LAURALAE. (
fuga) wrote in
driftfleet2016-03-11 08:18 pm
Entry tags:
( 001 )
Who: Lauralae
Broadcast: Video
Action: On board the HS Marsiva
When: 10th until Shuffle!
VIDEO;
[ The feed opens on what appears to be nothing more than a nest of darkness, shifting only when the figure that owns it shifts. It turns out to be dark, matted hair, sticking to pale skin and only separating through small slits as gloved fingers move and press the stands away - both sweat and blood bead against her face and she sits up, breathing out hard and pushing herself away from the bed with a quick, jerking motion, as if afraid of her own shadow. Her fingers shake and her skin pale and marred, streaks of blood decorating her like an artist's paintbrush against a scarred canvas.
It takes her a little while, but she finally pushes herself up. There is silence for a moment, only broken by the sound of her heavy breathing, until her hands reach out and pick up the device. The feed itself shakes with her fingertips, almost more bone than flesh, until she speaks, voice low and hoarse, exhausted. ]
Where am I.
[ Anyone currently on board the Marsiva will find her on the same bed she had woken up on, surrounded by what seems to be a circle of red with her legs tucked under her - what, exactly, she had been doing was a matter worth debating, but she seemed fit to faint under the weight of nothing sooner than she would be fit to explain anything. ]
Broadcast: Video
Action: On board the HS Marsiva
When: 10th until Shuffle!
VIDEO;
[ The feed opens on what appears to be nothing more than a nest of darkness, shifting only when the figure that owns it shifts. It turns out to be dark, matted hair, sticking to pale skin and only separating through small slits as gloved fingers move and press the stands away - both sweat and blood bead against her face and she sits up, breathing out hard and pushing herself away from the bed with a quick, jerking motion, as if afraid of her own shadow. Her fingers shake and her skin pale and marred, streaks of blood decorating her like an artist's paintbrush against a scarred canvas.
It takes her a little while, but she finally pushes herself up. There is silence for a moment, only broken by the sound of her heavy breathing, until her hands reach out and pick up the device. The feed itself shakes with her fingertips, almost more bone than flesh, until she speaks, voice low and hoarse, exhausted. ]
Where am I.
[ Anyone currently on board the Marsiva will find her on the same bed she had woken up on, surrounded by what seems to be a circle of red with her legs tucked under her - what, exactly, she had been doing was a matter worth debating, but she seemed fit to faint under the weight of nothing sooner than she would be fit to explain anything. ]

video;
What sorcery have you cast upon this? I will not fall prey to any demon.
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[now she realizes she actually has no clue what to ask, though. what a winner.]
Okay, uh - what's your name? Where are you from?
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[ A pause, then: ]
Lauralae. Alvanja.
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[ She tilts her head and shifts her hair, showing off her ears - they were, obviously, once long, elven points, but they've been cut off and left scarred and almost grotesque. ]
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There's an alternate universe elf me here now. Awesome. Wow.
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[ Her hair falls about her face again and she reaches, drawing her hood over her face to hide herself from the camera. ]
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What augment do you have?
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[ Which is true, and she doesn't mean it in a cruel or derogatory way; she isn't human, nor is she elven or a dwarf or anything between. She simply is, an exile and a shadow. ]
Augment... The pain in my head. Magics of healing and care for others.
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...You're not serious.
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I do not jest.
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We are twinned again?
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[ That she is sure of. There is a kind of steely determination in her that can't be denied, even as she shakes, even with how pale and gaunt she seems, think with too little meat on her bones. ]
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