re_alignment_logs | Ave Maria [OPEN]

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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.

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.

~~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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There's that law of physics, right? Something about an equal and opposite reaction?

That clearly explains why Drift is sneaking back into the medbay, even knowing if Ratchet catches him, he's going to likely be stapled to a repair berth until such time as Ratchet feels he's learned his lesson.

...just short of forever, then.

So that's a 'can't happen'. But still, Drift has a duty. Or something. Maybe it's a deathwish.

Whatever it is, he sneaks along the back wall when he spots Vandal on the floor.

On the floor?

"You sure you shouldn't be on the repair berth?" Protectiveness sometimes sounds a lot like hypocrisy from Drift.

Vandal's head jerks up slightly and she twists as best she can to turn around and see-

Oh. It's Drift. The guy who helped save her. She's never gonna get used to this whole giant robot thing. And while she's eliminated this being a dream, she's definitely still not entirely sure if she's dead or not.

"You mean in bed? Yeah," She says casually, "Shouldn't you too?"

Touche'. She'd heard Ratchet bark at him for it.

"So I won't tell if you won't."

She turns her back again, making some adjustments to whatever she was building and snapping a panel closed.

"Besides, you shouldn't interrupt someone who's working."

....what? No. No, this isn't how it works. You don't go to visit the person you saved and get guilt trips. That's not how this is supposed to happen.

Is it?

"Er." Dammit. Wait. "But I wasn't bleeding to death." Take that! He was rusting, not really to death. Totally different.

He stiffens. "I'm not a snitch." His definition of honor runs, from time to time, straight into his issues with authority.

This is really, really not how this was supposed to go. Hi, how are you doing, you're looking much better...stuff like that. "What are you working on? ...instead of resting."

See what he did there? Little side order of guilt.

"Uh-huh. Okay, buddy. Whatever you say." Her tone is incredulous through the voice filter, though she's more just giving him a hard time than anything else.

"Good to know. I knew you were cool." To be honest she's still in shock. Talking to a giant robot like he's just another person... how else is she supposed to talk to him? Everything still feels so hazy and unreal.

"What, this? Stereo system. This place is like a god damn morgue. Sure as hell beats laying in bed feeling like I'm already dead, right? Sick people need cheerful stuff. Music helps."

A beat.

"You uh, cybertronians like music at all? Or is that not something you guys do?"

Why doesn't that sound like she means it?

"At least you're not being stared at by everyone."

Seriously. You want something to complain about? Try having the mech you totally don't have a stupid crush on staring at you while you bleed out.

And he's so not cool. If he were cool, he'd be winning this argument.

"Seems to me you just want something to do." That, at least, he can relate to. It was the staring at the ceiling that had gotten to him.

Drift has dropped down to one knee to look. "Uh. Maybe. Not sure." Before the war, there wasn't a lot down in the gutters. And after a few million years of war, there was just nothing left.

"Yeah? You just that pretty or something?" He is pretty nice looking for a robot man thing, she figures. Maybe.

There's a brief pause and she sighs static into the voice modulator.

"Yeah maybe. Shit, one minute I'm dealing with fucking infestation on Titan Station and the next I'm suddenly surrounded by giant alien robots. Guess I just want something to feel normal. No offense."

She hauls herself to her feet with a grunt and a stumble, limping over to Drift and looking up at him.

"Not sure if you like music? Don't get out much, huh? S'okay. Here. Let's see what we've got. I need to test this out anyways. Mostly old sample music I have on my RIG but it'll have to do."

She begins fiddling with the small remote device, opening up a holoscreen that emits from her suit.

Abruptly, the speakers crackle to life, static screeching before the low, soft sounds of some classical piece come on. She fiddles more and it becomes clearer.

"Hmm. What do you think? Not your speed maybe? You seem like someone who would want lyrics. Now, mind you most of this music is really old. I didn't exactly come prepared. Just whatever I had on my personal disk, you know? Not that you... have a frame of reference I guess." She continues to scroll through the small VI listing.

'Pretty'? "No. I think they just...I'm not good at being sick."

Like, really not good. He hated it because it was being weak. And he'd let go of who he used to be, but it was hard to shed that revulsion to weakness.

"It doesn't sound like that Titan Station was very 'normal'." At least he hopes not.

As she moves around him, he shrugs. "Just...none down where I was. Don't take that as a blanket statement for my kind, though."

He tilts his head listening. Huh. It was...strange, pitch and tone moving through time. He didn't know quite what to make of it. "This is your personal music?"

"... What're you sick with?"

The voice modulator, for how much it distorts and deepens her voice still carries vague concern.

"Yeah, not really. But at least it was home... sort of."

Karrie had found herself rather at a loss, being as the church was pretty much everything to her. She'd given up so much to be there. There was really nothing for her to go back to, come to think of it.

"Sort of. Stuff I had left over from my parents. Some things that were on here by default. Some if it is mine, not much though."

She fiddles more until something else switches over. It starts off with quite a different sound.

"Here. What do you think of this, Drift? Little bit more your speed?"

"Uh." Yeah that's a hell of a question. "Not really sure right now, what it is. But I had the Red Rust when I came here. It was very...leaky."

But he is all better! Okay, sort of better. Mostly. He could deal with a little pain.

He gives a rueful smile. "Not really up on 'homes'. Never had one. Just places to move through." Or survive. Here, too.

Drift tilts his head, concentrating. "Is this yours, then?"

"I take it this "Red Rust" is bad shit, huh? Sorry buddy. I hope you're feeling better. I guess if we're both stuck here, might as well try to make the best of it."

She moves over to sit on the edge of her 'bed' if it can even be called that, motioning for Drift to sit down... well. Wheverer. It's so awkward having someone who's easily three times your size hanging around.

"Hard time finding a place to belong huh?"

She rubs gently at the side that she'd been sticked up, gingerly. Isn't that the whole reason she'd turned to Unitology in first place? To belong? No friends, family long since passed or alienated. She grimaces behind her mask.

"Yeah, it is. S'a good song. Old, most of the stuff doesn't apply anymore, but you know. The main thing still does- it's about making the best of your situation. Just trying to be a good person. Living your life to the fullest. Lovin' is what I got."

The off-tune doesn't carry so well through the voice modulator, but it's followed by a soft snort.

Edited 2012-07-26 00:32 (UTC)

"It's...not good. A plague. It was killing everyone on Delphi. Pipes must have splashed me."

Drift settles himself on the ground, shoulders leaning against the berth. Close enough, right? At least this way he wasn't towering over her.

"Never had one. The gutters were no one's home. And then just...battle after battle." He shrugs. "And now here. I think it's why I'm less rattled than some. I've been thrown into strange places all my life."

Drift probably can't carry a tune with a gravity sled so he's not going to criticize. "So all your songs have these messages?"

"Damn. Sounds like one hell of a time."

Not that she has much room to talk. But then again, the infestation on Titan Station is all her fault. She winces as that fact pings against her. ~~She should be back there, dead with the rest.~~

"Jeez, well. Shit, man..." What do you say to that? 'I'm sorry you've had a shitty life' doesn't really sem to cut it.

She ventures to slide off the bed and awkwardly pat his... er. Ankle.

"Some of 'em. Some are just pretty. But most people like to sing about stuff. Love mostly, but the more interesting stuff is like this. About life, you know?"

Edited 2012-07-26 01:39 (UTC)

"It happens." He's seen worse. He's not fond of being sick, but compared to D-Void trying to reach in and control him? This was nothing.

"It's why I started fighting, actually. It was something to do. Something that gave me some kind of power over my future." He strokes the Great Sword, tilted at an angle over his head.

The touch on his ankle stops him. He's not used to being touched. Well. In a non-medical, non-going-to-blow-your-head-off way.

He gives a quiet laugh. "I'm not sure what I'd say if I had to sing about life."

It's such a weird feeling. She can feel warmth even through her gloves. Not like the normal kind of working-machine warm. It's like a living kind of warmth, like she'd felt before laying, bleeding inside Ratchet. It's almost unnerving in a way.

Excuse her while she peers into his ankle-gap, trying to see the gears inside.

"Yeah? So why the swords, anyway? I mean, you are kind of... advanced technology. If that's not too intrusive to ask."

He really can't help the urge to poke around. She's never seen anything like these bots before. She dares to tocuh a small wire that's near the surface.

"Well I guess that's up to you. Though come on. Repeat after me: lovin, is what I got."

"Swords. It's a long story. I used guns for a long time. But swords, they make it personal. You know what you hit, and you're in danger, not hiding, safely, behind something." He gives a tight, strange smile. Not really something he talks about. Then again, it's not really something that comes up.

Drift twitches, before stilling himself, afraid that any movement would compress his armor, crush her fingers. Besides, she's just looking.

Looking with her hands, apparently.

He holds himself still, but she may hear the slight hitch in his vents at the plucked wire. "I...uh...what are you doing?" He means the singing thing.

"Yeah? I guess I can understand that. Know what it's like fighting in close quarters."

He hand pulls back like she's been burned at the slight sound.

"Sorry. Doesn't hurt does it? I've just. Never seen engineering like this. I mean Duh alien robots, right? But it's just... amazing."

A pause.

"What? Singing along? Try it. S'fun."

"It's better to know what you're doing. You feel it. Rather than being in a safe distance, pressing a button and...destroying a whole world."

He shakes his head. "No. Doesn't hurt. And if it did, I can handle it." He shrugs. "Stabbed myself once." ...because that's a really cool thing to admit to someone. Drift. Where is your brain?

Fun, huh? He could try a little fun. "All right." Brace yourself, human. He tilts his head, remembering the song. "L-loving...is...what...I...got?" He's concentrating on the pitch, because that's how it works, right?

"I guess. I just never had much of a choice. Locked in a tin can with something trying to kill me isn't the ideal thing though. But I suppose you're speaking more about battles and less about surviving."

A beat as she absorbs that.

"Fucking- why the hell would you do that!? Good lord."

Well then. She'll just circle around and investigate your foot this time. Whatever is in reach.

"You have to relax into it. Come on, after me. Well, life is too short, so love the one you got. 'Cause you might get run over or you might get shot. Lovin' is what I got. I said remember that- snap your fingers a little like this, it helps. And it makes you look cool."

She will teach him this whole damn song before the day is out.

Edited 2012-07-27 01:52 (UTC)

"I've done my share of surviving. Back in the gutters. Maybe not as bad as what you've seen. But surviving isn't really living." He says this as though it's a really wise thing. To him it is: he's just learning this himself.

Yeah, uh. Well. He was trying to make a point with that. What was that again? Drift is a terminal idiot? Not quiet, though he's pretty sure Ratchets across the multiverse would agree with that one. Oh, right. "Something was trying to control me, making me attack my friends. I had to stop it. Uh. Myself." Hence, self-stabbing.

Wh-what is it with her and his feet? He's beginning to think she might need to see Rung. Still he stretches it out in front of her, to let her look. It's just a foot. He does not get the big deal.

He's trying, Vandal, he's trying. But you've got him trying to do a dozen things at once: Look cool, make a melody, and learn words. He can manage maybe...one of those, and it sure isn't the first one.

"you might get run over you might get--hey. Uh. These words?" What is this song?

"I know. Just didn't exactly have a choice." She leaves it as that watching with fascination, the gears and joints visible through the gaps in his plating as he moves his leg.

It was whatever she could reach, and she wasn't exactly about to go examine his crotch or whatever. But when he stretches out like that she can sure get a better look at his knee and hand. His hand, particularly complex. She spends a good while leaning in and looking it over.

"Well shit. You're quite the honorable hero arn't you?" Not meant to be mocking. More just... stating the facts. He looked like some kind of samurai right out of- she has to think about it to remember, as she'd never been to earth. Just learned about it. Ah- Japan.

"Hey don't stop you were doing well. What about the words?"

Edited 2012-07-27 16:42 (UTC)

"No. You always have a choice. You can fight, or you can give up."

That, no mater what mistakes he'd made in the past with that choice, he knew.

He watches her quietly as she studies his lower leg. "Are you a medic?"

It's strange to think of himself as something to be studied, stranger still to be almost admired. "No. I just try to do the right thing. Which isn't often easy."

He shrugs. "Just...seems hard to think of dying. Just like that before no reason."

"Medic? No. Engineer. Though I guess by your guy's standards that would make me a medic. If I knew how you guys worked on the inside."

She seems fascinated by the smooth joints she can see through the gaps in his knees. She resists the urge to touch this time, not wanting to hurt or bother him.

"S'not about death, Drift. It's about living, because shit happens. So you just live day to day and being a decent person. Doing the right thing. Just like you, right? You say it's not easy doing the right thing, but you sure do make it look effortless. S'actually a rare quality in people."

"It would make you a...something more than I can do." He's more about the injuring than the fixing, honestly.

He tres to angle his leg to give her a better look. It was weird, but harmless.

"I guess I was just thinking that you should do those things, but not because you're afraid you could die or something." He's not getting the words right, at all. "It's not easy for me. I spent most of my life doing the wrong thing. Kind of makes you doubt..everything."

See when he's sitting here enabling her curiosity, she can't resist it for long. She slides her fingers between his knee-gap to investigate the moving cog she was shift when he adjusted.

"I suppose so. And... hah. I know what you mean. You're not the only person in the room who's made mistakes, so whatever they are, it doesn't matter to me."

She pauses, hands withdrawing and dropping to her side. She sits down at last, next to him, an ironic smaller mirror of his posture.

"You're the first friend I've had in years, and I've only known you a few days, so fuck all if I'm going to judge you."

Not an easy thing to admit, but she was just that socially inept. It was what drove her to Unitology in the first place.

It feels....strange. Not unpleasant, not painful. Just very small fine contact in places rarely touched. It seems to interest her, so why not?

He gives a sort of bitter smile. "It's safe to say I've made mistakes longer than you've been alive.".

He wins!

"Don't be too quick to trust. But I give you my word, I won't hurt you." He's a little stunned by the 'friend' label. Not many on the Lost Light would use such a word for him.

let me know if I need to change anything?

PERFECT

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