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
Pleasant surprise.
"Gotta do something with my hands," She mumbles, snapping a small plastic piece into place and turning the small device over in her hands.
no subject
Plus, everyone knows that Ratchet saves his best screams for Wheeljack (and now Drift).
"Well don't pull any stitches while you do that. The initial ones were enough of a pain in my aft to place, what with your miniature scale."
Ratchet bends down, looking more closely at what she's working on.
"What are you creating?"
no subject
Not really, but as long as he thinks so.
She's more than happy to change the subject, holding up the small remote and pointing at the speakers she'd repaired.
"Just like to fix things. You like music?"
She clicks one of the buttons, selecting something from the small VI screen on her RIG. The speakers crackle after a moment and then a song cuts through the static, filling the room.
"It was too quiet. Like a morgue in here."
no subject
"I understand that. I like fixing as well..."
When the first brassy tones of the horn filter through his medbay, his head tilts up, alert. Then he realizes what the noise is, and he relaxes a touch, still listening carefully. Human music is so much more organic than the sounds of Cybertron, so alien and analog and, well.
"It's beautiful."
Ratchet's head moves back and forth just a touch, swaying with the steady pulse of the beat.
"I... suppose we could do with a bit of this in here sometimes." He looks down, meets Vandal's eyes. "Although I'd like controls so that I can turn it off if necessary?"
no subject
You can almost hear her smile from behind her helmet, which she shortly removes with a soft click, setting it aside.
"You like it, huh?"
Strange to watch him sway slightly like that. Very human. Startlingly so.
"No problem. I can control it from my RIG, too."
She turns the remote in her hand and tosses it up to him.
no subject
Still, the sounds are nice, and the offer of her tiny human-sized remote is endearing.
"Hm. Thank you." Ratchet examines the tiny human-scale remote in his palm. He'll have to be very carefulif he wants to use it without mashing most of the buttons. "I'll probably have to modify it for use, if that's acceptable to you?"
It's obviously home-made and he doesn't want to destroy one of her creations without permission.
no subject
"You know I could always just make a bigger one for you."
The idea of making an oversized remote for a robot is kind of amazing.
"Or I could just patch the controls into a computer terminal if you have one."
Still, kind o cute that he asked.
no subject
Ratchet hands the remote back to Vandal, pleased.
"Either of those options would be preferable."
Remote returned, he wiggles his fingers at her, ruefully.
"I'm just not exactly built to the right scale to use that as it is. I'm sure you understand."
no subject
She takes the remote back and stores it on the makeshift nightstand.
"I guess this is how a rat must feel around humans."
Trying not to get stepped on.
Scared out of it's mind.no subject
He's never been all that much smaller than his peers, only significantly larger.
"I think you must be much more intelligent than a rat, though."
At least there's that consolation.
no subject
She jokes, putting on a wry smile.
Even if perhaps she means it a little.
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?