The Thorn [Closed] - Printable Version
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The Thorn [Closed] - Tindome - 08-21-2015
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The Thorn [Closed] - Tindome - 08-21-2015
Drunk.
Kreska was drunk. Kind of drunk. A little drunk. Just a little… kind of… a smidge drunk. Teensy little bit drunk.
The skybox was spinning. The colony was spinning? The gutter was spinning. Was she spinning? No. No, that would be stupid.
She needed to sleep off the whiskey. And the vodka. And the… oh, fuck. Did she have Krotazi wine? Why did she have Krotazi wine. A dare, probably. Fuck damn. Her mouth tasted like… firepennies. A ball of molten nickel, in her mouth. Could she call a car? She fumbled getting the tablet out of her pocket, and sent plats scattering onto the metal grate beneath her. She dropped the tablet to catch those, instead, cracking the corner of the screen as she scrambled to get the precious bits of metal back in her pockets.
Ha. That was right. She made money. Lotsa money. By being… awesome. Too awesome. Thus, grate. Yes. It was all becoming clear to her now. She squinted at her tablet. The letters swam more than was usual. She smacked gently at the screen to get the letters to stay still, and cut her thumb on the line of broken glass in the process.
No car. Bad. Bad wrong. Badong. She snorted. Who lived near here? Not Lio, posh fucker. Nova was no. Maybe if she whistled Onion would try to come get her anyway. She tried it, before giving up, covering her ears to protect them from the sound she'd made. Fuck. Definitely no Grilka. Ic? No. Do not want. Fate was fuckin'… ha. No. Unless she wanted to… crawl inside a computer. Or something. No letters no tablets no calls. Walking distance.
"Rocket!" she announced to no one, pleased. She drew herself generally upright with great effort, shoving her tablet back into her jacket. Her much abused, now repaired Jobari leather jacket. "Rock-rock-rocket-kit-kit-kit." That didn't really work as a song. She started climbing up a fire escape, boots slipping rather more than usual off of metal. Someone pinged her tablet, and she smacked her bracelet to make it stop, letting go of the ladder in the process so that she was hanging upside-down by her knees, back slamming into the rungs beneath her.
Was she upside-down? She was upside-down.
She swung herself upright, and the headrush almost made her vomit, making her laugh instead. She finished the climb, and started walking along the roof of the building. She squinted at her thumb, green blood running down into her palm. She licked her palm and stuck her thumb in her mouth, sucking on it as she walked wobbly down a pipe barely wider than her not-particularly-large feet. She popped the digit out of her mouth and splayed out both hands to catch her when she stumbled forward onto a different roof, landing on her stomach. "Rocky-rock-rock-kit-kit-kit." She got to her feet again, knee of her jeans scraped along with her palms.
Yes. Good. She remembered how to get there. Yes. Good.
She slid down a gutter on the side of a building, immediately landing on her ass. She kicked the gutter for revenge. It wasn't a long walk from there to Rocket's garage, and Kreska leaned against the wall outside as she squinted suspiciously at the lock.
Those numbers sure were moving a lot.
They were giving her a headache, actually, so she closed her eyes and tried to remember the general shape of the access code. Somehow, she successfully jabbed it in blind, stumbling inside.
Where for sleeps. Car? No. Maybe? No. What if Rocket gave it to someone? Sleeping Kreska secretly inside. No. Bad idea. Ships: same problems. No sleeping there. Loft. Lofty loft. Couch? What if someone came over? Sleeping Kreska on the couch, with company. Bad idea. Was there an extra room? Maybe. But. Had to be sure Rocket would know she was here. Because polite. Didn't want to wake her up. Fucking rude. Obvious solution was obvious. She let her jacket slide off her shoulders onto the floor, landing with a thunk because her tablet was still inside. She leaned against a wall as she kicked off her boots, attempting to walk at the same time, and somehow not falling. The last to go were her jeans, because sleeping in jeans was… uncomfortable. And weird. Weirdfortable. Badong.
With a yawn, she crawled into Rocket's bed.
Kreska was drunk. Kind of drunk. A little drunk. Just a little… kind of… a smidge drunk. Teensy little bit drunk.
The skybox was spinning. The colony was spinning? The gutter was spinning. Was she spinning? No. No, that would be stupid.
She needed to sleep off the whiskey. And the vodka. And the… oh, fuck. Did she have Krotazi wine? Why did she have Krotazi wine. A dare, probably. Fuck damn. Her mouth tasted like… firepennies. A ball of molten nickel, in her mouth. Could she call a car? She fumbled getting the tablet out of her pocket, and sent plats scattering onto the metal grate beneath her. She dropped the tablet to catch those, instead, cracking the corner of the screen as she scrambled to get the precious bits of metal back in her pockets.
Ha. That was right. She made money. Lotsa money. By being… awesome. Too awesome. Thus, grate. Yes. It was all becoming clear to her now. She squinted at her tablet. The letters swam more than was usual. She smacked gently at the screen to get the letters to stay still, and cut her thumb on the line of broken glass in the process.
No car. Bad. Bad wrong. Badong. She snorted. Who lived near here? Not Lio, posh fucker. Nova was no. Maybe if she whistled Onion would try to come get her anyway. She tried it, before giving up, covering her ears to protect them from the sound she'd made. Fuck. Definitely no Grilka. Ic? No. Do not want. Fate was fuckin'… ha. No. Unless she wanted to… crawl inside a computer. Or something. No letters no tablets no calls. Walking distance.
"Rocket!" she announced to no one, pleased. She drew herself generally upright with great effort, shoving her tablet back into her jacket. Her much abused, now repaired Jobari leather jacket. "Rock-rock-rocket-kit-kit-kit." That didn't really work as a song. She started climbing up a fire escape, boots slipping rather more than usual off of metal. Someone pinged her tablet, and she smacked her bracelet to make it stop, letting go of the ladder in the process so that she was hanging upside-down by her knees, back slamming into the rungs beneath her.
Was she upside-down? She was upside-down.
She swung herself upright, and the headrush almost made her vomit, making her laugh instead. She finished the climb, and started walking along the roof of the building. She squinted at her thumb, green blood running down into her palm. She licked her palm and stuck her thumb in her mouth, sucking on it as she walked wobbly down a pipe barely wider than her not-particularly-large feet. She popped the digit out of her mouth and splayed out both hands to catch her when she stumbled forward onto a different roof, landing on her stomach. "Rocky-rock-rock-kit-kit-kit." She got to her feet again, knee of her jeans scraped along with her palms.
Yes. Good. She remembered how to get there. Yes. Good.
She slid down a gutter on the side of a building, immediately landing on her ass. She kicked the gutter for revenge. It wasn't a long walk from there to Rocket's garage, and Kreska leaned against the wall outside as she squinted suspiciously at the lock.
Those numbers sure were moving a lot.
They were giving her a headache, actually, so she closed her eyes and tried to remember the general shape of the access code. Somehow, she successfully jabbed it in blind, stumbling inside.
Where for sleeps. Car? No. Maybe? No. What if Rocket gave it to someone? Sleeping Kreska secretly inside. No. Bad idea. Ships: same problems. No sleeping there. Loft. Lofty loft. Couch? What if someone came over? Sleeping Kreska on the couch, with company. Bad idea. Was there an extra room? Maybe. But. Had to be sure Rocket would know she was here. Because polite. Didn't want to wake her up. Fucking rude. Obvious solution was obvious. She let her jacket slide off her shoulders onto the floor, landing with a thunk because her tablet was still inside. She leaned against a wall as she kicked off her boots, attempting to walk at the same time, and somehow not falling. The last to go were her jeans, because sleeping in jeans was… uncomfortable. And weird. Weirdfortable. Badong.
With a yawn, she crawled into Rocket's bed.
The Thorn [Closed] - megs - 08-22-2015
Rocket groaned in response to her body being shifted closer to the middle of the bed by Kreska joining her in it. The mechanic wasn't exactly a light sleeper. She usually passed out where she happened to be sitting because of long days that started early, and whatever weird chemicals she'd inhaled in the garage so, it took her longer than it should have for her to notice that there was something in her bed. She rolled off of her back and onto her good arm, the other one was understandably too uncomfortable to sleep on. She slid her legs across mostly tangled sheets in an attempt find a cool spot in the fabric, but instead she found cold feet and an excess of limbs.
A strangled noise of surprise may have sounded in her throat when her mostly sleeping brain realized what had happened. She rolled away from the mystery figure and slapped her hand onto the lamp to make it flare to life, light washing the room in harsh, yellow fluorescence. She sat up and tossed back the blankets to find a familiar, half-naked Jobari in her bed.
"Kreska, what th'fuck," she said. She sounded remarkably relieved beneath a tone heavy with sleep. She rubbed her fleshed hand over her eyes to bring her vision into proper focus, reaching to shake Kreska's shoulder gently with other. Her attention was slowly becoming more alert and eventually the smell of alcohol hit her. And shortly afterwards an entirely different kind of panic. "Gawd, yer fuckin' shitfaced ain'tchu?"
A barely-clothed, mostly drunk, and very cute Jobari in her bed was the last thing that she was properly equipped to handle. No, no, no. This was bad. Rocket pulled her knees to her chest, as if Kreska's tiny form was threatening to take over of the bed. She used both hands to push blonde dreadlocks away from her face, before she looked away from Kreska. It didn't take her long to look back. Rocket reached over and pulled the blankets back over her.
She was screaming on the inside. Her brain was literally nothing but loud, incomprehensible sounds of terror.
The Thorn [Closed] - Tindome - 08-22-2015
Kreska moaned, turning her head to try and bury her face in the pillow. She was on her side and facing toward Rocket, legs sprawled out like they belonged there and completely undeterred by the other legs that had found them. "'s'just me," she said groggily, voice much rougher in her half-asleep, mostly-drunk state. She lifted and dropped a hand in a vague attempt to pat the other woman's arm reassuringly.
"Shitty face," she agreed, and then snorted. "Shittiest face. Gotta… unshit. Unshit m'face." She rubbed her eyes, but they were still closed, grumbling. "G'back t'sleep," she demanded, reaching out blindly to touch Rocket and try to drag her back down. "Hair's too bright." It was the lamp, actually, but she was drunk and sleeping.
When Rocket replaced the blanket she curled beneath it, pulled it close under her chin. She huffed. "Y'smell like… I smell like…? What smells like gas'line." She rubbed her face against the blanket, then stretched out, rolled onto her stomach to wrap her arms around the pillow she'd claimed and hold it beneath her. "Di'n' mean t'wake y'up," she mumbled, which was only slightly more difficult to understand than her usual manner of speaking.
She cracked one eye the smallest bit open, then shut it again. "Y'sleep witcher arm on?" She huffed again. "That's… fuck that." What she actually meant to express was 'that seems really uncomfortable and inconvenient', but she was having some trouble expressing herself coherently. She sighed and she hummed, snuggling against the pillow. "Rocky-rock-rock-kit-kit-kit… go th'fuck t'sleep." As lullabies went, it could stand some improvement.
"Shitty face," she agreed, and then snorted. "Shittiest face. Gotta… unshit. Unshit m'face." She rubbed her eyes, but they were still closed, grumbling. "G'back t'sleep," she demanded, reaching out blindly to touch Rocket and try to drag her back down. "Hair's too bright." It was the lamp, actually, but she was drunk and sleeping.
When Rocket replaced the blanket she curled beneath it, pulled it close under her chin. She huffed. "Y'smell like… I smell like…? What smells like gas'line." She rubbed her face against the blanket, then stretched out, rolled onto her stomach to wrap her arms around the pillow she'd claimed and hold it beneath her. "Di'n' mean t'wake y'up," she mumbled, which was only slightly more difficult to understand than her usual manner of speaking.
She cracked one eye the smallest bit open, then shut it again. "Y'sleep witcher arm on?" She huffed again. "That's… fuck that." What she actually meant to express was 'that seems really uncomfortable and inconvenient', but she was having some trouble expressing herself coherently. She sighed and she hummed, snuggling against the pillow. "Rocky-rock-rock-kit-kit-kit… go th'fuck t'sleep." As lullabies went, it could stand some improvement.
The Thorn [Closed] - megs - 08-26-2015
Just me, she said. Go back to sleep, she said. Behaving like these were all normal things for her to be saying. For Kreska, being beyond drunk was a perfect excuse to why she was at Rocket's garage, but not so much for why she was specifically in her bed. Usually she was perfectly fine with the couch, or finding a ship to catnap in. Each time the Jobari reached for her the Callistan pulled her shoulder back, causing her to fall short without so much as a brush of fingers. Rocket had never been obvious with her attraction, because it had come up in conversation that Kreska was not interested in advances. From anyone. Ever. Which mostly led Rocket to become a bundle of buzzing frustration, toeing at the very solid line of Just Friends. The other woman was so close, but so far. Constantly just out of reach. Rocket blinked, pulled from her self-inflection by Kreska trying to talk again. It made her wince. Usually she was in no position to judge the accent, but drunken slurring was doing her no favors.
"Ev'rythin smells like gas'line," she replied. "Yer sleepin' above ma garage, what didya expect?" Words were probably falling on deaf, or at least, sleeping ears. That didn't stop Rocket from talking however, because she made a bad habit of it when she was nervous. Still upright in her own bed, with her knees tucked against her chest, in an oversized tshirt that doubled as pajamas. "What was yew expectin' then? Climbin' inta mah bed in th'middle of th'damn night like it would'na wake me."
Rocket glanced down at her own cybernetic arm when Kreska pointed it out. She made a face despite the fact that she wasn't looking at her anymore. "It don't come off," she defended, sounding confused. For the most part she figured that would have been a bit obvious, since the arm was also fixated to the biomechanical structure attached to her chest. Rocket stopped clinging to her own legs, reaching over to finally turn off the light because she thought not being able to see Kreska might help somewhat. Rocket sighed, noisily and laid back down, very pointedly keeping to one side of the bed. "Yew go th'fuck t'sleep," she countered, frazzled, even though it was exactly what the other woman was trying to do. "Maybe save th'songwritin' fer the mornin.'"
The Thorn [Closed] - Tindome - 08-26-2015
"Mmmmph." Kreska wasn't lucid enough to argue the point, but she was very sure that this was worse than the usual garage smell. She practically burrowed her face into the pillow, heaving a sigh that made it sound like she was suffocating. "'m sneaky," she said defensively. "Sneaky sneak. Like a… raccoon. Tryna be polite. Like. A raccoon." With a yawn she pulled the pillow lower and curled around it like she was cuddling with it. This explanation was likely to create more questions than it answered.
"Sucks," she added, because even though it made perfect sense that Rocket could not remove her arm at-will, it still seemed inconvenient. In terms of having to sleep with something big and heavy and sort of awkward. The light no longer pressing at her eyelids was a relief, oblivious to the other's woman's distress and discomfort.
For someone with such immense concern about her own personal space, she could be remarkably disinterested in respecting the personal space of others.
"Rocky-rock-rock-kit-kit-kit," she hummed again, disregarding the suggestions. "Rockity rocket." She sighed. "Such a good…"
What exactly Rocket was a 'good' of went unsaid, as she trailed off into silence.
"Sucks," she added, because even though it made perfect sense that Rocket could not remove her arm at-will, it still seemed inconvenient. In terms of having to sleep with something big and heavy and sort of awkward. The light no longer pressing at her eyelids was a relief, oblivious to the other's woman's distress and discomfort.
For someone with such immense concern about her own personal space, she could be remarkably disinterested in respecting the personal space of others.
"Rocky-rock-rock-kit-kit-kit," she hummed again, disregarding the suggestions. "Rockity rocket." She sighed. "Such a good…"
What exactly Rocket was a 'good' of went unsaid, as she trailed off into silence.
The Thorn [Closed] - megs - 08-29-2015
"Wh'th'fuck'sa raccoon?" she demanded before she could stop herself. It was not at all the question she really wanted to ask but it was the safest one her brain managed to blurt out. Rocket put both hands over her face as Kreska adjusted and curled and all manner of other things that should Rocket should not have been able to quantify as cute. Mostly because her viridescent bunkmate was undeniably wasted, but also because the Jobari would probably punch her if she knew. "You get used to it," she mumbled, tapping open a compartment on the arm to reveal her messaging system. It wasn't like there was anyone she could send a desperate S.O.S to into the middle of the night. Kreska being the only friend that was actually a friend. There rest being clients and contacts.
Alternatively, she didn't know any of Kreska's 'friends' that could perhaps come to retrieve her. Not that Rocket wanted her to be retrieved. The mechanic closed the panel on her arm and pursed her lips. There wasn't many places for Kreska to go, so in some roundabout way Rocket could probably take her appearance in the loft as some sort of compliment.
Yes, good.
She made an effort to put as much distance between their bodies as possibly, though it was becoming increasingly difficult with the way Kreska continued to sprawl.
Fucky-fuck-fuck-kit-kit-kit she sang in her head, stiff and uncomfortable beneath her own blankets. "Sucha good wut?" she asked, again before she could stop herself even though silence was markedly better. She pushed her real hand beneath her pillow to prop of her head, the other curled over her stomach. She was still waiting for her eyes to readjust to the darkness, but she looked over to where Kreska lay anyway.
The Thorn [Closed] - Tindome - 10-04-2015
"'s'a pet," she mumbled into her pillow. "Like a… a cat. With hands. Sneaky sneaky." She hugged the pillow tighter, then tried to reach out with a limp arm to give a reassuring pat. Comforting, as if her arm was something requiring comfort and not simply an arm. She could not tell what she was actually patting, and it was probably another pillow.
She was drifting in and out of sleep, though not true sleep. Not the sort of sleep her body needed if she was to wake up useful. She didn't dream, and couldn't, only moving to and from consciousness. It was merely a way of waiting out drunkenness without having to be aware for it, resting her body if not her mind. It was how she ended up sleeping about half the time, since that was how often she ended up passing out away from home. Usually at Ix's place, or one of Grilka's; every now and again Fate found her a nice spot. As far as she knew, only Grilka was aware of her physiological peculiarities, and it certainly wasn't because she'd told em.
This wasn't the first time at Rocket's place, but it was the first time her bed had seemed like a good idea.
"… good… Rocket," she said, waiting too long to respond but not realizing that there had been any time at all. "Best Rocket." This bed was a lot more comfortable than the couch. And also her own bed. Why hadn't she done this before? This was a great idea. Flawless.
She was drifting in and out of sleep, though not true sleep. Not the sort of sleep her body needed if she was to wake up useful. She didn't dream, and couldn't, only moving to and from consciousness. It was merely a way of waiting out drunkenness without having to be aware for it, resting her body if not her mind. It was how she ended up sleeping about half the time, since that was how often she ended up passing out away from home. Usually at Ix's place, or one of Grilka's; every now and again Fate found her a nice spot. As far as she knew, only Grilka was aware of her physiological peculiarities, and it certainly wasn't because she'd told em.
This wasn't the first time at Rocket's place, but it was the first time her bed had seemed like a good idea.
"… good… Rocket," she said, waiting too long to respond but not realizing that there had been any time at all. "Best Rocket." This bed was a lot more comfortable than the couch. And also her own bed. Why hadn't she done this before? This was a great idea. Flawless.
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - megs - 10-25-2015
A raccoon was a pet? Rocket didn't question any further, but she had never heard of such a thing. Which was perfectly reasonable. The universe was vast and endless, so perhaps it was some sort of creature from a far off galaxy that she had never heard of. She would look into later, perhaps. She felt Kreska move again, and heard the gentle thumping of her patting the pillow as if she were comforting it. Rocket very pointedly kept it in her mind that Kreska was comforting the pillow strictly to save her own sanity.
As far as the mechanic could tell, Kreska didn't have any trouble sleeping. Which was understandable since Kreska did not share the ridiculous, sappy, girl crush, completely reminiscent of high school that she was currently dealing with.
Good Rocket? Best Rocket?
Why was her face so hot? Was she blushing? She didn't blush! What the hell was happening to her? She scrubbed her fleshed hand over her face as if it would disperse the redness that was flaring across the bridge of her nose. A fruitless gesture, even without the darkness and the lack of audience.
Rocket resigned to the notion that she would not be getting any sleep so long as Kreska was sharing her space. The mechanic sat up, and slipped out of bed the best she could without disturbing the other woman and shuffled across her floor in the darkness until the found the ratty, ripped jeans and grease covered t-shirt she'd been wearing earlier. Throwing the items over her shoulder she descended that ladder that led to her little loft of a bedroom and wondered how Kreska had managed to navigate her way up it in her current state of inebriation.
She got dressed in her makeshift living room before heading into the garage to find something to work on to keep her mind of the Jobari in her bed.
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - Tindome - 11-24-2015
Kreska slept very well, in fact, utterly oblivious to the fact that she had chased someone out of her own bed. More like a cat than anything, it seemed, in her ability to decide that furniture was hers. In Rocket's absence Kreska wound up sprawling across her bed, arms wrapped around Rocket's pillow in a suspiciously cuddly sort of a way.
It was probably for the best that Rocket had fled, all told.
Her bed was going to smell like a pack of menthols and cheap liquor for days.
Kreska woke up slowly, her mouth tasting like tree bark and her head pounding. She smelled, she realized, godawful. There was definitely something gross in her hair. She yawned.
Rocket's house? Rocket's house. She was in Rocket's house. Was she in Rocket's bed? Shit. That was probably rude as fuck. Especially when she was nasty as hell. At least Rocket was nowhere to be found. Vague recollections from the night before were a haze in the back of her head. Had Rocket been here? She thought probably. She yawned again, stretching out all her limbs with little mewling noises as she arched her back and then fell back down against the mattress.
She should get up. Just laying around in Rocket's bed was Not Cool.
She hummed as she rolled to one side of the bed, trying to wake herself up enough to crawl out of it. "Good mornin'… good mor-nin'…" Looking over the edge of the bed revealed that while her pants were apparent, her jacket was not. Also, only one boot. Had she left those in the living room? "… we've talked the whole night through…" Honestly, her jeans looked pretty gross, too. She kind of didn't want to put them back on. "… good mornin', good mornin', to you…"
Rocket would have warned her if someone came over right? "Good mornin'… good mor-nin'…" She was probably safe to not wear pants. She needed to wash her hair. Shit. "… it's great to stay up late…" This was going to be a goddamn nightmare, was what this was. Usually she made Ix do this. She didn't have half the damn patience for this. "… good mornin', to you…" She swung her legs over the edge of the bed as she started to work on unraveling her braids, grateful at least that they were relatively short these days. She should have waited until she could get some kind of oil in them, but she didn't much care, and whatever was in her hair felt oily enough as it was.
The fuck had she even been doing? Motor oil. There was goddamn motor oil in her hair. Motorcycle. That's right. There was a guy with a motorcycle. Fuck that guy. "… now the milkman's on his way, it's too late to say goodnight…" God, this was tedious. She wasn't looking forward to braiding it again. Maybe she'd wait until she saw Ix. Wear a hat or something until then. Or a bandana, maybe. Something to keep her from wandering all over the goddamn colony looking like a fucking dandelion nightmare. "… we've gabbed the whole night through…"
Rocket wouldn't judge, though. She could get away with looking like this around Rocket.
She combed her fingers through her hair once the braids were gone, fluffing out her afro as a side-effect of trying to get everything loose. Her steps towards the stairs scuffed, and if she'd been wearing the right shoes they might have tapped.
Old habits. Whatever. She was tired.
She slid down the ladder, silent and wearing nothing besides what she'd worn to bed.
Yup. There was her other boot. There was her jacket. "Rocket," she called toward the garage, absolutely no idea where the woman was, tugging her shirt lower unsuccessfully. "Sorry 'boutcher bed."
She scratched the back of her head.
"… can I use your shower? … an' your washer?"
"… an' borrow some pants? Like… jus' temp'rary. 'till'm done wi'th' washer's all."
It was probably for the best that Rocket had fled, all told.
Her bed was going to smell like a pack of menthols and cheap liquor for days.
Kreska woke up slowly, her mouth tasting like tree bark and her head pounding. She smelled, she realized, godawful. There was definitely something gross in her hair. She yawned.
Rocket's house? Rocket's house. She was in Rocket's house. Was she in Rocket's bed? Shit. That was probably rude as fuck. Especially when she was nasty as hell. At least Rocket was nowhere to be found. Vague recollections from the night before were a haze in the back of her head. Had Rocket been here? She thought probably. She yawned again, stretching out all her limbs with little mewling noises as she arched her back and then fell back down against the mattress.
She should get up. Just laying around in Rocket's bed was Not Cool.
She hummed as she rolled to one side of the bed, trying to wake herself up enough to crawl out of it. "Good mornin'… good mor-nin'…" Looking over the edge of the bed revealed that while her pants were apparent, her jacket was not. Also, only one boot. Had she left those in the living room? "… we've talked the whole night through…" Honestly, her jeans looked pretty gross, too. She kind of didn't want to put them back on. "… good mornin', good mornin', to you…"
Rocket would have warned her if someone came over right? "Good mornin'… good mor-nin'…" She was probably safe to not wear pants. She needed to wash her hair. Shit. "… it's great to stay up late…" This was going to be a goddamn nightmare, was what this was. Usually she made Ix do this. She didn't have half the damn patience for this. "… good mornin', to you…" She swung her legs over the edge of the bed as she started to work on unraveling her braids, grateful at least that they were relatively short these days. She should have waited until she could get some kind of oil in them, but she didn't much care, and whatever was in her hair felt oily enough as it was.
The fuck had she even been doing? Motor oil. There was goddamn motor oil in her hair. Motorcycle. That's right. There was a guy with a motorcycle. Fuck that guy. "… now the milkman's on his way, it's too late to say goodnight…" God, this was tedious. She wasn't looking forward to braiding it again. Maybe she'd wait until she saw Ix. Wear a hat or something until then. Or a bandana, maybe. Something to keep her from wandering all over the goddamn colony looking like a fucking dandelion nightmare. "… we've gabbed the whole night through…"
Rocket wouldn't judge, though. She could get away with looking like this around Rocket.
She combed her fingers through her hair once the braids were gone, fluffing out her afro as a side-effect of trying to get everything loose. Her steps towards the stairs scuffed, and if she'd been wearing the right shoes they might have tapped.
Old habits. Whatever. She was tired.
She slid down the ladder, silent and wearing nothing besides what she'd worn to bed.
Yup. There was her other boot. There was her jacket. "Rocket," she called toward the garage, absolutely no idea where the woman was, tugging her shirt lower unsuccessfully. "Sorry 'boutcher bed."
She scratched the back of her head.
"… can I use your shower? … an' your washer?"
"… an' borrow some pants? Like… jus' temp'rary. 'till'm done wi'th' washer's all."
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - megs - 11-28-2015
Rocket was considered the best at what she did, which was pulling damaged ships from the brink of ruin or turning a heap of scrap into the most reliable machine you'd ever get your hands on. She was not, however, particularly diligent or focused, so if you wanted something from her, you'd better not want it quickly. For once, this habit of procrastination was working out in her favor. Her backlog of tasks would keep her plenty occupied and her mind off Kreska. The vibration of her arm was hardly noticeable over the steady rumbling of the acetylene torch she was using to spot-weld a series of joints together. If it was not for the colorful LED flash from her arm that indicated she'd received a message, she would have likely ignored it all together. The torch clicked off leaving a brief ringing in her ears, that somehow echoed in the confines of her welding mask, which she didn't remove to inspect the new contract that had been forwarded to her.
She paused in typing her response. Did she hear singing? The mechanic cocked her head like a dog that had caught an interesting noise. No, it couldn’t be, she thought to herself, she didn't have the radio on she didn't think there was anyone around that would be singing.
Resuming her correspondence, she opened her mouth as if it would clear the fogginess in her ears, but instead her jaw cracked as a result of teeth she wasn't aware she had been clenching. Planting her foot against the workbench, she kicked off and sent her chair rolling backwards towards another workbench that was occupied with an entirely different project.
Okay, this time she was totally sure she heard her name being called, and that was much more likely than singing. Rocket swiveled around in her chair to come face-to-face with Kreska. Or at least a vague imitation of the leather wearing, bad-mouthing Jobari that was usually in her company.
Green skin disappeared beneath the cover of the shirt she was tugging down, and Rocket was suddenly grateful for the smothering mask that she hadn't bothered to take off. It hid the slight narrowing of her eyes, and the down-turned corners of her mouth that would have appeared hostile without context.
The context was unreciprocated lesbian feelings that she was trying to repress.
"S'fine," Rocket replied quickly, too quickly, the sounds muffled by her mask, she pushed it upwards revealing a facial expression she had finally gotten under control. "Yeh, s'fine," she pulled the helmet off and tossed it on the bench, before running her fleshed hand over a smear of grease on her cheek.
"Y'know where th'shower is, washer's all yers," she unclasped her tool belt and dropped it on the chair, before moving closer. "I''ll fin'ya some pants. You feelin' alright? Yew were pretty gone las'night."
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - Tindome - 11-29-2015
She was almost startled as Rocket's chair slid into view, spinning around to put Rocket right in front of her. She rubbed at her forehead, as if that would help with the headache situation in progress.
At least she wasn't the only one who looked like a greasy mess. Although Rocket had a bit more of an excuse. What with the whole… being a mechanic. And all.
"Y're a fuckin' saint," she said heatedly, pleased and grateful for her willingness to let Kreska make herself at home. Even after she'd already stolen the bed and probably irritated the shit out of her. "M'fine," she said with a wave of her hand, forgetting about her vague attempt at modesty. "Hungover, obvie, but that's no big. Fuckin'… think I had Krotazi wine. Shit'll fuck y'up."
Specifically it would actually kill most human beings. Same, difference.
"Sorry 'bout…" Kreska gestured vaguely in the air. "Stuff." She wasn't actually sure what all she had done. She didn't think it had been that bad. "Made some mad cash, tho, so I can pay ya back'f ya want. For lettin' me hang out'r whatevs. An' I prolly owe ya, I think." This was not a relationship where she had to keep careful track, unlike many of the others she had.
Without warning, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head.
Which probably would have been bad enough.
But she also stopped halfway through pulling off her shirt to rub her hair with it like a towel, trying to get all the oil out as long as she was going to have to wash it anyway.
When she pulled her shirt completely over her head – which was actually slightly more modest, wrapped around her arms in front of her – her hair was at Maximum Fluff. "'m prolly gonna need a shirt, too," she said, a little dazed and lightheaded from shaking her head with a headache. "Sorry 'gain." She tossed her shirt unceremoniously on top of the jacket she had abandoned on the way to the ladder the night before. "I'mma take care o' that," she said, gesturing towards it, "after'm done wi'th'other… stuff." Specifically she didn't want to try to do laundry with a headache, but that was entirely too many words for how articulate she was feeling. Which was not very.
With another yawn, she stretched out her arms and turned to make her way to Rocket's bathroom.
At least she wasn't the only one who looked like a greasy mess. Although Rocket had a bit more of an excuse. What with the whole… being a mechanic. And all.
"Y're a fuckin' saint," she said heatedly, pleased and grateful for her willingness to let Kreska make herself at home. Even after she'd already stolen the bed and probably irritated the shit out of her. "M'fine," she said with a wave of her hand, forgetting about her vague attempt at modesty. "Hungover, obvie, but that's no big. Fuckin'… think I had Krotazi wine. Shit'll fuck y'up."
Specifically it would actually kill most human beings. Same, difference.
"Sorry 'bout…" Kreska gestured vaguely in the air. "Stuff." She wasn't actually sure what all she had done. She didn't think it had been that bad. "Made some mad cash, tho, so I can pay ya back'f ya want. For lettin' me hang out'r whatevs. An' I prolly owe ya, I think." This was not a relationship where she had to keep careful track, unlike many of the others she had.
Without warning, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head.
Which probably would have been bad enough.
But she also stopped halfway through pulling off her shirt to rub her hair with it like a towel, trying to get all the oil out as long as she was going to have to wash it anyway.
When she pulled her shirt completely over her head – which was actually slightly more modest, wrapped around her arms in front of her – her hair was at Maximum Fluff. "'m prolly gonna need a shirt, too," she said, a little dazed and lightheaded from shaking her head with a headache. "Sorry 'gain." She tossed her shirt unceremoniously on top of the jacket she had abandoned on the way to the ladder the night before. "I'mma take care o' that," she said, gesturing towards it, "after'm done wi'th'other… stuff." Specifically she didn't want to try to do laundry with a headache, but that was entirely too many words for how articulate she was feeling. Which was not very.
With another yawn, she stretched out her arms and turned to make her way to Rocket's bathroom.
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - megs - 03-09-2016
"S'fine," the mechanic repeated, voice cracking as she struggled to remember other words and phrases. She forced a cough, but it was too late to hide that jarring pitch, so she turned to face her workbench once more because she was pretty sure she was blushing again.
"Yeh, I bet it would," she mumbled in response to the wine, feigning distraction as she inspected an off-balance ball bearing she had picked up from the table. She was only aware of the Krotazi because Kreska had spoken of em once or twice in the past. Usually complaining, and with the stories she told Rocket was chill with not having made eir acquaintance in person.
'Ye really don'hafta worry bout it. Payin' me, anyway. We're friends, yeah?" Rocket's gaze skirted away from Kreska as soon as she realized the shirt was coming off, but she dropped the bearing she had been holding and it clattered to the floor, rolling a few feet away from her. She chased after it, snatching it up, not at all concerned about looking like an idiot, because it was easier than trying to find something, literally anything that wasn't happening in Kreska's direction.
She couldn't think because the only sound in her head was the echo of internal screaming.
Ohfuck her hair was so fluffy? Why did she notice that? When did she start caring about the fluffiness of someone's hair? Why did she want to touch it?
This was hell. She was in hell. At some point in the night she had died in her sleep and this was her fucking punishment for accepting contracts from smugglers and letting them pay her in unregistered plats. It's a good thing she had not been a serial killer, because she couldn't imagine a scenario worse than this one.
"I'll findya somethin' t'wear," she said quickly, setting the piece of equipment back on her workbench. She waved her metal hand to stave off any further apologizing, because the Jobari should know it was all fine by now. "Y'hit the shower, and when yer done, I'll prolly be on the Var:jo." She pointed in the general direction that the ship was located. "Big, black, y'can't missit."
She attempted a calm, normal smile until Kreska turned around, and she all but collapsed into a pile on the floor. When the alarm system alerted her that Kreska was no longer in the garage, Rocket's screaming became very external.
Waiting until she was positive that Kreska was hidden away in her shower, so she could sneak in and out of her own room undetected in the presence of a woman who was apparently super comfortable in her own skin.
The mechanic rifled through her closet and her dressers until she found what she was looking for. A black shirt with the face of a white cat on it, and a matching tail climbing up the back of it. Rocket had no idea why she had purchased the shirt, mostly on a whim because some stupid voice in the back of her head told her Kreska would like it. The reasoning was still unjustified, but the impulse had come with the realization that there was no not-weird way to give Kreska a gift.
Especially if that gift was a stupid crop top with a picture of a goddamn cat on it. Rocket held the shirt up for inspection, the smug ass cat on the front stared back at her. She tossed it on the bed, along with a pair of sweat pants that would hopefully tighten enough to stay put on the tiny woman, and a clean towel. On her way back to the garage, she gathered all of Kreska's other clothes and dumped them in the washer, before heading onto the Var:jo to resume her work.
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - Tindome - 03-10-2016
Kreska was, unsurprisingly, completely oblivious to the other woman's discomfort.
They were friends, after all. And both women, besides. That made clothing strictly optional. Right?
Rocket at least did not have to worry about Kreska using all the hot water, because she preferred her showers somewhere between cold and lukewarm. Even if she did spend entirely too much time standing dazed beneath the water, waiting for her headache to lessen.
When she finally emerged she found the towel Rocket had left for her, and she held up the shirt with a frown once she was dry enough for clothes. Then she snorted.
Cute. Not something she'd think was Rocket's style, but, whatever. Though it seemed a bit small for her, actually. And short. It was kind of short on Kreska, even.
How short did she think she was?
The sweatpants hung low on her hips even after she'd tied the drawstring, and she rolled up the legs to be sure she wouldn't step on them. Better safe than sorry. Rocket was already being nice enough letting her borrow clothes, putting up with Kreska's casual home invasion. Better not to be an even worse guest by ruining all her shit. Even if Rocket would probably say it was fine. Because that woman was way too goddamn nice. Maybe a big metal arm meant she could afford to be.
Finding her cigarettes felt like it ought to be a priority, but smoking in the garage was a no-no. What with all the fuel, and all. She probably ought to check her messages, as well, but she didn't really feel like it. Her headache still loomed menacingly in the back of her skull, so trying to communicate nonverbally could wait until it had dissipated. Which left her nothing to do but go find Rocket.
She was pretty sure she looked fucking stupid. Her curls were weighted down with water, her shirt was too high and her pants were too low, and she was wandering through Rocket's garage barefoot.
Lucky it was just Rocket, when she was hanging around looking like a hobo.
Big, black ship. Var:jo. Probably the right one. Kreska was not deliberately sneaky – far from it, usually loud and obnoxious enough to announce her appearance – but she was small and light, and sneaky could sometimes be a default. Particularly when she was barefoot, no big black boots to clunk her steps against metal.
"Rocket?"
They were friends, after all. And both women, besides. That made clothing strictly optional. Right?
Rocket at least did not have to worry about Kreska using all the hot water, because she preferred her showers somewhere between cold and lukewarm. Even if she did spend entirely too much time standing dazed beneath the water, waiting for her headache to lessen.
When she finally emerged she found the towel Rocket had left for her, and she held up the shirt with a frown once she was dry enough for clothes. Then she snorted.
Cute. Not something she'd think was Rocket's style, but, whatever. Though it seemed a bit small for her, actually. And short. It was kind of short on Kreska, even.
How short did she think she was?
The sweatpants hung low on her hips even after she'd tied the drawstring, and she rolled up the legs to be sure she wouldn't step on them. Better safe than sorry. Rocket was already being nice enough letting her borrow clothes, putting up with Kreska's casual home invasion. Better not to be an even worse guest by ruining all her shit. Even if Rocket would probably say it was fine. Because that woman was way too goddamn nice. Maybe a big metal arm meant she could afford to be.
Finding her cigarettes felt like it ought to be a priority, but smoking in the garage was a no-no. What with all the fuel, and all. She probably ought to check her messages, as well, but she didn't really feel like it. Her headache still loomed menacingly in the back of her skull, so trying to communicate nonverbally could wait until it had dissipated. Which left her nothing to do but go find Rocket.
She was pretty sure she looked fucking stupid. Her curls were weighted down with water, her shirt was too high and her pants were too low, and she was wandering through Rocket's garage barefoot.
Lucky it was just Rocket, when she was hanging around looking like a hobo.
Big, black ship. Var:jo. Probably the right one. Kreska was not deliberately sneaky – far from it, usually loud and obnoxious enough to announce her appearance – but she was small and light, and sneaky could sometimes be a default. Particularly when she was barefoot, no big black boots to clunk her steps against metal.
"Rocket?"
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - megs - 03-10-2016
"Miss Winchcombe, there is an unauthorized presence on the Var:jo."
Rocket sighed, but did not look up from her work. Instead of responding to the voice, she moved to another panel, it opened with the code she provided and she continued to inspect the primary systems of the ship. The Var:jo had been docked in her garage for years, but the mechanic was paid quite a pretty penny to make sure everything was in order, as if it needed to be ready to depart at a moment's notice.
"Miss Winchcombe," the voice implored for her attention, a feminine voice, somewhat digitized and disembodied, but very emotive nonetheless.
"It's fine Cady," Rocket closed the panel, and jotted notes down on her tablet, a complicated sheet of values and figures presented on the face of it. "She's with me."
"It is not fine," Cady argued. The AIs offended tone followed Rocket as she moved to the starboard side of the ship to meet Kreska before she got lost. Which was not difficult to do on the large warship. "The Captain has not authorized any new persons to board the Var:jo in her absence in three years and fifty-five days."
Rocket groaned, loudly, and the silence that followed from the AI seemed almost affronted. It would be nice to think that the AI had given up, but she knew it was still there. Cady was linked with the whole ship, after all, nothing that happened on the Var:jo went unnoticed.
The mechanic found Kreska in the decontamination airlock, easy enough to wander through, the lock was deactivated and all the doors were open. As soon as she laid eyes on the other woman, she regretted every decision she had made that morning. Well, mostly just the cat shirt, or as she would now refer to is the worst best idea she had ever had. She wasn't sure if the shirt did not fit or if it was supposed to fit like that, but either way it was a crime.
Rocket stumbled through what might have been a sentence, perhaps even a greeting, but it was mostly unintelligible and accompanied by meaningless gestures of her real arm. She stopped, finally, closing her eyes and exhaling sharply through her nose.
"Hi," she said, finally, which was lame and she wanted to die, but she could only be so lucky.
Why did she think those sweatpants would work? They did, but also did not simultaneously.
"I jus'ave a few things t'finish in here, if y'wanna hang out a minute."
"She most certainly can not 'hang out for a minute,'" Cady corrected, still looming, omniscient, just as Rocket had predicted.
"That's Cady," she explained, forcing a smile that looked less than amused with the way her lips were pressed together so tightly, while she pointed upwards in what she hoped was an understandable signal. "Cady this is Kreska."
"A pleasure," the ship replied, not sounding at all in earnest.