingers to try in an effort to try and come up with an explanation that makes sense and that she will understand. "I am bereft of memories from my living experience prior to my death. I understand it is a common phenomenon amongst my kind."

Its what she knows, its how she eats, and how she occupies her time. There is nothing to compare it to, nothing to miss. And even if there was -- would it matter? A question she couldn't answer.

[greentech]

"Oh," Pidge responds with a small frown. She's not sure what to say to that. Some part of her wants to express sympathy. That has to be bad, right? Not knowing what you used to do or who you used to be? Then again, if you don't really remember, do you really care? It's sort of a weird limbo. Trapped between what you are and who you used to be - or, at least that's how she sees it. Seviilia doesn't seem to mind that much, though.

"Well. I guess if you're OK with it..."

Not much else she can say about it.

[miscreant]

To that, she shrugs one shoulder. She'd been owed a bit of curiosity on the subject herself more recently. Enough years free of someone else's thinking had allowed her too much time to herself and space to ponder what sort of person she might have been. Idle ponderings, with no real clues or family to hint one way or another.

Just a ring, and her family name that she'd somehow managed to hold onto even after death.

"It helps that I am rather good at it," she offers Pidge with a knowing smirk as she collects what belongings she had brought in with her. Pointedly, she glances at her computer. "I trust you will share any interesting information you find."

[greentech]

"I plan to, once I figure anything out..." Pidge replies with a low sigh. She feels trapped sometimes. A part of her is making peace with it and another part just keeps feeling like she's going to crawl out of her skin if she stays here for too much longer. She almost wants to ask Seviilia more questions about her condition. Something about it fascinates her - but she doesn't want to push her too hard. It seems a bit personal.

"Anything you want to know specifically? I might be able to find out more if I know what you're looking for."

[miscreant]

Seviilia pauses in silence to consider her offer. "I find you to be an inquisitive, intelligent girl, Pidge," she supplies. "Especially for your age. What you find to be interesting, I trust I will agree."

As she leaves, she raises her voice to be loud enough to hear in spite of her retreat. "It is my experience that there is always a center to the hivemind," she supplies easily. "Outside access to it would endanger us all. Perhaps you should start there."

[greentech]

"Outside access is what I'm interested in," Pidge replies slowly, brow furrowing as she examines the pod a bit more closely. She's a little grateful for Seviilia's advice and a little grateful that her eerie presence is on the way out. Which makes her feel a bit guilty.

"My outside access..."

Time to get to work.