re_alignment_logs | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sensitive subject. Probably just as much as Prism is for her.

"We'll take care of each other, okay?" She'll leave that subject at that. Talks can happen later.

She'd considered asking for his seats, but she actually prefers it this way. She feels more... equal this way. She likes to see his face and optics and feel all the little movements and twitches.

He nods, even though she probably can't see it. "That's how it should work, I think. Looking after each other."

He hopes. He feels like he's stumbling in the dark. He'd felt the same about accompanying Rodimus and that...hadn't worked out.

The moment stretches, probably uncomfortably as Drift tries to think of something helpful to say.

"Oh. I...brought you peaches. For later. When you want to."

"Yeah..." She curls up a little more, minding her stitches.

She does perk up a little at the mention of peaches, but her stomach is still churning.

"Really? I didn't know there were any left..." She missed that too. Good food.

"Thank you. You're always thinking of me." She'd give him a kiss on the nose but given when they'd talked about before everything happened, she's not really sure she'd make him uncomfortable.

He gives a sort of shy shrug. "You learn to always hold something in reserve. For when you need it. Learned that in the gutters."

That, and he'd also looked for them.

He holds up the can. "I'll leave it here. You can, you know, look at it or something until you feel ready to eat them." Wow that probably sounds stupid. "...the can''s kind of pretty." Maybe.

Too much had happened since their last meeting, and he was just glad to have her back. If she wanted to get mad at him later, he'd be okay with that, simply because she would still be here

She tries to muster a smile but it doesn't quite fully form. She just rests her head back down after a moment, humming.

"Mom always told me I'd fall for a funny man with a good heart." There's a small exhale of sound that is trying to imitate a chuff of amusement.

"If only she could see me now. Two outta three. Just couldn't nail the 'man' part."

She looks at the can of peaches distantly.

"Wish it wasn't so damn quiet in here."

"I don't have a heart, either," he said, softly. And he's not all that funny, he doesn't think.

He looks back at the peaches, a little proudly, because it was something that made her happy, that he had done.

"It is quiet." He frowns. "Want me to go see if I can find your music player?"

"You do. It's kind of symbolic, anyways. Spark. Heart. Same thing...ish."

Nitty-gritty, but whatever.

She shakes her head at his question.

"Nah. My RIG is the control anyways, and I'm not gonna make you run and get that for me. Rather have you here."

"Oh. Just, you know, wanted to be accurate."

He shrugs. "I try to be good. Wouldn't count on it, though."

Drift adjusts her against him. "I'd rather be here. Just wish there was a way you could get some music."

"Too self deprecating as usual, I see." She smooths a finger over the small indented lines of his Autobrand thoughtfully.

"You could sing," She teases, not really expecting him to take her seriously.

"You have a lovely voice."

"Just...don't want expectations I don't deserve."

He gives a shy sort of grin as she touches the red marker. It was so different from the one he'd worn for so many years.

"Sing? Me? But..I don't know any songs."

"I'll slap you if you keep talking like that. But-" She looks up at him, hand pausing over the eye of the brand.

"I missed you smiling at me like that so. You get off this once."

Her head rests back down, voice slightly sleepy.

"I taught you songs. Remember? I taught you all kinds of songs."

"You do realize slapping me will only end up hurting your hand." A wink. It's true, but it's also cute.

A-as long as she doesn't actually do it.

"You taught me the one. And it was weird."

It wrings a brief, weak smile out of her.

"I know but you'd probably apologize for my hand, wouldn't you?" Because he's like that.

"So sing me that one. Or one you know from your planet..."

"...for making you upset at me, yes." He's just being honest. She better not hit him for it!

"I don't think you'd like any of the songs I know from back then. They're pretty, uh, well... they're in NeoCybex." For one thing. For another, Decepticon songs tended to be fairly gleefully gruesome and he doesn't think that maybe that's what she wants to hear.

"You dork." That's really become a term of endearment at this point.

"I don't mind. I think your language is pretty." In an odd way, for how... well. How odd it sounded. How very unlike any other human language it is, it's pretty.

"Even if it's just a fable song or something like that. I don't care." Hell he could hum a few vars and she'd be happy.

It is a term of endearment as far as Drift's concerned.

"...all right." He collects himself for a minute, trying to remember some of the songs he knew. Most of them were Decepticon propaganda lyrics grafted over probably better melodies, so he picks one of those, hoping all the lyrics about injustice and retribution don't come of as too horrifying.

"It's probably better drunk," he murmurs as he finishes.

Well, Vandal has no frame of reference for what a Cybertronian song is supposed to sound like. The lyrics go over her head, but she greatly enjoys the sound of the melody in Drift's voice.

She curls up a little more, imagining the distant thrum of his spark is the beat.

"Thank you. That was pretty." More over, it seemed to do wonders in relaxing her.

Hallways always [OPEN]

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