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_logs2012-09-08 11:59 pm
vandalization) wrote in re_alignment_logs2012-09-08 11:59 pm
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.
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.
no subject
Again, as if that offers any sort of clarity. She's finding very much that she's okay with the contact from these guys. From Wing, Drift, Soundwave, First Aid, Starscream... those she trusts. It's solid and gentle and kind and fuck if she hasn't had much of that these days.
"Yeah, that makes two of us," She says, smiling ruefully up at him, but that quickly fades, "It's... hard. Because I know somewhere in my mind, it's not real. But it looks and feels so vivid, all my senses tell me that it is."
no subject
He glad that she trusts him enough to allow the touch. Because even between mechs it was not always favored, so he can only imagine what it must be like for smaller organics.
Wing's smile doesn't fade, because he feels like he's doing it for the both of them now. "It's difficult to trust logic when more powerful impressions, including emotion, counter it. Have you...been experiencing these long?" Because he gets the sense that maybe this wasn't the first time.
no subject
Well that as a tangent...
Right. Actually important question. Her stomach sours a bit and she look away.
"Since I got here... before. A little. The. Church. They must have done something to me."
no subject
But a good tangent!
"...The Church?" He tilts his head, this is uncertain ground for him, and he's pretty sure that's a loaded question. "You don't have to share, I know how it is, but I'd like to understand if you're willing."
Wing puts a reassuring hand on the edge of the medberth, its an unspoken statement: I'm here for you regardless.
no subject
She shifts.
"Ah, well. I told Drift about it. Sort of. I used to be... uh. A Unitologist. The church converted me and shortly after I was asked to go on a mission. I was so fucking stupid... I thought. You know. It was meant to be or maybe I finally had a purpose. A place where I belonged."
Not sounding a little bitter there...
"Anyways they tricked me. Manipulated me into doing something awful. During that time I started having these. 'Visions' they called it. But it was horrible. Dead people, monsters, sometimes imagining I was somewhere else completely."
no subject
Wing hooked a foot around a nearby stool and pulled it over, sitting he could be closer to eye level.
"A Unitologist? Is that a theological sect?"
His mouth twitches at the obvious bitterness, but he waits until you finish. He silent of a few moments afterwards.
"...so they made you believe in something greater and then used to to their own ends?" The frown appears in earnest now, "That's horrible. But... the visions, do you know where they come from?"