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ataraxionlogs2015-01-02 03:22 pm
xerampelinae) wrote in ataraxionlogs2015-01-02 03:22 pm
Entry tags:
oo3. mostly open.
CHARACTERS: Caprica "Natasi" Six and others to be added.
LOCATION: Outside the Medical Bay, in the Medical Bay.
WARNINGS: References to trauma. TBA.
SUMMARY: Does time feel slower for the messiahs, when they take to the desert?
Or does remember. It's hard to say. As said: she keeps to herself.
And has translated seemingly from medical officer to patient without much fuss. Quiet and distant, she is consumed by sleep, tubes and wires hooked up to her body that occasionally she'll notice like a strange but benign insect has crawled onto her skin. She does not eat much, meals skipped, but does drink water, sometimes in small sips, sometimes emptying a whole glass in a steady procession of mechanical gulps.
She can be found in her alcove behind paper curtains, often asleep, but not always. Sitting up, spine pressing against the slits of her hospital gown and too visible, looking at her palms. Her eyes are closed in a kind of meditation, retreated deep into herself, but still rowsed if attention is asked for. Or, returning from the bathroom, unmindful of the indignity in her long, gangly legs, the way her athleticism has dwindled away, the way her face has become narrow, with too many teeth, and the shapeless fall of her hospital gown, her uncombed hair, her bare feet.
When she isn't sleeping, sometimes it's because she's woken up from a nightmare. She is silent in this too -- a quick breath of an inhale before her eyes shine in the dimness for long, haunted moments.
LOCATION: Outside the Medical Bay, in the Medical Bay.
WARNINGS: References to trauma. TBA.
SUMMARY: Does time feel slower for the messiahs, when they take to the desert?
Or does remember. It's hard to say. As said: she keeps to herself.
And has translated seemingly from medical officer to patient without much fuss. Quiet and distant, she is consumed by sleep, tubes and wires hooked up to her body that occasionally she'll notice like a strange but benign insect has crawled onto her skin. She does not eat much, meals skipped, but does drink water, sometimes in small sips, sometimes emptying a whole glass in a steady procession of mechanical gulps.
She can be found in her alcove behind paper curtains, often asleep, but not always. Sitting up, spine pressing against the slits of her hospital gown and too visible, looking at her palms. Her eyes are closed in a kind of meditation, retreated deep into herself, but still rowsed if attention is asked for. Or, returning from the bathroom, unmindful of the indignity in her long, gangly legs, the way her athleticism has dwindled away, the way her face has become narrow, with too many teeth, and the shapeless fall of her hospital gown, her uncombed hair, her bare feet.
When she isn't sleeping, sometimes it's because she's woken up from a nightmare. She is silent in this too -- a quick breath of an inhale before her eyes shine in the dimness for long, haunted moments.