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
"Really," the latter statement makes her give him a quick mystifying look. "What gave it away?"
no subject
And the... broken singing? He's not sure.
"I know the ride in wasn't too great... you okay, J?"
no subject
"I suppose." She answers with a shrug. "Mostly just in piece so it could be worse. What about you? What's last thing you remember?"
no subject
"I'm not sure, actually. Just working another day at the radio station, then suddenly I was home, now I'm here. It's a blur."
no subject
no subject
no subject
She's sure he didn't mean any of it but then again, she can't really blame him for it at this point.
no subject
no subject
What's your job, then. Are you going back to play radio or what?
no subject
[he shrugs, crossing his arms.]
Nah, going to medical. I think we need another medic more than a dj right now.
no subject
But yet, she doesn't argue against it.]
I beg the differ actually. Adrien's got the medical under the control. But can't say same about the music nowadays.
no subject
[as much as he wants to agree with her and go off and dj.]
Maybe we could do somethin' on my downtime, huh? Still singing?
no subject
[His passion had always seemed to lie deeply within world of music to have room for anything else. Everyone's full of surprises.
And speaking of a surprise, his question makes J halt, eyes round and wide staring him for a bit in a disbelief, which turns into sourness within few seconds and then settling into frustration.]
Didn't you hear it when you came in? My voice's busted, someone decided to rearrange my vocal cords again. [She presses a key again while letting out her own voice, trying to match the off tuned sound with her own hoarseness. And failing.]
Besides, no one wants to see a tramp with ruined face pretending to be a star.
no subject
[it does, and it always will, but right now they need more medical support than a dj. he's still planning on doing a show again, though, of course. just when it's more... appropriate.]
Ah... maybe I can help? An' don't talk about yourself like that, J. You're beautiful.
no subject
[She says but her tone is flat. As nice the sentiment is it's difficult to take in when her face is the way it is, scarred and ruined. She's not really one to be comforted with words like "looks does not matter."]
What? Interested in singing lessons?
no subject
Maybe somethin' a bit more hands on.