( 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]

"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.