thisavrou_log | [Open] Tell the Truth

Entry tags:

[Open] Tell the Truth

Who: Elizabeth DeWitt & YOU
When: May 4th
Where: Her quarters and hallways of the Moira
What: Dawn of the first FastPenta victim...
Warnings: Potential discussion of torture and experimentation

It's been a long month for Elizabeth. Between Rinzler, Peter, Del Pascia, Ivan's mother, Papyrus and Sans-- there hasn't been a single moment to open the box that was delivered to her in the middle of the month. Tired and sporting a pair of dark circles under her eyes, Elizabeth finally settles in to open the box in her quarters. How the captains got a record player and some records into this tiny box in one piece, she'll probably never find out, but the sight makes her smile fondly. This is just what she needed.

She reaches into the box to lift the player out gently-- but it seems to be stuck, something wedged between the box and the player. After a few delicate attempts, Elizabeth growls and starts really pulling. Whatever was keeping the player out finally comes away, and Elizabeth's hand drops between the player and something that pinches.

"OW! Ow--" Elizabeth is stuck with the pinch for a few more seconds as she fights to get her hand out of the box and out from under the record player, but finally she manages it and examines her hand. Nothing, strangely... no blood, nothing. Still, she's certain she felt something.

The player comes out easily now, as do the records, and Elizabeth discovers a strange tube of, apparently, 'FastPenta'. Whatever that is. It looks like a drug though, Elizabeth isn't so naive not to know that much. And apparently it stung her, because there appears to be nothing else in the box that could have done it. Time to go to the medical bay, apparently, strange tube in her hand just in case they needed the drug. She walks a few steps before she starts to feel hazy and dizzy, and the thought that she's been poisoned does cross her mind as she runs a few steps and tries to work her MID. "This is-- this..."

The thought vanishes and she laughs quietly. No, she's okay, she's fine, no need to panic. Or do anything really. She'll just sit down on the floor of the hallway, that seems to her to be a wonderful idea.

((OOC: Elizabeth has run afoul of a FastPenta hypospray, and now she's sitting on the floor of one of the hallways and behaving quite strangely. Your typically cagey first mate is a relatively easy target now...))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Miles has known Elizabeth DeWitt for several months now, and he'd like to think he knows her fairly well. And he's never known her as the sort of woman who would just sit down in the middle of a hallway and...do nothing else, apparently. Curl up in the corner of her library with a good book, sure, but...

No, she's definitely just sitting there on the floor by herself, he confirms as he moves closer, a little cautiously. Some alarm or other in his mind is going off, he's just not sure which one. Her expression looks strangely glazed. "Elizabeth?"

"Yes!" Elizabeth agrees, enthusiastically that that's her name before she even registers who it is. Once she does, she looks thrilled. "Miles! Miles, Miles, you're looking so well, I've been worried even after we talked and after what happened on Del Pascia. Don't have too many friends, I have to keep tabs on all of them, which is hard sometimes but it's good that I have enough that it can be difficult."

She pauses. No she thinks that's about it for that line of thought right now, so she brightens and smiles at him again. "So you're okay, I feel okay too. Well, tired. I need some rest-- but not like you needed rest, I'm just overworked. This whole business with Peter and Rinzler and Wanda has me up all night, I just don't know what to do about it. There doesn't seem to be any answer, which isn't something I'm not used to, life is full of situations where there are no good answers, but it should be my responsibility as the first mate to do something about this. I just don't know what. I've never had to take care of so many people at once, I thought it would be the best thing for me to do after having literally no responsibility to anything but myself-- well, that's not true, after I led Atlas to Sally I essentially made it my responsibility to stop the Little Sister program because I'd essentially sold her out like my father did to me, and like him, I had to take responsibility for what I'd done-- and yes it came on a much larger scale than I'd thought, but in the end it was right. It ended that circle of exploitation, that was the right thing to do.

"It's just not as clear anymore. I can't see the doors, so obviously I don't know what the right thing to do is, and it's hard, it's so hard not knowing anything, not seeing any doors, I never knew how used to it I was until it was gone--"

She apparently just can't stop herself. If he doesn't interrupt her, she'll just keep going.

Oh. Oh, shit. Miles identifies that fast-penta smile before he even sees the hypospray in her hand. Well, now can add another name to the list. Did she does herself by accident? He never knew Elizabeth to be that clumsy, but...well, she is holding it. Casting a quick glance down the hall, Miles drops to a crouch next to her.

"Elizabeth," he interrupts gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It's alright. It's a lot to take in for anyone, and you're still new at the job. Believe me, I know. Are you feeling alright?"

If Elizabeth had a fatal allergy, it probably would've manifested by now, but it doesn't hurt to ask. Not that he has the antagonist anyway.

"I feel okay," she says with a nod before breaking into a smile again and giggling. "I said that! Did you forget already?"

It feels like she just said it a couple seconds ago, that two whole paragraphs hadn't happened between then and now.

"I'm fine, I haven't even gone anywhere by myself in a long time. See? That's good! I'm doing what you asked me to do." She sways from side-to-side for a moment, thinking. "I don't think they should have picked me. I'm a librarian. With an encyclopedic knowledge of firearms and chemistry and code-breaking, and a long history of complete and total isolation. I can barely talk to anybody without wondering if I'm going to do something socially unacceptable-- do you know how sick I was while trapped in Ivan's room with his mother? Alone? For what felt like hours? I had no appetite after what I'm sure to her was a perfectly normal conversation--"

"Oh, God, that sounds -- Ivan left you alone with Aunt Alys?" Miles gapes at her, looking a little horrified, and then curls his hand into a fist at his side. Ivan, you idiot...

"Well, I'm...glad it's over, terrifying as that must have been. And I'm sure the captains, um...had their reasons." God, he hopes so. "I -- wait, do you not want the job?"

"No, I do!" she sits up straighter and scoots with her legs closer to Miles. "I do, I really do! But... I mean, come on Miles. I've never managed anything bigger than a book collection, let alone a space ship with... a hundred? A hundred and fifty? Person crew. They're probably expecting me to be a leader, do something about all of this insanity that's happening, control the situation."

She shrugs sadly. "All I wanted to do was make it better for people who didn't want to be here. I thought I could do that. I wanted to, the Moira is my home, I don't want people to suffer here. But as long as people have different moral indexes and communicate in different ways and value different things, we're never going to get along all the time. People fight, people have been fighting over ideology for thousands of years-- and that's just from an Earth 1959 perspective. Conflict will always exist.

"I've never seen us as a military ship, or a ship that's on any important mission aside from Get Everyone Back in One Piece. Maybe that's why I never thought my lack of formal military experience would be a problem, I have-- enthusiasm. And energy. And a desire to make this a home not just for me.

"...but it's just never going to work. I grew optimism in a few months and now it's slowly dying again. You'd think I'd learn."

Edited 2016-05-16 01:35 (UTC)

"Hey -- hey," Miles says, his hand firm on her shoulder. His heart's sinking into his stomach with every word from her. "Enthusiasm and energy count for a lot. I didn't have any military experience at all -- well, not any real experience, anyway -- when I was just seventeen and took over a whole damned military fleet." He draws in a breath, an odd sense of déjà vu washing over him. He remembers now why he could see Elena in Elizabeth. "If I can do it, so can you."

He's alarmed by how morose she's becoming, but that rarely lasts long with fast-penta subjects. All he has to do is shift the topic -- people under fast-penta are usually easily guided to other trains of free association, but first... "But, ah -- why don't you give that to me?" He holds a hand out to gently pry the hypospray from her hand. Something to take her off the path to misery, right -- and get her out of public view. The last thing he wants right now is to have to explain this to someone. Oh, it's no big deal, my friend here is just under the influence of a potent truth drug, nothing to see here... "Let's take a walk -- maybe I should call Ivan, eh? See what he's up to. I'm sure he'd love a visit right about now."

Ivan, right. She likes Ivan. That ought to be a safe and uplifting topic.

Elizabeth looks up at Miles, giving him the most earnest and eager expression. She wants to hear that she's doing alright, but Miles being the one to say it instills great confidence in her. He's always seemed vastly capable to Elizabeth and, aside from that one time he didn't know who she was, had reliable opinions. So his reassurance goes a long way to getting her to smile again, still a little glazed but relieved.

"I know it's terrible to be trapped in a place you don't want to be in, but... there's no one to blame. No Comstock to blame, et cetera et cetera. I think sometimes people need to blame something and that's why everyone is gangpiling on the captains. But what if they're like us? Brought here, away from their own worlds, just trying to keep everything together until everyone can go home, and they're afraid we'll just descend into absolute anarchy if they don't pretend that somebody knows what's going on. People need leaders."

She blinks slowly as Miles takes the hypospray out of her hand, looking confused for a moment and holding on longer than she should. Though she finally figures out that he wants it, and lets go. Sure, why not? No reason for her to hold that anymore. "I found that under my record player. I was going to take it to the medical bay." But they can walk! Walking is great! What's also great is Ivan.

The second Miles mentions his name, Elizabeth's smile gets even dopier. But she stands up anyway and walks wherever Miles guides her, holding his hand loosely. "I love visiting with Ivan. Oh Miles, you have no idea, I just... I know you and Gregor must think it's strange for me, a librarian comfortable with guns, to be so enamored of someone who takes months to finish three books despite spending a lot of time behind a desk, but I am. I really am. He makes me laugh, he comforts me when I'm sad, I've told him so many personal things that I was sure would make him stop writing to me... but you were right. I'm ashamed to say I misjudged him. Or I thought the situation would be perceived as more egregious than it was-- but anyway--

"The point is, he knows almost everything now. The captivity, the procedures, the people I killed, the tears, the torture... how far I strayed from the person I wanted to be. So now it's easier to start over. Build myself to be the Elizabeth I always wanted to be, with him. See things, do things-- normal things. I just love it when we read-- I read out loud to him, and he stops me to ask questions and sometimes I have to explain the context and sometimes we just talk about the plot or the characters or what each of us might do in a similar situation.

"Why do you think he isn't smart, Miles?" Elizabeth tilts her head at Miles as they walk, frowning slightly. "I didn't think it was particularly nice of you to smirk at him when I dropped those books at your quarters. Back when the three of you were living together."

Miles keeps opening his mouth to reply, to get a word in edgewise, but Elizabeth keeps talking. He's usually doing the one doing that much talking, how does he deal with this?? He's about to agree with her on some notes about the captains, and that she misjudged Ivan and that Miles is glad she's so happy with his cousin -- though he's curious to hear the full story about her too, he's only gotten selective parts of the story -- but...

"Uhhhhh," is all he can manage at first. He slips the hypospray in his pocket, squeezing her hand. He'll get her back to the Vorkabin and call Ivan, and they'll figure out what to do about this together. Keep Elizabeth company and out of public sight until the fast-penta wears off, if nothing else. "Well -- you didn't grow up with him," he says in defense, rolling his eyes to himself. "Remind me sometime to tell you about his part in that whole mercenary shakedown."

"You've got me there," she says with a laugh, holding Miles' hand and swinging it back and forth. "The stories he's told me, I've always felt so jealous that you, and him, and Gregor seemed like brothers. I wished I had siblings, I wished I'd had family, but I have to live vicariously through his stories, and your stories. But I still love imagining the three of you hiding under tables." She grins at him. "Sometimes I imagine what it would have been like if the four of us were friends when we were children. We would've had so much fun, I like to think.

"I used to make blanket forts," she volunteers. "I would've made us the best blanket fort. Stars painted on the sheets, tunnels, a corner for each of us... it would have been amazing."

She could have had a childhood with friends. That would have been amazing.

"But I can see why you can call your family idiots and get away with it. I guess that's why it slides off of him like it's nothing, right? I think if someone called me an idiot, it would actually stick."

"That does sound amazing," Miles finds himself compelled to agree, his mouth twitching into a small smile despite himself. "Maybe we can make it a reality sometime. All four of us. Who says we can't all be kids again for a day, eh?"

It'd probably be good for Gregor anyway. Miles hesitates, chewing his lip. "...That woman, Elena," he starts, haltingly, "who I mistook for when I -- well, she was a childhood friend of ours. She grew up with Ivan and me. You'd like her, I think. In fact, you remind me a lot of her." Go figure. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is -- yes. We should all do something properly juvenile together sometime."

He frowns slightly. Calling Ivan an idiot is one thing -- frustrating though his cousin may be, Miles is very fond of that idiot, and anyway, it's his father who started the trend. Miles was fifteen when he realized Ivan wasn't his middle name, having heard that idiot Ivan all his life.

"It would also be a blatant falsehood," Miles says with great conviction. He gives her hand a squeeze. "You, Elizabeth, are one of the cleverest people I've ever know and...ah. Here we are." Finally at the kvortira, Miles keys the door open and quickly ushers Elizabeth inside. Empty -- no one else around. "Have a seat, eh? I'll get in touch with Ivan."

"Mm, I remember you mentioning her, Elena. I'm sorry she didn't marry you, Miles. That seems like it would have been perfect-- childhood friends and then spouses..."

No, Miles didn't tell her that. Miles can thank Ivan for this recent train of words.

"I don't know that I feel good about reminding you of her, considering everything that's happened between us. Or maybe it's just fine-- I mean, it's not like you asked me to marry you, I asked you on a date and you said no. So really it's the other way around. And... less serious, obviously.

"I don't know," she laughs. "I don't know if I know the difference between friendly love and romantic love. Maybe I just wish you'd said yes because I can't tell the two apart yet. You know more about this than I do-- hell, practically everyone does-- you probably made the right decision for our whole... friendship."

She looks around the room like this is the first time she's seen it, bright-eyed and curious, before sitting down on Miles' bed and crossing her legs at her ankles politely. "Alright-- I wonder where he is right now... maybe swimming? We swim sometimes, though it's getting to the point where I feel a little embarrassed about showing up in the same two swimsuits. If I'd known, I would have requested a few more. Maybe five. He probably finds it boring that I only have two, right?"

Oh, God. This conversation is reaching heretofore unclimbed heights of discomfort via candidness. What limb can he gnaw off to escape this conversation before Elizabeth starts drawing further conclusions about Miles's miserable track record with marriage proposals -- or worse yet, starts to ramble on about her and Ivan's sex life? He'd better head off both points fast, all while furiously typing a message to Ivan on his MID once they're inside the kvortira.

Elizabeth has one of the hyposprays, dosed herself somehow, get back to the cabin PLEASE.

"Oh -- no, that's not -- no, it wouldn't have been any good." It's a little painful to admit, because Miles still loves Elena, in more way than just the one. "She was right to turn me down. We were only seventeen and I was just -- well, I was in a panic, and only seventeen. And...that's not why you remind me of her, Elizabeth. Just in personality, in resolve. In your desire to make a better life for yourself, and reject what you were given."

That's certainly what Elena's refusal to go back to Barrayar had been; she'd made it plenty clear enough. And marrying Baz Jesek seems to have worked out just fine.

Somehow it seems unfair that Elizabeth should be the only one being so painfully honest, given she doesn't have much of a choice about it. Miles takes in a deep breath, another twinge in his chest. "Look, I feel bad that I just made that decision without consulting you first. I really didn't think it'd ever come up. I still think it was the right decision, but I wish I'd...actually talked to you about it first. I'm sorry." He bites his lip. "But, uh -- I don't think lack of swimsuits is going to be a problem with Ivan. Here, why don't you sit?"

Ivan Xav Vorpatril, if you don't get your ass back here soon...

Elizabeth sits, very happy to do so at Miles' request. "Oh it's alright. I was hurt, but then I realized... things never really work out the way we plan for them if we make plans like that. I planned to go see Paris and have all my dreams come true right then and there. And that was just too simple a solution, turns out. Would have been nice, though," she says with a small shrug. "On both counts. But not right. Paris was empty because I had no one with me. Just being there wasn't enough. Maybe it would have been the same between us. Just being there would have made what we have now impossible." She considers that for a moment, staring into space as though trying to see something. But she can't, not anymore, and so she just laughs it off and shakes her head as though she's being so silly. "But you do say the sweetest things.

"Seventeen... only seventeen..." Elizabeth muses quietly. "My father met my mother when he was seventeen. They got married pretty soon after that, and then I happened. And my mother died. And my father--" she shakes her head with a sad laugh. "He had no idea what to do with an infant. And he sold me, when he was nineteen.

"Insane, isn't it? The things we think are right when we're just children..." Somehow, it sounds like she's applying that to herself as well.

Miles struggles to maintain an awkward smile, not sure what to say to that, but it falters and falls off his face entirely as Elizabeth goes on to talk about her parents, about what happened to her as a child. He's gotten parts of that from her and Ivan both, if not in any coherent fashion, but hearing about any of it makes his gut clench. Miles bites his lips together, drawing in a breath.

"I'd hardly call you a child, Elizabeth. And it's not childish to want...things." Miles fumbles desperately, thinking quickly of a way to divert this question to some happier topic. He doesn't want Elizabeth to later regret spilling a bunch of her family history at him, if there were things she meant to keep secret. Everyone's entitled to their secrets. "But, ah, ha! How sad can you be when you've got Ivan, right?"

He just hopes this won't lead to a deluge of unsolicited information about their...whatever it is they've been doing. He glances down at his MID again anxiously. Dammit, Ivan...

"Yes, I have Ivan, that's true," she agrees, smiling dreamily. Miles just dodged a long discussion about how she considers her childhood to have gone on through her teens and all the way to when she was twenty. She'd never known the realities of life until she'd escaped. Before then, her dreams were Paris, dancing on a pier, starry skies, pretty dresses...

"Or, well, we're spending a lot of time together. Swimming, and having picnics on the observation deck..." Her smiles, if possible, gets wider and more pleased. "He touched my leg the other day."

This is the extent of scandal in Elizabeth DeWitt's life.

After the most recent attack—after the edits—Rinzler's spent much of the last week in hiding. He emerged from the ventilation system just two days ago, and if he's keeping external expression carefully normal, it's a safe bet the program hasn't let his guard down yet.

Scans pick up the ping of user just around the corner. The signature isn't familiar, but fingers still twitch slightly with the urge to have his disk in hand. He pushes back the reflex (though it stays on standby, just in case), stepping more quickly as he makes to pass by...

...only to still, as he actually turns the corner and sees the new admin... laughing in the middle of the floor? Was she damaged? Glitched? Did he care was probably the better question. There's no vocal interruption to her fit, but Elizabeth only has to track the dissatisfied rumbling to find a black-masked murder-program staring dubiously her way.

Elizabeth rolls on her hip when she hears the noise, apparently completely unconcerned with it but curious as to where it's coming from. When she sees him, instead of looking wary or embarrassed at the position he's found her in, she grins.

"Rinzler...! You've made an appearance, I'm glad. I heard about what happened with you and Peter again--" Elizabeth frowns suddenly and shakes her head. "Horrifying, just terrible. I wanted to say something, but it's too much to tell Peter. Too personal. But you were right to run. That wasn't right."

Rinzler's apathy might still take some working past, but the moment the user turns his way and grins, the type of error is at least resolved. She's definitely glitched. He's half-tempted to start a search for strange plant-creatures in the area. That's what had done it back in the user school, and searching out a system threat would be more useful than beta-sitting this one.

Not to mention less irritating. He bristles just a little at her pretense of sympathy. Of course. It was 'terrible'; he was 'right'—just not so much as to earn his attackers any censure. At least not when they were this user's friends. The black helmet shakes, slightly disgusted, though Rinzler doesn't provide any other output for the moment. She doesn't have to lie. He knows what he is, and he knows what he's for.

"No! No I mean it--" Elizabeth scoots a little towards him, her knee hitting the hypospray and causing it to roll across the floor. She startles at the noise, but figures out quickly enough what it is and picks up the tube again. What was she doing with this again...?

"Comstock tried to leash me. Drove a needle this long--" she holds her fingers about six inches apart (after setting the hypospray down again. "Into my spine to control what I could do. If I could have run, I would've run so far to get away from that. But I thought someone would help me, or stop when they realized what they were doing to me."

She looks down at the hypospray and rolls it around a little with a finger. "They didn't, and no one did."

Rinzler's gaze flicks sideways at the clatter of the tube. He's seen similar devices in the medical wing, though never properly in operation. Was that the source of her errors? Some kind of faulty self-repair? Something to think about.

Certainly it's an easier concept than the words overflowing from the admin's mouth. Rewrite means more than a control or limitation. Being rewritten is still something he doubts this user understands. Not that it would matter if she did. Rinzler isn't a user. The program is a tool and a weapon, something that exists to be remade.

Still, the aversion to control is notable. Especially for one tasked with command. The black mask lingers downward, sound unchanging for long moments. Then he types a word into his MID and projects it for reading.

Why?

"Because they were too afraid," she says, with the confidence of someone who's run this over and over again in her head. "They let their fear guide their hands, and they told themselves it was for the good of all as they planned to leash me, and then kill me.

"It didn't happen to me, but it happened-- in a time and place where I wasn't given a way to escape, it happened. I was brought down and indoctrinated through pain until I was someone else, until I wasn't sure if I would go back to how I was if I took the leash off. When I couldn't escape, they might as well have killed me.

"...but when I was handed that chance, I took it," she says, looking up at Rinzler through her eyelashes, stopping the hypospray from rolling for a second. "And I made sure they regretted their decisions."

It didn't happen, but it happened. A duplicate? Or maybe this one was a recompile, backups saved before the files were corrupted, then restored. That seemed closer to the story that she's telling, but Rinzler's skeptical. Just as likely that she's speaking in hypotheticals alone, pretending at an understanding of something she'd only ever faced in rough projection.

Impossible to say for sure. Users lie, and this user is glitched too far past standard function for any guarantee of clarity. Still, there's something about that I that hurts; a bright, sharp point of certainty amidst the haze. Whatever did or didn't happen, she knows who she is.

Of course she does. She's a user. A beat of stillness, and Rinzler redirects.

How?

This is where, normally, Elizabeth would stop and give some cryptic answer. Something that didn't give away the one secret she's guarded from so many people. She can count the number of people who know her secret on one hand.

"I opened a tear between the operating theater and the plains of Kansas, and I let a tornado in."

FastPenta is going to make that number grow.

There's a beat of stillness. The words themselves are half-familiar at best, and even what Rinzler comprehends is as much through inference as recognition. She opened a link. A Portal, and there's an uncomfortable shift of familiarity as something brushes past the filters in his mind. She allowed a threat into their system, and...

Killed them.

"Yes," she nods as though she hadn't just admitted to killing two people. "Not many people have survived being hit with a tornado. That's not why I picked it though-- I didn't really pick it at all. I just opened up something that would make them stop, and my subconscious picked something that more or less reflected how I felt."

Like ripping everything apart.

Good.

The line is short. Simple. He might not like this user—he doesn't, not at all, and his building suspicions about why she'd really condemned his self-defense aren't helping. But users aren't meant to be repurposed or controlled. They'd tried; they'd made themselves into threats. And she'd deleted them.

Still a hypocrite.

Elizabeth's eyebrows immediately come together in confusion.

"Wait, why? When was I a hypocrite to begin with? When did that happen?"

She is definitely not a hypocrite. Probably. There's so much going on and her views are generally so strong that maybe there's something she's missing here.

"Come on, tell me, I can take it," she says, scooting forward a little bit. "I meant what I said, breakdowns in communication are the sources of problems, you can tell me," she scoots forward more, still on her knees. This is the person who murdered two people with a tornado.

Before coming to this system, Rinzler spent several user-months in a different one. A world where he'd been forced into a user body, stripped of his mask and armor functions, left weak and unarmed against any number of threats. For the most part, this place—and his condition here—is a vast improvement.

But right now? Rinzler badly misses being able to eyeroll.

Disallowed deletion of system threat.
Corruptive. Viral. Hazard to users across ship.
Given excuse: 'murder'. Acting 'outside the system'.

He's not even mentioning the parallels with his own situation. She'd condemned him for fighting back when he'd been hunted—in particular, for inflicting 'multiple casualties' on his attackers without remorse. She'd gloated over her own superiority in not allowing those who'd trapped him to punish him with worse after. It was every bit as grating as the pacifist, and supposedly, for much the same attitude. The perspective that killing was wrong no matter the threat or consequences of not doing so.

But that much, Rinzler at least thinks he comprehends. She's a user, and he's not. Rinzler isn't so stupid as to expect the same allowances for his defense. But for her to refuse to let anyone wipe the virus, despite its current, active threat to the whole system?

Glitched.

Killed threats to save yourself.

Elizabeth sits back on her heels and blinks at him-- it's pretty straightforward, what he's accusing her of, and after a few moments she nods a few times.

"That's true, but there's only one problem with your logic-- it supposes I thought what I did to those surgeons was the right thing to do." She laughs faintly and shakes her head, the scene washing over her again, though in a different light.

"I was angry. I was in pain. Even as I opened the tear, you know who they pleaded with? Booker. Not the person they were hurting, the one who turned off the machine. 'Turn it back on DeWitt, please' they said. They were pleading with the wrong person, but I suppose by then I wasn't a person to them anymore.

"Killing people... has been a solution for me before, but it's never brought me any comfort. If I could do it over again, I'd find another way to stop them. I know better now."

Elizabeth's laughter is a welcome sound, light and carefree as Bel hasn't heard it in too long. For a moment, about to step into the corridor, they expect to find her with Ivan.

The expectant grin dissolves, though, as she comes into view.

"Elizabeth?" Sitting in the middle of the hall -- is she hurt? That giggle hadn't sounded like one of despair. A few quick strides takes Bel to her side. "Is something wrong?"

"Bel!" Elizabeth grins, looking up from spinning the hypospray on the floor to entertain her. "Not right now, I don't think. Is something wrong? Did something happen when I was opening my mail?" It would figure if something happened when she thought she had a minute to herself.

"I didn't hear about anything..." Elizabeth frowns at her MID and starts flicking through it.

"No, is--" oh. Oh shit. Bel kneels beside her and touches her cheek; the patented fast-penta grin would be enough even without the telltale hypo on the floor.

"I see," Bel murmurs, carefully moving the hypo out of reach. "Yes, but never mind, it's all right. I know what this is; it'll wear off on its own if the antidote's not available. And good news, you're not allergic...." Thank God -- by this far into the drug's active phase, she'd have been dead or dying if she were. They should call Miles. Or Ivan. Both. Get her to Medbay -- no, Alys Vorpatril is the last person, in all kindness, who should see her like this.....

"How do you feel? -- Physically," the hasty addition inserted to head off at least some of the free-association that accompanied fast-penta confessions. She'll remember this afterwards, of course, and Bel wants to make her comfortable, not to pry.

Elizabeth straightens up when Bel touches her-- even being incredibly cooperative and friendly, having someone reach for her face is apparently enough to cut through a lot of the drug's affects. She looks unsure and backs up a little, though her expression is more akin to a curious and nervous child.

"Wait... I need to take that somewhere--" she says, pointing at the hypospray and reaching half-heartedly for it. Is it really that important? Important enough that she has to hassle Bel for it? No, probably not.

"Tired," she admits with a sigh. "I haven't been sleeping much. I'm too concerned about the crew, and what's happening with Peter and Rinzler, and whether or not I'm doing well as the First Mate. It doesn't feel like it, so I worry until I can't sleep.

....speaking of unusual reactions. Liz is from a different culture and it's been a while since Bel last sat in on a fast-penta interrogation, but there shouldn't be an avoidance reflex intense enough to damp the drug's euphoria, not for so mundane a gesture.

The hand drops immediately, and Bel sits a little lower on their heels, the better not to present as physically threatening. Does this newly-discovered touch aversion extend to the rest of her? It can't, can it? They've known each other too long now for Bel to have missed that. Still, it's with caution that Bel intercepts her reaching hand, cupping a palm under it so she can easily pull back if she needs to. "You were probably taking it to medbay, right? It's okay, you can leave it with me." A wry smile. "It's from my home planet, anyway. See? It says 'Beta Colony' on the label."

The safety cap is gone, of course -- it needs to be stowed somewhere, but Liz shouldn't be left alone. "I'm worried too," Bel says; it's a helpless, sick feeling to watch the situation grow more and more volatile and have no way to amend it. "But if you're not sleeping, that'd make everything feel worse. Don't go the way Miles did last month, all right?"

What to do with her, though? Bel's own cabin isn't a single, and they'd need a Vor thumbprint to get into the only other ones where Liz might ride the dose out without an unfamiliar audience--

Wait, though.

Asking point-blank about Liz's private quarters would be invasive, given the situation; she can't help but provide a direct answer. First fast-penta case on the ship and I'm racking my brains how not to interrogate her..... "Is there a safe place you'd like me to take you to, where you can rest while you're feeling like this?"

"Oh..." Elizabeth hadn't read that much of the label, but Bel is probably right. She readily holds their hand, smiling happily. Apparently she's alright holding hands, she even seems to like it. "I didn't read the label, I was too afraid of what it was. That's why I wanted to get it to the medical bay, but if you think I'll be okay, I trust you. If it's from your home planet, you'd know best!"

She holds onto Bel's hand and sways back and forth, thinking. "Oh I won't end up like Miles. Miles has a lot more to worry about than I do, he's got his fleet and his responsibilities back home... I literally have nothing aside from the ship. Which I suppose isn't nothing, it's my only home. I want it to be a good place for everyone, even if they didn't want to end up here. And I know that's not very realistic, but... it's what I wanted to do when I was offered the job. Make things better for the crew." She looks down at her hands and shakes her head. "I'm not doing a very good job."

But a safe place! Yes, a safe place sounds nice right now. "How about my quarters? I spent a lot of time decorating it so it would feel inviting and comfortable. I love curling up by the fire in my robe with a good book... it's the perfect way to undo all of the stress. You haven't visited me yet though, Bel! Come on, let's go! I want to show you my place!"

That's much more like her. Bel presses her hand warmly, wanting to ask what's wrong, what happened to set that startled reflex in her nerves and skin, but right now she'd have to answer and that wouldn't be right. Even as it is, she's surely saying more than she'd want to. The futile struggle to manage a recalcitrant crew, a position without the teeth to make it count -- it's a familiar struggle, not only from the Moiran experience.

"You're doing a fine job," Bel assures her, putting the vial down out of the way and taking both her hands. "This isn't any fault of yours. And the crew's bigger than any I've served with, now -- we should trade for a few more ships, form a fleet, make you commodore." Bel grins, remembering how Elena had been growing into the task after old Ky retired. "You have a lot on your hands -- maybe you need some assistants too. But I know dedication when I see it. Believe me, it makes all the difference."

There'll be uncomfortable explanations about the fast-penta later, but for now, the vial must be made harmless. Bel beams at her enthusiasm. "Yes, that sounds ideal! I should have visited you when you first got the room. This needs to be wrapped up first -- I know--"

Shucking off the ship's black on-duty uniform tunic, Bel slips the hypo into one sleeve, folds the open ends to trap it there, and wraps the tunic around it in a compact bundle. Nobody could possibly be stung through all those layers, and for Bel, the Moira thermals, too tight in the chest area but quite opaque, adequately serve whatever modesty the rest of the crew might demand.

"Let me put this in my mailbox and you can take me wherever you decide."

[[aaaa, I'm so sorry this is so late!]]

Elizabeth laughs at the idea. "Me? A commodore? I don't think so, I'm too nervous being a figurehead for one ship, can you imagine what would happen if I was fully in charge of more? I'd lose my mind!" But this is all quite funny, because she just keeps laughing. "I do need help maybe. Some people who are just as dedicated to making this place pleasant. ....sadly hard to come by, given most people just plain don't want to be here."

She watches curiously as Bel strips out of their tunic, her eyes resting on their chest. Elizabeth hasn't ever asked Bel what they are, and she's rationalized that it's really none of her business and if Bel didn't want to be called by any specific pronoun that was their choice.

But Elizabeth is too honest to be tactful right now.

"You have a bust."

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