open

[2leftfeet]

CHARACTERS: Shepard & YOU
LOCATION: Deck 023, Various
WARNINGS: N/A (will edit if applicable)
SUMMARY: Going over data from the recon mission + miscellaneous catch all for end of May
NOTES: I'm game for more specific/individual starters or feel free to start one yourself. Prose or brackets!


i. Deck 023
[She gives herself very little in the way of down time between returning to the inhabitable areas of the ship and doing a headcount, collecting verbal reports and the data sent from the recon mission's fireteams to their respective comm liaisons. The result is a lot of data: text and audio files, a few scraps of video and days and days and days worth of mapping information from the devices that each fireteam had carried. Even with the gaps in communication, the resulting mountain of data is too massive for any one person to comb through and sort intelligently.

Doesn't mean she won't give it a shot. Shepard has set herself up in one of the large public rooms on Deck 023, meaning to take advantage of the large holoscreens there to go through the video data. It's all a little Shadow Broker: two screens running video, a third compiling the mapping data into a semi-useable schematic, and Shepard herself looking thrashed out and bright-eyed from lack of sleep bent over her own communications device, taking reference notes as she slowly limps her way through the datastreams. It's less than ten days worth of footage, much of it video and audio from points of aimless wandering down intersecting corridors and it's still an intimidatingly daunting task; she doesn't know how anyone could process a whole galaxy worth of information.

Eventually she leans back in her chair, pausing to rub her eyes.]

Hell.

ii. Kitchens
[Coffee. It's a nigh primordial need that she finds herself looking to satisfy at --what? Some ungodly hour, maybe. Or it could be the middle of the day and she hasn't noticed. It's been a long few hours and every time she sits in the quiet for too long, she starts to hear (or remember) the low droning tapping from inside the belly of the ship.

So she stays busy and right now that means standing in one of the Tranquility's many kitchens, listening the the hiss of the coffee maker as a pot brews. To anyone who might come across her there, she looks bone tired. A little sharp, a little lean. She's spent too many hours staring at datafeeds, eyes burning; Shepard looks just about as good as she feels which if she stopped to examine herself would probably be 'shitty'.]

Comments

[brainsqueeze]

[ Maria gives it a couple of hours before heading down to the deck. There would likely be something coming anyway, a debrief for the teams and anyone that was interested in what they'd found, but Maria didn't quite want to wait. She wanted to know the scale of what had happened, try and get a glimpse of what had happened out there - of how much there was.

When she finds Shepard in the room, three screens on and a mix between video and maps she's glad that she came. The area that's getting covered, and with it still all going? If Shepard's going through it all, and has since she got back then Maria doubts that she's anywhere close to done - not with the video.

She lets the video run for a minute longer before stepping further into the room, announcing it. Something had definitely happened out there. Not all of the video was so clear, the bit now just a steady walk, but they had lost contact. She'd gotten that from one of the other liasons when she'd gone down to familiarise herself with everything. But what had it been? ]

I should have brought coffee.

[2leftfeet]

[It's not a terribly familiar voice, but she can can hazard a few guesses as to who it belongs to. Swiveling in her seat, Shepard lowers her own comm device into her lap. She lets the video feed continue on behind her, apparently unconcerned as it does.]

Maria Hill, I take it? Welcome to CIC. [She makes a low noise, close to a snort of a laugh, and motions to the monitors.]

[brainsqueeze]

It looks like a big job.

[ That was an understatement, and might have also replaced a 'nice to actually meet you'. Stepping further in Maria pulled out one of the other chairs, wheeling it across the room to sit, watching the screens again ]

When was this taken?

[2leftfeet]

Ship communications fried a day in, so there's not a lot of video. Most of it's transcripts of verbal reports and cartography data.

[And she wasn't really sure how many days worth of those there were. Technically they'd been gone for thirteen days, but that shouldn't have been possible. There hadn't been rations to sustain them comfortably for that long and there were reports of temporal slips or-- whatever you wanted to call that when they had managed to report in.]

Most of it's not important.

[brainsqueeze]

Was there anything out there?

[ The video couldn't tell them that after it had gone out, and someone was just a little too impatient to wait for that report. At least for small details, anyway ]

Or a sign of what happened to the comms?

ii.

[vindictam]

[ He hadn't expected her to be there.

Really, since they'd come back, he'd been straight to duties, and for the most part, it was quiet work with minimal contact. He had his word to Robb, and to that he would attend, and work at all made him feel at ease. It was solid, reliable, it did not twist lights and paint things in blood on the wall.

But sleep never came to him, no really anymore, and no better since the -- spirit. Another set of black eyes to whisper in the dark. He made his way into the kitchens at some awful hour he'd lost track of in between his dozing against a wall, transversing rather than walking into the kitchens.

At least until he saw Shepard waiting to make... something. He watched people here, often enough, but the mysteries of the kitchen remained just that. ]

Working, Commander? [ Even as he spoke, he gave her the respect of tugging up his mask. Fingers curling underneath the strange metal jaw and lifting it up. ]

[2leftfeet]

[She doesn't start, but in the brief moment between when she catches sight of him in her peripherals and Corvo speaks all the fine hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. She can taste something iron and instinctual in her mouth, the sudden surge of adrenaline: a relic from the dark of the hallways, just there at the edge of everything thanks to whatever's happening in the ship this cycle.

It should dissipate the moment common sense overrides the instinctual knee jerk response to a shadow at the edge of her vision; the fact that it doesn't immediately prompts Shepard to frown slightly, her jaw set.]

Something like that. [She pats the top of the coffee machine. All things considered it's downright affectionate.] Want a cup? I've got a whole pot brewing.

[And is of half a mind to just spirit the thing back to her camp in the nearby rec room, screw whoever needs it next.]

[vindictam]

[ If he notices any of it, he makes no comment, walking past her further into the kitchens. But there's a careful distance he keeps from her, for his or her sake, too close to tell. But his hands settle by his side and he does his best to look relaxed.

Tricky, really, given he never completely settled, weight shifting on his feet like he was in turn, waiting for something. ]

It smells like... [ and the smell itself is over powering, of something that he hadn't had in a very long time. His stomach growls in response. When had he eaten? He wasn't sure. ] Certainly, if it's being offered.

[2leftfeet]

[It smells burned, raw - just like home. She pulls down a few mugs from the cabinet above the machine and dutifully pours coffee out into both. The smell is even stronger out of the pot as opposed to in, makes even her wrinkle her nose as she fetches up the mugs and passes one to Corvo.]

Enjoying leave?

[It's a cheap joke and she clearly knows it - shooting him a pointed glance over the edge of her mug as she presses her mouth to the lip of the cup. Doesn't drink, just inhales the smell and the residual heat of the cup.]

deck 023.

[darkart]

[ At a time that is appropriately convenient, Severus appears in Shepard's claimed territory. He seems a little tired, but he no longer looks like he's been smashed into a wall by a telekinetic "lawyer" having a stroppy fit, fortunately - also fortunately for the current setting, his notes were as orderly as possible when he turned them in at the close of his stint as a communications liaison. Still: ]

You have the look of one slowly drowning. [ A wry remark. He understands paperwork.

Severus is carrying a nylon and canvas traveling pack, apparently empty, its design a cross between backpack and duffel bag. It was not purchased for its aesthetic. ]

[2leftfeet]

[This definitely isn't her favorite part of the job. It's all categorizing and writing reports and studying minutia - all of it about as fun as taking a charging Krogan charge to the face (and between that and archival work, she'll take the concussion). She can admit it's necessary - it's why she's even bothering - but she leaps at the provided distraction of Severus' arrival by tossing her comm easily across her cobbled together work station and rising to her feet to meet him.]

I hear that's the in thing these days. [She nods to the bag. Please tell her you didn't just come here to show off a glorified canvas duffel bag.] What've you got for me?

[darkart]

[ Ever one happy to be down to business, Severus sets the bag onto whichever tabletop is nearest. ] A remnant of Arima. It works better when the original object is made properly.

[ What? Oh god. Maybe he did just come to show her a duffel bag. Maybe there aren't duffel bags in circa 1980s Wizardlandia and he's really fascinated. He unzips the top of it, a long, circular affair, and opens it. Maybe there's something super cool inside-- but it looks like there isn't anything, just darkness. Which is, actually, a little odd. Severus then reaches into the bag.. to his elbow. Past where the bag ends and the table begins. And brings out an electric tea-kettle borrowed from a kitchen. He sets it on the table, reaches back into the bag, pulls out a book. Sets that on the table, rinse and repeat for a tupperware full of something or another-- ] You get the idea.

[ Tupperware goes thunk on the table. ] I was trying to get this done before the initial expedition, but it turned out to be trickier than anticipated for use by someone without magic.

[2leftfeet]

[There's a dark line of trepidation creased across her forehead, mouth pulled slightly taut as he unzips the bag. She's trying to figure out precisely how to tell him that no, really, the clumsy packs they'd all carried into the ship this month would probably be just fine for next month too--

But then in goes his arm to the elbow and beyond, producing the tea kettle, the book, plastic containers. Shepard rocks back on her heels. Magic. Officially useful.]

Is all that really in there?

[alsohawkeye]

Kate isn't quite as -- whatever you want to call it, virtuous? hardcore? nuts? -- as Shephard. She takes some time, enough for a shower, a long nap, checking her messages, informing people she hasn't been eaten by the ship after all. But once she's feeling human again in a good way and not a helpless speck in a hostile and unknowable universe way she heads back down to 023 to wander the halls until she tracks the commander down.

She announces herself with a rhythmic rapping of knuckles against door frame. "Hey," she says, because she's still not entirely sure whether she ought to be calling the older woman 'Shephard' or 'Commander' and so obviously doing neither is the best option. "Need a hand?"

[2leftfeet]

Task oriented, definitely. Because between sorting information and trying to sleep, she suspects this is the surer bet. If she closes her eyes for too long she starts to remember the tapping from the belly of the ship, the rhythm ground into the back of her head. It's not something that bothers her - not really, not if she takes the time to turn it over (of course she's still hearing it; they'd been listening to it for days on end) - but it's there. Between it and the way everything seems keyed up, hyper sharp, senses on edge either from so long in the dark or from some secondary atmospheric effect of the ship, sleep seems like a genuinely remote possibility.

So: nuts, most likely.

The rapping at the door frame makes her pause - tap, tap, tap, tap -. Shepard wheels around in her chair, communication device balanced on her thigh. The sleeves of her jumpsuit have been rolled to her elbows, predictably precise.

"There's about twenty hours of video that need to be annotated and archived. So, sure."

'Please for the love of god' is more like it.

[alsohawkeye]

"I'm sure it's all fascinating, too," Kate says, "Doesn't feel more like forty hours at aaaaallll." But she heads in and takes a chair beside Shepard, tugging her comm out of the front pocket of dark jeans as she sits and kicks feet up onto the coffee table. She shifts around a couple times trying to find a comfortable recline, and finally settles with a dissatisfied expression. Nothing is comfortable but fidgeting around like a child in front of Shepard is worse.

She watches the trio of screens for a second, looking back and forth until she's sorted out a guess at the system in progress. "What's the best way for me to help?" she asks, pulling up a text program on her comm. And, "Anything interesting jumping out at you so far? Metaphorically."

[2leftfeet]

"I'll send you copies of the report transcripts--" And with a few taps to her own communications device, a moment later Kate receives a compiled set of text transcripts courtesy of their hard working communications liaisons. "Those should be every report you and anyone else got in to their liaison. We'll want to earmark anything weird on the video for reference." Though given how quickly the ship's communicators cut out, she doubts there'll be much.

She settles back into her seat. After a moment, Shepard kicks her feet up onto the table as well. "You take the left, I'll take right and we'll split the center." It's riveting stuff, Kate.

[circumitus]

Shitty can possibly be described as Rey's default state. Only rather than turning to caffeine, she's fueled by the power of booze. She's not drunk, per se, but she's guzzled down a few bottles before she makes her leave from the nearest bar. One of the unfortunate downsides to not being fully human -- alcohol tolerance.

Hell, she even walks in a straight line to the kitchen, bottle in hand. Hoping that, perhaps, she could kill the bitter aftertaste with something more appealing. Given her tendency to drink and wander, it's no surprise that in a matter of time she winds up running into someone. Sometimes familiar, sometimes a stranger.

It's the former she finds, drawn to the pleasing aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

"Look like you've seen better days." Considering her own disposition, Rey promptly deposits her own half-empty beer bottle in the nearest rubbish bin before she approaches.

[2leftfeet]

The bottle is the first thing she notices because the smell of whatever it help hits her hard, makes her feel briefly like she wants to vomit from the intensity of it. Shepard has to keep herself from wrinkling her nose as she pulls a sleek, polished black mug from the cabinet above the coffee maker.

"You're not looking so hot yourself." There's a note of (over-)familiarity there, unconscious and largely involuntarily. She's not exactly a paragon of regulations and anti-fraternizing as it is, but make it double with pieces of Rey floating around in the back of her head. After a beat Shepard pulls down a second mug.

"Coffee?"

[circumitus]

When has she ever appeared anything above sub par, Rey doesn't even know. She scoffs at the thought, at Shepard's observation, but keeps the notion to herself.

She nods as she walks in, muttering a quiet "Yes, please" before she opens one of the cupboards for something to stifle her hunger.

Over a year ago, she wouldn't have given that hunger much thought. Just a simple need to provide nutrients to her body, nothing more. The ritual was much less pleasant with her sense of taste on the fritz at the time, with everything either bitter or rotten on her tongue. It's different now, even after her senses have been altered so long ago. Like they've been reprogrammed. Again.

"When's the last you slept?" Rey asks out of curiosity and sake of conversation.

[2leftfeet]

Sliding the coffee pot free, Shepard dutifully pours into the two mugs. She doesn't think to offer either cream or sugar; if Rey takes either, she'll have to find it herself. She does however do the small favor of migrating far enough to place one of the mugs on the strip of counter near the other woman.

She takes a long pull from her own. The smell is sharp. For a moment the bitter undertone of the coffee hits her like a brick wall. She has to fight not to gag, grimacing. Alright, maybe some sugar after all.

"I got some in the ship." Though that could've been days ago. It's hard to say, hard to really remember. At some point they'd been trading watches - one up, two down. It might have been yesterday. It might have been a year ago.

Kitchens

[dogbane]

[She isn't the only one. William has begun to bear resemblence to the panda that he has been left to babysit, and that is not a racist slur at all.

As of the past few days, the medic had started to appreciate the spikes of hypersensitivity-- at least they help to keep him awake, which he needs to be, for his shifts in the medical department. Really, he otherwise wouldn't entertain the combination of caffeine and the inconvenience of sensory enhancement. He doesn't know if his brain would explode. Will explode.

He's too tired to care much, lately.] Commander, [he says, stepping past cabinets in time to find her standing sentinel over the coffee pot. He actually gets his shit together long enough to throw her a salute, his shoulders approximately square, before leaning wearily on the nearest counter.] You ain't going to drink all of that, are you?

[A few yards behind him, there's a clanking sound from the entrance. The top of an animal's head is visible, black-and-white, its chubby, furry body is propped up against a hallway wall, just within view of the kitchen. William is prudent enough about hygiene in culinary areas to have checked his friend at the door.]

[2leftfeet]

[She glances up briefly at his entrance - just enough to determine he isn't a threat, that she knows who it is and-- panda. The panda catches her attention, enough that she lags in dragging a cup down from the cabinet. She's pretty sure she's seen something like that in some old wildlife files. She's also pretty sure whatever it is is supposed to be extinct.

So it takes a second for her to drag her attention back to William. She raises her empty mug absently, cocks an eyebrow at him.]

Got a problem with that, Tsang?

[dogbane]

If you've got a cup left over, I'd appreciate it. [William is reaching up to pull out a mug of his own from the cabinet then, glancing down into the contents to reassure himself that nobody spat or put space goo in it recently.] I'll brew the next pot. [The mug is apparently sufficient. He looks up at her again, raccoon eyes on raccoon eyes, blinking rather slowly in the half-light of the kitchen.]

On'y if you ain't having it all, [he adds, quickly. The panda sneezes behind him. If pandas are supposed to be extinct, no one let Hoi Hoi know.]

[2leftfeet]

[If she had more sleep under her belt, she might play at considering the request. As it is, Shepard simply works the pot free from the machine as it clicks off, and offers to pour him a cup.]

I probably don't need the whole pot. [Once the mug is extended, she sloshes it full of steaming hot coffee, tips the pot up and then pours her own. Shepard tips her head toward the door.] What's with the tag along?