Despite her internal resolution not to cringe, when the captain laughed and lifted a hand, her body had other plans. A rush of ice invaded her veins. She shrank further into the cushions as if deflecting a blow, and hated that she did so even as she forced herself to straighten, to lean in to whatever punishment might come. But he wasn't turning on her for her obstinacy. Oh no. Fenris was...laughing at her.
Ordinarily, not a reaction she found pleasing. But thanks to the rash of "Kill me now? Yes/No" scenarios running through her head, entertaining one's maybe-decent rescuer was infinitely more pleasing than getting offed without so much as a word.
Not that getting offed with words is really a preferr--geez, brain. Just shut. Up.
"It's inedible, is what it is, but it's good to know I wasn't captive so long that all food is now...this," she said under her breath. Energy was energy though, and Alex needed everything she could stomach to get her body working right. Righter. More righterer. Moons, this is going to suck like a Delmarrian jungleoid hyped out of its tentacles on shrooms and mistaking tourists for pollen... Staring down at the green brick of 'essentials', she stuck out her tongue. Done making faces--for now--she steeled her mind and taste buds for a nibble of one of the corners. After she choked the bite down, she said, "The IV may have been more humane. Not that I want that again. I don't. Just. Thanks."
She subsided, nibbling reluctantly while he walked away. As he spoke, she stared at his feet, trying to make sense of the sound that should have been there with a construct so clearly heavy.
He knows what happened. Moons...how can he say that so fact-like?
Curiosity was both boon and curse to Alex--though she didn't usually connect unfortunate results directly to her inability to sit still when there was a puzzle to be had.
In this particular instance, she very much did not want to think about being 'beaten within an inch of her life' or her 'secrets laid bare'. Especially not spoken about in that mechanical, clinical tone, as if it'd happened at some point in history and not just the other day. Curiosity came to a galloping rescue. But rather than wonder what he was doing with all those cabinets, it had her focusing on feet. She leaned forward, head cocked to the side, trying to see if the boots had a reason for their tapping sounds rather than loud, clacking thuds she expected. His heels lifted slightly when he moved. So that helped. And she could just about tell if...Frag. He stopped. Well maybe I can...oops.
WHUMP!
He was busy pushing buttons and making things move in the kitchen space, coming to a stop in front of a counter that looked remarkably clean considering the rest of the ship when Alex overbalanced into a sprawl on the floor. She'd been bent at the waist with her head nearly upside-down as she considered his footwear, and so first she smacked her head on the table. Then her already weak legs failed to stop her fall. And her arms had the tensile strength of the tattered shirt she wore so attempting to catch didn't go so well, either. She rolled, her hands sticky and leaving twin streaks on the floor, the green bar in one fist--of course--not-so-miraculously intact.
"Well," she muttered to a haphazard pile of books when she could breathe again, "that was graceful."
At least his back's to me...
Hoping no one would notice when she found herself in a particularly ridiculous situation was another remnant from her childhood that she hadn't been able to shake. She supposed because, however much of a habit it had become, it was quite often grounded in truth. Whether because she had no wish for this, too, to be entertainment, or whether she simply didn't want someone's pity offer for help, she couldn't say. Alex did know she didn't want the big lug of a captain over the stove to see her face-first on the ground in her own--and maybe others'--filth.
Because she'd suddenly realized part of the bar's flavor had a bit to do with her own smell.
Okay. Step one: Do not cry. Step two: Get the frag up. Step three: Find the cleanser.
Somehow before he turned around she managed to ease herself upright, climb her palms up the front of the couch, and then wriggle up the worn surface so her butt was perched on the edge of the seat.
"I would like...okay." She'd been about to ask after the soak he mentioned regarding a more immediate timeline. She had. But that smell, even a just-emerging scent of it was worlds better than her recent revelation. Her stomach growled.
Step three: Find the cleanser. Eat real, solid, glorious, incredible meat.
"Meat. Oh, Captain Fenris." She pushed herself up and didn't think she did too poorly a job hiding the pain her most recent fall had heaped atop her form. Scooting across the room to the counter at a pace and gait best likened to a floundering shuttle, she added, "You're a saint. A deity on some backwater forest moon, aren't you?"
On a good day for her, the stool would make a good lounge chair--combined with the counter. Like hanging out at a port bar with all the local xenos and humans alike. But right now? She was possibly the exact opposite of spry, and definitely the exact opposite of coordinated. A sluggish nod was sent his way as she used the last of her present determination to hike herself into a stool too tall for simple sitting. "Mechanical engineer, yeah, I was, before they bagged me. I can fix anything. And if it doesn't need fixing, I can make it...better." She paused after that vague-yet-bold statement, her eyebrow going up as she saw her elbow had rudely smeared goo on the counter. "Except me. More of a machine fixer than a doc for biologicals. Though, have you ever seen a doc sew himself up? That'd be a sight, right? Or maybe you have and it's actually pretty gross...now that I think about it, it's probably really fraggin' nasty. I'll stop putting that image out there now."
She chattered, deciding the green block of stuff really had helped a great deal while the smell of meat grew enough to overpower her other concerns. Mostly. Pain was still a constant companion. And when a plate settled in front of her, before she'd taken a single bite she was thrilled. Alex stared at it like he'd offered her a holy relic, gray eyes huge in a gaunt and dully freckled face. "Thank you. Thankyooou. I would kiss your feet but I already tried to figure them out once and it didn't go so well so I better stay up here. What are you using, anyway? Hydraulics? Dampeners? Or are you just WAY lighter than you look?"
OH GOOD. Now I've also insulted his weight. Fan-fraggin-tacular Alex. High-fraggin-five.
"Uhm," she said, as if by continuing to speak it'd negate any earlier misunderstandings. Turning the plate in a 360 circle, she tried to decide what to shove in her mouth first that would result in less idiotic words leaving her face. "So what kinds of things need fixing around here?"
Ordinarily, not a reaction she found pleasing. But thanks to the rash of "Kill me now? Yes/No" scenarios running through her head, entertaining one's maybe-decent rescuer was infinitely more pleasing than getting offed without so much as a word.
Not that getting offed with words is really a preferr--geez, brain. Just shut. Up.
"It's inedible, is what it is, but it's good to know I wasn't captive so long that all food is now...this," she said under her breath. Energy was energy though, and Alex needed everything she could stomach to get her body working right. Righter. More righterer. Moons, this is going to suck like a Delmarrian jungleoid hyped out of its tentacles on shrooms and mistaking tourists for pollen... Staring down at the green brick of 'essentials', she stuck out her tongue. Done making faces--for now--she steeled her mind and taste buds for a nibble of one of the corners. After she choked the bite down, she said, "The IV may have been more humane. Not that I want that again. I don't. Just. Thanks."
She subsided, nibbling reluctantly while he walked away. As he spoke, she stared at his feet, trying to make sense of the sound that should have been there with a construct so clearly heavy.
He knows what happened. Moons...how can he say that so fact-like?
Curiosity was both boon and curse to Alex--though she didn't usually connect unfortunate results directly to her inability to sit still when there was a puzzle to be had.
In this particular instance, she very much did not want to think about being 'beaten within an inch of her life' or her 'secrets laid bare'. Especially not spoken about in that mechanical, clinical tone, as if it'd happened at some point in history and not just the other day. Curiosity came to a galloping rescue. But rather than wonder what he was doing with all those cabinets, it had her focusing on feet. She leaned forward, head cocked to the side, trying to see if the boots had a reason for their tapping sounds rather than loud, clacking thuds she expected. His heels lifted slightly when he moved. So that helped. And she could just about tell if...Frag. He stopped. Well maybe I can...oops.
WHUMP!
He was busy pushing buttons and making things move in the kitchen space, coming to a stop in front of a counter that looked remarkably clean considering the rest of the ship when Alex overbalanced into a sprawl on the floor. She'd been bent at the waist with her head nearly upside-down as she considered his footwear, and so first she smacked her head on the table. Then her already weak legs failed to stop her fall. And her arms had the tensile strength of the tattered shirt she wore so attempting to catch didn't go so well, either. She rolled, her hands sticky and leaving twin streaks on the floor, the green bar in one fist--of course--not-so-miraculously intact.
"Well," she muttered to a haphazard pile of books when she could breathe again, "that was graceful."
At least his back's to me...
Hoping no one would notice when she found herself in a particularly ridiculous situation was another remnant from her childhood that she hadn't been able to shake. She supposed because, however much of a habit it had become, it was quite often grounded in truth. Whether because she had no wish for this, too, to be entertainment, or whether she simply didn't want someone's pity offer for help, she couldn't say. Alex did know she didn't want the big lug of a captain over the stove to see her face-first on the ground in her own--and maybe others'--filth.
Because she'd suddenly realized part of the bar's flavor had a bit to do with her own smell.
Okay. Step one: Do not cry. Step two: Get the frag up. Step three: Find the cleanser.
Somehow before he turned around she managed to ease herself upright, climb her palms up the front of the couch, and then wriggle up the worn surface so her butt was perched on the edge of the seat.
"I would like...okay." She'd been about to ask after the soak he mentioned regarding a more immediate timeline. She had. But that smell, even a just-emerging scent of it was worlds better than her recent revelation. Her stomach growled.
Step three: Find the cleanser. Eat real, solid, glorious, incredible meat.
"Meat. Oh, Captain Fenris." She pushed herself up and didn't think she did too poorly a job hiding the pain her most recent fall had heaped atop her form. Scooting across the room to the counter at a pace and gait best likened to a floundering shuttle, she added, "You're a saint. A deity on some backwater forest moon, aren't you?"
On a good day for her, the stool would make a good lounge chair--combined with the counter. Like hanging out at a port bar with all the local xenos and humans alike. But right now? She was possibly the exact opposite of spry, and definitely the exact opposite of coordinated. A sluggish nod was sent his way as she used the last of her present determination to hike herself into a stool too tall for simple sitting. "Mechanical engineer, yeah, I was, before they bagged me. I can fix anything. And if it doesn't need fixing, I can make it...better." She paused after that vague-yet-bold statement, her eyebrow going up as she saw her elbow had rudely smeared goo on the counter. "Except me. More of a machine fixer than a doc for biologicals. Though, have you ever seen a doc sew himself up? That'd be a sight, right? Or maybe you have and it's actually pretty gross...now that I think about it, it's probably really fraggin' nasty. I'll stop putting that image out there now."
She chattered, deciding the green block of stuff really had helped a great deal while the smell of meat grew enough to overpower her other concerns. Mostly. Pain was still a constant companion. And when a plate settled in front of her, before she'd taken a single bite she was thrilled. Alex stared at it like he'd offered her a holy relic, gray eyes huge in a gaunt and dully freckled face. "Thank you. Thankyooou. I would kiss your feet but I already tried to figure them out once and it didn't go so well so I better stay up here. What are you using, anyway? Hydraulics? Dampeners? Or are you just WAY lighter than you look?"
OH GOOD. Now I've also insulted his weight. Fan-fraggin-tacular Alex. High-fraggin-five.
"Uhm," she said, as if by continuing to speak it'd negate any earlier misunderstandings. Turning the plate in a 360 circle, she tried to decide what to shove in her mouth first that would result in less idiotic words leaving her face. "So what kinds of things need fixing around here?"
Dreams come in a size too big so we can grow into them.
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