Solitude

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Annasiel
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Re: Solitude

Post by Annasiel » Tue Nov 06, 2018 1:59 am

Sable's fingers were somehow more steady now than they'd been a mere minute before. They had no difficulty in undoing the helmet's clasp, seal cracking with a serpentine hiss as she worked the dome off of her suit. An eerie sense of calm filled her, one part relief, one part fear pushed beyond the point of anxiety.

"You freaking מטומטמת," she whispered, her voice barely breaking audible. It came out in a strained rasp, and it was then she realized she wasn't truly calm, not the at-ease sort. Her entire body was wound so tight that it stopped her from shaking. Inside the suit, her fingers were clenched so hard her fingernails bent against the gloves' padding. The doctor took a step towards Blair, then stopped, silent for a moment.

Then she spoke again.

"You could have died." Strained, but more matter of fact. Her face remained blank. Impassive. Staring. Then she frowned, and her brow crinkled in what could have been anger or frustration. "You are an incompetent fool. This was a simple task, and you failed it, almost killing yourself in the process. Then where would I have been? Stuck alone on this spaceship without even your worthless aid?"

The woman spat to the side and clapped her hands together. It might have been a loud gesture, if not for the heavy gloves muting the impact.

"Be more careful next time, jackal, or I might not be so quick to save you."

She needed a fix. God be, she said she would limit herself, but she needed a fix now. Her body was wound so tight it creaked when she moved, and if at any point she let the tension go, she feared the shaking would return. The starting vestiges of a headache were putting their hooks into her skull, as well. Not wanting to waste another second of her time on the reprehensible woman, Sable began to undo the rest of the suit, hanging the parts with deliberate force on the nearby hook.

She almost died. You don't hate her that much, do you?

Do you hate her more than you hate yourself?
I look in the water and fear what I see
I know it's no stranger but I know it's not me
My life is a lie that was uttered in jest
If I can't change at all, let me rest

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Re: Solitude

Post by Quirbles » Tue Nov 20, 2018 11:17 pm

She'd lived.

Blair tore off her helmet and let it clatter to the ground in silence, ripping off her suit in a display of panic-driven haste before throwing that, too, onto the cold metal floor of the ship. Her face stung-- no, that was too soft a word. It burned, a throbbing wave of pain cascading across the singed crack in her visage; every pulsating heartbeat brought malice, the sensation pulling her further and further away from the station. Sable spoke, her words blurring as the agony crescendoed. It felt like she was on fire. She almost died.

She almost died.

"You are an incompetent fool. This was a simple task, and you failed it, almost killing yourself in the process. Then where would I have been? Stuck alone on this spaceship without even your worthless aid?"

The pain numbed. Blair let out a shaky breath, her eyes defocusing and staring into the grey wall of the EVA suit chamber as the words washed over her. She almost died, and she was being blamed for it. For something she didn't do. Incompetent, for the reel breaking due to an outside influence. Saving her own life through sheer strength, and she was being berated by this, this—

"Be more careful next time, jackal, or I might not be so quick to save you."

Thoughts turned off, the handle being pulled as she stopped breathing. A ringing grew in Blair's mind.

A moment passed, and she let out an scream of agony.

The astronaut's hands grabbed at the collar of the EVA's helmet and hurled it at the doctor, the already cracked visor shattering upon impact with whatever surface it fell upon. Next, her hands snapped directly to the neck of her colleague, finger arms seeking to wrap around tender flesh and push it back into the wall. Her scream broke, choking into a soft wail as tears blinded her vision, a thread snapping in her mind as a single hand withdrew from the neck and curled into a fist, pounding down upon the woman who'd tried to kill her.

"YOU TRIED TO FUCKING KILL ME, THE FUCKING REEL, YOU FUCKING REELED— YOU FUCKING WHORE—"

Her wails devolved into incomprehensible mutterings as her strikes decreased in intensity, her already-exhausted limbs falling to the side as she tried to give one last shove towards the doctor. A thin crack across her skin blistered down the center of her face, the pigment as reddened as her eyes. It had begun to bleed.

"FUCK YOU, YOU WHORE, YOU BITCH YOU FUCKING—"

One last slap, to be delivered hard across the face if she could get it in. Conscious effort was taken to stop herself from devolving into another attempted beating.

Blair stopped speaking, now, stumbling backward as the cries devolved into whispers.

"You snake-like... vile woman, you almost k— kill me and have the balls to, to—"

Her breath caught in her throat.

You'll only try to kill her if you stay around any longer.

"I should rip your fucking tongue out. You liar. I didn't reel myself in, you did, you caused this."

Blair turned on her heels, storming off into the hallways as she softly cried to herself, wiping the tears from her eyes and yelling obscenities as she disappeared from view of the airlock.

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Re: Solitude

Post by Annasiel » Sun Feb 10, 2019 1:56 am

A scream tore through the air, followed by a sharp pain as something heavy and hard shattered against her arm. Sable blinked, staring down at the broken helmet rolling on the floor beside her, at the sparkles of glass glittering from where it had struck her. Her first thought was a rational one. Safety glass, based on the way it had cracked, which was both a blessing and a curse -- on one hand, the only injury to herself was a quickly purpling bruise, but on the other, that was a cheap thing to build an exosuit visor out of. The transition filter was a good precaution, but still, a single impact could easily compromise such a flawed design.

She almost said so, but her words were stopped with her breath. Sable staggered backwards, digging her nails into Blair's hands, trying desperately to pry them away from her aching throat.

"Blair, I- Blair-" she tried to say, but her voice came out in a rasp. Her vision dimmed. The woman was going to kill her, and was it really undeserved? Then, a momentary reprieve. The grip loosened. Sable took a deep breath, wincing as the air pushed through a doubtless folded trachea, but taking comfort in the cool wave nonetheless.

"Blair..."

Thwack.

The other woman's fist glanced off her cheekbone, driving with it enough force to jolt her head backwards. Every time she tried to get a word in edgewise, another hit. Another. Another. Her body stung, her eyes watered. Words lost, Sable merely stood limply, waiting for the disorienting pain to stop. A shove sent her stumbling backwards, then to add insult to injury, a ringing slap across her face. It added little to the pain, but for whatever reason, the sound of it hung in her ears for a good few seconds after it had faded. The woman was silent when her coworker spat her last words, and didn't even turn to watch her leave, instead slowly lowering herself to the floor and wrapping her arms around herself tightly. Into the silence, she muttered echoed words more for herself than anyone else.

"I caused this."

That, that hurt more than anything Blair inflicted.
I look in the water and fear what I see
I know it's no stranger but I know it's not me
My life is a lie that was uttered in jest
If I can't change at all, let me rest

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Re: Solitude

Post by Quirbles » Sun Jun 23, 2019 4:24 am

"FATHER."

Two dull, monotonous beeps answered Blair's voice. Her throat almost clicked in the aftermath of the word, lips remaining agape for a moment of silence before pressing shut; a single hand lightly pressed at her throat, fingers curling around the scope of the jugular where she had gripped Sable and raised her against the wall, slamming her against the cold metal like the animal she was. Had the doctor deserved more than that? A simple scare, a bruise that would heal within days-- a mark upon her face that would fade within minutes to rival the scar which traced its way down the length of Blair's face until the day she died?

Every time she closed her eyes, she still felt herself spinning, spinning, the only color across her vision an intermittent flash of black and grey; her body was safe, secure upon the station, but her mind was still trapped within that damned suit, her line pulled taut and sending her arcing across the cold expanse of space while she, she just stood there, watching, not even aware of the life she had jeopardized. Lord, she hated her. More than anything, she wanted to tear that bitch limb from limb, throw her into the burning, purifying expanse of the--

--God. What was she thinking?

"F-FATHER, play... play the loaded holodisk. Please."

Tedious tones graced her ears, and the pilot softly shut her eyes in waiting. Lurking. Listening. The tape whirred to life, and the soft hiss of audio static fed through the speakers.

"Hey, Blair. I know you've been getting my messages, and you're probably ignoring them because of how busy you've been, but--"

Truth be told, putting on that damned space suit was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. Peering through a visor only brought her back to that... fucking cockpit, alarms blaring, control shouting in her ear to abandon the bird and eject into the night air. Teller, though-- God, he had always been a constant source of calm, that one. Always knew what to do. Even in the midst of plummeting thousands of feet within the atmosphere, Jordan was comforting, his mere presence stopping her from making a shit call, or-- or fucking up a maneuver. That was why they worked so well together, and that was why they were always working together. Synergy. Understanding. A level of connection that wasn't common, and was... personal.

"--if Thai might be up your alley, I know a place. If not, I trust your judgement--"

I trust your judgement, Blair. I trust you.

Wasn't that what he had said to her, moments before they'd pulled the plug? Moments before his seat shot him into the overhead cockpit, shattering the reinforced plexiglass and folding his spine over itself? She'd known they'd recovered a body somewhere out in the east, if they could even have called it that. Parachute failed, plummeted into a god-damn forest and wrapped itself around the tree-- there wasn't anything left to bury at the funeral-- said they'd needed to scrape him off the fuckin' branches-- all because of her, and her mistakes. I trust you, he'd said to her, and she'd fucking killed him.

The flick of the button, the hiss of the ejection system, and the simultaneous cracking of bone and glass. Truthfully, she hadn't even registered it before she was in the air, watching his limp, contorted body twirling over itself and disappearing into the midnight fog.

She supposed that the best part about being thousands of feet within the air was the solitude. Nobody could hear her screams, after all, her bloodcurdling screeches of denial and anger. The small tink, tink, tink of her clasp against the arm of the seat as she thrashed around in its cushion, wishing endlessly that it would have been her, not him.

--call me when you get this. Or don't. Love you."

Click.

Hiss.

Crack.

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Re: Solitude

Post by Annasiel » Mon Jun 24, 2019 2:40 am

The pills were a limited resource. The pills couldn't be relied on every time she had a little spat.

It wasn't a little spat, though. You hurt her. She hurt you. She could have died because of you, Sable. Do you really think that's okay? That's something you can just wash from your conscious, just like every other sin you've committed in your miserable life? Abba was right. You're on the path to Hell and nothing you ever do can save you.

The pills were a limited resource. The pills couldn't be relied on every time she had a little spat.

The mantra, if it could even be called that, was enough to help her put the tiny bottle back in the cabinet. She traded vice for virtue, tiny caps for clicking keys, bright labels for bright LEDs, all arranged in neat little rows 20,000 strong. They flickered with every update, scan-lines running down their battalions of monochrome, wiping away what was with what was to be. Sometimes Sable wished the same could be done with memories. A simple flicker of an emitter followed by a wave of black, and something...

not different, but...

better, behind it. Brighter. Like turning up the gamma on a display, if only to try and see things in a better light, instead of tinting them with her own da- darn emotions every time she glanced back. Her fingers flew across the keys in a blind frenzy. The board was mushier than her one back at the university, leaving double letters with every less-than-perfect errant click. It only agitated her more.

"FATHER?"

A moment of silence. Voice recognition always took a while -- the need to record, analyze waveforms, and assemble a 'proper' response based on some algorithmic process took strain on even the most cutting edge computers. After a heartbeat, though, she heard two telltale beeps. FATHER was listening.

Better than I can say for my own Abba.

Sable let her voice hang with a silence of her own, lost in a moment of deliberation. Why had she called the AI? Anything it could do, she could do faster with a keyboard and trackball.

"I wanted to... vent, I guess."

It was called FATHER. Fathers were supposed to be there. Listen to problems. Help. God, she was being stupid right now, but if it helped her feel a little bit better -

"All vents are currently operational in habitable sectors. Sector 1, 3, and 5 are offline. The vents in those sectors are currently nonoperational."

- and now she felt a little bit worse. Of course it wouldn't have that function built in. It was a work assistant, not a therapist.

"Sorry." The word was always hard to say, even to a machine. "I meant... I'm not right in my head at the moment. I don't feel good, and I want to talk about it."

A longer pause.

"Can you tell me about it?"

Her heart leapt into her throat. Maybe it did have... some sort of emotional support routine. A way for crewmembers to vent without having to go to living people. The sort of people that, if she weren't the one asking, Sable would see as pathetic. No - she still saw it as pathetic. She was just being pathetic with them.

"I hurt... my coworker today. Blair. And I don't feel... right about it. We parted on rough terms, and I know it was my fault but -" her voice hitched, and she swallowed hard to clear the invisible block. "I didn't handle it properly. I'm not sure I can handle anything properly."

In the hush, she could almost hear the whine of electricity, the whir of cassettes, and the crackle of the empty speaker.

"I have noted a decrease in the emotional stability of both subjects. Mediation is necessary. It will arrive soon."

The speaker clicked, and two more beeps followed. It turned off?

"FATHER. What do you mean, mediation? What's arriving?" Sable asked hesitantly.

Nothing.

"FA-THER," she said, making sure to enunciate the words properly. It was probably just her accent. "What mediation? What are you doing?"

Something deep in the station rumbled. Sable froze, holding her breath, ears strained. Distant, but coming closer. A thumping, rubber on metal, like someone wearing boots stomping down the hallway. Closer. Closer. Closer... until it stopped. Silence, once more, much like the silence when waiting on an answer from FATHER, if only for the anticipation. The expectation with bated breath, as a hidden motion was pushed with hidden intent.

The door to her office opened.

Sable screamed.
I look in the water and fear what I see
I know it's no stranger but I know it's not me
My life is a lie that was uttered in jest
If I can't change at all, let me rest

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Re: Solitude

Post by Quirbles » Mon Jun 24, 2019 6:55 am

Looking into the expanse was odd.

Truthfully, Blair hadn't known what to expect-- her expertise was always relegated to Earth and the secondary world of the open air. That's what it was; a different planet, subjected to these bizarre rules and laws which would never occur at ground level. Her mother had always joked she'd came from the sky, hadn't she? With how much time she'd spent up there at peace-- at home, really-- she'd always wondered if that little banter was meant to be taken at face value.

McLoughlins came from tough stock. Blair was no exception; she'd displayed a sort of prominent bellicose fierceness at a young age, which accented her lack of trepidation towards most anxiety-inducing situations. Always the first to raise her hand if she had a question. Always the first to accept a dare, and always the first to hurt herself from doing something reckless. Never the last one to get in trouble, and always the first to be the subject of her father's anger when she got home. Even now, calling the artificial intelligence FATHER was discomforting and actively discouraged her from seeking out any aid-- not that she needed it, of course. Her time as an aerospace engineer provided all the relevant data and skill she needed for maintenance, repairs, and piloting-- which was her job.

Now that she gave it thought, there was relatively zero overlap of any kind with that of a doctor, and she was more than happy to not bother Sable. Well-- actually, she had half a mind to knock the girl's teeth out, really, but there was nothing to gain from another beating. The two had already said enough, done enough; Sable, with her reckless endangerment of the only other human aboard the ship, and Blair with her apropos response to nearly dying in what amounted to an airless, frigid vacuum. There was the sneaking suspicion that the momentary freak-out paled in comparison to the neglect of a human life, but was there any point in dwelling on the matter any further?

No. There wasn't. That was why Blair clutched the neck of a vodka bottle within her hands, absently sipping from the spout to taste the awful burn down her throat. It was also why she slowly rubbed the nozzle's curved ridge with an index finger, feeling the sticky friction of dried sugar which the flavored alcohol left upon the rim. She tapped her thumb upon the top of the glass, relishing in the way the skin barely peeled away from the surface like an adhesive. She was alive. She could feel, somehow, despite the mounting odds wishing otherwise, and she only realized now what little minutiae were in her life. A warm pooled in her stomach and radiated out into her blood, spreading in soft tendrils of heat which crawled along her arms and chest with every successive sip.

Being drunk would numb any thoughts she had on the Sable matter.

The salt-and-pepper slate of space stared back at Blair through the porthole in the hallway she roosted against. Even now, looking into the void, she couldn't help but think to the misty days of her childhood in rural Scotland-- when the flecks of fragmented chalk would dust off of the teacher's eraser and settle in miniature flakes across the blackboard, sticking to the pitch face and leaving glinted specks of white upon a backdrop of unseeing black.

It was almost as if she could reach out to the glass window and rub each deep-seated star from the expanse, freeing them from the board of reality and leaving each little dot smudged across her fingers. Then, knowing how it always went back at her underfunded Catholic school, some old hag with a ruler would come along and--

--screech.

As soon as the final word left her mind, an ear-piercing scream tore through the station. Blair would have grown alarmed, perhaps even jumped from the noise, but two factors prevented an immediate response from the pilot; she was intoxicated, for one, which meant her perception was ultimately muddled in the face of the vodka's overbearing effects. There was also only one other person atop this damned empty ship, and that was the dumb fuckin' bird that had nearly winked her damn lights out for good.

Regardless of the vendetta, the scream still echoed in her mind, present. A sound like that was never good-- not for the person screaming, and not for anyone hearing it. A brutal malfunction, maybe? Or perhaps it was another fuck-up. Whatever it was, the response garnered enough intensity to spur Blair from her seated position against the wall, bottle still in hand as she navigated through the fuckin' labyrinth that was the vessel she had been placed upon.

Her face felt hot. Alcohol normally didn't do that to her. A lightweight, maybe, but not her. She was a McLoughlin.

No amount of genetic courage, however, could have prepared her for what stood around the corner.

"JESUS FUCK-- THE 'ELL ISSAT?"

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Re: Solitude

Post by Annasiel » Mon Jun 24, 2019 7:45 am

It hissed when it moved, as if it new it was a thing born of the serpent -- God, how could it not be? Humanoid, if a mockery of everything called human could be called such, garbed in pure white overalls that mercifully covered most of its skin. The few parts that showed, the arms and the face, were creased with age, lined with writhing, varicose marks that made it almost - ALMOST - look organic.

And to speak of its face was to invoke a horror of its own. Human wasn't even applicable. Maybe some child's idea of a human face, turned simple in two slits for eyes and a carved sickle mouth, but contorted beyond the realm of anything a child could ever hope to dream of. Abjectly malevolent, yet devoid of any emotion at all, irony juxtaposed with pure, unconstrained horror.

As one hand outstretched towards Sable, she screamed again. Like gloves, but it wore no gloves. It made her think -

King Uzziah, proud descendant of David.

He went to the temple with sin in his heart. There, he chose, not to call upon a Levite to spread incense, but to touch the sacred box with his unordained hands. He thought himself worthy, but he was not. YHWH punished him, Sable. He made him a leper. Do you know what a leper is? Look, look at this.

This is what comes of thinking yourself worthy. Our Lord is just, Sable, but he is also cruel. Vengeance comes against those who break his sacred law.


But that wasn't leprosy in the Tanakh, not when she read it with an older mind, after she pushed away her parents' God in pursuit of blasphemous science. His skin flaked, his skin turned white. It didn't become smooth and featureless, rotting away from the inside out, not like the nail-less mits of flesh reaching for her now, as shiny and thick as the hands of the man her father had shown her so long ago.

Unclean, Sable. People like this are -

"Don't touch me!" she screamed, pulling the first thing she could grab off her desk. A heavy book filled with protocol codes. She gripped it so tight the cover bent, bringing it down with all her might in an arc onto the monster's head. It never reached its target. Faster than its sluggish trot assumed, one of the sausage hands flew up to grab the book, ripping it out of Sable's hand and setting it back on the table with the gentle grip of a pederast lowering his boy to bed. Sable could only cower beneath the table, pulling her knees up to her chest and burying her face between them.

The boots thudded once, twice, then stopped. The hiss of the thing moving, bending down close enough to smell. Burnt. Char. Sulfur. Surely a demon, sent to punish her for her wickedness. Somehow, in her haste for answers, she had called YHWH's wrath down upon her -- FATHER wasn't a program at all, but God himself, giving one final chance to a girl who had lost her way.

Something soft touched her shoulder. The monster continued to hiss -

No. Not hiss.

It was shushing her. Its hand was resting on her shoulder, devoid of force or frightful act, and the thing was shushing her.

"What do you want?" she whimpered.

"Relax. You are calm. Please relax. Close your eyes and count to ten."

It spoke with a hushed voice. Not quite a whisper, but nowhere near loud. Each sentence, delivered with curt enthusiasm, ended with an upturn that made them almost sound like questions. Relax? You are calm?

"No, I'm... I'm not calm. I'm very not calm. You're scaring me, right now. Please stop -" The presence was already shifting away. Whether it was by her request or simple distraction, though, was uncertain, because the only other living person on board the ship was now standing in the doorway. The machine rose, turning to face Blair with what Sable didn't doubt was a smile, if it could do anything else.

"Hello. I am a Mediator. I am here to end your dispute, and restore you to wellbeing and emotional satisfaction." It tilted its head. "You are inebriated. That is not conducive to a positive mental state."
I look in the water and fear what I see
I know it's no stranger but I know it's not me
My life is a lie that was uttered in jest
If I can't change at all, let me rest

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Re: Solitude

Post by Quirbles » Wed Jun 26, 2019 7:59 pm

It was a mannequin-- some kind of perverse statue, creased and wrinkled with age, wizened flesh stretched taut across the thing's frame like leather hung out to dry upon a rack; almost instantly, an indescribable feeling of malaise settled across Blair's addled mind, even with the alcohol dulling her senses. Had she not possessed a stronger stomach-- she was a McLoughlin, after all-- then the scent of charred plastic, so similar to the pungent odor of burning flesh and hair that the two were nearly inseparable, may very well have made her regurgitate half the bottle of vodka back up onto the floor in front of the walking scrotum.

The reaction to such a sight was instantaneous. Fight or flight. And Blair, being the termagant that she was and always had been, chose the former in the heat of the moment. Clear liquid sloshed dangerously close to the neck of the glass as she brought it upward, the alcohol nearly flying free from its container; in a moment, however, the matter of spilling her drink was rendered completely null as she brought the bottle back down, hard, upon the robotic being's skullcap. Glass shattered with a pronounced staccato tinkling of sharpened bells and ruined shards, and the transparent ether ran down the mockery's twisted visage in barely-noticeable rivulets. Vaguely, just vaguely, she found herself reminded of the way an infant's head glistened with afterbirth and fluids once removed from the womb.

What else could she do but follow up with another strike, this time a boot to the chest? What else could she do but kick it away, attempting to push the thing into a shelf to gain distance anyway she could? Blair couldn't remove the presence of that marionette from her mind-- how could she, with the way its sickle-mouth and hooked eyes dug deep into the recesses of her perception-- but she could remove it from her eyes, which was exactly what she did. Her stare shifted to the doctor, cowering under the table like weasel-woman, and lunged down to grab at her.

"GO. COME ON!" She yelled, curt, commanding. Blair went to grasp at Sable's forearm and pull her, gently, as to not dislocate the stick-limbs the bird currently had for arms; if they found purchase, the pilot would move to go to the end of the room, back to the doorway she wished she'd never walked through.

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Re: Solitude

Post by Annasiel » Mon Jul 08, 2019 9:11 am

Whatever motors were hidden behind the machine's rubbery tube of a neck hadn't been built to withstand the full brunt of a barroom smash. They whined with protest as the robot's head jerked forward, then with a jarring crack that would make any mechanic cringe, began to pull the head back up to its proper place. Internal damage, by the way it stuttered when it moved. On the outside, though, most of the harm was superficial -- a few pieces of glass were held in place, sucked tight by torn rubber, while the rest of the bottle lay in shards at its feet. The sight was nigh comical. A bald head plastered with spikes of green like some post-modernist's attempt at a punk raver.

Of course, Sable wasn't in the proper position to debate her views on post-modern sculptures, or terrifying robots faintly approximating them. No, her current position was one of cowering fear, and the only protests coming from her mouth were whimpered pleas to just get that thing away from me, thank you very much. The robot itself proved much more articulate on the matter even after a hard kick sent it stumbling backwards into metal framing.

"Acts of aggression only further reinforce aggressive tendencies," it said in that same, soft tone as log books and equipment slid off the rocking shelves. A heavy looking metal box toppled forward, slammed the robot in the back, and pinning it to the ground. "If you desist, we may communicate our feelings without the need for violence."

It was light, to Blair's touch, much lighter than a human of its same size would be. More like pushing over a child than a fully grown man.

Sable allowed herself to be pulled out from beneath the table, though not without a worried glance towards robot and box alike.

"I don't know what that thing is," she hissed, pulling her arm away from Blair the first moment she could. She rubbed at her forearm ruefully -- the woman was certainly a brute. Though, she supposed, a brute was necessary in situations like this. Those first thoughts turned guilty as her thoughts jumped back to their last words, then doubled down on the judgement again. More than a brute. Needlessly aggressive. She'd been the one to threaten Sable, even after the danger had passed. Physically assaulted her, even!

But none of that mattered now. Breathless, Sable slowed her pace, pausing a moment to lean against the wall. She glanced over her shoulder.

"Did we lose it?" She strained her ears until they crackled, but she heard no stomping of metal on metal. None like the sound of the marching boots before. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes, fingers settling on the sides of her temples. "God, that -- that couldn't be protocol. That was horrifying."

A hand dropped to her pocket, pulling out a small bottle that rattled with every shiver - but in the motions of opening the cap, the shivers stopped. Rote memory worked wonders. That, and maybe a helping of placebo. The woman hesitated, but still decided to tip the bottle, jostling it until two small pills rolled out into her palm. She dropped one back in the bottle and popped the other in her mouth.

"Some sort of robotic assistant, obviously. Maybe the last crew altered its appearance as a joke. That sounds plausible. Even definite."
I look in the water and fear what I see
I know it's no stranger but I know it's not me
My life is a lie that was uttered in jest
If I can't change at all, let me rest

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Re: Solitude

Post by Quirbles » Sat Aug 17, 2019 4:07 pm

"Aye, and need'r do feck'n I." Blair panted, the rasp of her gaelic mannerisms breaking through the shattered remnants of ladylike comportment as she bent down to press both hands upon her kneecaps and rest, if not for a small moment before the walking scrotum decided to make itself known again. She gave a small look over her shoulder, a stray strand of matted scarlet hair falling across her forehead to dangle loosely in front of her right eye; with a simple raise of a finger, the ribbon was neatly wrapped around the fingertip-- quite easily so, with its natural curl-- and tucked away past her ear, the awareness of needing to collect herself gaining precedence over the threat of some mechanical stillborn returning to them both.

"Ooviously, the ... thing there was feck'n proo'tocol. Barely 'ad tree seconds t'find me wits 'fore that loppy bastard pranced toords me." She muttered out, forcing herself to breathe as she stood straight once more and looked to Sable for a short spell. Dastardly bitch seemed to have a problem with grabbing wrists, even if the intent was to save-- a real fuckin' piece of work, she was. The memory of the doctor's censure after Blair's brush with death still loomed heavy over her mind. She wasn't going to ask if the bird was alright. Judging by the pills rattling in the bottle the little shit held, the pilot's words probably wouldn't matter much longer.

"Warn't a feck'n therapist, thas fer sure. Christ. Ah-- speakin' of the crew, where in the name mother feckin' Mary are these monolithic cunts? Leavin' us here. Aloon. Wet you."

A curt sigh. Blair brushed her pants and turned, moving towards the far end of the hallway where her engineering kit had been left. Probably. These God-damn hallways were starting to look the same, yes they were, and half the time she felt like she was about to walk into a Godforsaken Wile-E-Coyote painting, fake tunnel and all. Hadn't even been a day, and this place was getting on her damned nerves.

"Waste of good vodka, too."

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