ataraxites: (Default)
axmods. ([personal profile] ataraxites) wrote in [community profile] ataraxionlogs2013-08-22 11:17 am


CHARACTERS: Ensemble production!
LOCATION: The Cyllene.
WARNINGS: Disturbing content, injury, graphic imagery, death etc.
SUMMARY: Exploration and looting of a luxury-class death maze.
NOTES: Open to all! Network discovery is HERE. Have fun forward and back-dating, but don't forget to check the timelines!

The Cyllene welcomes you with bright lights and luxury interiors, kitchens stocked with every food you could desire, bedrooms outfitted with lush furnishings, closets full of the finest clothes. Take your fill - there's no one here to stop you, and it's easy to overlook the sense of emptiness, the plates of half-eaten food and media devices still playing like the viewer only just stepped out a moment ago. The unwelcoming feeling crawling up the back of your neck is just that, a feeling — so there's no sense in letting it dissuade you from enjoying everything the Cyllene has to offer, is there?

circumitus: Insert Warmer song lyrics here. (just made out with the bride...)

(DAY ONE) OPEN → Personal Quarters, Kitchen, Cafeteria

[personal profile] circumitus 2013-08-23 08:41 am (UTC)(link)
A brisk soldier's march tip-taps down down the corridor. Long after the functionality of her communicator switched on, Rey kept walking with nothing but a heavy rifle and an empty duffle bag over her shoulder. She carries the weight with little regard. So many training and protocols from military memories echo in her mind, but they fade as Rey approached the strange glamor that Cyllene has to offer.

This place is strange, and the posters do not go unnoticed. Just what kind of place was this, really?

While Rey does not find any answers in her search, she does, however, successfully discover an extravagant wardrobe.

In a way, it's one of her greatest challenges. Soldiers don't wear dresses, and the harsh fatigues will forever be the last outfit they will wear. If it hadn't been for the one occasion in which formal dress had been required at an opera she had attended, the whole thing would have been a complete foreign concept to her.

But she quite likes it.

The dress, that is. Black and knee-length... it's strange to be without the comforts of leggings that were more efficient for combat. And if hours of wandering empty halls had been any indicator, Rey is not expecting one anytime soon. Perhaps if she had not been programmed down the path of a fighter, she would have looked more extravagant in dresses such as these. With no makeup to cover the scars slashing across her cheeks, chin, and forehead or sleeves to conceal the deep gashes on her shoulders and back, or sockings to hide the wounds on her calves and thigh, Rey was not exactly the kind of woman you would want to take to a formal banquet.

So Rey took herself to the kitchen instead, leaving her duffle bag of things behind in the living quarters (but, of course, had her rifle strapped to her shoulder before she ventured out). Needless to say it was a sight -- a scar-covered woman in a pretty black sleeveless dress making her way to the cafeteria. She helped herself to the wide variety of foods there (steak and beer), allowing a rare moment of leisure and self-indulgent desire.

Because fuck the police, she wants to at least feel pretty... for once.
Edited 2013-08-24 18:19 (UTC)
lastisocorn: you burn fire in my dreams (You lay stones at my feet)

[personal profile] lastisocorn 2013-08-27 05:14 pm (UTC)(link)
Quorra smiles brightly when she spots Rey in the hallway. That is a lovely dress, and she finds that it flatters Rey's figure wonderfully. She lifts a hand in greeting and stops, calling out as Rey passes.

"You look great! Just thought you should know."
circumitus: Legit 2 miles, and purchased 7 half gallons. One for each of us. Intense. (we walked 2 miles)

[personal profile] circumitus 2013-08-28 07:54 am (UTC)(link)
Rey hears Quorra's footsteps long before she makes herself known around the corner. She casts a glance out the corner of her eye and slows down to a stop as well. It's not often, if ever, that she hears a compliment -- but then, she has never passed herself off as one who gives a damn about appearances. More of the shoot-first-ask-questions-later type.

Which is why her brows scrunch together for a moment, as if she's searching for an answer that's just on the tip of her tongue but still too unknown to her.

"Um." Words. "Thank you?"

Oh good, those attempts to try and civilize her were not entirely in vain.