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.
clearly
It's a legitimate strategy.
no subject
Yeah, Ratchet threat? What is he going to do, come rescue Drift from the awful human attack?
"Say 'uncle' and I'll stop."
It's weird how human these robots can be in so many aspects. Seriously? Ticklish? Who knew. Either way, he's not getting out of this one with his dignity as she redoubles her efforts with both hands.
no subject
"....what?"
no subject
She stops momentarily, keeping the threat over her hands there.
"Uh... when you're messing around, and you want someone to admit defeat, they're supposed to say 'uncle'. I honestly can't explain it."
Unknowingly, she is steeping this poor robot in human culture.
no subject
He grins. "Who says I'm admitting defeat?" Of course it's easy to play tough when you're not being tickled.
no subject
"Fine, have it your way. You asked for it. Honestly who's ever heard of a ticklish robot." Compared to pretty much everything else, all things considered, it's normal.
But she simply gets back to it, hands searching out new gaps and seams near his belly armor to attack.
what did we say about molesting Drift?
Not that it helps. He tries to stifle the laughing, his abdominal plating tensing downward.
"Not...going...to...surrender!" He's going to retaliate, pushing gently at her shoulder.
"Only on Tuesdays"? C8
The gentle pushing does very little to deter. She just twists under his hand and goes about her merry business.
no subject
He thrashes, ending up flat on the floor, laughing weakly. Humans are evil. This is proof.
no subject
What a sight. She's probably straining herself, halfway leaned over him, dealing out the vicious torment.
Who knew she could render a five ton pile of metal and blades helpless.
no subject
"All right! Stop! I give in!" He could possibly hold out for a bit longer, but he doesn't want to get Ratchet or First Aid in here, because it strikes him that this possibly looks really, really wrong.
no subject
At last, the engineer relents and pats his abdominal plating with finality before sitting down next to the flopped robot.
"What was the argument again?"