excoria: (bored)
helena ([personal profile] excoria) wrote in [community profile] ataraxionlogs2014-09-15 11:21 pm

01. wish you'd come back down to the Dalva Bar (open)

CHARACTERS: Helena & you
LOCATION: Kitchens, bars, oxygen gardens, whatever u liek. I can also make us a custom starter.
WARNINGS: Indicators of previous self-mutilation may receive a brief mention, she's also a little bit insane. Also vague mentions of the previous plot, such as medical horror; individual threads to be marked accordingly.
SUMMARY: Night life with Helena. Daily life with Helena. Thug life with Helena.
NOTES: always write to 90's music. also Im gonna try to be concise this time. ready set...

Corridors Around Shuttle Bay

Rumble-rumble spit. The sound of a dirt bike revving is not typical for the eerie buttressed recesses of the Tranquility, but probably counts as a vast improvement over people puking on themselves and involuntarily rearranging skeletons in response to an invasive nanotechnology. Headlights on, lancing the stretch of echo-prone shadows with bright white beams that may or may not hurt your eyes, or realize the possibility she's about to run you over. She rolls her boot onto the gas. Hunched over the handlebars, it's hard to tell that she's a young woman there, in the shapeless green anorak.

At least until she sings out: "Gangway."


Helena is not precisely selective about her diet, but she has a certain preference for processed foods.

The more batter on chicken, the better. The more unlikely the cereal shape the wheat was compacted into, the better. The more bleached sugar and improbably-dyed the Jell-O, the more delicious. Perhaps you will find her rifling the cabinets then, balanced on the toes of her boots, her hood up over her frizzy yellow head and eyes narrow into the not-so-secret compartments of food storage. A few cans already open, contents half-eaten, not yet discarded. Waste not, even in space.

Even if no one can hear you scream and God wouldn't give a fuck anyway, Helena would probably Have A word.

A Shiny Club Lounge

Brightly-colored alcohols also. She had expected the clear ones to take on the properties of their mixer fellows more easily, but she poured a milk-like substitute she'd absconded with from the bar, and there are curds floating feathery and wrinkled to the surface now. It doesn't matter. She has four glasses, each one different. Burps into her sleeve and puts up her boots, studies the next arriving passenger from around the edge of her comm device.

Her red-ringed eyes are small, hard, watchful as a cat's. Mostly ironic because there's a misshapen protrusion on her back, still, if obscured by the size of her garment.

CHARACTERS: William Tsang & you
LOCATION: Medical bay, bars, also wherever you'd like, custom starters available. Please comment here/PM/pplurk for a dream/nightmare thread!
WARNINGS: Terrible language and some references to previous plot/medical horror.
SUMMARY: William works with the sick and the injured, talks about nanotechnology, studies for medical boards that will never arrive, and lands face-first on some people at a bar.
NOTES: all I know is we're missing youu, youuuu

Medical Bay

When William is working, he isn't drunk. This is not a general rule: this is actually an absolute rule, that predates even his recent preoccupation with sex ethics and boring whatever.

Lately he has been conducting neurological tests on himself and a few select subjects, finger-tapping and a big monitor that runs programs involving flashing lights at various quadrants, aural memorization, word matching, looking thoughtful about the results in a frowny way. He is not qualified to help with post-nanorobitch surgeries, so he's relegated to First Aid, basic prescriptions, and research, using micrography, neurological screenings, and bothering people to catch him manitocores to bonesaw apart for study, or better et, put through nanotech extraction.

He has educated answers for those who come by, but they aren't very good if you're looking for something useful. Hashtag Tranquility science.


When William isn't working, he is drunk. Initially this starts out as an experiment: he isn't sleeping more than an hour per day cycle lately, and the use of informal CNS depressants seems as valid a condition as stuffing his face with weird space prescriptions. It doesn't take him long to fall comfortably back into old habits, though. He's a happy drunk. He'll talk about anything, especially of no consequence; displays expert finesse with changing the subject; invents drinking games of Spunes shuffle playlists, random cutlery, ill-advised guesses about your age. It's fun and games. Nobody's going to lose an eye.

Supplementary: Prose/actionspam equally A-OK.

P.P.S: Mystique is on hiatus in a gigantic jar of blue gatorade, but feel free to feature her as a background furnishing in Medical Bay threads; only know you may be under video surveillance.
unmothered: (pouty glare)

Helena - kitchen

[personal profile] unmothered 2014-09-16 05:47 pm (UTC)(link)
[Regina isn't sure what she expected when she came into the kitchen, but it wasn't... this. She stares on in horror at the half-eaten containers of food and at the girl currently consuming them.]

unmothered: (sideways look)

[personal profile] unmothered 2014-09-22 01:59 am (UTC)(link)
[Still pretty disgusting. Regina’s lip curls.]

Don’t they have manners where you come from?
acapriciousthing: (Default)

Helena- Kitchen

[personal profile] acapriciousthing 2014-09-17 02:41 am (UTC)(link)
There's no judgement in Death's face when she walks into the kitchen and finds the rather chaotic scene. There was never any telling what you would find in a shared kitchen, after all.

She's guessing unfamiliar and trying the different foods available. "Find anything you like?"
acapriciousthing: (Default)

[personal profile] acapriciousthing 2014-09-18 09:35 pm (UTC)(link)
She smiles fondly. Carrot mash and biscuits. And really, why not? She knew worlds where they ate stranger things. ANd then there was her family. "My littlest sister is always trying out new combinations like that."
acapriciousthing: (Default)

[personal profile] acapriciousthing 2014-09-20 03:26 am (UTC)(link)
Death notices the full mouth as she hops up onto the counter, but she doesn't comment. She's seen far stranger things after all. "Two sisters. I haven't seen them in a while. What's your sister like?"

She always likes to find out about people's families. Or their lives. Or their homes.

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wolfchild: (act ❱❰)

( helena | shiniest clubbest lounge )

[personal profile] wolfchild 2014-09-17 11:37 pm (UTC)(link)
[ not only the adults fall on drinking to sleep. arya doesn't make a habit of it, but on the worst days a half a cup will help her reconcile sleep where running and working and watching the most boring movies in the media library fail. mostly, though, she likes it. her lady mother never allowed her more than a sip and only during feasts. after leaving winterfell, though ( after fleeing king's landing ), she got used to drinking beer. wine when there was any. water was so often foul and clean water more expensive than beer. she never drinks to inebriation; for one thing she hates how in excess it makes her feel slow and dull and for another hangovers are awful.

most of the drinks on the tranquility ( almost all if she were honest ) were completely strange to her. some of them remain so, but she's found a few she likes. of those one is her favorite. arya's eyes immediately fall on helena when she walks in, but the woman is quickly put out of mind. she jumps over the bar to search through the cabinets for a square bottle filled with a pale orange liquid. while arya is seemingly distracted, nymeria is not. tail down, ears perked, her wolf positions herself between the girl and helena. her golden eyes remain focused on the stranger.

arya gives a little cry of victory when she finds two. with them tucked safely under her arm, she climbs back over the bar. the bar's lights briefly touch the tattoo on her wrist: the black characters and the three red marking her as a head of department.

Come on, you, [ she calls to her wolf when nymeria fails to follow her. ]
wolfchild: (Default)

[personal profile] wolfchild 2014-09-22 05:30 am (UTC)(link)
[ surprise registers on arya's face for two reason: the first that helena said "I like" and the second and more important that she did not call nymeria a wolf. after so much time spent correcting those aboard, she responds automatically if without the usual long-suffering annoyance that usually accompanies her answer. ]

She's a direwolf.

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scaenica: (but you look at me)

[personal profile] scaenica 2014-09-18 06:56 am (UTC)(link)
[Alison discovered the ship's supply of alcohol almost as quickly as she discovered the bathing suits. The latter is useful for preserving her dignity during jumps; the latter, helpful when she can't escape the fact that there's precious little dignity to be found here. Group showers, shipwide plagues, what little privacy the sprawling floors can offer negated by the direction to move to lower floors. She hasn't chosen a new one yet. She has polished a bottle of white while mulling it over (safety versus privacy, when her children aren't in the equation it's actually a difficult choice). The fact that she still hasn't come to a conclusion -

well, it's as good an excuse for another bottle as any.

She's steady when she enters the lounge, cheeks flushed but gait smooth, though it stutters when she spots Helena.]

Oh! I - um. Hello.
scaenica: (tried to tell you)

[personal profile] scaenica 2014-09-19 08:05 pm (UTC)(link)
I'm not afraid -

[pause to rearrange herself, because her current posture - one arm curled around her body, one hand hovering up near her mouth - certainly doesn't support that claim. She shifts, hands on hips, chin lifted.]

I'm not afraid, I'm surprised. I don't know why, God knows this place calls for it.

[And then she's on her way again, brisk little strides around to the back of the bar to hunt out a bottle of something palatable.]

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fullmoon: (pic#8197139)

drunk william

[personal profile] fullmoon 2014-09-20 02:05 pm (UTC)(link)
[ minor body horror/eye stuff ]

Remus has had his legs straightened out and his teeth smoothed down—still just as crooked as they were before, but now without any tea or tobacco stains, so that's nice—and is making a final push toward normal weight here, now, in the lounge, with a cooked block of egg-and-protein-slurry loaf carried in from the kitchens and his second lager nearly gone. If he has to eat canned meat, he may as well drink. And he may as well do it while being cheerfully horrendous at William's Spunes game and idly charming forks to form a kick-line on the bar.

During a lull he says, "I think I might keep the eyelids."

Remus is definitely not keeping the eyelids. Even if he wanted to, they'll disappear on their own in a few days, when his canine body claws its way back to human again using a blueprint that doesn't include three eyelids. But they bother him less than the rest of it did, little enough to joke about it, so he shuts them—just the extras, eyes rolling white between the standard-issue human set—and grins blindly at William with his fresh white set of teeth.

"For greeting new arrivals."

He'd never.
dogbane: (brightly)

[personal profile] dogbane 2014-09-21 08:34 am (UTC)(link)
Looking up from Spunes on his comm device, William's face creases into a grin. He looks over Remus' eyelids, markedly different compared to the otherwise largely reconstructed parameters of his face and frame. "Do you. That's probably manageable," he says. He puts down his comm, hooks his stool with his fingers and drags it nearer, the legs skidding tut-tut-tut along the space-age varnish floor. "I mean we can clone up legs and fucking hands, and these have got nearly as much adaptive value.

"Can I touch them," probably sounds medically-inspired, might even walk the ethical edge of using requests of a medical persuasion for personal gain, but it is the latter. The anxieties of the day are far away from this bar, held at bay by the fuzzy flush of alcohol as utterly as the hull keeps outer-space outer. The inversion of this metaphor is unnecessary as William definitely never represses anything, so. "Would that be weird," he flags a hand out, optimistic, but having recently been taught better by fast-souring encounters with English wizards.

it's just that

the nanite plague spoiled neither Remus' curls nor his spirits and

William has problems with impulse control, a little, but just lately and those other times, and Remus is terribly funny.
fullmoon: (7486029)

[personal profile] fullmoon 2014-09-24 11:59 pm (UTC)(link)
"Probably," Remus says, opening his eyes to give William a look that's skeptical for one moment, just long enough to gauge whether or not he's serious, then slides into a crooked smile. He's still holding a fork in one hand and his wand in the other, and the fork he sets aside—only half-charmed, kicking alternating tines but not yet ready to walk on its own, as it were, so it's left to rattle helplessly on the bartop—to take a swig of his beer.

If it's any comfort to William's sense of ethical duty, it doesn't even occur to Remus that he might have a professional interest. The eyelids are cool. Like bugs and Boggarts and redcaps. It's only right someone agree.

"You know, one of my professors at school could turn into a cat," he says. He shuts his extra eyelids again and leans forward, chin up and placidly expectant. "And one was a ghost."

And he met William while the poor bloke was drenched in blood, then got to know him while evil (or perhaps only misunderstood) and invisibly tiny robots had a go at reshaping him into a wolfman.

Weird is fine.
dogbane: (drink)

[personal profile] dogbane 2014-09-26 03:29 am (UTC)(link)
They haven't got 3Dses or joystick video game consoles where William comes from, the latter part of his life too serious and military, the earliest too poor, and everybody had glossy holographic glass anyway. Still there is something gamely agile about his thumbs touching down on Remus' eyelid, really gentle, curious, tapping down on the thin stretch of membrane presently protecting Remus' eyes, which William recently noticed, are green. Remus is not handsome in the usual sense of the term, something about his large curls, bunny front teeth, cheekbones unbalanced by a thin chin and preciously narrow everything-down, but somehow William still doubts he found it very hard to find someone to cop off with back in wizard land. What might have once been adolescent awkwardness seems to have evened out on Remus into something like. Confidence. Indifference.

William can't be the only person in the multiverse who finds that attractive. But he's the only one here.

"That's very interesting."

William pulls him forward and leans himself in to give him a kiss. Barring objections, it is a pretty long smutty kiss for one taking place above a misshapen block of protein, his mouth all boozey and elbows perched precariously on the bar-top. He uncaps Remus' eyeballs of his thumbs very early on, before anybody can be accidentally blinded.

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kutte: (pic#6833475)

helena; shiny, shiny bar.

[personal profile] kutte 2014-09-25 03:05 am (UTC)(link)
[ jax is out of cigarettes. it makes for a fucking shitty month, one top of everything else. he's decided to drink his aggravation away. or attempt to. and he figures he's not the only one with that plan, looking at the girl sitting at the bar. jax swings up on the stool next to her, leans bodily over to grope for a bottle more or less at random. ]

You indecisive, or looking to get wasted?

[ conversational, glancing back to look at helena's face as he rummages. ]
kutte: (pic#6833531)

[personal profile] kutte 2014-09-29 02:18 am (UTC)(link)
I wasn't figuring on using glasses at all.

[ like a gentleman, right? drinking straight from the bottle is ~classy~ ]

But I'm not knocking it. You got a good thing going.

[ also there's basically no wrong way to drink alcohol. this is one the first things you learn in sons of anarchy boot camp. ]

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