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_logs2012-07-21 07:07 pm
vandalization) wrote in re_alignment_logs2012-07-21 07:07 pm
Ave Maria [OPEN]
WHO: Karrie (VANDAL) and YOU!
WHERE: The Medbay; Solus Temple.
WHEN Sunday morning
WHAT: Vandal, awake and having broken her fever, is no longer in immediate danger of dying, so she decides to keep her hands busy.
WARNINGS: ... She's got a foul mouth when she's upset, but otherwise she's pretty tame. Also slight disturbing imagery.
Waking up in a hospital that's built for creatures far larger than yourself is jarring in and of it's own right. And Karrie is entirely impressed that she is waking up at all. Maybe this isn't a dream? She feels clear headed enough. And the pain tells her that she's very awake.
Can you have dreams inside of dreams? The desert... the white
She shakes her head, sliding off the small "bed" that had been made for her and fetching her Rig which was neatly laid out nearby. The wound at her side had been stitched. She could still feel broken ribs, though. Those would take time to heal, but this place is far too strange. Surreal... to be left unexplored. At least there's no necromorphs scuttling after her here. Not that she'd seen, anyways.
Nobody around. No robots. But signs of them. She slips out into open air outside, finishing gingerly putting her rig and helmet on. She may be safe now, but who the hell knows what's out here?
She won't stray far, rather balking at the idea of earning Ratchet's ire. Instead she wanders just as far as the edge of the junk pile, poking around for a while. Thinking.
She has to think. Despite not knowing what to even do with herself. She needs a focus. Needs to ask questions.
She begins gathering a few things here and there, and after about thirty minutes she's back in the med bay with a small bag full of what appears to be useless parts. Dumping them on the floor and sitting down like a kid with some brand new legos.
In an hour, the junk she'd picked up has been assembled into two box-like devices and set up on platforms at either corner of the room. And she's fiddling now with a smaller something- like TV remote, the holo-screen of her RIG floating in front of her, and the tools from her belt storage spread out around her amongst the left over, but neatly-sorted scraps of wire, batteries and little bits of tape that she'd scrounged up.
WHERE: The Medbay; Solus Temple.
WHEN Sunday morning
WHAT: Vandal, awake and having broken her fever, is no longer in immediate danger of dying, so she decides to keep her hands busy.
WARNINGS: ... She's got a foul mouth when she's upset, but otherwise she's pretty tame. Also slight disturbing imagery.
DO YOU SWEAR TO FOLLOW THE TEACHINGS OF UNITOLOGY?
I DO.
DO YOU ACKNOWLEDGE ALTMAN FOR HIS SERVICES TO OUR CAUSE, AS OUR SHEPHERD INTO THE PATH OF ASCENSION?
I DO
WELCOME TO THE CHURCH, MISS NORTON, WE ARE HONORED TO HAVE YOU AMONGST OUR GATHERING, PRAISE BE TO ALTMAN FOR DELIVERING YOU UNTO OUR CHURCH. MAY THE MARKER MARKER MARKER MARKER MARKER MARKER MARKER MARKER MARKER BLESS YOU, KARRIE NOW AND F O R E V . . .
Waking up in a hospital that's built for creatures far larger than yourself is jarring in and of it's own right. And Karrie is entirely impressed that she is waking up at all. Maybe this isn't a dream? She feels clear headed enough. And the pain tells her that she's very awake.
She shakes her head, sliding off the small "bed" that had been made for her and fetching her Rig which was neatly laid out nearby. The wound at her side had been stitched. She could still feel broken ribs, though. Those would take time to heal, but this place is far too strange. Surreal... to be left unexplored. At least there's no necromorphs scuttling after her here. Not that she'd seen, anyways.
Nobody around. No robots. But signs of them. She slips out into open air outside, finishing gingerly putting her rig and helmet on. She may be safe now, but who the hell knows what's out here?
She won't stray far, rather balking at the idea of earning Ratchet's ire. Instead she wanders just as far as the edge of the junk pile, poking around for a while. Thinking.
She has to think. Despite not knowing what to even do with herself. She needs a focus. Needs to ask questions.
She begins gathering a few things here and there, and after about thirty minutes she's back in the med bay with a small bag full of what appears to be useless parts. Dumping them on the floor and sitting down like a kid with some brand new legos.
In an hour, the junk she'd picked up has been assembled into two box-like devices and set up on platforms at either corner of the room. And she's fiddling now with a smaller something- like TV remote, the holo-screen of her RIG floating in front of her, and the tools from her belt storage spread out around her amongst the left over, but neatly-sorted scraps of wire, batteries and little bits of tape that she'd scrounged up.
no subject
"Your brain is significantly more complicated than that of a rodent's by several orders of magnitude. I know that with quite a bit of surety."
He even has the scientific papers to prove it, probably, somewhere in his databanks. Because how else would you expect Ratchet to spend his limited free time on Earth other than reading scientific papers?