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Entry tags:
( AUDIO | 001. )
[ the distress signal is tapped out using her fingernail against a wall. it's one of the few signals jane knows in morse code, a trick taught to her by her father during their many late night stargazes. ]
· · · – – – · · ·
[ SOS
a few seconds pass, silently but only slightly disturbed by soft, hurried pants and then, ]
Hello. I'm Dr. Jane Foster of — of Earth. Or Midgard. [ jane feels the need to mention that, in case she tripped slapstick style into a gravitational anomaly and ended up god knows where again. she knows that by this point she shouldn't feel surprised waking up in a strange place, lost and confused, with a number tattooed on her arm. after all, safety and normalcy had pretty much been tossed out the window as soon as she hit the god of thunder with her van.
it still does, though. it's like a seizure by the throat, a fire shut up in her bones that makes her both restless and weary. it's the fear that never truly leaves the body, like malaria, and it's a fear clearly evident in her voice when she speaks again, ]
I — don't know where I am. Or how I got here. Or what any of this is. [ she won't exactly say it, but jane is completely clueless. it's an odd, sickening feeling and one she isn't used to. usually, she could grasp at straws, ultimately finding a conclusion through the little scraps of clues she was handed. in fact, her entire career has been built on that. here, however, there are no answers and no work for jane to use as a distraction. all there is the silence and the cold, harsh reality of the unknown.
jane lets out a sigh, heavy and tired as if the realisation just dawned on her, and she runs a shaky hand through her hair. ] If anyone can hear me, I need answers. Please.
[ SOS
a few seconds pass, silently but only slightly disturbed by soft, hurried pants and then, ]
Hello. I'm Dr. Jane Foster of — of Earth. Or Midgard. [ jane feels the need to mention that, in case she tripped slapstick style into a gravitational anomaly and ended up god knows where again. she knows that by this point she shouldn't feel surprised waking up in a strange place, lost and confused, with a number tattooed on her arm. after all, safety and normalcy had pretty much been tossed out the window as soon as she hit the god of thunder with her van.
it still does, though. it's like a seizure by the throat, a fire shut up in her bones that makes her both restless and weary. it's the fear that never truly leaves the body, like malaria, and it's a fear clearly evident in her voice when she speaks again, ]
I — don't know where I am. Or how I got here. Or what any of this is. [ she won't exactly say it, but jane is completely clueless. it's an odd, sickening feeling and one she isn't used to. usually, she could grasp at straws, ultimately finding a conclusion through the little scraps of clues she was handed. in fact, her entire career has been built on that. here, however, there are no answers and no work for jane to use as a distraction. all there is the silence and the cold, harsh reality of the unknown.
jane lets out a sigh, heavy and tired as if the realisation just dawned on her, and she runs a shaky hand through her hair. ] If anyone can hear me, I need answers. Please.
no subject
( it's irritating, especially to someone whose response to helplessness has on occasion been 'murder by martyrdom'; nuala likes to understand, to influence. )
They are questions we seek to answer.
( not everyone, admittedly. )
no subject