J. M. Austen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gentlemenpreferblondes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2017-10-16 01:22 am
gentlemenpreferblondes) wrote in thisavrou_log2017-10-16 01:22 am
Life is like a hurricane
Who: J and everyone else
When: Thorough the first half of the month
Where: Suites, bartering block, bar, hall of music
What: A catch-all log for J.
Warnings: Description of an injury on ooc part.
(OOC: Even though I'm using female pronouns for J she's currently appearing like as a man. Her other cheek is injured as she sports a big scar that covers almost half of her face and there are darker burn marks around the edges.
Also feel free to use action tags! I will match.)
So come down, this is SUITE life
Like any sensible person, or so J would like to think, the first thing that J does after recovering from the shock of arrival is to look out residential sectors. Ok, granted it was rather new thing for her considering that the past few months she had just drifted from place to place without any greater plan or stable residence. But seeing that they were stuck inside a closed space station for a while, bumming a place from someone's bed wasn't going to work out the same way.
Once she gets to the area it's not difficult to pick which section to choose. The cat piss was no go from the start. Lining up for bathroom each morning? No thanks. And the small bedrooms in the hallway were cold and miserable. The suites, however? They were perfect and J couldn't help but wonder why they weren't more popular among the refugees from Thisavrou. She picks a room from Unit 2, a place that she believes to be empty from others, leaving a door open as she moves in front of window to admire the view for a brief moment, feeling quick passing calmness before taking few steps back and falling on the bed. She closes her eyes but she get anywhere near falling asleep as she hears something unsettling that makes her jump off the bed as it had been on a fire.
"Please fuck no," she says to herself as she braces herself for the worst and grabs the mattress, throwing it on the floor to inspect the underneath of it and--- nothing. Not on the bedframe nor on the mattress. Then she moves next to wall and carefully scratches the wallpaper with her finger, only to see it to come off.
Well. Isn't this just her luck.
She sighs out loud, cracks her neck quickly and leaves to investigate the other rooms to see what kind of state they are. Or whether there'd be any better mattresses around.
Fashion first
J might feel disgusted with her looks thanks to the big, ugly, glaring scar that's permanently decorating her face. It's been few months since she was stripped off all the pretended glamour and beauty, and she's somewhat used to her descended state and loathe that waited her every time she accidentally caught the sight of her reflection.
But that still didn't mean she had to accept or be satisfied with her sad state of clothing. There was something ironic that she had been wearing the clothes that Kavinsky had left behind after his death. After all, that asshole ex-lover of hers is the real cause for her injuries. And if there had been people living in this station they must have left some clothing behind.
So, she's going through the storage units near the bartering blocks, pulling the metallic cabinets open, which most of them were unfortunately empty. And those that weren't? Well, the objects that she could find inside them were nothing but worthless junk: empty containers, bottles, cable ties and broken glass. All which only served to rouse her frustration.
Eventually, however, her luck turns around as she comes across a section where the spare linens are stored. Finally something useful. But it's just like they say: don't count your chickens before they're hatched. As it turns out that just as she believes to have hit the jackpot with her quest for clean clothes: the following cabinets and cupboards turns out to be locked.
"You can't be shitting me," she groans out loud as she first tries to open them by force, failing beautifully of course. After a quick moment of a temper tantrum she calms down, takes a deep breath and leans closer to the lock. Then, slowly, she blows hot air out between her lips -- hot enough to burn. She can definitely do this the hard way.
You, me and alcohol makes three
It's a bar in a space so of course J goes there.
She had just had rather unlucky raid of the kitchen finding nothing but unappetizing looking nutrition bars, which had led her to further investigations. She's holding an unopened Saylent Blue bar in her hands as she walks through the bar as a rather nostalgic feeling washes through her.
Their little bar on Moira was so much better, she thinks to herself as she walks to the other side of the counter, sitting on it like it's the most natural place for her. She eyes bottles in front of her and hums quietly. No moonshine? That's a pity.
She slides off the counter so that she can reach one of the bottles. The cork is surprisingly difficult to open, no doubt it's gotten stuck within the time, but after a little struggle she manages to take it off. But that's also when overly sour and vinegary smell hits her nose, as if the liquid was deeply offended for being waken up from such deep sleep. Without caring about the angry spirit J raises the bottle to her lips and takes a brave gulp.. Almost spitting the drink out just from the awful taste alone. God, this is worse than her first time tasting alcohol as a younger teen.
Somehow she manages to swallow the bitter liquid but that doesn't stop the shivers shaking her entire body. The drink is obviously gone bad within the time. Oh well, that doesn't stop her from taking yet another gulp from the neck of the bottle. If it's anything like to her first drunken experience, she should get used to the taste.
Play us a song, you're the piano man.
Well now.
The hall of music is certainly something that J didn't expect to find from abandoned space station. And for once.. She's not exactly sure what to think of it.
In other hand she did love the idea of it, that there was such quiet and private. The greenery was fine but J had always been more of a culture and music person than a garden person. But then again, in a way the whole setting felt nothing but a mocking reminder of what she used to do -- what she used to have. A glamour in the spotlight, cheered and loved by everyone. There's no way she can be star anymore like this, right?
A nasty sting twists and turns in her stomach as she walks past the stage, her eyes focusing down on the hard floor so that she wouldn't look at the audience even in an accident, right up to the piano that's placed in the corner near the curtains. She sits down on the stool and gently blows the dust off the keys. There's surprisingly little of it, which must mean that there had been others here before her. Makes sense.
Carefully she presses one of the keys and listens to the sound it makes. It's awfully off the tune, just like. How fitting.
"Aa-aa," J tries out her voice as she keeps presses the keys one by one, trying to see if she could match the sound. Needless to say, it doesn't work out like before. And even though her voice had healed pretty well, it was still quite difficult to reach the higher sounds. Plus, she's no pianist, which definitely comes across from her "playing."
WILDCARD
You know how this goes. Create your own adventure and so.
When: Thorough the first half of the month
Where: Suites, bartering block, bar, hall of music
What: A catch-all log for J.
Warnings: Description of an injury on ooc part.
(OOC: Even though I'm using female pronouns for J she's currently appearing like as a man. Her other cheek is injured as she sports a big scar that covers almost half of her face and there are darker burn marks around the edges.
Also feel free to use action tags! I will match.)
So come down, this is SUITE life
Like any sensible person, or so J would like to think, the first thing that J does after recovering from the shock of arrival is to look out residential sectors. Ok, granted it was rather new thing for her considering that the past few months she had just drifted from place to place without any greater plan or stable residence. But seeing that they were stuck inside a closed space station for a while, bumming a place from someone's bed wasn't going to work out the same way.
Once she gets to the area it's not difficult to pick which section to choose. The cat piss was no go from the start. Lining up for bathroom each morning? No thanks. And the small bedrooms in the hallway were cold and miserable. The suites, however? They were perfect and J couldn't help but wonder why they weren't more popular among the refugees from Thisavrou. She picks a room from Unit 2, a place that she believes to be empty from others, leaving a door open as she moves in front of window to admire the view for a brief moment, feeling quick passing calmness before taking few steps back and falling on the bed. She closes her eyes but she get anywhere near falling asleep as she hears something unsettling that makes her jump off the bed as it had been on a fire.
"Please fuck no," she says to herself as she braces herself for the worst and grabs the mattress, throwing it on the floor to inspect the underneath of it and--- nothing. Not on the bedframe nor on the mattress. Then she moves next to wall and carefully scratches the wallpaper with her finger, only to see it to come off.
Well. Isn't this just her luck.
She sighs out loud, cracks her neck quickly and leaves to investigate the other rooms to see what kind of state they are. Or whether there'd be any better mattresses around.
Fashion first
J might feel disgusted with her looks thanks to the big, ugly, glaring scar that's permanently decorating her face. It's been few months since she was stripped off all the pretended glamour and beauty, and she's somewhat used to her descended state and loathe that waited her every time she accidentally caught the sight of her reflection.
But that still didn't mean she had to accept or be satisfied with her sad state of clothing. There was something ironic that she had been wearing the clothes that Kavinsky had left behind after his death. After all, that asshole ex-lover of hers is the real cause for her injuries. And if there had been people living in this station they must have left some clothing behind.
So, she's going through the storage units near the bartering blocks, pulling the metallic cabinets open, which most of them were unfortunately empty. And those that weren't? Well, the objects that she could find inside them were nothing but worthless junk: empty containers, bottles, cable ties and broken glass. All which only served to rouse her frustration.
Eventually, however, her luck turns around as she comes across a section where the spare linens are stored. Finally something useful. But it's just like they say: don't count your chickens before they're hatched. As it turns out that just as she believes to have hit the jackpot with her quest for clean clothes: the following cabinets and cupboards turns out to be locked.
"You can't be shitting me," she groans out loud as she first tries to open them by force, failing beautifully of course. After a quick moment of a temper tantrum she calms down, takes a deep breath and leans closer to the lock. Then, slowly, she blows hot air out between her lips -- hot enough to burn. She can definitely do this the hard way.
You, me and alcohol makes three
It's a bar in a space so of course J goes there.
She had just had rather unlucky raid of the kitchen finding nothing but unappetizing looking nutrition bars, which had led her to further investigations. She's holding an unopened Saylent Blue bar in her hands as she walks through the bar as a rather nostalgic feeling washes through her.
Their little bar on Moira was so much better, she thinks to herself as she walks to the other side of the counter, sitting on it like it's the most natural place for her. She eyes bottles in front of her and hums quietly. No moonshine? That's a pity.
She slides off the counter so that she can reach one of the bottles. The cork is surprisingly difficult to open, no doubt it's gotten stuck within the time, but after a little struggle she manages to take it off. But that's also when overly sour and vinegary smell hits her nose, as if the liquid was deeply offended for being waken up from such deep sleep. Without caring about the angry spirit J raises the bottle to her lips and takes a brave gulp.. Almost spitting the drink out just from the awful taste alone. God, this is worse than her first time tasting alcohol as a younger teen.
Somehow she manages to swallow the bitter liquid but that doesn't stop the shivers shaking her entire body. The drink is obviously gone bad within the time. Oh well, that doesn't stop her from taking yet another gulp from the neck of the bottle. If it's anything like to her first drunken experience, she should get used to the taste.
Play us a song, you're the piano man.
Well now.
The hall of music is certainly something that J didn't expect to find from abandoned space station. And for once.. She's not exactly sure what to think of it.
In other hand she did love the idea of it, that there was such quiet and private. The greenery was fine but J had always been more of a culture and music person than a garden person. But then again, in a way the whole setting felt nothing but a mocking reminder of what she used to do -- what she used to have. A glamour in the spotlight, cheered and loved by everyone. There's no way she can be star anymore like this, right?
A nasty sting twists and turns in her stomach as she walks past the stage, her eyes focusing down on the hard floor so that she wouldn't look at the audience even in an accident, right up to the piano that's placed in the corner near the curtains. She sits down on the stool and gently blows the dust off the keys. There's surprisingly little of it, which must mean that there had been others here before her. Makes sense.
Carefully she presses one of the keys and listens to the sound it makes. It's awfully off the tune, just like. How fitting.
"Aa-aa," J tries out her voice as she keeps presses the keys one by one, trying to see if she could match the sound. Needless to say, it doesn't work out like before. And even though her voice had healed pretty well, it was still quite difficult to reach the higher sounds. Plus, she's no pianist, which definitely comes across from her "playing."
WILDCARD
You know how this goes. Create your own adventure and so.
no subject
Kaz, to his credit, had genuinely assumed J to be a woman in her mid-twenties rather than a biologically male youth. But what he sees, oddly, is a male looking J.
He actually wonders if some of them changed genders before arriving at Avagi 'cause that's something he didn't prepare for.
"J?" he asks once, carefully, just to check. But he is coming over towards that lonely piano.
no subject
That's a look of confusion and disbelief that J recognizes.
She's never been too bothered with the idea of people knowing about her she is and what she's not. Back in New York Arther made sure that everyone she came contact with knew that her appearance is more deceiving than what one would first think, so there's never been a reason to raise a noise about something like that. And in Moira and Thisavrou? People.. hadn't exactly cared, save for few selected ones. So she stopped counting ages ago who knew and what and how. Because it hadn't mattered.
But this is different isn't it. She's not letting him -- or anyone else for that matter, to know by a choice.
"What's matter, big guy? You look like you've seen a ghost."
no subject
Kaz is a woefully paranoid man. It seems either quite a testament to how far he let his guard down or how utterly convincing J can be that Miller hadn't even fathomed that she might not be what she presented.
Funnier still, how casually she's acting now. Was he supposed to know? Would it be more correct to change pronouns.
"You look a little out of your element." Is what he settles for, eventually.
no subject
"You're right," she confirms and then turns back to piano, pressing more keys on rather random order. "I'm not a pianist."
no subject
"I meant the aesthetic, but you're a much better singer than a pianist, yeah."
Or at least, from what he remembers she is. He walks over, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Let me have a good look at your face."
no subject
For a minute she thinks of tossing up another remark or joke but in the end her lips stay sealed shut, waiting for his judgement.
no subject
[He knows what it's like to be ruined by scars.]
How is it now? What happened?
no subject
To say it had 'hurt' is really an understatement and she's only glad that she can't snap her thoughts to visit that memory in its full intensity even if she wanted to. She remembers the burn and pain sure -- but what really haunted her was the stench of a burning flesh.]
It's there now. [That's all she can think of to say before turning back to piano, pressing the keys.]
Does it matter how it happened?
no subject
[He says this with absolute conviction.]
But we don't have to talk about it. We can just talk music if you'd prefer. It's been a while since I heard you.
no subject
Taking deep breath through her nose, making her shoulders rise a bit, she takes her hands off the piano once again.]
It was Rinzler. [A pause.] Or.. you know. The shadow version of him, if that makes any difference.
no subject
[It might have been a mirror version, but that doesn't change the way it feels knowing that's still in there somewhere. Luckily for Kaz, he was only wounded by words.]
Yeah, I remember how his shadow was. It still matters. Especially considering what happened before.
Can I ask you a difficult question about it?
no subject
Incident that she shouldn't feel bad about anymore. Let alone blame Rinzler. Wasn't that what Shepard had tried to tell her.]
Sure. Go ahead.
no subject
[The fear matters.]
Do you feel helpless?
[The question is gently asked, hesitant because he knows he hates admitting his own weaknesses. And that's how he felt.] Even with the prosthetics, I always look back at what happened to me. And I feel helpless. Didn't matter how angry I got. It never went away.
no subject
[Did she feel helpless? She's not sure. It's something she's always tried to avoid with all costs. Victims were helpless not those who survive after all. Her eyes linger around him thoughtfully as she thinks of his words, giving him silent respect.
There<'s been too many situations on her life where the lines between victim and survivor have been blurred within her. When her dad died and she lost her voice in the orphanage, when the gun had been pulled on her New York's hotel room. When Rinzler killed her -- taking away her voice. And now. When his shadow took yet another vial important part of her away.]
I feel ugly. [Another feeling she's not familiar with. Despite everything that happened to her -- despite of whatever she is and stands for -- she's always had something.]
And. [A pause.] Exposed. I won't be lying anymore.
no subject
I'm the most paranoid man I know. And you had me convinced. Until just now. I'm not mad.
[Normally he hates being lied to, resents anyone who would dare take advantage of what thin levels of trust that he has. But there's nothing hostile to what Jay did to him.]
I feel ugly too, sometimes. I used to be a real looker. But after I lost my arm and leg... My body felt ruined. I still don't like seeing it.
no subject
She had made the same mistake with Mr. Miles, too.
She feels bad for thinking that now, not only because of her own face but to hear his story of falling from grace. Despite thinking him as old and ugly she could have always seen the attractive features, in his face and eyes. Maybe now more than ever.
But still. There's something that stands different between them.]
You can hide them, right? You can pretend to be real. It's not there for everyone to see and oggle at.
[Because that's what she can't do. There's no makeup to hide the scar on her flesh that looks like someone had tried to carve it all off with a burning knife.]
It wasn't about convincing anyone. It was about being real.
no subject
[Nine years of self-hate, of saying that he deserved what happened. Then J came to him with compliments that he desperately wanted to believe. He wanted to think that smiling, light-filled man was still under there, hidden and muffled and just needing the support. The lies did help.]
You're right. That I can convince other people. But believe me, I constantly know these limbs are fake. I lost them because I was a fool, and I suffered for it.
But they've fixed parts of me before, and if they can do that, they can fix your face. Not that it'll get rid of the fear of what happened, but you deserve to seek out your best self. If you can.
no subject
No matter how much she's painted her face, dressed up or decorated herself with different accessories she had always been painfully aware of what's underneath all of that -- or rather what's not. She had believed in the painting she allowed others see and almost devoured by the illusion.
But not anymore.
She stays silent for another stressed beat as she feels the bitterness caused by the hurt raise again from somewhere deep of her core. It spreads through her muscles and bones and snakes up along her body -- but with a heavy breath she keeps it down on her shoulders, feeling the prickly spikes warming her tense muscles]
What is it that scares you?
no subject
[Some more than others. But saying "elite parasitic troops" sounds a little baffling and complicated.]
Some of the things people are usually afraid of. Dying alone. Never accomplishing anything. Not being strong enough.
[He doesn't know how she can be, so he just tells her. Opens up, because he knows what it's like to be incomplete. To have your best self taken away. He tells her because even now, he doesn't like being alone in his own head.]