иιℓℓ. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
culver) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
meadowlarklogs2019-02-17 04:33 pm
culver) wrote in meadowlarklogs2019-02-17 04:33 pm
knows everybody's disapproval
WHO: Nill culver & anyone!
WHERE: All around New Amsterdam.
WHEN: ICly the week of September 24.
WHAT: Exploring the city. Maybe eating some cake.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: TBD.
if the heavens ever did speak [THE SAFEHOUSE]
[After keeping her cooped up for days, they finally tell her she can go, find a job, an apartment, start a life. They tell her her new name: Nill Klein. She's eighteen, done with school, no family, and lost her voice in an accident and the damage was too great to repair. They tell her that her wings won't be an issue because body mods are commonplace here. They even give her a birthday: September 20th, the day she woke up in that alley. She doesn't mention the irony of that to them, because she doesn't even know her real birthday. This one will do.
It's close enough to the truth to be easy to remember, though she'd be a liar to say she isn't disappointed about not going to school. Maybe in a while she'll think about some kind of higher education, but for now, she needs money. With a diploma and a fake resume she should be able to find something, right?
They tell her she can come back if she wants, that there will always be a bed for her at the safehouse--but she still packs up the few things she has into a tattered duffel bag and slings it over her shoulder as she leaves. She doesn't want to be caught unprepared, and it had become a habit for her on the station to carry her few precious belongings on her at all times. It's just easier that way.
With the bag still over her shoulder, she makes a pit stop in the kitchen, rummaging around in the cupboard for something to snack on before she leaves.]
she's the last true mouthpiece [BY THE RIVER]
[For a while, she just goes where her feet take her. She's always had a good memory, but is still sure not to take so many turns that she can't find her way back. She feels the sun on her back, and realizes that she hasn't really felt it in months--not since she was on Kaittos. She takes a deep breath, inhaling all the familiar scents of a big city, and exhales slowly. Freedom may be too strong a word. These Morningstar people know that she's a phony, could probably undo her identity in a moment despite how much time they may have put into creating it. But something in her gut tells her they won't. She's been to their safehouse, seen the other people. Cold as it may be for her to think, she takes comfort in that strange sort of safety.
They could kill her, of course, but something tells her they won't do that, either. Not with this thing in her chest that they took the time to put there.
After a while of walking she ends up at the river, and stares at it in awe for a few silent minutes. Again, it's been months since she's seen anything even close to natural like this; even the plants in the station's greenery had seemed sterile, artificial. Nill drops her pack beside her and sits atop it, wings stretching out into the sunlight behind her as she stares down into the rushing water with a strange, unbreakable fascination.]
every sunday's getting more bleak [HONEY❤HONEY]
[By the time Nill realizes she's hungry, she's spent hours wandering around the city. Nobody has really looked twice at her, nor she at them. The anonymity is freeing, and it had been easy to lose herself in it. But she can feel the too-familiar pangs of hunger starting in her stomach, and it's just then that she smells the most delicious sweetness she ever has in her whole life. She follows the scent until she's standing outside a clean, white-washed building with a big glass window. Inside, she can see pretty girls in pretty dresses carrying trays laden with sweets, and for a few moments all she does is stare.
For the first time in a long, long time, Nill feels self-conscious. Because she used to look like that. She used to have long, beautiful hair and wear soft dresses edged in lace. Even on the ship and the station, she'd kept her dresses--mementos, more than anything, of a life that hadn't really been much of a life, but was still more than she'd had before. And she'd lost it all before she'd even really figured out how to appreciate it.
She reaches up, running a hand through her cropped hair. Now she has a new, different life and no real idea what to do with it.
But that doesn't change the fact that she's hungry. Still, she doesn't venture inside just yet, mentally taking stock of the little money she's been loaned and wondering if it's really worth it to treat herself to something like that.]
a fresh poison each week [CUYP MARKT]
[The bustling market makes Nill feel alive.
Everywhere there is activity, new sights and smells, the sound of people haggling, the taste of competition in the air. No two stalls have exactly the same items, but each shopkeeper acts as if they do, calling to each person who passes, hawking their wares and flashing smiles. It's a dizzying amount of sensory input, and even just a few months ago, Nill might have been overwhelmed.
But she's different. She has a different(ish) name and a different path to tread here than ever before in her life. So she feels bold as she approaches stalls, whether to look around or actually consider buying something (food, usually, because she'd rather have a treat than a trinket). She doesn't have much money yet, and knows she has to be frugal--but she can't help but look at some things longingly, mentally cataloging anything she might want to return for when she actually has the means. What catches her attention the most are the fruits, some familiar but many strange; she hasn't had fruit since the planet Kaittos, and her hand hovers delicately over the produce as if it might disappear the moment she touches it. She acts the same around the flowers, remembering fondly the little garden she and Laura had planted on the station before her friend had left.
They're simple things, fragile things, but Nill has always believed in the temporary more than the concrete. Probably because she herself was meant to be temporary. But she doesn't have to be that girl anymore. There may be a lot going on in this city, horrors she hasn't yet seen and fear she hasn't yet felt, but for this moment, all she sees are the fruits and flowers and how absurdly normal this all is compared to the last year and a half of her life.]
we were born sick [WILDCARD]
[ooc; i'm down for anything! over the next few days, nill will explore as much of the city as she can on foot, but will spend her nights at the safehouse until further notice. please feel free to hit me up on plurk at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
watchet if you want to do something specific, or drop a message in nill's ic inbox!]
culver & anyone!WHERE: All around New Amsterdam.
WHEN: ICly the week of September 24.
WHAT: Exploring the city. Maybe eating some cake.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: TBD.
if the heavens ever did speak [THE SAFEHOUSE]
[After keeping her cooped up for days, they finally tell her she can go, find a job, an apartment, start a life. They tell her her new name: Nill Klein. She's eighteen, done with school, no family, and lost her voice in an accident and the damage was too great to repair. They tell her that her wings won't be an issue because body mods are commonplace here. They even give her a birthday: September 20th, the day she woke up in that alley. She doesn't mention the irony of that to them, because she doesn't even know her real birthday. This one will do.
It's close enough to the truth to be easy to remember, though she'd be a liar to say she isn't disappointed about not going to school. Maybe in a while she'll think about some kind of higher education, but for now, she needs money. With a diploma and a fake resume she should be able to find something, right?
They tell her she can come back if she wants, that there will always be a bed for her at the safehouse--but she still packs up the few things she has into a tattered duffel bag and slings it over her shoulder as she leaves. She doesn't want to be caught unprepared, and it had become a habit for her on the station to carry her few precious belongings on her at all times. It's just easier that way.
With the bag still over her shoulder, she makes a pit stop in the kitchen, rummaging around in the cupboard for something to snack on before she leaves.]
she's the last true mouthpiece [BY THE RIVER]
[For a while, she just goes where her feet take her. She's always had a good memory, but is still sure not to take so many turns that she can't find her way back. She feels the sun on her back, and realizes that she hasn't really felt it in months--not since she was on Kaittos. She takes a deep breath, inhaling all the familiar scents of a big city, and exhales slowly. Freedom may be too strong a word. These Morningstar people know that she's a phony, could probably undo her identity in a moment despite how much time they may have put into creating it. But something in her gut tells her they won't. She's been to their safehouse, seen the other people. Cold as it may be for her to think, she takes comfort in that strange sort of safety.
They could kill her, of course, but something tells her they won't do that, either. Not with this thing in her chest that they took the time to put there.
After a while of walking she ends up at the river, and stares at it in awe for a few silent minutes. Again, it's been months since she's seen anything even close to natural like this; even the plants in the station's greenery had seemed sterile, artificial. Nill drops her pack beside her and sits atop it, wings stretching out into the sunlight behind her as she stares down into the rushing water with a strange, unbreakable fascination.]
every sunday's getting more bleak [HONEY❤HONEY]
[By the time Nill realizes she's hungry, she's spent hours wandering around the city. Nobody has really looked twice at her, nor she at them. The anonymity is freeing, and it had been easy to lose herself in it. But she can feel the too-familiar pangs of hunger starting in her stomach, and it's just then that she smells the most delicious sweetness she ever has in her whole life. She follows the scent until she's standing outside a clean, white-washed building with a big glass window. Inside, she can see pretty girls in pretty dresses carrying trays laden with sweets, and for a few moments all she does is stare.
For the first time in a long, long time, Nill feels self-conscious. Because she used to look like that. She used to have long, beautiful hair and wear soft dresses edged in lace. Even on the ship and the station, she'd kept her dresses--mementos, more than anything, of a life that hadn't really been much of a life, but was still more than she'd had before. And she'd lost it all before she'd even really figured out how to appreciate it.
She reaches up, running a hand through her cropped hair. Now she has a new, different life and no real idea what to do with it.
But that doesn't change the fact that she's hungry. Still, she doesn't venture inside just yet, mentally taking stock of the little money she's been loaned and wondering if it's really worth it to treat herself to something like that.]
a fresh poison each week [CUYP MARKT]
[The bustling market makes Nill feel alive.
Everywhere there is activity, new sights and smells, the sound of people haggling, the taste of competition in the air. No two stalls have exactly the same items, but each shopkeeper acts as if they do, calling to each person who passes, hawking their wares and flashing smiles. It's a dizzying amount of sensory input, and even just a few months ago, Nill might have been overwhelmed.
But she's different. She has a different(ish) name and a different path to tread here than ever before in her life. So she feels bold as she approaches stalls, whether to look around or actually consider buying something (food, usually, because she'd rather have a treat than a trinket). She doesn't have much money yet, and knows she has to be frugal--but she can't help but look at some things longingly, mentally cataloging anything she might want to return for when she actually has the means. What catches her attention the most are the fruits, some familiar but many strange; she hasn't had fruit since the planet Kaittos, and her hand hovers delicately over the produce as if it might disappear the moment she touches it. She acts the same around the flowers, remembering fondly the little garden she and Laura had planted on the station before her friend had left.
They're simple things, fragile things, but Nill has always believed in the temporary more than the concrete. Probably because she herself was meant to be temporary. But she doesn't have to be that girl anymore. There may be a lot going on in this city, horrors she hasn't yet seen and fear she hasn't yet felt, but for this moment, all she sees are the fruits and flowers and how absurdly normal this all is compared to the last year and a half of her life.]
we were born sick [WILDCARD]
[ooc; i'm down for anything! over the next few days, nill will explore as much of the city as she can on foot, but will spend her nights at the safehouse until further notice. please feel free to hit me up on plurk at
by the river
When Nill's close enough in his periphery, he turns his head, dark eyes surveying her appearance. Cain recognizes her immediately as one of the other new arrivals; he visited the safehouse for Deimos' sake but kept a distance from most of the others. She may recognize him, too, if she paid attention. He's dressed in neutral shades except for the very bright, highlighter-yellow tank top he wears.]
Hey. [He doesn't appear particularly approachable, but he calls out to her all the same: like a bark, shoulders a tense line across.] You're one of the new ones, huh?
no subject
His greeting is met with a slight incline of her head, followed by a nod. She does recognize him, now that she's looking more closely. She'd seen him in the safehouse a couple times, looking as if he was visiting someone. That must mean he's one of the people Morningstar brought in--as far as she knows, nobody else knows about the safehouse.]
no subject
Subtlety and tact aren't his specialties. Cain turns where he's seated, upper body twisting toward her.]
You got a name?
no subject
But since he's asked another yes-or-no question, she sort of can. Nill nods, unable to stop a small smile from tugging the corner of her lips. Yes, she has a name.]
no subject
That curve of a smile in addition to her general demeanor suggests more than timidity. He plants one hand in the grass and levers himself up to stand, gaze turning more critical.]
Cain Fighter. [Not his real last name, not even his real first name, but it serves for an ID. Whether or not she's as quiet as myshonok, he decides this will serve better than verbal confirmation. It's something they all share sooner or later, anyway, those IDs.] Look me up.
no subject
I'm Nill.
[Nill Klein as the ID says, though she's never thought much about having a surname. It's what they gave her, and it had seemed alright at the time. It's just another part of the fake identity they'd made up for her, along with her age and her schooling history. But those things will give her a degree of freedom that would have otherwise escaped her if they hadn't lied on her behalf, so she's thankful, despite the way they'd brought her here.]
no subject
You don't like to talk, huh? [Now standing, his arms cross over his chest in an automatic posture. After a moment, Cain's expression creases in thought.] Or can't.
[Which one is it?]
no subject
It isn't much, really, but it still feels good.
His question is direct, and a part of her appreciates that, though she also recognizes that maybe she should find it rude. But she doesn't, not really. A question just spares her the whole song-and-dance of trying to delicately explain that she's mute.]
I can't.
[A simple answer to a simple question.]
no subject
As Markus got him wondering, what is her world like, that wings are attached to someone's back like some pet in a cage?
Cain doesn't move away, but he does half-turn toward the river, his question answered.]
With all the tech they got here, you think they'd be able to fix it. [If they can turn an android into a perfect replica of a human being, shouldn't they be able to restore someone's voice? That is,] If you wanted to.
[His dark eyes tilt back toward the river.]
You ever seen anything like this before?
no subject
Her heart is pounding a little, and she's only just now realizing it.
She follows his gaze, and shrugs.] I'm okay with how I am. I've always been like this. [It's a smaller thing to admit than it used to be; but she's had the opportunity already to change herself, to be fixed. And only once it had come close to reality had she realized that she was broken, yes, but not in a way that made her weak or useless. Those fractured and ill-fitting parts of herself just make her who she is.
A small smile touches her lips.]
Not for a long time. And there wasn't anything like this where I'm from.
no subject
That reply surprises him, but then, maybe it shouldn't. In a world where a thought can instigate conversation, words etched across one's field of vision, maybe someone's voice isn't that necessary. Cain's never thought about it like that.]
I know someone who doesn't talk much. Called him little mouse, in our language. [He doesn't know why he's saying it, or why he's sharing it with a stranger, but Deimos is at the front of his mind considering his recent and unexpected arrival. That, and it feels... easy to talk to someone who won't verbally respond. Cain taps the scar at the back of his skull,] He's way more chatty with these things too.
So, you're not from Earth? [It's an assumption: no rivers, no Earth. Is it a correct one? Tilting his head up, Cain looks at the sky -- the slivers of it visible through the jigsaw pattern of high-reaching buildings.] Where? Up in space?
no subject
I think it's easier. You don't have to worry about inflection with typed words. You just say what you mean. There isn't any more to it.
[That isn't how everyone feels, she knows. People who are used to speaking with voices are always looking for those little extra, hidden cues. Nill herself is pretty adept at catching them, since she spends most of her time listening to others, but when it comes to using them, she doesn't see the point. There's no easy way to translate them into text, anyway. Emojis are the closest she's ever gotten, but those can still be misinterpreted. So she makes it a point to be straightforward as often as she can with messages.
She tilts her head back slightly, looking up at the gloomy sky. She's not from space, not really, but it had begun to feel like home since she's spent the majority of the past year up there. Eventually, she shakes her head.]
I'm from Earth. A Earth. [It's been obvious to her for a while that there's more than one.] But I was in space for a while before coming here.
no subject
He lets her talk, most of his attention having centered back on the river. He's found himself often drawn to it, and he's not shy to admit its power over him. All of Earth is a strange and puzzling reality around him, similar and yet unlike anything he's imagined.
Cain reads the sentences of text that scrawl across his vision before responding.]
It's weird standing here, isn't it? After being up there. [He gestures toward the dark sky, difficult to see.] I don't miss it.
[Thoughts circling back to her earlier words, preserved to him in the message, he says,] You think people don't say what they mean when they talk? Or just that it's harder?
no subject
A smile flits over her face, and she nods.]
It is. It's weird to see other things in the sky besides stars.
[And, ever-curious, she adds:] Were you on a ship? Or a station?
[She's been on both, though she much preferred the former. The Moira had been failing, but not nearly to the extent of the Avagi. Every day had been a struggle on the latter, a fight to survive. It isn't a time she remembers fondly.
Nill doesn't answer immediately, collecting her thoughts. But when she does, it's with a shrug.]
Both. People can talk faster than they can think. And with text, you have to think about what you're saying, even if the words appear as fast as you think them.
no subject
[Thinking, speaking. Texting via instantaneous thought. He's only ever said the words that came to mind, an impulsive trip off his tongue. Most of the time. There were moments he'd had to slow down, consider the deliberate choice of each word -- never good moments.]
Military station, then a ship. We started out close to Mars, near the colonies, but a volunteer mission had some of us enlisting to go on board a battleship to the frontlines. [He glances at Nill, eyes drawn again to the pale flutter of wings.] Never seen Earth's sky before now.
no subject
Her brows raise. She hasn't met someone in the military in a long time. The last person she remembers was Shepherd, who had taught her how to shoot.
His admission is a bit surprising, but she nods, considering.]
I haven't seen Earths's sky in over a year. But I've seen a lot of other skies.
[She sees his eyes on her wings, and adds:]
My wings are real.
[Because it's easier to get out of the way now instead of leaving him to wonder.]
no subject
And then she says what she does, and he realizes he was caught staring. Cain doesn't lower his eyes, but they do narrow, cat-like.]
How's that even possible? Are you part bird?
[It's the first thing his mind leaps to. Genetic splicing, or something? How can he even begin to know?]
no subject
So, she shrugs. She'd told a few people on the Avagi where she'd come from, so it doesn't seem as big of a deal anymore. Or maybe she's still just numb somewhere deep inside from the suddenness of her arrival and isn't thinking straight. Either way, honesty is the easiest way to go for the moment.]
Sort of. Maybe. I'm not a scientist.
no subject
He's no scientist either.]
Huh. [It's not his business, Cain tells himself, even if he's never seen a real bird in person. The feathers look so delicate.] Well, good luck with the sightseeing tour. Nill.
[He has a shift to get to. With a quick twitch of fingers at his temple in a salute, Cain starts off, just like that.]