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ataraxion2011-12-10 07:59 am
bipolar-bride.livejournal.com) wrote in ataraxion2011-12-10 07:59 am
[ 001 ] ⌥ V I D E O
[ It wasn’t the first time she’d been confused over her identity, though this was the first time she had woken up in her underwear in a tube of goo. At least, from what she could remember… Hell, she didn’t remember large chunks of time, but she hoped this wasn’t some taboo hobby lurking in the weeds.
She just knew that the sight of the number tattooed on her arm had given her the chills that she had done her best to suppress for more pressing matters. Clothes, mainly. Things were slipping back into place slowly; enough that she could tell whatever had happened was troubling…
The lockers had caught her eye, namely when she saw the 025 that matched the number on her arm, opening it to find items that were mainly sentimental; a few books, an elastic or two… and blades to match. She’d slipped into the suit and slipped the blades away. If anything those were familiar.
When the screen flickers on there is a pretty – well, paranoid looking blonde on the other side. She’s not quuuuuuiiiiite remembered that ‘line’ is the only face she allows most of the time, though bluntness has not evaded her yet!]
If there is anyone here that can point me in the direction of an obnoxious blond child I would be appreciating it. He is having a hero complex and lacks the ability to speak over a shout… [chewing on her cheek, she straightens; the bare but familiar walls of a sleeping quarters providing the setting for this witch hunt. She seems to reconsider, then:] This STINKS of him.
[And now it’s directed at America, because she knows you, you little ass – she can sense yoooooou. Eyes narrowed and she looks downright mean for such a pretty girl] I do not appreciate lacking certain things, Amerika. Clothing... Memories. Nyet, I do remember most of it, enough to know that you mess everything up so this must be your fault. The least you could be doing is directing me to where you rudely put my brother and sister!
[now it’s open access once more – which is disappointing because she’s slipped in to looking mildly concerned, skin turning a rather ashen tone] Is there anyone out there at all? [Shh, she has an issue with being alone. Quietly. Stiffening her posture, she seemed to collect the stray scraps of whatever emotion had been displayed before, expression falling into a practiced blank slate, her voice matching. Ah, better.]
Whoever is doing this must be found. This ship [as she’d assumed it wasn’t some Hollywood set] is hardly looking safe and is NOT home. This is nothing more than petty kidnapping and you are a coward.
[There may have been a few slurs in there, in Russian – to save the kids’ virgin ears, I’m sure. She’s not someone you want angry toward you, though as there are only what, two actual crewmembers anything she COULD do is pretty useless. Good thing she doesn’t know that yet.]
She just knew that the sight of the number tattooed on her arm had given her the chills that she had done her best to suppress for more pressing matters. Clothes, mainly. Things were slipping back into place slowly; enough that she could tell whatever had happened was troubling…
The lockers had caught her eye, namely when she saw the 025 that matched the number on her arm, opening it to find items that were mainly sentimental; a few books, an elastic or two… and blades to match. She’d slipped into the suit and slipped the blades away. If anything those were familiar.
When the screen flickers on there is a pretty – well, paranoid looking blonde on the other side. She’s not quuuuuuiiiiite remembered that ‘line’ is the only face she allows most of the time, though bluntness has not evaded her yet!]
If there is anyone here that can point me in the direction of an obnoxious blond child I would be appreciating it. He is having a hero complex and lacks the ability to speak over a shout… [chewing on her cheek, she straightens; the bare but familiar walls of a sleeping quarters providing the setting for this witch hunt. She seems to reconsider, then:] This STINKS of him.
[And now it’s directed at America, because she knows you, you little ass – she can sense yoooooou. Eyes narrowed and she looks downright mean for such a pretty girl] I do not appreciate lacking certain things, Amerika. Clothing... Memories. Nyet, I do remember most of it, enough to know that you mess everything up so this must be your fault. The least you could be doing is directing me to where you rudely put my brother and sister!
[now it’s open access once more – which is disappointing because she’s slipped in to looking mildly concerned, skin turning a rather ashen tone] Is there anyone out there at all? [Shh, she has an issue with being alone. Quietly. Stiffening her posture, she seemed to collect the stray scraps of whatever emotion had been displayed before, expression falling into a practiced blank slate, her voice matching. Ah, better.]
Whoever is doing this must be found. This ship [as she’d assumed it wasn’t some Hollywood set] is hardly looking safe and is NOT home. This is nothing more than petty kidnapping and you are a coward.
[There may have been a few slurs in there, in Russian – to save the kids’ virgin ears, I’m sure. She’s not someone you want angry toward you, though as there are only what, two actual crewmembers anything she COULD do is pretty useless. Good thing she doesn’t know that yet.]
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... Of course. Why would I ever wish for him not to be somewhere, come now, Natalia, you should know better than that.
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[Natalia can give you a steady hand.]
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Is it such a bad thing that I like having someone familiar near me in a new place like this? It was either him or America and I certainly don't want a thing to do with America, you know.
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[The communicator shows enough that you can see her folding her hands in her lap. Her brow raised in question] Does that seem fair?
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