３６４１１－ ᴛʏᴋᴇ × ᴛᴀʏʟᴏʀ ᴋᴇᴇ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
puppydogeyes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2012-07-13 02:22 pm
puppydogeyes) wrote in ataraxionlogs2012-07-13 02:22 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
CHARACTERS: Taylor "Tyke" Kee (puppydogeyes) and OPEN
LOCATION: Holodeck 1
WARNINGS: Swearing.
SUMMARY: Tyke + bottle of space vodka + cello. Not as destructive a mix as you might think.
The cello's been in Taylor's locker for a month now, appearing with a load of her clothes from the Academy on the last jump. She'd pulled a face at it, first finding it – taken the clothes and shut the door. The rest of the month had been enough to put it out of her mind, though she hadn't entirely forgotten it. It was an unwelcome reminder, tied way too closely to Instructor Pinset and everything she liked to say (and Taylor hadn't been able to ignore just how good her mind had been at cooking up the woman's voice when she was under the influence of that toxin shit), but ignoring it didn't do anything. It was still there, a month on, when Taylor went back to check her locker for anything new – something she didn't get to on her initial move out after the jump, Tommy helping her back to her room to recover from how the jumps liked to fuck her up.
It's still there, and she's tempted to pull another face at it and shut the door again, but she ends up standing at staring for a good long while instead. Stitches still in her shoulder and back, she's benched from security, from 'strenuous activity', and stir crazy didn't quite go far enough to cover how she's been feeling. Finding outlets where she could, even if it involved pulling the stitches once (twice), but she's been doing better on that since she gave in and hit the ship's stock of space alcohol.
The cello offered something to do, and she holds onto that, shakes off any of her resentment for the instrument or what it represented. Hauls it out of the locker, opening the case to check it over, but there's no way she's going to try any tuning or playing in the medbay. Way too public.
Half an hour later and she's made it to holodeck 1. Snagged a bottle of something clear and engine fuel flavoured on the way, programmed herself up a chair and settled the cello into position against her body. The two dogs she's got with her are in a half-doze a few metres away, undisturbed by her tuning the instrument, broken snatches of songs as she slowly reminds herself how to play.
[[OOC: feel free to have characters hear the music and come investigate or whatever! Opener is prose but I prefer action tags, thanks.]]
puppydogeyes) and OPENLOCATION: Holodeck 1
WARNINGS: Swearing.
SUMMARY: Tyke + bottle of space vodka + cello. Not as destructive a mix as you might think.
The cello's been in Taylor's locker for a month now, appearing with a load of her clothes from the Academy on the last jump. She'd pulled a face at it, first finding it – taken the clothes and shut the door. The rest of the month had been enough to put it out of her mind, though she hadn't entirely forgotten it. It was an unwelcome reminder, tied way too closely to Instructor Pinset and everything she liked to say (and Taylor hadn't been able to ignore just how good her mind had been at cooking up the woman's voice when she was under the influence of that toxin shit), but ignoring it didn't do anything. It was still there, a month on, when Taylor went back to check her locker for anything new – something she didn't get to on her initial move out after the jump, Tommy helping her back to her room to recover from how the jumps liked to fuck her up.
It's still there, and she's tempted to pull another face at it and shut the door again, but she ends up standing at staring for a good long while instead. Stitches still in her shoulder and back, she's benched from security, from 'strenuous activity', and stir crazy didn't quite go far enough to cover how she's been feeling. Finding outlets where she could, even if it involved pulling the stitches once (twice), but she's been doing better on that since she gave in and hit the ship's stock of space alcohol.
The cello offered something to do, and she holds onto that, shakes off any of her resentment for the instrument or what it represented. Hauls it out of the locker, opening the case to check it over, but there's no way she's going to try any tuning or playing in the medbay. Way too public.
Half an hour later and she's made it to holodeck 1. Snagged a bottle of something clear and engine fuel flavoured on the way, programmed herself up a chair and settled the cello into position against her body. The two dogs she's got with her are in a half-doze a few metres away, undisturbed by her tuning the instrument, broken snatches of songs as she slowly reminds herself how to play.
[[OOC: feel free to have characters hear the music and come investigate or whatever! Opener is prose but I prefer action tags, thanks.]]
no subject
[ Taking a healthy swig from the bottle, Oxford immediately remembers why he gave up drinking anything outside gin, scotch and wine on a regular basis long ago. The burn in his throat is unpleasant, and he winces as it goes down, but there's something oddly cleansing about it in the midst of all the discomfort. Running his tongue over his teeth, he merely looks at the bottle in hand for a long moment before he speaks again, his eyes on the cello. ]
May I ask what prompted this?
no subject
Won't let me run patrols. [A shrug. Her arms and shoulders are bare except for the slim straps of the shirt she's wearing, white against the black stitching run through the healing bite circling one shoulder.] Been climbing the fucking walls.