Karrie (Vandal) Norton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vandalization) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
re_alignment_logs2012-12-16 07:07 pm
vandalization) wrote in re_alignment_logs2012-12-16 07:07 pm
Entry tags:
- !open,
- brave police: j-decker | kagerou,
- tf: g1 | thundercracker,
- tf: idw | drift,
- tf: idw | perceptor,
- tf: idw | wing,
- ✘ ace attorney | kay faraday,
- ✘ dead space | vandal,
- ✘ fate/stay night | arturia pendragon,
- ✘ tf: idw | ultra magnus,
- ✘ tf: prime | wheeljack,
- ✘ tf: shattered glass | soundwave (crau)
Hallways always [OPEN]
who: Vandal and any visitors. [OPEN]
what: Vandal is bed-bound, recovering from her month-long detainment and torture.
when: All this week.
where: The Medbay
warnings: very yes
notes: Tag in your own threads, it can be set during any point in the week.
The beep of the monitors is loud with her head this eerily silent. Whatever he did to her, between the needles and questioning, he separated it. Took something. Now that static in her head is far quieter. It's almost as maddening as when it was present.
Now she's almost lonely without it. Well- she was lonely before, but now even more so.
She doesn't sleep, no. It's not safe to sleep anymore. She wants to scream every time she's left alone, but it's not practical to have someone with her all the time. Prism is dead, the Gatherer is dead, but the way she goes back to that place every time she shuts her eyes.
So she lays in a space between waking and sleep, startling back to consciousness every tie she starts to drift. Shaking. Thinking about it. What it did to her.
She reaches up to smooth a finger over the gauze covering what used to be her right eye.
Ruined. He ruined her worse than the church did. The mental, the physical.
Everything. Ruined.
She wishes they'd have killed her when they found her.
But she's also a coward, and afraid of death, so here she sits and lets the stitches heal.
what: Vandal is bed-bound, recovering from her month-long detainment and torture.
when: All this week.
where: The Medbay
warnings: very yes
notes: Tag in your own threads, it can be set during any point in the week.
The beep of the monitors is loud with her head this eerily silent. Whatever he did to her, between the needles and questioning, he separated it. Took something. Now that static in her head is far quieter. It's almost as maddening as when it was present.
Now she's almost lonely without it. Well- she was lonely before, but now even more so.
She doesn't sleep, no. It's not safe to sleep anymore. She wants to scream every time she's left alone, but it's not practical to have someone with her all the time. Prism is dead, the Gatherer is dead, but the way she goes back to that place every time she shuts her eyes.
So she lays in a space between waking and sleep, startling back to consciousness every tie she starts to drift. Shaking. Thinking about it. What it did to her.
She reaches up to smooth a finger over the gauze covering what used to be her right eye.
Ruined. He ruined her worse than the church did. The mental, the physical.
Everything. Ruined.
She wishes they'd have killed her when they found her.
But she's also a coward, and afraid of death, so here she sits and lets the stitches heal.
Probably one of the first, but after Drift? Tell me if this is okay.
But no, that was not a constructive way of thinking. Personal recriminations weren't going to help. He'd failed to comfort Drift when it was most needed, something that still eats at him horribly. He has to do better here.
He knows she and Drift have a great deal more to talk about, and in general Wing tends to defer to Drift anyway in all things Vandal, so he makes sure they get their time together uninterrupted. Even if that means perching outside in the hall for however long it takes, gently steering others away.
But when it's quiet again and she's alone, he joins her, slipping into the room and over to the berth.
Yeppers!
She turns looking up at him.
"Hi." Her mouth is dry, eyes puffy from crying all over Wing's boyfriend. What a scene that was. She wonders if Wing saw or heard. She wasn't exactly subtle about sobbing and wailing and generally sounding disgusting.
:3
"Hey you," he says, taking a seat next to the berth, considering her fondly as he reaches out with a dexterous hand to gently brush the hair away from her one good eye. "Glad to have you back."
Wing's got his share of war wounds, evidence of the Gatherer's efforts to fight back. Most have been patched and repaired, waiting for new paint, leaving only the angry scruffs, gouges and peeled paint left but the machine's tentacles, which--even if they leave angry marks behind--don't fair too well against plasma blades.
He hooks a finger under the beside table and draws it nearer, putting the pitcher and cup of water within her reach. She sounds like she needs it. He had kept his distance out in the hall in order to allow for privacy, but some of those sounds of distress would be hard to hide from audios tuned for it.
"Anything else I can get you?"
no subject
She wishes she could agree that it was good to be back, but that nastle little deathwish had been soundly renewed. The only thing stopping her is well. These people. Robots. Whatever. They went to all the trouble, it would hurt them.
She does take a moment to look him over.
"No. I'm fine." She's far from fine but it seemed like a decent enough response.
"Thank you for fighting for me, Wing." Honestly the urge to do mninor repairs, groom him, as it were, is incredibly strong the more she looks at him.
"Missed you." That much was true. She couldn't count the times she'd escaped in her mind to be curled up with Drift, Wing or Perceptor.
She very carefully goes about attempting to pour herself a glass of water, hands shaking.
GROOMING \o/ IDK why but that's adorable to me!
Wing knows she isn't fine, but then that's what the word means these days. The response you give when the truth is not something you want to admit, talk about or bother anyone with.
"You know I would, any day." He lifts a shoulder as if shrugging off the remaining damage. "I just wish it'd been sooner."
"And I missed you." His face breaks into an earnest half-smile. "It's not the same, without you around." Wing hadn't realized what a comforting and stabilizing presence she'd had until it was gone. He idly wonders if the struggles he and Drift had endured would have been weathered better if she'd been around.
He'd help her with the water, but he learned the hard way trying to pour whiskey at the bar--even sober mind you--that it was not something even his dexterous hands could accomplish.
she's like a robot cleaner fish +A+
"Yeah? You mean that?" Honestly she'd never really thought much of it. If in her absence she would even be missed. Maybe for a little while, but she'd figured with them being so long-lived, they'd forget her eventually.
"They said I'll probably need physical therapy. Learn to walk again and shit. Was strapped to a table for a month so my muscles atrophied and-" The pitcher slips from her hand and clatters to the floor with a splash.
"God DAMN IT!" The glass in her hand is flung against the opposite wall to shatter.
No. She's not fine. She's anything but fine as she sits and holds back angry tears in an awkward silence.
She's so damned tired of feeling helpless.
Her new code name is now Remora. I hope you like the taste of enamel.
"Besides, you're the only bossy, foul-mouthed, cute lady-friend I have. And frankly, there's just no replacing you." He says it with a matter-of-fact nod. Go ahead and challenge him Vandal, looks like he's ready to defend it to the end.
"Learning to walk again? Oh--" It's a little bit odd, considering that for them is's a question of modifying programming or changing variables. But given the explanation it makes more sense.
He twitches, hands out as he could try to catch---something. And maybe his reflexes are even good enough, but his hands are a little too big for this. He frets for a moment, and then shifts his expression into a smile.
"Ya know, around here a glass like that, its days are numbered anyway. Let me get you a plastic one. Or better yet, a pouch with a tube straw like they put energon rations in. That way you can fall asleep and wake up later wondering how you got it wrapped around your neck, arm AND face."
He shifts, as if willing to run off momentarily to do just that.
hdjfagsjhdghsd
She stares at the remains of the glass she'd thrown.
"I- yeah. I'm sorry, Wing." A hand scrubs over her face shakily.
"S'not really a straw I need. Just want to stop feeling like a goddamn liability to everyone." She knows he'll say otherwise, so she continues before he can.
"That. Wasn't appropriate though. Sorry. The drones'll clean it up anyways, but. Ah. Fuck." SHe's just going to curl into a ball here for now.
"Sorry. I'm going through... it's hard to think sometimes."
no subject
Wing wonders the same about Drift sometimes, beyond the snarling and the punching (attempted) and the sulking.
"No need to apologize. Frustration comes with challenge. But you are one of the strongest, most tenacious people I know, you'll make it through." He offers a small smile, and though humble in size the affection it holds is not the least bit trivial. The gold optics flicker as he edges closer to the berth, realizing this is where he's likely needed more, not fetching more drinking water.
"You know you can always rage at me, when you want to shout into the storm and get an echo back. Sometimes it does help."
no subject
As soon as he moves closer she's reaching for him. She's not sure exactly what she wants. A hug, or just contact, whatever.
"I don't want to rage at you," she says, her voice shaking as she feels that familiar sting behind her eyes, "I'm sorry. I love you. I don't want that."
no subject
When she reaches for him, the response is instinctive. He's afraid to move her off the berth, so instead he leans in and wraps around her, strong arms encircling the wounded body while he gently presses his face against her hair.
"Hush. You know I love you. And you know I'd let you do whatever you wanted if it'd make you feel better."
no subject
"Thank you, Wing I-" Her voice cracks and she pulls her arms around his neck. She's become an expert at hugging large metal beings.
"I'm sorry." Uhg. Just when she thought she was all out of emotions. She's just exhausted, but a few tears squeeze their way out anyways. Not quite as violently as before.
no subject
He presses a kiss into her hair before she slips her arms around his neck, tucking his audial flares so as not to catch her with them. "I'm happy to, you know that."
Warm fingers spread through her hair and a solid palm presses against her back. "You don't have to be." Sorry, that is. The crying part, she can do if she wishes. Better out than in, in truth.
no subject
"Just feels like everything just. Fell apart. You know? I don't know what I was thinking.
She closes her eyes, finally letting him go and hanging her head.
"It's fucked up, but. I guess part of me wishes Prism just-" She makes a vague motion, indicating death.
"The only reason I stuck around was because of you guys. You know? My life- back home. I'll be killed if I ever even get back. For my crimes. I'm a murderer, you know? I guess terrorist would cover it better. But here you all... accept me. Like me even. I'm not a nobody to you and it's. Weird."
She's obviously not entirely well yet, judging by the rambling tone of her voice.
"There's still that part of me that just. Doesn't want to go on, some days. But as long as I can just be around you and Drift and Perce and everyone else just one day more... it's the only thing I have to look forward to."
She couldn't say that kind of thing to Drift. He's sensitive, he'd take it personally and probably make it his mission to make her happy. A fool's errand. For all the favors and little gifts, she'd trade it for time spent with them.
no subject
He nods, because he knows just how this feels. To think you have it all worked out and then it all falls down around you, taking you with it.
"Well, Prism is gone now. You're safe." From that threat, at least.
The white helm tilts slightly, a combination of curiosity and concern. "No I didn't know that. You made a small mention of being responsible for something big that you regretted, but didn't go into details."
He holds her securely, forming a protective shape around her, not so much to keep things out but to keep her together.
"Karrie..." His voice is low and slightly rough, dully edged with the weight of old wounds as it gusts past her hair. "I know." It's been a long time since he's thought about it, his time before the Circle, but so much of it rings true.