Nico Robin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
devilofohara) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-03-18 07:53 am
devilofohara) wrote in thisavrou_log2016-03-18 07:53 am
[closed] I won't use words again
Who: Nico Robin "Jaguar D. Clover" and YOU!
What: Various things!
When: March 8th, 13th & 14th
Where: Various places!
Warnings: Child trauma? Mention of death? Will update if anything bad happens.
March 8th, Closed to Sam Flynn
[When Sam receives his notification that he's been assigned a buddy, it had already been a week since the new arrivals had been brought in through the Ingress. The notification had been sent to his MID of his buddy's name - Jaguar D. Clover, if he can believe it - and message for him to meet with her in the Mess Hall, sometime after breakfast.
When he gets there, Robin is already there, sitting at a table with an empty food tray (that she still hasn't put away, despite having finished breakfast almost an hour ago) and a book in front of her. When he approaches, she's quick to look up - she hadn't been very focused on reading anyway, it had been a pretense more than anything - and speak to the man.]
Are you Sam Flynn?
[She looks with him with a calm, serious expression that didn't quite reflect how scared, defeated and uncomfortable the young girl feels about being brought aboard the Moira. She doesn't trust this ship or anyone aboard it - least of all the Captains, ]
I'm Clover.
~
March 13th, Closed to Zam Wesell and Riptide
[So this whole translation error thing? It hasn't escaped Robin's notice. Sure, she doesn't quite understand that the MIDs are malfunctioning, or that they were translating her to begin with but it's pretty hard not to notice the fact that basically no one can understand her at all.
She didn't even bother reporting to work at the cafe this morning. It was a stupid job when she could be understood, but now that no one understands her? She can't take orders like that, so there's no real point in bothering.
That's no real loss, though. It isn't as if a ship needs an assistant barista - or that she cares enough about the well-being of the ship for it to matter if it did need one. No, the worst part was the books. Whatever had scrambled everyone's speech around her has made it so that she can't read any of the books in this place either - which means that Robin is an eight year old child with no work and nothing to read. It doesn't take long for her to get bored.
When a certain bounty hunter comes walking down one of the wider corridors, they'll undoubtedly notice the small child tossing a ball. Which, of course, wouldn't be all that strange of a sight, if it weren't for the fact who she's throwing the ball too: A set of disembodied arms, sticking out of the Moira's wall.
She continues as Zam passes by, only giving the stranger a faint nod of acknowledgement before returning to her bizarre game of catch as if there was nothing wrong with this sight at all.]
~
March 14th (Early Morning), closed to Allison Ruth
[Robin hasn't been back to the cafe at all since this whole translation mishap began, but by the end of the 13th she had had just about enough of this not-understanding-anyone nonsense. Which is why she let herself into the cafe that night, with a few of the books she's already finished and an empty notebook.
It's obvious enough that not everyone in this place is speaking the same language - and the books don't all seem to be in the same language either. It might just be a pipe dream, but her hope is that translating some of the texts in these books will help act as a proper go-between for herself and others.
The flaw in this plan, however, is that translating things from scratch is very hard. Scholars are said to stand on the shoulders of her predecessors, and Robin (talented though she may be) is no exception to this rule. By the time morning arrives, she hasn't made nearly as much progress as she would have liked to - only a few pages worth.
The very tired little girl looks up at Allison when she enters the cafe to start the day. She gives the woman an annoyed look - not for anything Allison has done, per se, but rather because she suspects that she won't be able to speak with her manager any more easily than she's been able to speak to anyone else.]
...is it morning already?
[The question is rhetorical, more than anything. It's not like she thinks she'll be understood, after all.]
~
March 14th (Late Morning), Closed to Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff
[Last night had been, more or less, a bust. It wouldn't be correct to say that that she accomplished nothing, but she hadn't gotten enough done to act as the translator she had hoped to be. She'll continue her efforts later, of course, but for now she's given it a rest. If only because Allison insisted on her taking an actual, literal rest.
Which is why there's an exhausted eight year old child walking sluggishly down the hallway of the Moira, back to the room she's been assigned to. Her feet drag slightly on the ground as she goes, and the bags beneath her eyes make it evident that she didn't spend the night sleeping.
It takes longer than it probably should for her to notice that she isn't the only one in the corridor, and that two other woman are walking in the opposite direction. And it takes another moment after that for her to realize that she actually recognizes one of them - Natalie, the woman she had met in the mess hall some time ago.
As she draws nearer, she nods to them in greeting. The exhaustion on her face is clear, but there's also a curiosity there as well.]
Can either of you understand me?
[It's sort of a long shot, she knows, but she's curious. Allison could understand her, after all, who's to say that there isn't someone else aboard who could as well?
Unfortunately, what little hopes she are in vain, because her words most certainly will not be understood. Natasha and Wanda will definitely hear some similarities between Robin's native tongue and their homeworld's version of Russian. None of the words translate, of course, but the sound of the words being spoken, as well as how they're being spoken, share some striking similarities with the Earth language - something that will be particularly noticeable to a native Russian speaker.]
What: Various things!
When: March 8th, 13th & 14th
Where: Various places!
Warnings: Child trauma? Mention of death? Will update if anything bad happens.
March 8th, Closed to Sam Flynn
[When Sam receives his notification that he's been assigned a buddy, it had already been a week since the new arrivals had been brought in through the Ingress. The notification had been sent to his MID of his buddy's name - Jaguar D. Clover, if he can believe it - and message for him to meet with her in the Mess Hall, sometime after breakfast.
When he gets there, Robin is already there, sitting at a table with an empty food tray (that she still hasn't put away, despite having finished breakfast almost an hour ago) and a book in front of her. When he approaches, she's quick to look up - she hadn't been very focused on reading anyway, it had been a pretense more than anything - and speak to the man.]
Are you Sam Flynn?
[She looks with him with a calm, serious expression that didn't quite reflect how scared, defeated and uncomfortable the young girl feels about being brought aboard the Moira. She doesn't trust this ship or anyone aboard it - least of all the Captains, ]
I'm Clover.
~
March 13th, Closed to Zam Wesell and Riptide
[So this whole translation error thing? It hasn't escaped Robin's notice. Sure, she doesn't quite understand that the MIDs are malfunctioning, or that they were translating her to begin with but it's pretty hard not to notice the fact that basically no one can understand her at all.
She didn't even bother reporting to work at the cafe this morning. It was a stupid job when she could be understood, but now that no one understands her? She can't take orders like that, so there's no real point in bothering.
That's no real loss, though. It isn't as if a ship needs an assistant barista - or that she cares enough about the well-being of the ship for it to matter if it did need one. No, the worst part was the books. Whatever had scrambled everyone's speech around her has made it so that she can't read any of the books in this place either - which means that Robin is an eight year old child with no work and nothing to read. It doesn't take long for her to get bored.
When a certain bounty hunter comes walking down one of the wider corridors, they'll undoubtedly notice the small child tossing a ball. Which, of course, wouldn't be all that strange of a sight, if it weren't for the fact who she's throwing the ball too: A set of disembodied arms, sticking out of the Moira's wall.
She continues as Zam passes by, only giving the stranger a faint nod of acknowledgement before returning to her bizarre game of catch as if there was nothing wrong with this sight at all.]
~
March 14th (Early Morning), closed to Allison Ruth
[Robin hasn't been back to the cafe at all since this whole translation mishap began, but by the end of the 13th she had had just about enough of this not-understanding-anyone nonsense. Which is why she let herself into the cafe that night, with a few of the books she's already finished and an empty notebook.
It's obvious enough that not everyone in this place is speaking the same language - and the books don't all seem to be in the same language either. It might just be a pipe dream, but her hope is that translating some of the texts in these books will help act as a proper go-between for herself and others.
The flaw in this plan, however, is that translating things from scratch is very hard. Scholars are said to stand on the shoulders of her predecessors, and Robin (talented though she may be) is no exception to this rule. By the time morning arrives, she hasn't made nearly as much progress as she would have liked to - only a few pages worth.
The very tired little girl looks up at Allison when she enters the cafe to start the day. She gives the woman an annoyed look - not for anything Allison has done, per se, but rather because she suspects that she won't be able to speak with her manager any more easily than she's been able to speak to anyone else.]
...is it morning already?
[The question is rhetorical, more than anything. It's not like she thinks she'll be understood, after all.]
~
March 14th (Late Morning), Closed to Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff
[Last night had been, more or less, a bust. It wouldn't be correct to say that that she accomplished nothing, but she hadn't gotten enough done to act as the translator she had hoped to be. She'll continue her efforts later, of course, but for now she's given it a rest. If only because Allison insisted on her taking an actual, literal rest.
Which is why there's an exhausted eight year old child walking sluggishly down the hallway of the Moira, back to the room she's been assigned to. Her feet drag slightly on the ground as she goes, and the bags beneath her eyes make it evident that she didn't spend the night sleeping.
It takes longer than it probably should for her to notice that she isn't the only one in the corridor, and that two other woman are walking in the opposite direction. And it takes another moment after that for her to realize that she actually recognizes one of them - Natalie, the woman she had met in the mess hall some time ago.
As she draws nearer, she nods to them in greeting. The exhaustion on her face is clear, but there's also a curiosity there as well.]
Can either of you understand me?
[It's sort of a long shot, she knows, but she's curious. Allison could understand her, after all, who's to say that there isn't someone else aboard who could as well?
Unfortunately, what little hopes she are in vain, because her words most certainly will not be understood. Natasha and Wanda will definitely hear some similarities between Robin's native tongue and their homeworld's version of Russian. None of the words translate, of course, but the sound of the words being spoken, as well as how they're being spoken, share some striking similarities with the Earth language - something that will be particularly noticeable to a native Russian speaker.]
no subject
That might actually be pushing things.
Zam does a double-take when he sees it, slowing to a stop with a rather dubious expression. His eyes go from the girl to the arms and then back. He hasn’t missed the shipwide translator malfunction, but he can’t quite keep his commentary to himself.]
no subject
The arms, though? She doesn't usually use them to play catch, but their existence is the most natural thing in the world to her. They are quite literally an extension of her body, after all, even if they might not be directly attached to her.
At the sound of an indecipherable voice, Robin looks up at the stranger gawking at her powers.]
I can't understand you. [She says, giving him a somewhat disinterested look. She knows he can't understand her either, of course, but it feels weird to just ignore him.
She tosses the ball back up to the wall arms, and rather than returning throw, they keep the ball in their hands for a moment. If Zam pays attention, he'll notice a set of eyes appearing on the wall - allowing Robin to aim a little better - before the small rubber is thrown at Zam.
Not very hard, of course. She's only eight years old, after all.]
no subject
[At least he’s ready when the arms suddenly toss the ball his way. He catches it and looks from the arms and eyes on the wall and then at the girl.]
[Pointless waiting for an answer. After a moment, he tosses the ball back to her. He glances back at the limbs protruding from the wall. Probably the most disturbing thing about them, besides the fact that they exist at all, is the fact that they look like they belong to a child.
He looks back at the girl.]
no subject
The last thing he says definitely sounds like a question. And it doesn't exactly take a genius to figure out what he's asking about - the same thing everyone has questions about.]
Those are mine.
[She glances up at the arms and eyes on the wall, her expression completely neutral as she watches them all disappear into light pink flower petals that fade into the air before they hit the ground, leaving no trace where of their existence on the surface they had once been in.
Of course, words aren't really going to be of any help in explaining her situation. A demonstration is in order here.]
Watch.
[She reaches her arm upward to point at Zam, and as she does so a second arm grows out of the inner joint of her elbow, causing her arm to look as if it were split into two identical sections halfway down.]
I can grow them wherever I want.
[She gestures downward to the ground with her strange double-arm, as a few sets of hands, feet, arms and legs grow out of the ground around them, creating a little garden of limbs around them.]
Even on other people.
[With that, she gestures further down the hall at a big blue cybertronian headed down their way. Riptides more than a few (giant-sized) steps away, but even from here it's difficult to notice the sea of flesh-tones appearing on his left arm, as Robin blooms a dozen or so of her own arms out of his.]
no subject
right up until the arms happen.]
[he waves his arm a few times but as they keep multiplying, riptide's own panic gets the better of him. reflex kicks in and... well, if neither of them have seen a giant blue bipedal robot essentially fold in on himself to turn into a boat, it'll probably be pretty jarring.
the now-blue speedboat sits in the corridor for a moment, before, in a much more clearly annoyed tone:]
[thanks, robin.]
no subject
[He knows what’s coming when the girl gestures to poor Riptide, currently walking towards them in a pleasant state of not-currently-covered-in-child-limbs. Zam shakes his head.]
[But it’s too late. A cluster of little limbs burst forth out of the Cybertronian’s own arm. Zam doesn’t need to understand what he’s saying to pick up on -- and sympathize with-- his resulting panic.
What Zam isn’t expecting is for the Cybertronian to… shapeshift? Is that what he’s doing? In a matter of seconds, where the Cybertronian once stood is… a boat? Really?
Zam stares in shocked silence for a moment, eyes going from the boat to the girl. Can the weirdness on the ship at least space itself out so Zam doesn’t have to deal with it all at once? He takes a deep breath and looks at the girl with an expression that is trying to be stern but failing.]
[He then turns and calls out to Riptide.]
no subject
Robin more or less ignores Zam as he attempts to communicate with her. She can guess at the things he's saying - the usual stuff. Things like 'What the hell is that' or 'how are you doing these things?' Calling her a freak, or a monster or any number of other things she's gotten used to being called over the years. Nothing worth listening to, even in a new language.
As she goes to finish her demonstration, though, she's completely caught off-guard by Riptide's transformation. As his body begins to fold and crumple, she's fortunately startled enough that she loses focus, and the limbs growing on him all disappear. Which is a good thing, because otherwise they would have likely all gotten crushed by his shapeshifting form.
Speaking of which, he's now... A boat? WHAT? Robin's eyes go wide at the sight of him, and her face goes red at Zam's slightly scolding tone and indecipherable words.]
I didn't do THAT. [She says, shaking her head and gesturing at the whole of Riptide's... boatness. She's got no goddamn clue as to what just changed the metal giant into a seaworthy vessel, but it certainly wasn't one of her abilities.]
Is he... Is he okay?
[Her tone is a lot less sure of herself now. Power demonstrations are one thing, but this is an entirely new experience for Robin. She's not even sure if someone can survive being folded up like that, and she certainly doesn't want to be blamed for it.]
no subject
it takes a few more seconds, but riptide's own pre-built translator finally kicks in. at least one of them will be able to understand what he says next.]
...I'm stuck. In more ways than one. Cool.
no subject
The Cybertronian is speaking, not screaming, so Zam figures that he hasn’t been too badly hurt by the shift. As he draws closer, Zam’s surprised to hear that he’s speaking in Basic, unlike virtually everyone else currently on the ship.]
For the record, that was her fault, not mine. [Zam says as he approaches, tilting his head towards the girl. Zam’s a skilled shapeshifter, sure, but they can’t cause other people to change. He comes to a stop in front of the Cybertronian-turned-sea-vehicle and stares for a long moment, trying to process exactly what has just happened.]
Look, I’m just going to ask this as bluntly as possible: are you a boat right now, and if so, why?