[When Maeve wakes, it's not with the van that drops the rest of her cohort of newbies in the alleyway. Rather, she's a few steps ahead: already secure and accounted for in the safehouse. Not that it helps much. The last she remembers is the chaos of the first arrival-- a deep wound in her side, the dead and injured all around her, shuffling to safety with a man injured worse than her at her elbow.]
001; So, upon waking, she's understandably groggy, bewildered, and on high alert. Some fool's left a pair of medkit scissors beside her cot, and, in instinctive self-defense, she seizes the makeshift weapon and rears up when greeted, prepared to run, or attack, or whatever else might happen in the next few moments.]
They told me the drugs wore off. Who the fuck are you?
002; [Thankfully, the scenario's explained to her one way or another. She's no happier about it, of course, but she's at least got some measure of context. It's no different from last time, and barely different from home, is it? She's still as trapped as she was before, simply resting within the bars of a slightly different cage. At least there were the native children around to pass the time babysitting her first go around. So she remains quiet, silently analyzing her situation and assessing the state of the safehouse. Maeve paces the area, back and forth, drifting through all the common areas and sitting alone on her cot with a hawk-like gaze. Until, of course, she's greeted.]
Quaint little place they've got here, don't they?
[She smiles coyly. The charm's on like the flip of a switch.]
Tell me about the outside some, will you? I'd like to know what I'm getting into.
003; [Of course, no matter what she's told, she's going out there herself the moment the drugs wear off lmao.
Maeve does what any self-respecting, slightly out-of-depth gentlewoman would do at a situation like this: she's wooing rich people out of their money for free drinks and food on top of the intel, natch. Fortunately, she's willing to share the wealth (that isn't hers) with anyone she recognizes from the safehouse.]
My, my-- you haven't had a sweet yet, have you? [Yes, you. Even if you haven't met yet.] Darling, [she says, tapping the shoulder of the tall, finely-dressed woman whose arm she's hanging off of,] we've got to let them try that smoky one. Would you buy another?
[The wealthy woman hesitates. Maeve shoots her a coquettish look, and she cracks.
maeve millay | westworld | ota
001;
So, upon waking, she's understandably groggy, bewildered, and on high alert. Some fool's left a pair of medkit scissors beside her cot, and, in instinctive self-defense, she seizes the makeshift weapon and rears up when greeted, prepared to run, or attack, or whatever else might happen in the next few moments.]
They told me the drugs wore off. Who the fuck are you?
002;
[Thankfully, the scenario's explained to her one way or another. She's no happier about it, of course, but she's at least got some measure of context. It's no different from last time, and barely different from home, is it? She's still as trapped as she was before, simply resting within the bars of a slightly different cage. At least there were the native children around to pass the time babysitting her first go around. So she remains quiet, silently analyzing her situation and assessing the state of the safehouse. Maeve paces the area, back and forth, drifting through all the common areas and sitting alone on her cot with a hawk-like gaze. Until, of course, she's greeted.]
Quaint little place they've got here, don't they?
[She smiles coyly. The charm's on like the flip of a switch.]
Tell me about the outside some, will you? I'd like to know what I'm getting into.
003;
[Of course, no matter what she's told, she's going out there herself the moment the drugs wear off lmao.
Maeve does what any self-respecting, slightly out-of-depth gentlewoman would do at a situation like this: she's wooing rich people out of their money for free drinks and food on top of the intel, natch. Fortunately, she's willing to share the wealth (that isn't hers) with anyone she recognizes from the safehouse.]
My, my-- you haven't had a sweet yet, have you? [Yes, you. Even if you haven't met yet.] Darling, [she says, tapping the shoulder of the tall, finely-dressed woman whose arm she's hanging off of,] we've got to let them try that smoky one. Would you buy another?
[The wealthy woman hesitates. Maeve shoots her a coquettish look, and she cracks.
Congrats, Maeve's new bestie, you now have a stranger shoving a cup of gently smoking, fruit-flavored crackers into your hands.]
wildcard;
[hmu for whatever :* pms or pp to