Abigail Hobbs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
versusnurture) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2015-09-23 10:21 pm
versusnurture) wrote in driftfleet2015-09-23 10:21 pm
one ➵ video / spam
Who: Abigail Hobbs and u
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Starstruck
When: 9/23, eveningish
[All things considered, this is actually a pretty good witness protection program. How are the police going to find her in space? And she didn't even have to die this time. It's probably the best kidnapping she's ever experienced.]
[Admittedly, she did spend some time wondering if this was the same thing again, if, somehow, doing what needed done had sent her back to the Barge, qualified her as an inmate again. But those were very fleeting concerns - first, because she knows what she did was just, and second, because this is nothing like the Barge, which looks disorganized on the surface but pulls together in crisis. The Fleet looks quite organized, with its shiny ships and perfect synchronization, but she has a suspicion that when shit hits the fan, everything falls apart.]
[That remains to be seen. The point is that she's learned from the last two times; she neither presents a face immediately nor gives herself away immediately, choosing instead to spend her time on the Marsiva and her first few days on the Starstruck settling in, going over the comms, gathering what information can be gathered. Only then does she step out into common spaces.]
[She pays particular attention to the cargo hold, where she deliberately and conspicuously practices some of the flashier moves Harvey taught her - although flash does not preclude precision, because she is very good at what she does. She also spends a lot of time in the kitchen, hanging out but also inspecting; she doesn't like the processed nature of the food provided, and she spends some time looking for an ingredients label before giving up.]
[When she eventually sets up a broadcast, it's in the kitchen, as well, futuristic cabinets lined up behind her head as she seems to focus somewhere slightly off-camera. For the record: the giant scar on her neck is totally visible, as is the fact that she only has one ear.]
It's sort of funny to me that when people come to a place like this, they either introduce themselves with a lot of questions or a lot of yelling. If anybody wants to answer my questions, that would be pretty hospitable of you, but I got tired of answering them after a while, so. It's not compulsory.
If anybody would rather perform an exchange, I can do that, too. Quid pro quo. My name is Abigail Hobbs. I come from Earth - Bloomington, Minnesota, originally, which I bet none of you have ever heard of - and I spent a couple of years in a place sort of like this, only not at all. My hobbies are hunting, fishing, cooking, and reading poetry. Once I wanted to be a psychiatrist.
The rest of it, you have to earn.
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Starstruck
When: 9/23, eveningish
[All things considered, this is actually a pretty good witness protection program. How are the police going to find her in space? And she didn't even have to die this time. It's probably the best kidnapping she's ever experienced.]
[Admittedly, she did spend some time wondering if this was the same thing again, if, somehow, doing what needed done had sent her back to the Barge, qualified her as an inmate again. But those were very fleeting concerns - first, because she knows what she did was just, and second, because this is nothing like the Barge, which looks disorganized on the surface but pulls together in crisis. The Fleet looks quite organized, with its shiny ships and perfect synchronization, but she has a suspicion that when shit hits the fan, everything falls apart.]
[That remains to be seen. The point is that she's learned from the last two times; she neither presents a face immediately nor gives herself away immediately, choosing instead to spend her time on the Marsiva and her first few days on the Starstruck settling in, going over the comms, gathering what information can be gathered. Only then does she step out into common spaces.]
[She pays particular attention to the cargo hold, where she deliberately and conspicuously practices some of the flashier moves Harvey taught her - although flash does not preclude precision, because she is very good at what she does. She also spends a lot of time in the kitchen, hanging out but also inspecting; she doesn't like the processed nature of the food provided, and she spends some time looking for an ingredients label before giving up.]
[When she eventually sets up a broadcast, it's in the kitchen, as well, futuristic cabinets lined up behind her head as she seems to focus somewhere slightly off-camera. For the record: the giant scar on her neck is totally visible, as is the fact that she only has one ear.]
It's sort of funny to me that when people come to a place like this, they either introduce themselves with a lot of questions or a lot of yelling. If anybody wants to answer my questions, that would be pretty hospitable of you, but I got tired of answering them after a while, so. It's not compulsory.
If anybody would rather perform an exchange, I can do that, too. Quid pro quo. My name is Abigail Hobbs. I come from Earth - Bloomington, Minnesota, originally, which I bet none of you have ever heard of - and I spent a couple of years in a place sort of like this, only not at all. My hobbies are hunting, fishing, cooking, and reading poetry. Once I wanted to be a psychiatrist.
The rest of it, you have to earn.
no subject
[The question makes her smile wide.]
You've been terribly clever anyway, actually. And yes. I am. Once I knew someone who wanted to make me a monster, and once I wanted to be a monster myself. But I am and have always been completely human.
no subject
[the world splits, the earth dies, or a group of cultists get smart and try to resurrect your evil demigod sibling from the dead. cute girls lose their ears, good-looking boys get shot in the head.
anyway, he likes being called clever, and ends up resting his chin in his hand.] I think that clever shard of beauty comes from being human anyway. That has a name where I'm from--C'perel.
no subject
[After a moment, she shakes her head.]
No. I think . . . this thing, c'perel, [pronounced effortlessly on the first try,] I think it's something that humans have, but not just humans. Monsters who seek their humanity have it, too. The boy who told me that story, he wasn't human, but I don't think he could have seen it if he hadn't known it from personal experience.
no subject
[it's less of a game now, more of an actual conversation... and he really considers what she has to say, just as she considered his response. he presses his lips together, looks just off to the side. there's nothing but humans and monsters and Kings in his world, but he's met a lot of others in places like this...
he thinks about Tek, first. wonders if he's got that beauty in him. he'd really like to believe he does. and then there was Vincent, the brab'ja, who he hasn't thought of in a long time. and then there's himself, which sends a small dull something rattling into an empty spot in his chest he'd maybe forgotten was there.
oops. he's not supposed to be having these conversations anymore. he laughs, but only out of conversational necessity--] If we talk like this for too much longer, Abigail, you're going to make me cry.
no subject
If I don't ask you why this is making you cry, maybe you'll think I'm uncaring or maybe you'll think I'm tactful. The truth is I'm not either. I just want you to tell me on your own, if you want to, or not; either way's fine.
Crying is such a strange thing. It hurts and it feels like you're suffocating and then you feel better. Would you feel better if we talked like this for much longer and I made you cry?
no subject
...eventually, he raises a finger. looks back at her eyes, for what little eye-contact is worth over a screen.]
I don't know. There's a lot to consider. I'd like to think on it for a while.
[he continues to not smile, even as his tone gets a little wry.] Though I can promise you that on my list of concerns, you personally rank somewhere below my getting a blotchy face on supposedly-live television. It's terrible, all the red goes right to my eyes. And my nose.
no subject
[But he's - interesting, she supposes that must be it. He's interesting, and he holds himself sort of like royalty, and he has a sense of humor dry as dust, and she likes him. So she gives him a break, this time.]
It goes to my cheeks, mostly. I mean, I've never been on television before - actually.
[She laughs, and this one's real, if a little sly.]
I was once. But I was bleeding out, so I didn't really get a chance to enjoy it.
no subject
people sometime dig into little wounds because they're stupid or angry. he does it because he is selfish and hollow and very, very hungry. it's how he stays alive. if she's like him, she's a stray dog. she's smart and she's desperate. she bites hard because she she's terrified of starving, that makes her dangerous and unpredictable. they could be pack-mates or they could eat each other alive--and he's promised to act more like a wolf anyway.
he doesn't think Abigail is a bad person. he just needs to make sure he's actually the stronger animal.
but they're moving on. she's giving him pause. it's very polite, shows restraint. and now he owes her one. he tables it to listen again, tilting his head a little as she corrects herself--eyes widening a little as a sudden (and also more genuine) laugh escapes him.]
Oh, no... [as if this was a wacky irony and not her near-to-actual death.] Is that the one on your neck?
no subject
[She's not a monster, after all. She's a human girl, that's all she is. That's everything she is. And now he owes her one.]
[She grins, anyway, at the tone, because - how else do you talk about your own near-death? You have to make a joke out of it, right? That's the only way to do it.]
That's right. The one on my neck.
[She traces it with one finger, remembering the feeling of it, like nothingness, hearing her skin part, and then searing pain that was more than the word pain could ever express.]
My dad did it. He killed a bunch of people, then my mom, then he tried to kill me. With a knife, in our kitchen, while my mom bled out on the front steps.
[Raised eyebrows, like - crazy, right? - and the faintest hint of a smile.]
no subject
that's what happens. he giggles and hunches his shoulders and half-covers his mouth with his hand.]
That's terrible. [through his fingers, grinning back.] Did you die?
no subject
Not that time. There was a ton of blood loss, obviously, but this guy shot my dad and they got me to the hospital in time - I was just in a coma for a while.
Would you believe it happened again, though? Same thing, same place, different kitchen, same cut. Bleeding out just isn't as much fun the second time around.
no subject
Yh tega... And I bet they said you were lucky to be alive.
no subject
[Pity would repulse her. She used to use it as a tool, but now it signifies weakness. Empathy is one thing; pity is the height of ugliness. So she smirks right back at him, cavalier as all hell.]
At least it was a learning experience. I don't let men anywhere near my throat anymore.