Riona Cousland | Hero and Queen of Ferelden (
bryces_pup) wrote in
driftfleet2017-03-12 05:47 pm
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Entry tags:
Eighth Blight - voice and action
Who: Riona fresh off her canon update, and you
Broadcast: Yes
Action: On the Blue Fish, if desired
When: Forward dated to the morning of 3/13
[She had just closed her eyes for a moment, weary from her journey and bracing herself for whatever lied ahead. Sand coats the lines of her eyes and nose, and the taste won’t seem to leave her mouth. Her breath catches in her throat, ready to verbalize her decision as to where they should go next-
When she opens her eyes, she finds herself not in the west, surrounded by desert and harsh sun, but in a little metal room, laying on a bed. The sudden shift startles her. She springs into a crouching position, kicking the sheets off of her as her hand instinctively goes for her sword or dagger or something.
Her mind reels. The sight of the room, the little trinkets and things that adorn the space feel familiar. Bits of memory jab at her: the odd mask stashed in a corner brings forth a memory of a drunken young man with curls, and Leliana’s knowing smile. Next to the bed she sees a shield propped up against the bedpost, and she recalls a grin and kind words. Slowly but surely, the memories begin to trickle back in.
The fleet. I’m back.
Or, well, awake, by all appearances. Shit, how long have I been out? She sits on the edge of her bed, rubbing her hands over her face-
-and frowning at the smudges of ink that rub off on her fingertips. Lovely. Just what I wanted to wake up to.
Her burst of annoyance is tempered by the sight of a plate with food next to her bed. She’s famished, and wastes no time in gulping it down. The fork clatters loudly onto the plate when she’s done. Pushing it aside, she gets to her feet, her balance a little unsteady as she takes a lurching step towards the door. But she pauses when she reaches for the handle.
It’s been, what, ten years? Yes, she was barely in her twenties when she last set foot amongst the fleet. How is she to face her crew, her friends, the people who’ve come to know her? The Riona they remember will not exactly be the one they see when she steps out. Their memory of her is fresh, while her memories of them are mixed in with the passage of a decade, muddied by time and the perspective of a young woman who didn’t know a damned thing. How is she to reconcile that?
Get on with it. You can’t hide in here forever. Clenching her jaw, she opens the door.
The ship is silent. She suspects most of her crew may be on the planet, or elsewhere. Wherever they are, she’s glad for it. She’s not ready to face them. Quickly she makes a beeline for the bathroom, and locks the door behind her.
Her destination is the sink. It takes quite a bit of water and scrubbing, but eventually she washes off Leliana’s little drawings. After she dries her face off, she looks up and catches her reflection in the mirror. It’s a startling comparison. Because of her time in the fleet, she can more clearly remember her younger self, and the differences between then and now are starker.
Her lips press into a tight line as she takes stock: the bags under her eyes, her more thinned out face, the hardness around her eyes. Standing there in that bathroom, faced with nearer memories of past days, she really fully realizes just how much the years have taken a toll on her.
She sighs; she knows there’s no hiding from this. They need to know she’s awake. And whatever comes, whatever they’ll think of her now, she’ll manage. She always has. It’s all she has.
--
After she showers and gets herself dressed into fresh clothes, Riona grabs her communicator and heads for the bridge. The thought of doing this in the galley leaves her feeling too exposed, and she’s too unfamiliar with the planet to go that far out of her way. The Iskaulit is a shuttle flight away, and Riona doesn’t want to look like she’s hiding. Merely, she wants to just… position herself as best as possible.
So she settles for her pilot’s seat on the bridge. It affords a nice view, and some quiet while she mulls over what she’s going to say. It’s been so long…]
[Once she settles on her choice of words, she flicks on her device. She sticks with voice for now, not wanting to startle anyone unnecessarily.]
It seems that I’m awake.
[To those very familiar with her, they may notice a certain rougher quality to her voice, a sort of coarseness that wasn’t there before.]
Yes, yes, we all know the questions that come next: what did I miss? Has anything changed? And of course, how long have I been out? [A pause. Her tone deadpans.] I remember this place. The natives thought sudden introduction to their water to be the best way of acclimating us to their home. [Assholes.] So, it couldn’t have been for too long.
[There’s a sound, almost like a laugh.] How this place makes a mockery of time…
[Time. It’s not a luxury she has back home. Here, though, she has it in spades. It almost disconcerts her. It feels sort of wrong, that’s how unused to it she is now.]
If you so wish to see me in person, I’m on the bridge on the Blue Fish. Be mindful if you do, though. [A wry, humorless smile stretches across her face, and it’s evident in her tone.] It’s been awhile.
[And with that warning, she shuts the feed off there.]
Broadcast: Yes
Action: On the Blue Fish, if desired
When: Forward dated to the morning of 3/13
[She had just closed her eyes for a moment, weary from her journey and bracing herself for whatever lied ahead. Sand coats the lines of her eyes and nose, and the taste won’t seem to leave her mouth. Her breath catches in her throat, ready to verbalize her decision as to where they should go next-
When she opens her eyes, she finds herself not in the west, surrounded by desert and harsh sun, but in a little metal room, laying on a bed. The sudden shift startles her. She springs into a crouching position, kicking the sheets off of her as her hand instinctively goes for her sword or dagger or something.
Her mind reels. The sight of the room, the little trinkets and things that adorn the space feel familiar. Bits of memory jab at her: the odd mask stashed in a corner brings forth a memory of a drunken young man with curls, and Leliana’s knowing smile. Next to the bed she sees a shield propped up against the bedpost, and she recalls a grin and kind words. Slowly but surely, the memories begin to trickle back in.
The fleet. I’m back.
Or, well, awake, by all appearances. Shit, how long have I been out? She sits on the edge of her bed, rubbing her hands over her face-
-and frowning at the smudges of ink that rub off on her fingertips. Lovely. Just what I wanted to wake up to.
Her burst of annoyance is tempered by the sight of a plate with food next to her bed. She’s famished, and wastes no time in gulping it down. The fork clatters loudly onto the plate when she’s done. Pushing it aside, she gets to her feet, her balance a little unsteady as she takes a lurching step towards the door. But she pauses when she reaches for the handle.
It’s been, what, ten years? Yes, she was barely in her twenties when she last set foot amongst the fleet. How is she to face her crew, her friends, the people who’ve come to know her? The Riona they remember will not exactly be the one they see when she steps out. Their memory of her is fresh, while her memories of them are mixed in with the passage of a decade, muddied by time and the perspective of a young woman who didn’t know a damned thing. How is she to reconcile that?
Get on with it. You can’t hide in here forever. Clenching her jaw, she opens the door.
The ship is silent. She suspects most of her crew may be on the planet, or elsewhere. Wherever they are, she’s glad for it. She’s not ready to face them. Quickly she makes a beeline for the bathroom, and locks the door behind her.
Her destination is the sink. It takes quite a bit of water and scrubbing, but eventually she washes off Leliana’s little drawings. After she dries her face off, she looks up and catches her reflection in the mirror. It’s a startling comparison. Because of her time in the fleet, she can more clearly remember her younger self, and the differences between then and now are starker.
Her lips press into a tight line as she takes stock: the bags under her eyes, her more thinned out face, the hardness around her eyes. Standing there in that bathroom, faced with nearer memories of past days, she really fully realizes just how much the years have taken a toll on her.
She sighs; she knows there’s no hiding from this. They need to know she’s awake. And whatever comes, whatever they’ll think of her now, she’ll manage. She always has. It’s all she has.
--
After she showers and gets herself dressed into fresh clothes, Riona grabs her communicator and heads for the bridge. The thought of doing this in the galley leaves her feeling too exposed, and she’s too unfamiliar with the planet to go that far out of her way. The Iskaulit is a shuttle flight away, and Riona doesn’t want to look like she’s hiding. Merely, she wants to just… position herself as best as possible.
So she settles for her pilot’s seat on the bridge. It affords a nice view, and some quiet while she mulls over what she’s going to say. It’s been so long…]
[Once she settles on her choice of words, she flicks on her device. She sticks with voice for now, not wanting to startle anyone unnecessarily.]
It seems that I’m awake.
[To those very familiar with her, they may notice a certain rougher quality to her voice, a sort of coarseness that wasn’t there before.]
Yes, yes, we all know the questions that come next: what did I miss? Has anything changed? And of course, how long have I been out? [A pause. Her tone deadpans.] I remember this place. The natives thought sudden introduction to their water to be the best way of acclimating us to their home. [Assholes.] So, it couldn’t have been for too long.
[There’s a sound, almost like a laugh.] How this place makes a mockery of time…
[Time. It’s not a luxury she has back home. Here, though, she has it in spades. It almost disconcerts her. It feels sort of wrong, that’s how unused to it she is now.]
If you so wish to see me in person, I’m on the bridge on the Blue Fish. Be mindful if you do, though. [A wry, humorless smile stretches across her face, and it’s evident in her tone.] It’s been awhile.
[And with that warning, she shuts the feed off there.]
no subject
[That just makes sense.]
Let me think, what's important to remember... Well, there's no air in space, for one, so that's terrifying. Also we're apparently on some intergalactic television programme that no one we ever run into has heard of so the reigning theory is that it's bunk and we're actually here for some other purpose. Uhh... toilets flush, there's hot water without having to light a fire, refrigerators to keep food for longer before it spoils, and games on your little communication device to pass the time. Those are excellent. Oh, and being here apparently stops diseases like the Taint so they don't progress. So that's a silver lining.
[His performed enthusiasm tones down a bit into a more genuine smile at that.]
Also you have friends here still, whatever happened in the last ten years there, and we're here for you.
no subject
The mention of the taint stirs that years-long unease within her. Yes, she's safe from it here, but it doesn't mean it's gone. But there is a way... if the person who can do it is willing.
Thoughts for another time.]
I appreciate that sentiment. [The words ring hollow in her ears. She's not used to being surrounded by friends. Court taught her that few are truly on her side. The months she's spent traveling with her old Amaranthine bunch, minus the still MIA Anders, has undone a little of the damage, but it's still very much there, that mindset that she must be guarded at all times.]
no subject
Wicked Grace is still on for Mondays, if you'd care for your seat. We never miss it, even if sometimes I have to drag Anders along.
[Not that Anders ever doesn't want to go, but he does need pulled away from whatever project he's set for himself, especially here on this planet with the disease to cure. But if he doesn't take breaks he's going to burn out, so Wolfe drags him to Wicked Grace or out to explore or sometimes even just to bed.]
no subject
[She vaguely remembers playing it here. Nights filled with laughter and complaints of cheating.]
Perhaps not immediately, but yes, I think I'd like to return. Though it's been an age since I last played.
no subject
no subject