re_alignment_logs | The Pills Won't Help You Now [OPEN]

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The Pills Won't Help You Now [OPEN]

WHO: Vandal + OPEN to visitors.
WHERE: Medbay | Solus Temple
WHEN: A day after her Big Freakout.
WHAT: Visits and explanations.
WARNINGS: Vandal...

Have some mood music.

Whatever Soundwave had done to her, it had landed just about passed her into another plain of existence for a while.

A dreamless sleep, something she hadn't felt in a while. No screeching static, nothing running at her, needles for arms, drooling puss and stale blood with nothing more than the desire to rip her open.

Just darkness.

And when she wakes, she's alone.

Someone has her stereo system turned on, and soft, crackly music is playing.

Her RIG, bundled in a corner.

When she moves, she finds her arm stinging. Bandaged. She doesn't remember getting hurt, but she remembers being there again. Back on the station. Everything turning to shit. It's been getting worse. Something she was previously able to stave off with a precarious mixture of pills and alcohol, but eventually those weren't even able to dull that whispering. The words that were always just too quiet to make out. Or overlaid with so much static that even when they were screaming she couldn't understand.

She sighs.

She lays back, staring at the ceiling.

Her head is suspiciously quiet.

Karrie could just get up, gather her things and leave, but where would she go? "Home"? She has no real home. She was just fooling herself.

So instead, she stares up and the ceiling and waits, listening to the distant music and the passive sounds of the monitors.

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He probably should have left by now. Should have gone to join the other Braves in the temple he'd been shown when he'd first arrived. Their leader accepted it, readily enough. It made sense.

... Instead, he still lurked around the medical bay, loathe to leave, to step into territory he wasn't entirely sure he belonged in. But he can't stay forever. At length, he decides to go, making his way quietly out. He would have passed the room entirely if the noise inside hadn't attracted his attention.

Curiosity, it seemed, overrode introverted tendencies. He eases inside, looking around for the source of the sound, until he realizes who it is he's stumbled on.

"... Vandal?"

Like everything else, his voice is quiet, flat. Almost too calm.

Her gaze flicks at the sound of her assumed name. Head turning slowly. Oh. It's Kagerou. The quiet awkward one. But then again who isn't quiet and awkward amongst her friends? She could think of a few, when she puts her mind to it, but her mind really isn't up for trying to strain right now.

"Hi," She croaks, mouth feeling like sandpaper, sour and dry.

She breathes in and says nothing more. She doesn't really want to try to make smalltalk right now.

'Quiet awkward one' is probably one of the best descriptors there is, for this one, and he lives up to it, hovering briefly in the doorway. He's not kicked out, so he assumes that's a cue to step in a little more. Uncertainty hangs over him like a shadow -- excuse the pun -- but he approaches, at length.

She sounds... broken. Why hasn't she been repaired? The confusion flicks over his face, before he schools his expression, and peers at her, his head tilted.

"This isn't how I pictured meeting you," he says, and there's the barest trace of humor in the words, dry and quiet as the rest of him.

An empty exhale of air can barely be made out as a chuckle.

"Yeah. Things here are rarely what you expect, I'm learning."

Broken would be a good word. 'Modified' might be a better one. She's not like most humans. There is something wrong with her that can't be fixed by spending a few days in the medbay.

By anything, really.

You can't fix someone's brain.

Not easily at least.

"So they are..."

He stands there, awkward, quiet, before taking another step nearer. Nothing in his limited experiences cover this, but all the same... she'd been kind to him. He can't overlook that. He won't.

Slowly, he extends a hand toward her -- offering what contact he can. It had always helped him, to be nearer to someone, when he'd been damaged. Although he didn't know her nearly as well as he'd known his fellow ninjabot. If she ignored or refused... no matter. He wouldn't be offended.

"I'm... I'm glad you didn't have to call on me," he says, hesitantly.

She pauses, as he reaches out, and slowly, reaching out to touch one of his fingers, palm exploring the metal curiously.

It takes a moment to recall what he's talking about, but her stomach sinks.

"Yeah. This time. But that deal is still on, okay? I know you're good for it."

She trusts that this guy won't get second thoughts or get squeamish. He seemed to understand where she was coming from in that respect, and he looks like someone who could make it quick.

His hand stays still. It doesn't flinch from her palm, or even curl. He simply lets her examine his finger. It's nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary, save for a few grooves in the metal -- like a version of calluses -- from where weapons rubbed against his hand.

He's equally quiet, still. He might as well be a statue, for how much he moves. After a moment's consideration, he nods to her.

"All right." His head cants to the side, sharply, bird-like. "I am. No one should be erased like that..."

His attention shifts to the hand on one of his fingers, expression softening around the edges. "But... for whatever worth it has... I would remember you."

Ah. Sudden guilt. Yeah, just like she erased so many people by being a stupid fucking tool for the church. He hard falls back down to the bed and she looks away.

"Thanks."

To think she'd be remembered by anyone... it's strange, suddenly being surrounded by people- robots. Whatever. Robots are people.

Did he say something wrong? Should he go?

He starts to shift backward, only to remember her hand is still on his finger, and freezes, wings fluttering to keep himself balanced. There's a moment, or several, of quiet hesitation before he finds his voice again.

"Did you want to be alone?" he asks her. "I can leave, if that's what you prefer..."

"No, I'm kind of done being alone."

She's plenty aware that she's not exactly the best company right now, though.

"I'm sorry. I'm a bit off today," She comments, laughing awkwardly, even though there's really no humor in it.

He blinks. There's a sentiment he seems to be hearing often, lately. Something dangerously close to a smile flickers, the expression sad, despite itself. "I understand that," he admits. "I've gotten tired of being alone, too."

Even though he seems to make errors at every turn. Even though he's not sure if he's even doing the right thing.

"You have reason," he says. There's no judgment in it. "Losing yourself... I don't think it would leave anyone feeling... right."

"I thought you had guys here... like the other ones like you? I can't remember wht they're called."

She rubs a hand awkwardly over her neck, sighing.

"Well yeah, no kidding. Understatement there. It's more than that, though..."

Way more. Who the hell wants to become a monster?

He seems to fold in on himself then, shoulders drawing up, wings flattening. It's true, they, for the most part, seemed accepting of him. But he can't seem to fully reconcile with the idea of being a part of them. They aren't like him -- not quite.

"It's different," he says, slowly. "Complicated. I... was never meant to join them. I'd never even spoken to them. Until I found myself here."

Because demanding to be left alone in the middle of a street didn't really count as talking, did it? He falls quiet again, watching her.

"How so?" A pause. "If... you want to explain, I will listen."

"Why is that...?" She feels like she's probably asking a deeply personal question, but everything lately has been kind of deeply personal. So whatever.

Though when he asks her she simply shakes her head.

No. She doesn't want to talk about it. Not in detail. She really doesn't. She'd rather talk about him right now.

Personal? Yes. Deeply personal? Not so much. He hasn't exactly made a secret of his story, after all. But even so, he waits, to see if they're going to be trading, or if he'll just be speaking.

When she shakes her head, he nods, accepting it. "All right."

No argument. Just that. Air cycles, before he makes up his mind with how to begin. "Because I'm a prototype," he tells her. There's no bitterness in the words -- sadness, maybe. But nothing angry or upset over the fact. "A shadow of someone else."

He pauses, before continuing. "My assignment was... to train, to test, the one they built after me. We were alone, just the two of us... and when I finished, he was to be part of the Brave Police. I wasn't."

It's just the bare bones of the story. But she seems the type to ask, if she really wants to hear more.

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The Pills Won't Help You Now [OPEN]

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