Her Majesty's tears and the pauper's blood

[sweetmotherofgod]

CHARACTERS: Heather Mason (plus demon) and OTA
LOCATION: the oxygen garden, the kitchen, or just strolling the corridors looking for... stuff
WARNINGS: bad manners, bad language, and possible violence (prearranged she is not going to attack anyone)
SUMMARY: Heather hasn't been out and about much this jump, and when she has she's been with Tillman and probably engaged in what looked like pretty intense conversation or trying to hold his hand under the table at breakfast without anyone noticing. Now it's what passes for the wee small hours and she's out unattended for the first time since the jump.
NOTES: Please feel free to grab any of the locations I mentioned or throw in your own! I promised a few people demon interaction, so this is for anyone who wants some :D I'm also cool with prose or action so pick your favourite and I'll follow.


It's been a rough couple of months. That's probably why Heather's been acting a little out of sorts. She's made and lost a dear friend in the space of a jump. Perhaps it's missing Kitten's fashion advice that means she's ditched her own clothes for the Tranquility jumpsuit again, although why she's accessorizing with dogtags instead of her usual ever-present locket is anyone's guess.

But now it's late – or early, depending on your perspective – and she's out and messing with things. Wandering the corridors looking for something to do. In the kitchens with a slight curl to her lip, poking packets of alleged food. In the garden, staring at a patch of dark red flowers she'd been tending near obsessively and looking like she's contemplating ripping them up.

She's obviously bored. Why not say hi?

Comments

[circumitus]

Rey's mental state is a whole cacophony of clutter. It bounces here and there and all across the walls of her head. Even when she isn't alone, the grim isolation of this psychic space was maddening.

Suppose it was trauma, as that doctor put it, which warded off that particular library inside her mind. Five months, and she still hadn't collected a single, coherent memory from the pages. But something was there. It crawls across the floorboards, bangs on the doors, sends dust and blood and flames and nothing burns...

If nothing else, she has a remarkable talent of escaping reality when snared by these moments that seem too real... but isn't.

She hadn't even realized where she was the entire time -- standing among the foliage of the oxygen gardens. This is almost instinctual to her now, because when she feels lost, or can't sleep, or just needs to find a place to think...

It all comes back to here.

What more, she finds that she isn't alone.

Her head tilts as she catches sight of the familiar blonde hair, and approaches with a catlike silence.

Because really, it's like Rey doesn't know how to say hello when it comes to greeting a person.

[sweetmotherofgod]

Heather's not so great at introductions either, and downright terrible at being snuck up on. Luckily it's Eliza who feels the approach and that particular something that sets people apart from the prey. Refreshing, to have someone around she can actually talk to.

"Hello, sweetheart," she says, grinning as she turns. "What's a nice thing like you doing in a girl like that?"

[circumitus]

She stops abruptly, and with a quick cant of her head, she manages a slight, vaguely teasing smile. "I ought to say the same for you. But no, I'm just taking her out for a spin."

The owner can't seem to differentiate where she is half of the time, which made it all too easy to take the wheel once she got in... so to speak.

[sweetmotherofgod]

"Kicking the tyres?" She shrugs, gesturing vaguely. "Well, why not? We're spoilt for choice, here. Seems like everybody's got some sort of cracks to slip into. I think I'm going to stick with this one, though. You know how it is, you shop all around looking for something perfect and then just end up buying the first thing you tried on."

Grinning, she rolls her shoulders. "Some funny little quirks that out to by fun to explore, too. How's that one working out for you so far?"

[walksonrooftops]

When Heather reaches the gardens, Asato hears her approach, his ears flicking up to better catch the sound. He's in here often, tending to the plants and smelling the huge variety of flowers. It's relaxing. Thanks to the silence, he can take his time to sit down and just think--about the ship, about his friends, about Konoe. There's plenty he needs to figure out, still.

The sound puts him on the defensive out of pure instinct, but once he catches sight of the person who made it, he relaxes again. He hasn't seen her in a little while, has he? How nice, running into her again.

"Heather," he calls out, his voice audible but unobtrusive. There's a smile on his face and his tail sways easily as he looks to her, wondering what she wants with those flowers she's staring at.

[sweetmotherofgod]

"Asato!"

The pleasure in her voice is genuine. Somewhere, deep down, Heather is pitching a fit, protective despite the fact that she doesn't know even a fraction of what's bubbling away there, just waiting for someone to splash around in it. He's a mess.

"I've been looking for you," she says lightly, settling down next to him and scooping up his hand, easy as schoolfriends at recess. "What have you been up to?"

[walksonrooftops]

"It's been a little while, huh? I'm glad to see Heather again." Enthusiasm can be sensed in his voice even though he's trying to keep it down. Then she takes his hand, and while it startles him for a moment, secretly he's glad, even grateful, for that gesture, responding by draping his black-furred tail over her leg. Lots of people here had been willing to touch him without a second thought, and that they would want to just touch and not hurt is a miracle to him.

"I've been around. Things have been hard, with Chase and Austria and the others." And with Konoe, but he doesn't include him by name. "What about you?"

[sweetmotherofgod]

"Oh, I'm sorry." Touch, huh? She gives his hand a warm squeeze, smiles up at him in her best approximation of sympathy. "It has been kind of weird around here lately, hasn't it? Everyone's so angry and confused. Scared." She drops her eyes again, worries at her lip with her teeth. Her free hand strokes almost unconsciously at the tail over her leg, obviously seeking comfort.

"I've just been trying to keep busy, you know? Not get myself all freaked out over stuff that might not even be true." I heard a scary story and I really shouldn't tell. Schoolyard stuff, and everything about her manner screams that she wants him to ask about it.

002 kitchen

[handelaar]

Normally he didn't have a problem falling asleep. Normally. For a while there, his schedule had gotten fucked to hell and back, which was sloppy and lazy and inexcusable because he knew better. Schedules were good, so once he was back on to something resembling one, he was inclined to keep it.

And according to the ship's clock, he should be asleep, right now.

Except.

Except that damn sketch was keeping him up, ever since it'd been brought up. Not his - but him, as another saw him, and every oh-so-familiarly-foreign mark upon that page guilted him. You can't find it, but it's still out there, somewhere. He wasn't about to tear it down, and didn't have the heart to cover it up.

Which is what leads Netherlands to the kitchens at fuck-all in the morning, huffily searching around for booze, paying little mind to the clamor he makes in the process. Not that there's any left, so far.

[sweetmotherofgod]

"Trouble sleeping, huh?"

He'll hear her before he sees her. At this hour - in as much as that counts for anything out here - the lights are lowered, and she can hide in shadow like she's made of it even in a body prone to stomping around in boots and dealing with danger by yelling at it. For him, though, she'll melt out of the darkness and tilt a bottle in his direction. It's one she's brought along; whatever else she doesn't yet understand about this ship, she knows enough to realize it's generally stripped of the good stuff in a matter of days after each jump.

"Nightcap?"

The body is fond. And angry. Honestly, it's delightful.

[handelaar]

The - he hisses a breath inward and nearly smacks his head on the cabinet as he whips around, once she speaks - he never heard her coming, but he blames it on the weird, worn-out state he's in. Relaxes a bit once he realizes who it is, huffs and crosses his arms as he leans his hip into the counter, covering up genuine relief with his annoyance at everything else.

"If it's free, yeah."

Priorities. Inwardly he's glad for the company, this company in particular, but again. He eyes the bottle and sizes it up, weighing up its value in other black market goods and services almost subconsciously, then eyes her again. Priorities, he tells himself.

[sweetmotherofgod]

Skittish. He's off balance, which is fine by her; that's just how she likes them. She hops up on the counter next to where he leans and stretches a leg across it so the inside of her thigh rests against that hip, thumbs the lid off the bottle and lets it fall where it will.

"When have you ever known anything to to be free?"

[animosities]

[Now she's been properly rescued from the maze of Tranquility's corridors, Amanda's free to explore the populated sections of the ship properly. She's been here before, of course, but she'd been careful to keep away from people. A girl had to know how to make a proper entrance, after all, and anyone seeing her face before she was ready would have spoiled her plans.

That first part was done with, though. Now, it was a matter of hunting out as many bleeding-hearts and hero types and sow as many seeds of doubt and dislike as possible. The place was already ripe with tension, as far as she could see. It shouldn't be too hard to get everyone at each other's throats.

The lost card was always the easiest to play, and the ship leant itself to it well, so it's the first she goes for when she sees the girl in the corridor.]

Hey. [A small smile, apologetic, self-effacing.] Sorry, I keep getting turned around. Do you know the way back to... [She looks down at her arm.] 130?

[sweetmotherofgod]

[Really, lost lamb? She's trying to be Heather, to use the girl's bluntness and lack of social graces as an excuse to dig out information without raising suspicion. And though she might have a sharp tongue and a somewhat acerbic sense of humor, deep-down she's something of a goody-good. When it suits her. So she's answering even as she turns -]

Like room thirty, passenger deck one? Hon, you're on the wrong floor -

[but oh, that's interesting. Hello, kindred spirit.]

Or maybe we're right where we ought to be.

[animosities]

[The smile stays in place, ready to continue with the apologies, and self-deprecations. Amanda always got herself into more trouble than she could handle, got lost, wandered into the bad parts of town, talked to the wrong sort of people. Self-awareness made a string of bad mistakes likeable, rather than frustrating that anyone would just keep on being so naive.

But the girl's response isn't quite right - though it starts out there. And Amon knows there's more wandering around this ship, has met Vepar, Crowley, spoken to the idiot angel. The smile stays in place, but anything soft or gentle about her eyes drains away, until even the small expression seems something like a grimace, a baring of teeth.]

Do I know you?

[sweetmotherofgod]

I don't think so?

[She may be young and cocky, too keen to start a fuss among the cattle onboard and far too keen to impress the older sorts wandering among them, but the same inborn nosiness that allows her to spot her own kind also allows her to spot a threat. And this could definitely be a threat. She flashes her biggest sheepish smile and wonders exactly how far that'll take her.]

I'm sorry, I guess for a moment I thought you were someone else.

Right outside Simon's room y/n

[player_not_slayer]

Heather's not the only one that's bored. Simon's been bored for days and with Kable been off doing who the fuck knows what all day, his boredom has reached new heights of not-so-thrilling ennui.

This ship was boring, his room was boring, his games were boring, Kable was being boring by not being around for him to bother, so fuck it he was going to go out and try to find those holodeck rooms again. He tucked his phone in his pocket and stood, stomping right out of his room--

Only to smack straight into a ship-uniformed figure right out of the gate.

"Fuck."

y! (shh don't wake Tillman)

[sweetmotherofgod]

Now this was fun. The meatsuit was getting bratty, trying to keep her memories away like a toddler who wouldn't share her toys and having the expected amount of success - none whatsoever. That in itself was interesting, in that the issue seemed to be that she plain didn't like him - except.

There should have been more to work with there, and there wasn't. Oh, sweetie, did somebody forget about you?

Jackpot.

"Not even close," she says, raising an eyebrow and not bothering to step out of the way. "Although I guess you're on the right track in that you have to get someone to touch you. Generally for a little longer, although in your case that might not be necessary."

The words might be pure Heather, but the delivery's not. At all. There's no bitchiness in it. She is, in fact, smiling.

"Don't worry. I'm sure one day you'll meet a nice girl who was starved of just the right amount of oxygen at birth, and you'll be very happy together."

He'll wake Kable if he wants to :|

[player_not_slayer]

Oh. Its Heather. Simon took a moment to nonchalantly brush himself off, his sulky boredom-fueled quest happily shelved for the moment because Heather was a much more immediate and gratifying source of entertainment.

"A few seconds is all I'd need to rock your world, sister."

The come back was automatic, since its Heather he's talking to and her words were a pretty normal lead-in for their completely civilized conversations, but then his brain caught up with just what was off about her. That tone was kinda fucking creepy, and lacked the usual unhinged psychotic bitchiness that she usually directed at him. He peered at her a moment, taking in the ship jumpsuit that made her look like a lumpy sack of potatoes, and her smile.

Heather never smiled at him unless there was a taser involved somehow.

But it was too soon, just yet, to go diving for cover. Were there pockets in that thing?

"Oh yeah, I already did. Hope you don't mind that it was your mom, though."

kitchen

[the_vishual]

"Hello."

Convenient.

Chase's smile is tiny, but there--she knows her own. Rather, she knows Heather's not Heather.

And it's why she's holding the Ghansgraad and wandering around like the little girl would normally. IT's not Chase--no, it's something deeper, something sinister, and yet no one's been able to detect it because the little girl is well beyond her years to begin with.

[sweetmotherofgod]

"Hello."

On her own, Heather probably wouldn't have noticed a difference. As much as she likes Chase, as much the little girl pushes all sorts of protective buttons for her, she still finds her a little... creepy. The being in the driver's seat, on the other hand, is nosy and hungry for company, and very excited.

"You're looking especially cute today, Chase."

[the_vishual]

"I'm adorable," Chase grins, wiggling from side to side to show how much she likes it. Child-like but sinister. It's a beautiful combination to the one inside of her.

"This one.. She has secrets." Chase licks her lips, taking a step forward.

"Lots of them she's been keeping quiet from Heather. Big ones." Her smile stretches out. "She knows about the Cult and Silent Hill. The mall, her father."

» the kitchens

[zooms]

Oh! Heather...

[ Hotspur stops short by the kitchen door, seemingly surprised that anyone would be up at this hour. After years of living on board various space stations and starships Hotspur had had the importance of keeping a timely circadian rhythm drilled in to him again and again – he’s seen first-hand the mental and physical ruin brought upon a human slaving away in permanently-lit workshops without sticking to a regimented schedule of rest and relaxation. It hadn’t ever been pretty. Still, tonight he had worked stupidly late – or, yes, early, as some might say – and now Hotspur leaves an incredulous little pause as he checks the shipboard time on his comms device before glancing up at her with a grin. ]

Glad to know I’m not the only one having trouble sleeping.

[sweetmotherofgod]

Hey, you.

[ She smiles fondly. This one's interesting. The body's opinion seems to set him at that so-rare intersection of deeply religious and genuinely good. They're always such hard work, but what the hell. It's not like she's got anything better to do. ]

Freaky dreams. I was just gonna make tea, you want some?

[zooms]

[ Completely and blissfully unaware of whatever unnatural currents of life simmered under the surface of Heather's smile, Hotspur ambles in to the room with a wry shake of the head. ]

Not for me, no thanks. Too late for caffeine.

[ His body is a temple, so on and so forth and all that terribly boring healthy stuff. Hotspur leans idly against a cabinet on one broad shoulder as he watches Heather go about the kitchen, preferring instead to let the lady carry on than get in the way. It's not like he was in any particular rush. ]

Dreams, hm? Do you put much stock in dreams?

[ Because, predictably enough, Hotspur certainly does. ]