driftfleet | First Breath of October

A. Oct 6th - return (action + broadcast (sort of)

[Kaidan had known, when he stepped out of the ailing Lyukite ship as it struggled to leave the surface of the planet, that he wasn't going to make it. He wasn't an engineer, and he'd lied when he had said he was going to attempt a few last second external repairs.

Instead, he'd pulled. The air warped with a hollow whipcrack of sound as the light of his biotic field wrapped itself around the ship. The engines strained weakly and for a few moments nothing at all happened. He merely stood poised on the surface of the planet as the burning ember of the meteor grew ever larger overhead. And then, with a groan, then shuttle started to ascend. He tells himself he's lifted a geth colussus before, though never with the intention of helping it achieve orbit. The fatigued engines, however, make up the difference.

He strained one last time, every neuron firing and muscle straining with invisible effort as he grunted with the immense effort. A wave of energy cascaded from him, catching the ship in it's crest and propelling up, but Kaidan saw this only in his darkening vision as he mercifully blacked out.

He wakes now with a pained gasp, the brief sense of something cold, wet, and alien around him at his hands slammed against metal and then suddenly it was the firm mattress in his quarters underneath him. His sense of this was vague, however, lost in the overwhelming pain and fever that was already burning in him. He rolled onto his side with a soft wheeze of effort, hands finding his communicator and eyes finding the door to his quarters. Fingers open the comm line to his crew but it's almost more than he can handle so soon, and he falls into a half doze with the line open to only silence]

B. the week or so following...

[This is sickest Kaidan has ever been. Common childhood illnesses were rare even back on Earth, and he'd been lucky to suffer through nothing worse than a brief bout with the flu. Not even the stretch of recovering from his near fatal head injury after Mars had been this bad. Sure he'd been sore and dizzy, but the worse part of that had been the boredom.

This is nothing like either of those times. His headaches have always been ubiquitous, and after the injury had been a bit worse than usual, but now they're nearly constant, at best a low throb and at worst has him huddled in a dark room with his head in his hands. Weak as a kitten has always been one of those joking cliches but he feels that now too. He's lucky to make it to the bathroom and back on his own, let alone feed himself, which doesn't always happen. Sometimes he just falls asleep.

The boredom starts to get to him anyway, and even shivering with fever he tries to get up and about. If everything weren't bad enough, though, there's something more than physically wrong. He sees things, sometimes. Flashes of fire down the hallway, or the sensation of heat on his face, or even blazingly cold blue eyes and horrific mechanical visages racing at him.

He turns on it every time, heart racing as his biotics flare, and then the image is gone. Just like that. He only has to pick up whatever object he's knocked off the kitchen counter or workbench or wherever else he might be, and try to pretend this isn't happening to him.]

C. Anything else? Wildcard? Want to message him?

Bridge

[Furiosa is dropped with the typical fanfare and burst of confetti on the bridge, scrabbling for purchase as her legs give out at the surprise transfer. The nub of her left arm is able to hook around the edge of the captain's seat. She grabs it with her right hand as well, taking a moment to steady herself before pulling into the seat proper.

She's been sick before, here in the fleet; the common cold, recovering from the avalanche, but this is a whole new level of cold and fatigue and lingering pain. She shivers in her seat, but for the moment she doesn't have the energy to try and make it back to her room. She drifts off into an uneasy sleep. Maybe it wasn't so far out of place for her; lounging on the bridge like this, but her conspicuous absence and the lingering image of sickness she wears defeats what would have been an otherwise normal occurrence.]

Around The Ship

[As soon as she's able to walk even remotely steady, tries to make a full circuit of the First Breath at least once every day-cycle. Still, she's stubborn, and doesn't take defeat as a hint that she should continue to relax and take it easy while her body heals. Maybe you find her in the galley; she's given up on making anything more complicated than straight protein paste for the moment. Or maybe she's fallen asleep on the table, closing her eyes for just a moment and being taken by fatigue. Perhaps she's made it as far as the hangar bay and needs help getting back because, well; she shouldn't really be pushing herself like this.

But however you find her, it might not be the best idea to surprise her awake; plagued by nightmares, and vivid hallucinations, she's prone to attacking whatever she sees as a threat - and that might possibly be you.

Voice to First Breath

'M back. Tyrion still has the bridge.

[She's not in any condition to effectively Captain right now, and if the fact that she went with voice over video wasn't enough indication, the worn, raw nature of her voice itself might be.]

[He might be without his vision, but his augment works just fine and setting up the kitchen to accommodate his current condition has been surprisingly easy. When Furiosa enters his domain, he is quietly taking inventory with the help of his device.]

We appear to have received a few pounds of flash frozen meat from Jill Valentine before her departure. With some correct seasoning, it could be used to make a decent stew for the crew. [He taps his cane along the amount of bagged roots and vegetables in the storage area between the kitchen and galley.] Four bags of potatoe-like root starches.

Definitely time for a stew of some sort.

[The sound of someone entering catches his sharper than normal attention.]

Who's there?

Furiosa knocks on his door.

It's taken a few days for her to get this far and really, she should be in bed, but when she'd heard that another crewmember was a casualty too, she's making it a point to check up on him.

But yes please open the door so she can come in and sit down.

"Kaidan?" Voice horse, but the attempt is made to speak up.

[She pauses in the doorway, leaning heavily against it, to catch her breath before answering. She's lacking in her duties - she doesn't remember meeting this guy. She's annoyed at herself - even through the fever and mental fog as it is.]

Furiosa. Captain. You?

[Her voice is still deep and raw and hoarse, as she presses into the gally and carefully settles herself into a seat at the table.]

[Prompto had told him about those that died during the impact on the planet. Furiosa had been one. As such, Ignis merely begins to draw her a cup of tea from the pot he'd made when he came into the kitchen and puts it roughly onto the table nearest her. A testament to his skills.]

I would be Ignis Scientia, this ship's cook for the last six months. Captain.

[Six months. She's really been lacking. She eyes the tea and looks back up at him before reaching for it. The warm mug is pleasant and she sits for a few moments with her hand cupped around it.]

Ignis. Yes. Prompto told me about you.

What do you think of the fleet?

Welcome back.

[And Barry means that genuinely.]

Can I get you anything?

[Which is hopefully less annoying than "are you okay?"]

Mm. Do we have any extra blankets?

[She's piled on all of her own but it still doesn't seem like enough.

[He waits until he can hear her get comfortable before speaking again.]

We have spoken before now, madam. I believe the most noteable time was when I was in this very room working on a menu for the crew. Though, that was many months before now. And before all of the recent commotion.

Kitchen

[While the crew that wasn't either asleep or otherwise detained has been graced with only Noctis to cook for them, Ignis isn't exactly sorry. However, now that he's back, blind or not, he is determined to resume his duties with all of the gusto that he previously held.

Noctis is a fine cook if he puts his mind to it, but cooking has always been something that Ignis could do for others, his friend especially. And he isn't about to let a minor inconvenience stop him from doing anything that he wants or needs to do. That includes cooking on the First Breath.

As such, Ignis is spending a good deal of time with his communicator, going over the utensils and food stuff actually in the kitchens. Occasionally, he lifts something to smell it, get an actual feel for the item in his hand. Very rarely does he attempt to taste something, but when he does, it's greeted with a frown.]

It smells terrible, but I believe that the protein paste that we get as basic food products is absolutely foul. How do the Atroma expect us to eat this vile trash if we cannot even stand its smell?

Hallways

[While the ship doesn't have a dedicated training area, Ignis has found that he can traverse the halls with his cane and relying on his hearing to dodge not only the exposed pipes and wires, but the cleaning droids that roam the span of the ship.

If one looks closely, it appears that he is doing some sort of training, timing his jumps and sidesteps with a meticulous sort of precision that he'd had before his injury.]

It's taken her a couple days to recover to a point where she knows she needs to see certain people, wants to check in with certain people. It's a long haul - not exactly normally so, but given her condition it feels like sloughing through a thick muck getting from one place to another.

There's a definite disappointment when she finds Tyrion's quarters empty, because that means her trek isn't over, but she's determined and pushes forward. Engineering? No. She's brought her blanket with her, gripped tightly around her shoulders, face set in a determined, pained frown.

The bridge.

A wry smile finds its way to her lips, as she heads toward the front of the ship. For as much as he protests the station, he's reliable. She couldn't have asked for a better first mate.

And that's exactly where she finds him - in the Captain's chair. She pauses a moment in the doorway to catch her breath - it's been a journey and she'll have to sit down soon - but then presses forward and lays a hand on the back of the chair.

"You look like you're getting comfortable." Her voice is still deep and hoarse with illness, but there's a playfulness to it. She knows he hates this, and she appreciates what he does for her in her absence.

There has been a lot going on. [And right now she's not exactly the most 'with it'. It frustrates her, though, that she can't remember. She takes a sip of her tea. It's good, and she looks down at it for a moment.]

How have you been faring?

There were times when Tyrion actually had asked for boredom. This was not one of them. He had projects he could have been doing, books he could have been reading, female friends he could have delighted on cuddling. But. No.

He was sitting on this bridge as Acting Captain until Furiosa was up on her feet again and who knew when that would be -

"SEVEN FUCKING - " Did you ever want to see a dwarf jump nearly a foot in the air? Well you got to now.

Normally such a sudden outburst wouldn't have had much effect on Furiosa; she's been in much rougher, more surprising moments, but now - she leans back from surprise and wavers slightly as her balance is momentarily upset. Her hand grips the back of the chair and she's just able to manage keep her footing.

"I guess I could have given you a heads up I was back." Carefully letting go of the chair, she bends down and reaches forward to touch her forehead to his, hand resting at the nape of his neck - traditional Vuvalini greeting, and something that Furiosa doesn't just do with anyone. "Glad to see you're alright."

"Furiosa?"

He's not as unsteady on his feet as he was right after reawakening, but it feels like kind of a fine line when he stands up, sways on his feet, then shuffles to the door to open it. The fact that he has to lean on the wall next to it to keep himself upright is something he tries not to think too much about.

The cabin lights are dimmed as they so often are when he has his migraines, and it recalls a scene from months ago that makes him smile wanly despite the ache in his skull.

"We have to stop meeting like this."

Tyrion put one hand to his chest, hoping to press his heart back where it belonged, as he looked over his shoulder at her with a rueful look.

"That would have been pleasant. Especially from the standpoint of not sending me to the grave right after you." He is surprised by the gesture, but his smile is warm and real. "... And I you."

She gives him a wry, weak little chuckle. "You first. Can I sit down?"

Since he looks about as keen on standing as she feels. It was an odd recurrence and she wondered whether it spoke more to Atroma in general or their habits specifically. Perhaps this time, it was the latter.

A moment longer, a gentle squeeze, and then she leans back and settles herself on the navigator's console. Standing is rough right now. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

Not too serious, as she hopes she doesn't have to repeat this experience ever again. "You seemed to fare alright without me - ship's still in one piece. I think you're better at this than you claim."

Those habits were foremost throwing themselves into danger without much thought and pretending they didn't need as much help as they did. That tactic wasn't working quite as well in this case, considering how well bravado stood up when the room was spinning.

Kaidan slid himself back to the opposite wall, which wasn't all that far, thankfully.

"Be my guest. Bed's still the only place, I'm not much for decorating. And uh...if you don't mind if we keep the lights down. I swear I don't have designs on you. It's just...you know..." The persistent pain that was somewhere between real and phantom than no medication was able to manage.

He's joking, but once the words tumble out of his mouth he realizes it might not be entirely true, either.

I will check.

[Which he will do very quickly, because he's Barry, and between what he has and the spares that he can find, he has a decent stack of blankets to donate to the cause.

She might see the spark and crackle of Barry's speed around the edges of her door when he drops them off before zooming off again, not sure if she's feeling up for visitors.]

I left them outside your door.

He looks up at her, and promptly gets out of her seat, gesturing for her to sit down someplace properly. He did not just come back from the dead, after all.

A faint snort. "Oh, you missed earlier this week, when I was faintly .... insane with grief."

I would agree. Aside from the commotion with the system we recently left, I don't think any of us have fully recovered from the memory-sharing incident.

[Among other things.]

I would say that I have been better than I am right now, but I have been worse as well. I suppose there are other worse off. There is nothing like a little distance from some incidents to make it less traumatizing.

"Lights are fine like they are, prefer them this way." Since she's hurting, too. And she'll take a seat on the edge of the bed if only because she doubts her ability to stand if she took a seat on the floor.

"-- and I doubt you'd be able to do much right now if you didhave an ulterior motive." Neither of them were really up for anything strenuous. Or mildly active. "So ..." She settles herself on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, right hand rubbing the stub of her left arm absently. "You got caught up in everything as well, I take it?"

[She'll look over when she hears the crackle, and chuckle softly to herself.]

Thanks, Barry. How are you holding up?

First Breath of October

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Furiosa

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Ignis Scientia

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