ataraxion | ( 003 ) V O I C E.

[ Let's be honest, "fucked off" is a huge understatement. Oxford is walking and talking, stomping along the corridors of the Tranquility, irritated by how familiar he finds it now. It's a tactical move, of sorts. If he's going to cope with the space induced headache, he's going to do it in the mopey privacy of his own room, and certainly not the locker rooms. ]

It seems that I was under some misguided delusion that perhaps maybe one jaunt in space would be more than enough for one lifetime, but no. Here I am, once again, covered in this obscene blue goo and - even better - this time I have been denied my clothes. This damned heap of futuristic junk has an abominable sense of humour, providing me with nothing but cufflinks, a pair of shoes and, worst of all, a damned tie. The sheer audacity of this set-up simple has no bounds.

[ The stomping stops, just for a moment, emphasising Oxford's little pause for thought. ]

How accessible are the airlocks here? I've a strong temptation to see what an Asprey tie looks like drifting around the vast vacuum of space- [ he stops for a second; the thought of the endless darkness surrounding them at this moment makes his head pound that much harder and a certain nausea bubble in the pit of his stomach ] -ah, in all its royal blue glory.

[ S I G H. ]

Good day to you, Tranquility. How lovely it is to make your acquaintance once again.

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[ Strange. ] Mine didn't. [ It's the only indication she gives that she's experienced her own temporal interrupt.

There's a pause in which she switches the feed to video. Aberdeen looks a lot worse for wear than the last time they once saw once another — the result of the power dampening and a subsequent lack of sleep. (It keeps her up at night and she refuses to dose herself in order to catch break.)

Aberdeen sniffs, rubs her nose with the back of her hand and says: ] They're no longer passengers on the Tranquility. [ A beat and maybe it's meant to be comfort (though in all honesty, it's a foreign concept to her): ] You'll have to make due.

Yours didn't? [ Explain please, says his tone.

He can't help thinking that Aberdeen is something of a sorry sight, but more than anything he feels his distaste for the ship rising. The look doesn't suit Aberdeen, and he resents the ship for being the cause of that. Though he's all too aware of the weariness (and hurt) that is now undoubtedly etched across his face, he switches to video too, dull and tired eyes staring at her. ] I suppose I shall.

[ Oxford hardly needs to say more for his feelings to be perfectly clear. He didn't even look for Cambridge when he fell from the grav couch, he just skulked away to lick his wounds and sulk, he simply assumed that she would still be here. ]

[ It's a weakness, human emotion. Attachment, sentiment, all of those things. Aberdeen likes to think she got rid of them a long time a go and — for the most part — she did. But when she feels it these days, as rare as it is, it's present in a way that's tangible in her chest. A hidden variable inside of herself, moving around. (Needless to say, she doesn't like it.)

Still, it makes an appearance as she stares at Oxford's face. She's seen that look before on Durham's, on Dundee's. Aberdeen might not be the best when it comes to acknowledging these sorts of things but, at the end of the day, she's not an emotional idiot. (She's not made of stone, either, despite appearances.)

Aberdeen ignores his question. Instead, she blinks once slowly and then allows them both to lapse in silence. ]

Sorry.

She's better off where she belongs. [ Despite the fact that it was never "his" Cambridge, so to speak, he feels her absence almost as keenly now as he would if it had been the Cambridge he knew. It had been a strange positive to this whole situation, the chance to know a Cambridge who was all at once same and wholly different, and he doesn't know now if he will get to experience that again. All the same, he forces away selfish thoughts. She is better off gone, not matter how much he hates it.

His words are now slower, more sluggish. There would never have been any point in hiding it from Aberdeen, so he doesn't. ] We all would but, but sadly it seems that such a luxury is rare, or else transient.

[ Aberdeen's brow pinches in momentary confusion. It's a sentiment she's heard before — she's better off where she belongs — but it's one she cannot seem to bring herself to understand or subscribe to. Maybe that's a testament to how selfish she truly is, but it doesn't bother her, humans were selfish by nature, and most would rather live in denial than fess up to the things that they want and they need.

(If the circumstances were different, if it was Dundee who was gone, there would be no way she'd say a similar thing. No way in the world.)

Again, after a pause: ] Naproxen or oxycodone?

[ Implied: for your headache. Equally implied: I'll bring you some. ]

[ Perhaps if it had been his Cambridge, Oxford would have found it much harder to say so, but as much as he dislikes the spaceship and would prefer to have Cambridge's specific kind of company on board, it's not the sort of thing he could ever wish upon someone. He notices the brief confusion, but doesn't comment on it. He can easily imagine that his and Aberdeen's opinions on this matter differ.

He exhales lightly, sounding faintly grateful. ]

Naproxen, please.

[ It's strange, or perhaps indicative of a larger more looming strangeness. Aberdeen has never had true feelings of companionship towards Oxford, having most certainly chosen to stand on Durham's side of the line. True, she was his colleague and had something of a personal fascination with the explosive interactions he had with both Isaac and James, but there's never been a sense of investment before.

Why would it take the dampening of her powers to make her feel the odd tingle of it now?

Aberdeen nods. Understood. ]

Contact Dundee. [ It's not urgent, more a courtesy, more a he'll tell you things you need to know that I can't or won't. ] Fifteen minutes.

[ Fifteen minutes. Oxford is glad for that, because he hasn't reached the showers yet, he hasn't reached his room, and he needs a moment to gather himself. He had stopped in the middle of a corridor, and his feet still feel too heavy to walk on. He acknowledges this as something of a pathetic response to what has happened; he needs to suck it up and deal with it, but it's always so much easier said than done.

Part of him is entirely receptive to the prospect of company - Aberdeen's company, specifically, because he doesn't have to explain himself to her - but another part resists. ]

I shall. [ A breath. ] Can we make it twenty?

[ Admittedly it's not the sort of thing that Aberdeen and Oxford do. Yes, they were colleagues; yes, on occasion they worked together and exchanged words at social gatherings disguising themselves as official functions. But otherwise they remained in their perspective corners. The promise of social awkwardness is high, if Aberdeen were capable of social awkwardness in the first place. (Being awkward requires a certain self-consciousness, which she's never been able to muster in all her 24 years.)

A pause. ] Why.

[ Social awkwardness seems to Oxford to be the least of his worries at the moment. He's in the sort of mood that would lead to sudden silences and an absent mind; it anything awkward takes places, he doubts he would even notice. He doesn't respond for a moment, merely look at the video feed with distracted eyes before he gestures to himself, pulling a wry smile onto his face. ]

I'd rather like to have a shower first.

[ But what he means is that he needs a little time, just a little, to himself first. He needs to gather his thoughts, remove himself from the initial shock. ]

Edited 2012-04-09 23:23 (UTC)

[ It doesn't occur to Aberdeen to simply allow Oxford the time that he requests without question, if only because allowing without question would be the polite thing to do. It's only when he clarifies that she seems to consider it, something in her eyes and the way their look evens out but doesn't soften.

He may mean that he needs some time to himself, but Aberdeen takes what he says at face value. (She doesn't have pretense, neither should anyone else, even though that's not really the way the world works.) Eventually: ]

I'll walk slowly.

[ He laughs once, a quiet huff, nodding his head. ]

Thank you. My room number- [ he raises his wrist, wiggling it demonstratively ] -is now 005 » 021.

Edited 2012-04-10 15:38 (UTC)

( 003 ) V O I C E.

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