station72 | ( OPEN )

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( OPEN )

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!]

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The nesting pods aren't exactly Pidge's favorite place on the ship. Really, she thinks they're a little creepy, but... there's also something soothing about the place and she's still trying to learn about this place. She's been banging her head against the metaphorical walls and she needs to find a place where she breath. Where she can let her mind stretch out. The nesting pods aren't really that place, but it's sort of out of the way, so it's the next best thing. And maybe someone she knows will wake up one day. Maybe her brother or her father. As much as she'd prefer to have them home, knowing that they're safe would do a lot to ease the ache in her heart.

There's something else there. A gnawing sense of hunger and frustration that starts out as a muted tug at the back of her head and gets louder as she gets closer. She enters the pods just as the quill snaps and she starts, laptop tucked under one arm, and she stares at Seviilia with a slightly confused blink. She remembers their last conversation and now she places the strange sense that's been crawling through the link.

"Uh. Are you doing OK down here?"

Probably not, but she's going to ask.

Adra has occasionally wondered what it would be like to know his brother's mind. To feel the pain a death knight must feel, to know that clawing, desperate hunger. Though he isn't part of her brood, Seviilia's cold presence is with him nevertheless, offering him a taste of what he foolishly sought. Even a sliver of it is enough for him to realize that he doesn't want much more.

But here he is, anyway. Observing her, arms folded over his chest, eyes bright and focused. Here is an opportunity for empathy. Understanding. He won't waste it, no matter the danger.

"I'm not one much for the melee," he says, shaking his head.

Seviilia turns her attention from grabbing another writing instrument to instead glance over at Pidge. The journal is left to rest against her knees, and her now empty hand comes up to rest on the side of her pod. An illusion of calm, given the stirring, the mental sense of being stalked so very clearly coming from her pod.

"Never better," she lies, as if she almost believed it herself. "What brings you down here?" Had someone fallen to slumber and she not realized? That seemed to be the only thing that brought other Hosts down.

While she waits for an answer, she reaches over to grab the inkwell, covering it so that nothing accidentally tips it over.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Seviilia continues, almost as if Adra weren't watching her -- as if his heart weren't drumming loudly in her skull. He'd made a point to request some distance, and yet -- here he was, observing studiously. Surely he must sense the edge she's sitting on. The hunger shaking in her wrists, clawing at her stomach. But then, he couldn't know how poorly she resisted the entire sensation to start with. They'd only just met.

"Then do not melee," she says simply, the following chuckle just a touch off pitch. Her magic hadn't been quite so easy to call since arriving in the Station, but a bolt or three wouldn't hurt her. Seviilia turns toward him, adjusting the grip on the swords while ignoring the itch to grab her runeblades.

A man of her realm should know the danger better than anyone. It would not be her problem if he overstayed his welcome. "We do not know where the Station will emerge next. Best not waste the opportunity."

"Getting out of the way," Pidge replies with a hint of wariness. For all that Seviilia says she's fine, it doesn't really feel fine. At least not to Pidge. She tucks her computer a bit tighter under her arm. Brow furrowed as she turns and runs a hand over a pod. She still doesn't really know how to deal with all of this. Or how it all fits together. It's frustrating.

"And I want to figure out how this all connects," She admits after a moment, trying to ignore the prickly feeling at the back of her skull. Something nervous and on edge.

"How does this tie into the rest of the Station?"

Asuka understands the need to vent frustration or anger or other emotions when there's no other way to do it. She's been doing it herself, throwing herself into her owh conditioning and training regimen because she has nothing else to do and if she stops and thinks too long she'll start sliding back into the hole she only just managed to drag herself out of. So seeing Seviilia going at it isn't too much of a surprise, even if the emotions she can pick out aren't completely familiar. A gnawing need for something that she can't place as she pauses to watch. Weird. Unsettling.

And maybe Asuka feels a touch of guilt or sympathy or something. That gets shoved away the moment Seviilia speaks to her. It's a challenge and an invitation and so many other things and Asuka is willing to indulge in it if it lets her build up a sweat. Or vent the simmering, low-level resentment and anger that seems to follow her like a cloud.

"Sure-" There's something almost joyful in her tone, but it's not really happiness. More like enthusiasm. Seviilia has almost a foot on her, but that doesn't really seem to slow Asuka down or make her pause. Instead she grabs a weapon from the rack. And instead of a sword, it's more of a polearm or a battle-axe, light in her hands.

There's also a dagger. But she doesn't think trying to fight like she would've with the prog-knife would help. Instead she lowers the point until it's aimed at Seviilia, eyes glinting with a steely determination. There's anger and a tangled ball of emotions behind her eyes, but she's going to try and enjoy this.

"Ready or not-!" ASuka charges. She's not large, but she's quick and she has a certain recklessness to her, a disdain for any sort of counter. The fact that Seviilia is a creepy zombie elf doesn't seem to slow her down one wit.

"Is that what you're looking for? A sparring partner?"

The skepticism in his tone, however distant his body language may be (back straight, arms crossed, though head tilted in mild curiosity) is clear. He knows what brought him here -- a feeling of lancing hunger, gnawing and prevalent. And the irritation that grew from it wrenched curiosity out of Noctis, though perhaps common sense should have informed him better than to follow it here.

Still, he isn't the sort of man to jump in at a moment's notice; he may have worked with Seviilia briefly during their stint on Shril, but he has no illusions of actually knowing if he's welcome here. There's frustration in those sword swipes, each sharp crack ringing in his ears, ice fragmenting in tiny pieces and catching light off of the floor.

"You seem to be doing... fine on your own."

"I'm afraid I don't have those answers for you," Seviilia admits with half of a sigh. Pidge probably didn't expect her to know but -- well, she likes to think she's more important than she really is at times. With that in mind, she sits up a little further, contemplating for a moment before she slides downward, onto the ladder and out of the pod in order to address Pidge a little more openly.

She takes her seat at the top of it, setting her supplies inside the cubby hole, paying no mind to the fact that she must look like some sort of gargoyle with the way she props up her knee. Its the most comfortable position for her at the present, so she doesn't plan on overthinking it.

Something in her stomach rolls unpleasantly.

"Have you tried reattaching yourself since waking?"

There's a momentary pause when Asuka accepts her challenge, but she supposes she isn't surprised as she crosses over to collect her own weapon. Studiously, she observes as she reaches for the polearm -- a wise choice, given the height advantage she has. She has to admire some of her bravado.

But only some.

Seviilia stays where she is when Asuka charges, point forward. She shifts her stance, pulling one sword under her opposite arm and raising the other to parry her sideways. She closes the distance only enough to make it difficult to use the edge of her spear at its maximum range.

She is not gentle when she strikes, aiming for the arm of the polearm with the intent of forcing a disarm with sheer strength alone.

"I was not looking for anything," she replies with a small sniff, returning to her strikes when it is clear that Noctis isn't going to indulge her. Some of that was probably a lie. She had come down to the training area looking to keep herself occupied, after all. The urge to hit something is too strong -- if she stops to chat, she'll simply snap. Of that, she is certain.

She pauses intermittently to acknowledge him more readily -- after all, they'd worked well enough together on the trials presented to them. No reason to chase an ally away just because she wasn't feeling well.

But her hunger is gnawing, ever present. She's consciously aware of how her hands begin to shake when she changes her stance. "I would not expect indulgence, even if I were. There are not many who measure up to my physical strength--"

CRACK. She feels the weapon vibrate enough in her hand that she knows she must find another, or at least pause enough to turn her frustration down enough that she isn't hitting quite so hard.

A cloud of frost exhales its way out of her nose.

"--in my previous experience."

Bravado and anger. It's what Asuka has the most of. She's not unskilled, of course, but it's all a vague sort of half-remembered idea implanted into her muscles. She only started doing this herself when she arrived here. And even she can't learn quite that fast. She feels the blade slide against her thrust and turn it aside and she starts to dig her feet in for a leap that will take her past Seviilia and position her for another strike.

Then there's a jarring blow to the haft of the weapon and she feels the vibration run all the way into her hands where it rattles painfully into her bones. She grits her teeth through the pain and tries to disengage. She can't let her get close, right?

"Well, it was worth asking," Pidge actually manages a semi-amused laugh and then eyeballs "her" pod, which she hasn't touched since she first arrived. Figures that Seviilia would ask her about that. She just hasn't really thought about it that much - hasn't wanted to, honestly. She frowns and glances away.

"No. I haven't really thought about doing that. It's... why would I?"

There are definitely reasons, of course. Pidge just doesn't like any of them. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

To this, Seviilia grins, spinning both swords to a more comfortable grip. She doesn't stop her approach, in spite of Asuka's attempted retreat. "You held fast -- impressive, for a human child."

She presses her attack, a series of strikes that wouldn't be particularly difficult to block. Hitting another weapon in the hands of another was more satisfying than striking a training dummy, particularly when the other's hands were not conditioned for the sort of beating she offers. Like gentle hands rubbing nursing a bruise, she can feel the way Asuka braces herself for each hit she offers.

Its tempting, to push past and really strike her. The rumble deep in her gut demands it -- but she resists, hard enough for the tips of her ears to twitch unnaturally.

"I'm not a child-" Asuka retorts between gritted teeth. The truth is, of course, that she is. Will be for a year or two yet. She tries to fight, though, even if Seviilia has her outclassed in strength and height and skill. She tries to make up for it through sheer bloody-minded aggression and determination, refusing to give in. Each strike sends another shock through her hands and it hurts, but she refuses to give up or give in.

Then she tries to go back on the offensive. She knocks aside one blow and she lungs, throwing everything into an attack. Either she hits or she loses this round. That's what she wants. It's served her in the past (and it's also gotten her badly hurt). But if she can beat the mass production units, she can beat her. Right?

"Let me clarify," Adra says, coming just a few steps closer. "I'm not one for fighting, in general."

He lifts his Light-limned hand. "I'm much better suited to fixing, not breaking."

"It seems the next logical step, wouldn't you agree?" she asks, head tilting to the side. There was only one benefit that she was acutely familiar with, and that was the calm sort of silence being connected brought her like only one other thing could. "If you want to discover answers to your questions, the best way is to indulge and observe how it effects you."

Seviilia rolls one shoulder in a shrug, and smiles somewhat unkindly in Pidge's direction. She understood some of the hesitation she felt rolling off the younger girl -- anything that felt unnatural or otherworldly was often rejected by the living, whether it be based on morals or physical discomfort. She is used to recognizing it by now.

"I have only been met with benefits, after all."

For what Asuka lacks in strength, she makes up for in speed -- enough that her attack that should have been a miss instead becomes a hit. At least, that's how it appears: one aggressive hit is parried in favor of striking at her now vulnerable side. A kinder warrior might have allowed her the win.

Instead, Seviilia lets her sword fly free and uses her now empty hand to catch the hilt at the base of its blade. She follows Asuka's momentum to pull the weapon from her hands, and will fling her across the room if she doesn't choose to release it soon enough.

"You are."

She pauses after the next swing to glance over at the other elf more readily, eyeballing his hand as he approaches. A scoff comes from her, and she unceremoniously drops her weapons. After all, if he wasn't going to fight her with a weapon of his own, her fists would do just as well.

"Fixing, yes. I'm sure that's true for most priests," is her reply. Carefully, she weighs her options -- if there was ever a deterrent for unsportsmanlike behavior, it was the Light. Seviilia had never enjoyed its burn very much, especially since it was used more often in righteous fury than for mending anything of her's.

"But then, you are Sin'dorei. Surely there is still some spring in your step--"

She lunges without any other warning, and will throw a punch to his sternum. Just one -- she just needs a taste of something. Anything.

"--and there's no better time than the present."

Asuka holds on, grimly determined to wrench her weapon back, and instead she goes tumbling over the mat with a muted little 'oof' as the air is driven out of her. She sucks in a deep breath, a feeling of frustration and helplessness and anger welling in her. She's not going to let herself get beaten so easily. Not now, not ever again. She picks herself backup, hands extended in an unarmed fighting stance, chest rising and falling with her ragged breathing.

"I'm not!"

She refuses to be a child. She won't be; not anymore, not now. She's lost everything. Lost her mother for the third time, lost her sense of purpoe, her sense of self, and clawed herself back. She won't let someone else define her.

"That's... true," Pidge rubs her chin and eyes the pod with a bit of skepticism. She can't really comment on it since she hasn't experienced it and she doesn't have anything to really draw from for data. No good-hand first-hand accounts. Then again, they're all learning together. Some of them only a little longer than others. She rubs her hand along the side of the pod with a little frown.

"...you just plug in and let it do... whatever it does?"

"It isn't-"

That CRACK is almost enough to startle Noctis, despite being aware of the noise prior. He doesn't quite jump (what a laughable sight that would have been), though he sets his jaw, his shoulders tensing briefly. An exhale and they relax slightly again.

"It isn't just about strength," he responds, and while the words might be taken as a challenge, there's something about the way Noctis says it that betrays nothing more than idle commentary. "Sometimes it's just about being more agile. Smarter than whatever or whoever it is you're fighting, too."

The sentence trails off into nothingness. Noctis continues to watch her movements, feeling that gnawing hunger and noting the way her hands shake.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Seviilia tilts her head when Asuka stands, clearly intent on continuing to fight. With hunger clawing at her belly, she doesn't have it in her to refuse. Some amusement bounces across the link, alongside a bit of understanding. Then, she tosses both weapons to the side of her and stands tall, broad as a mountain, open to attack.

The sort of stance someone takes to prove a point, rather than one made to defend oneself.

"A grown warrior knows how to pick her battles," Seviilia says, licking her teeth in anticipation. "Strike true, Asuka. If this is your choice, you get one hit."

Edited 2017-06-22 05:12 (UTC)

"Indeed," Seviilia replies, rubbing at the back of her neck where she now knows the little port sits. It had bothered her at first, for a reason she couldn't quite put words to, but it bothered her less now. The whole process was soothing, and she never came out of it feeling ill -- at least after a momentary unpleasantness directly after.

But momentary unpleasantness was a fair price for the hours of calm and silence she could obtain.

"I have not cared to know beyond the immediate benefits it provides me," she admits, spreading her hands honestly. "Perhaps it will be different for you."

"Sometimes," she agrees, dropping the sword that had begun to split and walking to retrieve another from the weapon rack. She turns it in her hands a few times before finishing her thought. "The rules often change, when your opponent is tireless."

She takes his intent for what it is, rather than a challenge. Noctis at least seemed to understand what it meant to be a foot soldier, even if he claimed to be a prince. Her hands shake less when she clenches around the hilts of her weapons, but the weight of her hunger continues to hang heavy. Is she alright? No, of course not.

But she couldn't very well admit that directly. She'd spent enough time with the Nest to imagine his reaction. It wasn't exactly difficult to infer -- but she didn't have to lay it out either.

"I am handling it," is all she says. Poorly -- but she is handling it.

[ Angel's gift to Bellamy had turned out to be better than ribbons woven in his hair or the clutch of her hand in his own. It's the ability to block out the majority of the noise generated by the clash of minds with walls. Once flimsy, Bellamy's learned to make them strong. Or stronger. Strong enough to keep most things at bay, but apparently not the rising tide of Seviilia's hunger. Dozing, wrist bound up in the little lizard creature's clutches, the sensation creeps in and obliterates the memory of the fruit Ilde gave them both. He's hungry again. It reminds him of the Ark, of growing pains and the gnawing emptiness of too little rations because he and his mother had always halved there to give Octavia a full share. It's painful to remember, and harder to excise once it's taken root.

His mind finds her, nudging at her between the impact of blows and the scattering clatter of ice. ]

( How do you make it stop? )

[ Maybe Murphy would know. But Bellamy's mind had hooked directly into the source, and it's too late to step back from this now. ]

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