Fun RP Installment I
Oct. 24th, 2005 07:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormLong, possibly only interesting to me.
Volaya, Angstmeister:
Crew Quarters
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The narrow passage opens up into a small wardroom. The space is ingeniously outfitted, the furniture and surfaces configured to serve either under nominal local gravity conditions, or that provided by the freighter's own acceleration. Furthermore the room is done in a light-grained wood panelling with brass accents and fittings. Flanking the wardroom are a set of personal sleeping niches, with each empty bunk module containing a bed with built in cabinetry and storage lockers. One of these sleeping compartments has been emptied of its normal furnishings and not sports a nautilus-style exercise machine bolted sturdily to the floor and ceiling in a gravity-from-ventral style. Forward, a fresher unit is located portside, while to the starboard is a complicated wall of intricate machinery and electronics that makes up the ship's kitchenette (+kitchen). The room is softly illuminated, gentle light flowating down from coves recessed into the dorsal and side wall framing. The deckplates have a brass sheen to them and are sturdy and and diamond gridded, providing a bright if utilitarian finish to the space.
...........................................................................
She's always in here, and in here she is, scanning a datapad with a negligent slouching posture from her bunk. She's back in her original clothing, green light pouring from her tattooed skin.
Wiendrbac slowly handwalks into the crew room from the open aft doorway, arms trembling slightly from exertion.
Volaya glances, flickers a citrusy orange, doubletakes. Her grin is grudging but lacks that tight edge it has had so often in the past. "Jack, Captain and escaped acrobat. Yeah, can you do a flip?"
Wiendrbac slowly sets his feet down, rubbing at his arm. "Yeah, can do. I'm a regular ship-flyin' monkey." He scratches at his head, and under his arms, making oohing and awking sounds usually heard from the (now endangered) Earth subspecies chimpanzee. "How ya doin', Sunshine?"
Volaya stares blankly at the man for a moment. "I'm low on milkshakes, but okay. Um, you?"
"Dandy. I had a man with a thirty million bounty offer to kick my ass, and then buy me, uhhh.. three drinks. Good times." Wiendrbac saids, looking around the ship, then focusing back on Volaya. "I decided on what I wanted, tattoo wise."
"Did you get the guy?" Volaya asks, the green in her aura brightening towards lime. She sets the datapad down.
"No. The bounty had been frozen long time ago." Wiendrbac saids. "Sides.. don't think I had much of a chance, what with him in Marine Armor... with an assault rifle, with four buddies with him... I did get slightly tipsy though. Disappointed, yeah?"
"Yeah. What a wuss. Did he have a blocker?" Volaya asks, her tone really rather dismissive.
"Yeah." Wiendrbac saids with an amused chuckle. "He actully did. Anyway, whatcha' been doing?"
"Well, I've been thinking about those. What ink do you want?" the Light Singer asks, ignoring the question.
Wiendrbac moves forward, "Well, I know it's kinda wierd.. and it's personal for ya, so if it's not cool... well, that's cool, yeah?" He points to her bared shoulder. "I'm really partial to that, actully."
Absolute stillness for a second, the aura snapping off as is habitual when Volaya freezes up like that. Her mouth forms a perfectly straight line. Toneless, the 'Singer asks, "the whole thing, or just part?"
"Well... Just one shoulder." Wiendrbac responds, rubbing at the back of his neck. "If it's trouble, Sunshine.. really, you don't gotta."
"Which pieces? This is all one piece. I could style something similar that had the loose ends wrapped up neatly. Do you want it to cover her name?" Volaya asks flatly.
Wiendrbac places hands to his throat, considering. "Yeah, I think that's best." The La Terran waves it around his neck, right part of his chest, and shoulder. "Maybe a similiar design in just this area, ya know what I'm sayin'."
Volaya's smile is fractional. "It's getting bigger, Jack. That's not just the arm. Did you sleep with Arianna before you got the tattoo, too?"
"Maybe it's envy. Maybe I should just go for the full body art, yeah?" Wiendrbac quirks an eyebrow, a slight flush rising to his skin at the question. "Well, yeah. I'm not 'that' desperate, ya know."
"Well, I might," Volaya says, tapping the side of her head lightly, "but I was too polite to know. You haven't slept with me yet. Does that mean you're getting more desperate?"
Wiendrbac sighs, slumping down on his bunk. "Knew askin' you was a bad idea."
"I don't want to get into something I don't understand," Volaya says tonelessly, "most people don't get inks identical to someone they've known a week. You just want cover?"
Wiendrbac waves it off, "Nevermind, jesus. Forget I asked. Just liked the look of it."
"I don't forget things, Jack," Volaya says, heaviness breaking through her voice. She frowns a second, her aura still dimmed, and then suddenly pushes up to stand in the space between the two bunks. "I usually tell people to come with their own designs. I don't do regrettable inks, and people regret that kind of impulse."
"Gotcha." Wiendrbac saids. "What do you suggest then. Ink-removal work, or can it be covered?"
"I can cover it for you easy," Volaya says. She reaches out her hand very slowly, the gesture rusty and forgotten, to place it on the back of the Captain's neck. It seems like she's gentling an animal, but of course there's no animal to be seen. "It's better covered. Then it's there and you remember, instead of erasing it."
Wiendrbac ignores the hand for a moment, then nods. "Thanks. I like that suggestion, pretty much sums up what my thoughts are." He offers a crooked, sardonic smile. "Trust me enough yet to give me a real name, Sunshine?"
Her aura leaks a little bit, gold spilling out of her palm where the rest of her remains dark. Volaya scowls at the captain, and asks, "do you care, Jack? And why? It won't mean anything to you."
"Sure it would. I invited you on the ship, fed you, let you use the refresher unit, even dealt with the slightly disturbing joking threats about mindraping. I don't think it's that much to ask in return for my generosity. Com'on, Not like I'm gonna voodoo you or anythin'." Wiendrbac saids, glancing up from his seated position.
It's the most exquisitely tentative motion ever; Volaya slides the hand forward, lifting, fingertips trailing along the man's jaw. "Why do you care what it is?" she says quietly.
Wiendrbac reaches up, grabbing the hand, trapping it. Not a harsh movement, but gentle, slowly pulling it from his face. "Because I like to refer to my friends as something more then a juvenile nickname, yeah?"
Volaya's hand is trapped, utterly quiescent, gold dying down to white skin. "A week," she says, "I'm not your friend, Jack. I'm your mistake." Her eyes dart, down, left, right, down.
"You've really had it rough, huh?" Wiendrbac releases the hand, looking away. "Consider yourself whatever you like, and I'll call ya what I like. If I didn't like you, you wouldn't be here." He slowly stands up, knees popping with the sudden movement.
Volaya's head snaps up, her hand falls limply. A quick red torrent pours out of her skin, blood-coloured, an orangey flare marked with flecks of deepest navy blue. "Before Sanctuary," she says, and then stops as if it were a sentence.
Wiendrbac turns slowly to Volaya, studying the aura and the person from which it emenates thoughtfully, then moves forward in a move that may be ill-considered considering the subject's surly demeanor. He attempts to wrap her up into a hug.
All she does is stiffen, the almost-predictable orange of surprise lancing through the air around her and then, instead of shutting down, changing... it's quick eyeblink's worth of colours, golds and reds and dark sludgy green-blues and then a quick white flash that leaves behind it a humming, tense golden peach. Physically she doesn't acknowledge the gesture, just standing, a statue within the embrace. "Go look it up," she says, her voice only marginally unsteady, "what we did. Look it up, then come back and do that."
Wiendrbac releases slowly, taking a step back, looking up at the taller Vollistan. He survived another day. "Who's we?"
"You're not *that* stupid," Volaya says, her voice laden with contempt almost heavy enough to mask that uneasiness. There, across her aura, a corrosive acid green smear matches the tone.
Wiendrbac grimaces, "Well, you told me to look it up. I don't even know your name to look it up 'on'." He stops, scratching at his chin. "I think you're just tryin' to hide behind your tough girl, iron woman act, so you don't get hurt again."
"You have figured out that I'm a Vollistan by now, right?" thr girl asks, sarcasm still dripping.
"Yes." Wiendrbac saids, frowning at her. "What's that gotta do with anything?"
"Well, helps your research," she returns quickly, hands going to her hips.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Wiendrbac saids, arms crossing over his chest. "Why don't you just give me your stupid name?"
"Why don't you give me my stupid name," Volaya says, a little bit of a sardonic smile lacing her mouth upwards at the corners. "You know enough know. There weren't that many of us on Sanc."
Wiendrbac glares at the Vollistan for a second, brows down, furrows in his forehead, classic annoyed posture. "You're a god damn obtuse irritating glowie, you know that? A real man would kick you out of his house and dust his hands off."
Volaya actually laughs, leaning forward a little, red sparkling high on her skin. "And what are you?" she asks, her hands on her hips still, "a fake man? An alien-lover hoping for a fuck? A pet sanctuary? If you want to fucking straight across trade my name for use of a bunk, just tell me. Cut the poor-little-girl bullshit."
"Fuck yo-" Wiendrbac stops, throwing a coy smile. "Oh, I see what this is. Now you're tryin' to piss me off instead of actin' tough. Never let it said you weren't clever, Sunshine." He taps his head, "I'm not as stupid as you think I am either, though. You're right, I'll just pull Sanctuary's roster up, and match you."
"I don't fuck aliens," Volaya says, her tone quick and automatic. Her aura shuts down, furling into darkness again. "You do that. I'm going to have a shower." She turns, slouching in the direction of the refresher slowly.
"Fine, I will!" Wiendrbac yells at her back, after the door is already closed, just standing in the room for a moment. Then whap. He slaps his face. "That went well, nice work, Jack."
The 'fresher door SLAMS, and then three seconds later or so it cracks open a touch. After a second, steam begins to billow militantly out.
Wiendrbac sits down in his bunk, plunks his head down into his head, and pulls out a datapad. Looks like he's doing what he said he was, looking for any records of Sanctuary's Vollistan refugees.
There are actually a large number of Vollistan refugees. Most of them were interrogators for the Nall, although a few were freedom fighters, and the vast majority lived in a small town called Beacon on Sanctuary. Not many from the actual planet made it onto the ship.
Wiendrbac frowns thoughtfully, scanning the interrogator list first, thumbs moving instinctively.
There are a surprising number of interrogators, overall. The ages on the forms are twenty to three hundred, the names a neat list of Vol-s, the genders rather neatly divided m/f. The list of those who volunteered their former career to be interrogators is perhaps three hundred long.
Wiendrbac sighs, saving the list, and thinking. Then he types in a request for that D-Fellow, hoping a connection can be made between the two, cutting down on time spent.
There are fewer Davians than Interrogators, by far. Fewer yet older than fifteen; the list is only perhaps ten people long. Davian Hendrickson. Davian Swiftwater. Davian Bruce. Davian Lau.
"God dammit." Wiendrbac saids, thinking back. "Ummmm, what was that guy's name..." He shrugs, and begans to scan all the profiles, whistling a tune as steam begans to filter into the room.
Janitor, 45, married, human. Underwater basketweaver, 18, single, Qua. Unemployed, sixteen, single, human. Psychiatrist and interventions counsellor, 56, single, human, assigned to covert rehabilitation in Beacon.
Wiendrbac stops at the last one, the covert rehabiliation in Beacon. He brings up the name, studying it, reading through it more carefully. "Sounds like the best match..."
There's really not much information there. Davian Lau, a mildly asian-looking man with white hair, 56 at the time of Sanctuary's departure, was employed by Sanctuary's health staff. Beyond that... nothing.
Wiendrbac sighs, backing up, scratching at his head helplessly. Then he gets a bright idea. He prompts a command for medical history for any Vollistan's during the sanctuary trip, going on the hope that it's not classified or lost information.
Swiftfoot pads into the room from the airlock, obviously distracted. Upon spotting Wiendrbac, she looks away quickly. "Evening."
"Evenin' Swifty." Wiendrbac replies, still typing into the datapad. "Enjoyin' U-999's local.. uhh, flavor?"
Swiftfoot shrugs noncomittally. "Somethin like that." Her gaze remains purposely averted as she flops down on a bunk.
Wiendrbac's terminal streams away, text flowing across the screen with the occasional image. Hundreds of Vollistans were through medbay during the trip-- oddly enough, there were over a thousand total entries involving forcible medical restraint and sedation.
Wiendrbac frowns at the total entries of restraint and sedation, "The hell..." He enters the list, going through it, looking for any names that stand out as repeats.
Swiftfoot swivels an ear in Wiendrbac's direction, but doesn't look over that way. "Something wrrong?"
"Just goin' over some old files from Sanctuary, tryin' to figure out Sunshine... pretty disturbin' crap. Gotta long list here of Vollistans suffering from sedation and forced restraint."
Swiftfoot nods and falls silent for a moment. This time, she actually glances up at Jack. "Can we talk laterr? When you'rre not busy, that is."
A name will never repeat with that particular complaint more than three times on the list-- many show up on day one, day two, and then day three of the flight, never to return to those records. "Severe culture shock," the reports read, "indoctrination" "poor behaviour modelling" "uncontrolled environment" "attention-seeking behaviour" "severe guilt" "severe anger" "habituation to violence"... there is variation on the phrases, but they do share a set of themes.
"Sure." Wiendrbac answers with a brief glance up and over at Swift, quirking a brow, then back to the screen. "Huh... I'm stumped. Uhhhh, well.. damn." Wiendrbac is sitting on a bunk, going over something, Swiftfoot nearby. The refresher is running, steam slowly filtering into the room from the small crack. "Maybe..." He goes picks a name that was checked by with his good ole pyschiatrist the most often, going from that list, as people start filling in.
Swiftfoot nods. "Good enough forr me." She shifts, trying to get comfortable, which just doesn't seem to be happening.
Davian, as an 'officially unaffiliated' counsellor, has no patient list in the records. In fact, it's hard to tell exactly what he did. His place of residence seems to have been Beacon.
Jared comes walking towards the front, "A few ships have been comin' in pretty recently." He says with a little shrug, "Think it's gettin' pretty close to the meeting time."
Newt asks, "Who're we meetin'?"
Wiendrbac nods absently at the Jared, "Waitin' for Sunshine to get 'er stupid shower over with.. then guess we go to the bar to hang out, and hope Hanky shows up. If you guys like, you can go ahead and we'll catch up." He puts in another command prompt, saving the page, then puts in a search prompt for 'tattooing Vollistan Davian'.
Swiftfoot yawns widely and stretches, giving up on comfort and hopping up from the bunk.
Jared makes his way back towards the Refresher, tapping on the door, "Hey Sunny. Get some clothes on, time to go play."
Steam continues to creep out the thinly-cracked door to the 'fresher. The water continues to gush behind it noisily. Green light even spills through, illuminating the mist with an eerie glow. Jared's knock is unanswered.
Apparently, Vollistans tattoo a lot. All across the universe, tattooed people named Davian do a drug called the 'Vollistan mindblow'. And someone named Volaya, trained by one Davian Lau, advertised her tattooing services widely about three years ago for a brief time. The ads still linger in odd corners.
Wiendrbac frowns at the advertisement, saving it to his PDA, the poor machines getting a lotta work today. "Leave 'er be. She's in a mood right now." He tracks the Volaya name, since it seems to work, sending it through an image request.
Volaya images are easy to find, and easy to recognise-- there she is, in a tank top and hiking shorts, smiling easily as an advertisement for her own services. The tattooes are unmistakable.
Wiendrbac lets out a weary sigh, rubbing at his forehead. "That's our, Sunny disposition alright." He stands up, sliding the PDA into his pocket, heading for the doorway. "Volaya! Get your bum outta there, we're headin' to the bar."
Swiftfoot scratches behind one ear and looks around. Her tail flicks idly. "Any of you think this joker is rreally going to show up?" She snorts.
Newt just... oogles a bit, keeping quiet.
"It's Vol*ay*a," the Vollistan shouts from the 'fresher, the water shutting off abruptly, "not Vol*i*a. If you're stalking me get it right!" Still, the door doesn't open.
Jared nods his head, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he will. Probably not the kinda guy we wanna keep waiting, could give the work off to some other crew or somethin." He replies with a little shrug.
"Come on, jesus, Vol-ay-a." Wiendrbac saids through the door. "We've seriously gotta go if we wanna meet up with this Hanky dude."
Swiftfoot nods at Jared in assent and starts towards the hatch.
This time it's evident that the shout is coming from lips pressed up against the hatch. "He's not in here. Why do you want me? If he doesn't have a blocker, don't do business."
Jared casts a glance over at Wiendrbac, "Maybe a couple of us should go ahead and see what we can figure out while we wait on Sunny?" he suggests, starting over towards the hatch.
Newt looks between Jared and Jack and says, "I could come with."
Swiftfoot shrugs and flicks an ear. "Whateverr we do, we should prrobably hurry it along."
Wiendrbac stares at the door as the others move away, "You sure you don't wanna come with?"
Jared calls back, "Seeya at the bar." He says to Jack as he steps into the airlock.
Newt follows along since noone objected.
Swiftfoot snorts, casts a furtive glance back at Jack, and out the hatch she goes.
Volaya opens the door rather suddenly. Steam billows out, revealing a slightly steam-damped but still fully-clothed Vollistan sans aura. "Yeah, well, do you want me to come with?" she asks.
"Jesus, just come on, Voly. You can get yourself a drink." Wiendrbac turns away from the door. "You're somethin', ya know that?"
"Not much of an invite. And something *what*?" the tattooed girl asks, following casually along.
Wiendrbac rolls his eyes, ducking through the hatch.
Volaya, Angstmeister:
Crew Quarters
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The narrow passage opens up into a small wardroom. The space is ingeniously outfitted, the furniture and surfaces configured to serve either under nominal local gravity conditions, or that provided by the freighter's own acceleration. Furthermore the room is done in a light-grained wood panelling with brass accents and fittings. Flanking the wardroom are a set of personal sleeping niches, with each empty bunk module containing a bed with built in cabinetry and storage lockers. One of these sleeping compartments has been emptied of its normal furnishings and not sports a nautilus-style exercise machine bolted sturdily to the floor and ceiling in a gravity-from-ventral style. Forward, a fresher unit is located portside, while to the starboard is a complicated wall of intricate machinery and electronics that makes up the ship's kitchenette (+kitchen). The room is softly illuminated, gentle light flowating down from coves recessed into the dorsal and side wall framing. The deckplates have a brass sheen to them and are sturdy and and diamond gridded, providing a bright if utilitarian finish to the space.
...........................................................................
She's always in here, and in here she is, scanning a datapad with a negligent slouching posture from her bunk. She's back in her original clothing, green light pouring from her tattooed skin.
Wiendrbac slowly handwalks into the crew room from the open aft doorway, arms trembling slightly from exertion.
Volaya glances, flickers a citrusy orange, doubletakes. Her grin is grudging but lacks that tight edge it has had so often in the past. "Jack, Captain and escaped acrobat. Yeah, can you do a flip?"
Wiendrbac slowly sets his feet down, rubbing at his arm. "Yeah, can do. I'm a regular ship-flyin' monkey." He scratches at his head, and under his arms, making oohing and awking sounds usually heard from the (now endangered) Earth subspecies chimpanzee. "How ya doin', Sunshine?"
Volaya stares blankly at the man for a moment. "I'm low on milkshakes, but okay. Um, you?"
"Dandy. I had a man with a thirty million bounty offer to kick my ass, and then buy me, uhhh.. three drinks. Good times." Wiendrbac saids, looking around the ship, then focusing back on Volaya. "I decided on what I wanted, tattoo wise."
"Did you get the guy?" Volaya asks, the green in her aura brightening towards lime. She sets the datapad down.
"No. The bounty had been frozen long time ago." Wiendrbac saids. "Sides.. don't think I had much of a chance, what with him in Marine Armor... with an assault rifle, with four buddies with him... I did get slightly tipsy though. Disappointed, yeah?"
"Yeah. What a wuss. Did he have a blocker?" Volaya asks, her tone really rather dismissive.
"Yeah." Wiendrbac saids with an amused chuckle. "He actully did. Anyway, whatcha' been doing?"
"Well, I've been thinking about those. What ink do you want?" the Light Singer asks, ignoring the question.
Wiendrbac moves forward, "Well, I know it's kinda wierd.. and it's personal for ya, so if it's not cool... well, that's cool, yeah?" He points to her bared shoulder. "I'm really partial to that, actully."
Absolute stillness for a second, the aura snapping off as is habitual when Volaya freezes up like that. Her mouth forms a perfectly straight line. Toneless, the 'Singer asks, "the whole thing, or just part?"
"Well... Just one shoulder." Wiendrbac responds, rubbing at the back of his neck. "If it's trouble, Sunshine.. really, you don't gotta."
"Which pieces? This is all one piece. I could style something similar that had the loose ends wrapped up neatly. Do you want it to cover her name?" Volaya asks flatly.
Wiendrbac places hands to his throat, considering. "Yeah, I think that's best." The La Terran waves it around his neck, right part of his chest, and shoulder. "Maybe a similiar design in just this area, ya know what I'm sayin'."
Volaya's smile is fractional. "It's getting bigger, Jack. That's not just the arm. Did you sleep with Arianna before you got the tattoo, too?"
"Maybe it's envy. Maybe I should just go for the full body art, yeah?" Wiendrbac quirks an eyebrow, a slight flush rising to his skin at the question. "Well, yeah. I'm not 'that' desperate, ya know."
"Well, I might," Volaya says, tapping the side of her head lightly, "but I was too polite to know. You haven't slept with me yet. Does that mean you're getting more desperate?"
Wiendrbac sighs, slumping down on his bunk. "Knew askin' you was a bad idea."
"I don't want to get into something I don't understand," Volaya says tonelessly, "most people don't get inks identical to someone they've known a week. You just want cover?"
Wiendrbac waves it off, "Nevermind, jesus. Forget I asked. Just liked the look of it."
"I don't forget things, Jack," Volaya says, heaviness breaking through her voice. She frowns a second, her aura still dimmed, and then suddenly pushes up to stand in the space between the two bunks. "I usually tell people to come with their own designs. I don't do regrettable inks, and people regret that kind of impulse."
"Gotcha." Wiendrbac saids. "What do you suggest then. Ink-removal work, or can it be covered?"
"I can cover it for you easy," Volaya says. She reaches out her hand very slowly, the gesture rusty and forgotten, to place it on the back of the Captain's neck. It seems like she's gentling an animal, but of course there's no animal to be seen. "It's better covered. Then it's there and you remember, instead of erasing it."
Wiendrbac ignores the hand for a moment, then nods. "Thanks. I like that suggestion, pretty much sums up what my thoughts are." He offers a crooked, sardonic smile. "Trust me enough yet to give me a real name, Sunshine?"
Her aura leaks a little bit, gold spilling out of her palm where the rest of her remains dark. Volaya scowls at the captain, and asks, "do you care, Jack? And why? It won't mean anything to you."
"Sure it would. I invited you on the ship, fed you, let you use the refresher unit, even dealt with the slightly disturbing joking threats about mindraping. I don't think it's that much to ask in return for my generosity. Com'on, Not like I'm gonna voodoo you or anythin'." Wiendrbac saids, glancing up from his seated position.
It's the most exquisitely tentative motion ever; Volaya slides the hand forward, lifting, fingertips trailing along the man's jaw. "Why do you care what it is?" she says quietly.
Wiendrbac reaches up, grabbing the hand, trapping it. Not a harsh movement, but gentle, slowly pulling it from his face. "Because I like to refer to my friends as something more then a juvenile nickname, yeah?"
Volaya's hand is trapped, utterly quiescent, gold dying down to white skin. "A week," she says, "I'm not your friend, Jack. I'm your mistake." Her eyes dart, down, left, right, down.
"You've really had it rough, huh?" Wiendrbac releases the hand, looking away. "Consider yourself whatever you like, and I'll call ya what I like. If I didn't like you, you wouldn't be here." He slowly stands up, knees popping with the sudden movement.
Volaya's head snaps up, her hand falls limply. A quick red torrent pours out of her skin, blood-coloured, an orangey flare marked with flecks of deepest navy blue. "Before Sanctuary," she says, and then stops as if it were a sentence.
Wiendrbac turns slowly to Volaya, studying the aura and the person from which it emenates thoughtfully, then moves forward in a move that may be ill-considered considering the subject's surly demeanor. He attempts to wrap her up into a hug.
All she does is stiffen, the almost-predictable orange of surprise lancing through the air around her and then, instead of shutting down, changing... it's quick eyeblink's worth of colours, golds and reds and dark sludgy green-blues and then a quick white flash that leaves behind it a humming, tense golden peach. Physically she doesn't acknowledge the gesture, just standing, a statue within the embrace. "Go look it up," she says, her voice only marginally unsteady, "what we did. Look it up, then come back and do that."
Wiendrbac releases slowly, taking a step back, looking up at the taller Vollistan. He survived another day. "Who's we?"
"You're not *that* stupid," Volaya says, her voice laden with contempt almost heavy enough to mask that uneasiness. There, across her aura, a corrosive acid green smear matches the tone.
Wiendrbac grimaces, "Well, you told me to look it up. I don't even know your name to look it up 'on'." He stops, scratching at his chin. "I think you're just tryin' to hide behind your tough girl, iron woman act, so you don't get hurt again."
"You have figured out that I'm a Vollistan by now, right?" thr girl asks, sarcasm still dripping.
"Yes." Wiendrbac saids, frowning at her. "What's that gotta do with anything?"
"Well, helps your research," she returns quickly, hands going to her hips.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Wiendrbac saids, arms crossing over his chest. "Why don't you just give me your stupid name?"
"Why don't you give me my stupid name," Volaya says, a little bit of a sardonic smile lacing her mouth upwards at the corners. "You know enough know. There weren't that many of us on Sanc."
Wiendrbac glares at the Vollistan for a second, brows down, furrows in his forehead, classic annoyed posture. "You're a god damn obtuse irritating glowie, you know that? A real man would kick you out of his house and dust his hands off."
Volaya actually laughs, leaning forward a little, red sparkling high on her skin. "And what are you?" she asks, her hands on her hips still, "a fake man? An alien-lover hoping for a fuck? A pet sanctuary? If you want to fucking straight across trade my name for use of a bunk, just tell me. Cut the poor-little-girl bullshit."
"Fuck yo-" Wiendrbac stops, throwing a coy smile. "Oh, I see what this is. Now you're tryin' to piss me off instead of actin' tough. Never let it said you weren't clever, Sunshine." He taps his head, "I'm not as stupid as you think I am either, though. You're right, I'll just pull Sanctuary's roster up, and match you."
"I don't fuck aliens," Volaya says, her tone quick and automatic. Her aura shuts down, furling into darkness again. "You do that. I'm going to have a shower." She turns, slouching in the direction of the refresher slowly.
"Fine, I will!" Wiendrbac yells at her back, after the door is already closed, just standing in the room for a moment. Then whap. He slaps his face. "That went well, nice work, Jack."
The 'fresher door SLAMS, and then three seconds later or so it cracks open a touch. After a second, steam begins to billow militantly out.
Wiendrbac sits down in his bunk, plunks his head down into his head, and pulls out a datapad. Looks like he's doing what he said he was, looking for any records of Sanctuary's Vollistan refugees.
There are actually a large number of Vollistan refugees. Most of them were interrogators for the Nall, although a few were freedom fighters, and the vast majority lived in a small town called Beacon on Sanctuary. Not many from the actual planet made it onto the ship.
Wiendrbac frowns thoughtfully, scanning the interrogator list first, thumbs moving instinctively.
There are a surprising number of interrogators, overall. The ages on the forms are twenty to three hundred, the names a neat list of Vol-s, the genders rather neatly divided m/f. The list of those who volunteered their former career to be interrogators is perhaps three hundred long.
Wiendrbac sighs, saving the list, and thinking. Then he types in a request for that D-Fellow, hoping a connection can be made between the two, cutting down on time spent.
There are fewer Davians than Interrogators, by far. Fewer yet older than fifteen; the list is only perhaps ten people long. Davian Hendrickson. Davian Swiftwater. Davian Bruce. Davian Lau.
"God dammit." Wiendrbac saids, thinking back. "Ummmm, what was that guy's name..." He shrugs, and begans to scan all the profiles, whistling a tune as steam begans to filter into the room.
Janitor, 45, married, human. Underwater basketweaver, 18, single, Qua. Unemployed, sixteen, single, human. Psychiatrist and interventions counsellor, 56, single, human, assigned to covert rehabilitation in Beacon.
Wiendrbac stops at the last one, the covert rehabiliation in Beacon. He brings up the name, studying it, reading through it more carefully. "Sounds like the best match..."
There's really not much information there. Davian Lau, a mildly asian-looking man with white hair, 56 at the time of Sanctuary's departure, was employed by Sanctuary's health staff. Beyond that... nothing.
Wiendrbac sighs, backing up, scratching at his head helplessly. Then he gets a bright idea. He prompts a command for medical history for any Vollistan's during the sanctuary trip, going on the hope that it's not classified or lost information.
Swiftfoot pads into the room from the airlock, obviously distracted. Upon spotting Wiendrbac, she looks away quickly. "Evening."
"Evenin' Swifty." Wiendrbac replies, still typing into the datapad. "Enjoyin' U-999's local.. uhh, flavor?"
Swiftfoot shrugs noncomittally. "Somethin like that." Her gaze remains purposely averted as she flops down on a bunk.
Wiendrbac's terminal streams away, text flowing across the screen with the occasional image. Hundreds of Vollistans were through medbay during the trip-- oddly enough, there were over a thousand total entries involving forcible medical restraint and sedation.
Wiendrbac frowns at the total entries of restraint and sedation, "The hell..." He enters the list, going through it, looking for any names that stand out as repeats.
Swiftfoot swivels an ear in Wiendrbac's direction, but doesn't look over that way. "Something wrrong?"
"Just goin' over some old files from Sanctuary, tryin' to figure out Sunshine... pretty disturbin' crap. Gotta long list here of Vollistans suffering from sedation and forced restraint."
Swiftfoot nods and falls silent for a moment. This time, she actually glances up at Jack. "Can we talk laterr? When you'rre not busy, that is."
A name will never repeat with that particular complaint more than three times on the list-- many show up on day one, day two, and then day three of the flight, never to return to those records. "Severe culture shock," the reports read, "indoctrination" "poor behaviour modelling" "uncontrolled environment" "attention-seeking behaviour" "severe guilt" "severe anger" "habituation to violence"... there is variation on the phrases, but they do share a set of themes.
"Sure." Wiendrbac answers with a brief glance up and over at Swift, quirking a brow, then back to the screen. "Huh... I'm stumped. Uhhhh, well.. damn." Wiendrbac is sitting on a bunk, going over something, Swiftfoot nearby. The refresher is running, steam slowly filtering into the room from the small crack. "Maybe..." He goes picks a name that was checked by with his good ole pyschiatrist the most often, going from that list, as people start filling in.
Swiftfoot nods. "Good enough forr me." She shifts, trying to get comfortable, which just doesn't seem to be happening.
Davian, as an 'officially unaffiliated' counsellor, has no patient list in the records. In fact, it's hard to tell exactly what he did. His place of residence seems to have been Beacon.
Jared comes walking towards the front, "A few ships have been comin' in pretty recently." He says with a little shrug, "Think it's gettin' pretty close to the meeting time."
Newt asks, "Who're we meetin'?"
Wiendrbac nods absently at the Jared, "Waitin' for Sunshine to get 'er stupid shower over with.. then guess we go to the bar to hang out, and hope Hanky shows up. If you guys like, you can go ahead and we'll catch up." He puts in another command prompt, saving the page, then puts in a search prompt for 'tattooing Vollistan Davian'.
Swiftfoot yawns widely and stretches, giving up on comfort and hopping up from the bunk.
Jared makes his way back towards the Refresher, tapping on the door, "Hey Sunny. Get some clothes on, time to go play."
Steam continues to creep out the thinly-cracked door to the 'fresher. The water continues to gush behind it noisily. Green light even spills through, illuminating the mist with an eerie glow. Jared's knock is unanswered.
Apparently, Vollistans tattoo a lot. All across the universe, tattooed people named Davian do a drug called the 'Vollistan mindblow'. And someone named Volaya, trained by one Davian Lau, advertised her tattooing services widely about three years ago for a brief time. The ads still linger in odd corners.
Wiendrbac frowns at the advertisement, saving it to his PDA, the poor machines getting a lotta work today. "Leave 'er be. She's in a mood right now." He tracks the Volaya name, since it seems to work, sending it through an image request.
Volaya images are easy to find, and easy to recognise-- there she is, in a tank top and hiking shorts, smiling easily as an advertisement for her own services. The tattooes are unmistakable.
Wiendrbac lets out a weary sigh, rubbing at his forehead. "That's our, Sunny disposition alright." He stands up, sliding the PDA into his pocket, heading for the doorway. "Volaya! Get your bum outta there, we're headin' to the bar."
Swiftfoot scratches behind one ear and looks around. Her tail flicks idly. "Any of you think this joker is rreally going to show up?" She snorts.
Newt just... oogles a bit, keeping quiet.
"It's Vol*ay*a," the Vollistan shouts from the 'fresher, the water shutting off abruptly, "not Vol*i*a. If you're stalking me get it right!" Still, the door doesn't open.
Jared nods his head, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he will. Probably not the kinda guy we wanna keep waiting, could give the work off to some other crew or somethin." He replies with a little shrug.
"Come on, jesus, Vol-ay-a." Wiendrbac saids through the door. "We've seriously gotta go if we wanna meet up with this Hanky dude."
Swiftfoot nods at Jared in assent and starts towards the hatch.
This time it's evident that the shout is coming from lips pressed up against the hatch. "He's not in here. Why do you want me? If he doesn't have a blocker, don't do business."
Jared casts a glance over at Wiendrbac, "Maybe a couple of us should go ahead and see what we can figure out while we wait on Sunny?" he suggests, starting over towards the hatch.
Newt looks between Jared and Jack and says, "I could come with."
Swiftfoot shrugs and flicks an ear. "Whateverr we do, we should prrobably hurry it along."
Wiendrbac stares at the door as the others move away, "You sure you don't wanna come with?"
Jared calls back, "Seeya at the bar." He says to Jack as he steps into the airlock.
Newt follows along since noone objected.
Swiftfoot snorts, casts a furtive glance back at Jack, and out the hatch she goes.
Volaya opens the door rather suddenly. Steam billows out, revealing a slightly steam-damped but still fully-clothed Vollistan sans aura. "Yeah, well, do you want me to come with?" she asks.
"Jesus, just come on, Voly. You can get yourself a drink." Wiendrbac turns away from the door. "You're somethin', ya know that?"
"Not much of an invite. And something *what*?" the tattooed girl asks, following casually along.
Wiendrbac rolls his eyes, ducking through the hatch.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 06:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 08:39 am (UTC)This will probably not surprise you, but that was Denson-me. x3
no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 11:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 11:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:09 pm (UTC)And I suppose he's not as unplayable as I might make him out to be. He was, if anything, malleable in his own way. Perhaps... hm. I might bring him back yet.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:27 pm (UTC)I still have Chris, though, of all people. :3
no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:32 pm (UTC)I really loved Chris. Glad he's around. What's he doing?
no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:40 pm (UTC)The kid is like, 2 now.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 03:44 pm (UTC)It's a Vollistan two, though, so more like one and a half. There will be first steps and first words at about this time, but no full sentences.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 04:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-25 04:54 pm (UTC)