ataraxion | ( 001 | VOICE | backdated a billion years to post-jump )

[ after spending a lengthy amount of time sorting herself out and making sure every possible trace of blue... stuff from her hair, eleanor eventually opts for the voice option on the communication devices, despite being reasonably satisfied with her now clean appearance. mostly because the bed in her room is actually half decent - all things considered - and she can't be bothered not to be horizontal, and that wouldn't make for a good camera angle.

she sighs, mildly and a little flatly. ]

Such a shame that the future of space travel and such has sacrificed good taste completely in the name of practicality. My kingdom for even a well-stocked Primark, to be perfectly honest. [ a pause. ] No use crying over spilt milk and all that, or whatever the appropriate turn of phrase might be, I'm not in much of a position to think about it too deeply right now. Still getting used to that space bit.

[ she smiles to herself, without much amusement. ]

The tattoo's rather on the nose, isn't it? I suppose post-it notes have also gone out of fashion and use around here. [ in her own company, she lifts her arm to look at it once again. ] I'd have much rather a typed memo than a permanent stain, but that really can't be helped. What's done is very much done.

[ pause. ]

I'm Eleanor, by the by.

[ she's usually quite good at conducting herself in these sorts of situations, introducing herself to a pack of strangers, but- well, the more time she has to herself here, the more it's sinking in that she's not at all where she's supposed to be. it's throwing her off her game. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

But it is quite gloomy, principle or no. Anyway, who knows, there may yet be the possibility of changing situations. We find new things about our ship all the time. Maybe there'll be a go-home-now button discovered yet.

[But probably not. That makes this gallows humour, then, and if that's the case, then so be it!]

I've heard that before. Maybe that's why the ship decided your tattoo for you. It knew you'd never be able to commit, so here, have a slap of some numbers. Happy Christmas.

What kind of things, exactly, do you find?

[ dryly, though with no apparent ill feeling, ]

Oh, am I ever in their gratitude.

Oh, you know. The usual things you find in a spaceship that's kidnapped you. Whole departments. Corridors. Rooms that weren't there before. Manticores. Massive rats. Supposedly those are all gone by now, but who knows whether that's true or not, eh?

Just your everyday spaceship mysteries.

[Totally cheerful!]

You had me at rooms that weren't there before. This all sounds like a dream come true, I must say. I hope someone here's keeping a list of all the veritable treasures you lot keep finding here.

This isn't actually a dream of yours, is it? Becuase if it is... you might think of getting your head examined.

I'm sure someone's got a list. There's this bloke that does a whole written up announcement after the jump. You might try him, although he's sort of a-- [sorting out a polite word...] --prat.

( 001 | VOICE | backdated a billion years to post-jump )

voice;

voice;

voice;

voice;

voice;