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Padmé’s embrace is akin to a member of her family, a warmth not easily found so far away from her home planet of Aargau — a planet that’s adamant in its neutrality. One would think such a stance shields Brianne from the war’s politics, but on the contrary, her job is embroiled in the Banking Clan's meddling. Compared to her friend’s involvement, however. Oh, she tries not to over scroll the HoloNet unless she would be messaging Padmé at the end of every day to ensure she is safe. But still, she speaks of peace, a platform she knows as a senator, she holds dear. The thought is a cherished memory on the edge of being forgotten, but perhaps it is hope the few such as her hold onto that keeps it from falling over.

“And you give so much hope to people, every day, tirelessly.” A subtle acknowledgment of her friend's tremendous efforts; an adoring gaze further showcases her admiration. “That I can offer a small respite, I am glad.”

With the bag gifted, her smile stretches until it hurts her cheeks. “You know me too well,” she muses brightly, “I cannot wait to enjoy all of these. Thank you, and you must bring my appreciation back to Duja.” She hooks her arm under her friend’s, escorting her to the lounge where afternoon tea is set, inviting her to sit. A white porcelain teapot stays warm over lit candles and a few colorful cakes from a high street patisserie adorn a three-tiered server.

She looks upon her friend, thoughtful, concerned. Her voice carries that same air of carefulness. “You look well, but are you well?” 

where mind was relatively slow to follow the flow of pleasant sensations, every single inch of her body recognized the touch of familiar arms. the tone of brianne's voice was the kind of 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐲 that'd echoed inside of padmé's thoughts whenever she'd returned to some of the dearest memories she'd stored and cherished, almost as clearly as she could now hear it. what a bliss, what a privilege it truly was to hear those sounds so closely again ! the many moons that'd passed ever quickly hadn't lessened her fondness but only made it grow, as persistently as primroses reaching for the first rays of spring through a bed of old frost. a breathe, two passed, the women simply allowing their souls to rest in the comforting aura of the other's. the feeling of warmth that'd found its way into the naboolian's cells only increased during a gentle embrace, eyes closing as she exhaled soundly, softly, ❝ i have missed you too, bri. ❞ the truest words spoken during the time of war.

a nod of appreciation was offered as she followed the welcoming gesture and stepped inside. some of the coolest tones within the space might've not appeared cozy to many, but to padmé they were special; everything about these quarters was full of familiar scents and details that reminded her about her dear 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝. it was comfortable and safe here. ❝ truly. we must remember that every fragment of hope is one step closer to peace. i have already gained so many within the past few seconds ❞, she shared a thought with a smile settling on her mouth, ❝ and i bet the time spent in the garden will increase that count. ❞ many flora must have grown to an unrecognizable state by now !

❝ lovely, and speaking of tea. here ❞, she spoke then, and offered brianne the little gift bag she'd been 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 with her, ❝ an assortment of herbal teas from naboo. duja and i tried to include as many of your favorites as we possibly could. ❞

#alootus #⚘ ˚◞ interactions ◞ . #⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ star wars ◞ 𝒶 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓃𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁 𝓈𝓎𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓂 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓁. #⚘ ˚◞ clone wars ◞ . #(( same ;; and what a time they live in! ))

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𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄  [ … ]   𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄,

bold what applies - italicise sometimes.   repost,  don’t reblog.

fights honourably / fights dirty

prefers close - quarters / prefers range

chats during / goes silent

low pain tolerance / high pain tolerance

attacks in bursts / attacks steadily

goes for the kill / aims to disarm / fights defensively / strikes first

is provoked easily / provokes their opponent / teases

gets visibly frustrated / shouts while attacking

uses strategy / focuses on the battle / experiences conflicting thoughts during battle

rushes in recklessly / tries to read their opponent before engaging

fights wildly / fights calmly / fights apathetically / fights with anger / fights with excitement

fights because they have to / fights because they want to

fights without regard to wounds / runs away when wounded / hides wounds / takes a blow to protect another

prefers a blade / prefers a gun / prefers hand to hand combat / prefers a bow / prefers a shield / prefers a personalised weapon / prefers magic alchemy or spells

their greatest weakness is physical / their greatest weakness is mental / their greatest weakness is emotional

transforms for battle / fights as they appear

relies on strength / doubts their strength / relies on speed

uses everything they have / proceeds with caution / hides their full potential

exhausts quickly / has high stamina

behaves arrogantly / brags after landing a hit / belittles their abilities

uses psychological tactics / uses brute strength

avoids civilians / strikes down civilians

damages surroundings / avoids damaging surroundings

signature fighting style / makes it up as they go

mastered skill - set / learning their skill - set

messy fighter / elegant fighter

accepts defeat / refuses defeat / begs for mercy

compliments their opponent / insults their opponent

uses unnecessary movements / moves efficiently / barely moves

prefers to dodge / prefers to block

defends their blindside / has no blindside / leaves blindsides vulnerable

uses all available advantages / strictly uses one main method

plays around / holds back / fights ruthlessly / shows mercy

waits for an opponent to be ready / strikes when opponent isn’t ready

fears death / fears pain / fears killing

has ptsd / avoids fighting

has lost a fight / has won a fight

has killed / refuses to kill

wants to die standing / would succumb slowly

tagged by: @tarsyu (ty! ♡ here's your answer~) tagging: @badtrigger (any!) ; @mindsmade (any!) ; @rebelichor ; @pandoranfalconer ; @samuhelll ; @bytectrl ; & anyone who'd like~

#⚘ ˚◞ dash games ◞ . #(( for the amusement but also to say hey - normies/non-combatants should exist in the media fiction rp space #it’s realistic to her character (a corporate office lady) to not know how to fight/to not fight #she would rely on security/run and hide/try to talk her way out of it/or simply perish and i'm okay with that. it makes her human/like us))

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girl with the nervous system of a prey animal

#⚘ ˚◞ about ◞ 𝒾’𝓋𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝑜𝓉𝓈. #(( just ur average office lady who doesn't want to leave her mouse wheel ))

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The noxious smell of burning fuel assaults her nose as already troubled sight is berated by the lifeless bodies piled about; her stomach twists and her heart sinks. It looks like SecOps barely put up a fight. The researchers anxiously march out before they corral once more, hyper-aware of the blinking charges they pass on their way — this place will blow with them too close to the perimeter. Total destruction of everything of use-value to the RDA, including the fruits of their scientific labor, any comm-unit that could get them a direct line to HQ, and the extra batteries for their exo-packs. If he lets them live, they only have ten hours before that power runs out. She has to make this worth it.

Wealth. Medicine. Roads. Treaties. The Na’vi want nothing but the RDA to depart and never return. Fools on both sides brought it to this point. If this cutthroat vigilante is wise enough to see, what she has is just as valuable.

She leans forward, ears still pinned down; eyes that can barely pretend to shed their fear beseech his. “I can offer information.” Her voice is hushed, not needing her subordinates to be included in this conversation. “Strategic information. More if you wait before blowing this facility to the ground.”

the rda personnel concede, some more reluctantly than others but neteyam had no interest in maintaining control over the researchers for long. carefully and with fevered urgency the researchers fasten their exo-packs to their faces and neteyam unclasped several incendiary charges from his belt, fixing them to the shacks interior walls as he herded the humans to the exit. every few moments one of the humans would glance fearfully over their shoulders or share concerned looks with their superior or with each other.

❝ smart choice. outside, now. ❞ neteyam said, that undercurrent of fury still lingering within his voice even as he sheathed his hunting knife. he followed the humans beneath the darkening skies of his home and amongst the remains of the research camp. there were bodies on the ground, smoking remnants of amp suits and, like the interior of the shack, there were set charges blinking softly against every major piece of machinery.

❝ and how would you help me? ❞ neteyam asked, ❝ offer me wealth? medicine? promise to leave and never return? ❞

#sayitan #⚘ ˚◞ interactions ◞ . #⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ avatar ◞ 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓅𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓊𝓇𝒾. #⚘ ˚◞ 2168-2170 ◞ .

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#⚘ ˚◞ about ◞ 𝒾’𝓋𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝑜𝓉𝓈. #(( we live in a capitalist society...)

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@badtrigger : praise | Send a word and I will write a drabble or headcanon based on it ( not accepting ) ᠂ ⚘

The trembles of an ikran’s distinctive chirp perk pointy ears and brighten a pair of sleepy eyes. It’s enough to prompt Brianne to cautiously (and ungracefully) emerge from the craggy nook she wiggled herself into to hide. Escorting San’tos via compass to the nearest abandoned rookery offered time to bide while the stoic Metkayina embarked on his quest. While personal stories of this Na’vi warrior’s rite of passage have not passed her ears, she assumes taming one of these temperamental winged beasts is no small feat. From shadowed rock to blaring noonday sun, a palm is held high to shield the rays berating her eyes. Squinting as she walks out into the open, it is not the ikran that awakens her sight, but the impressive warrior who stands tall in front of it. 

As if starstruck, her eyes defy the sun, a smile stretching and both hands folding over her chest before a quieted exclamation falls from her mouth. “< You did it! >” Head then shakes as if embarrassed; there's a need to cycle back and better phrase her praise. If only her spoken Na'vi was more fluent, less clipped; maybe then he would try to understand her. “< Of course, you did it. You are a great warrior. I am happy for you. >”

#badtrigger #⚘ ˚◞ interactions ◞ . #⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ avatar ◞ 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓅𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓊𝓇𝒾. #⚘ ˚◞ post-2170 ◞ .

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LOCAL WOMAN FOUND DEAD IN HOME — headline hits the front page of the Hampstead Ham&High news only to filter to mainstream sources when her identity is unveiled. So much for a state-of-the-art security system.

The corp director feels sunk in her desk chair, her heart like a stone in her stomach, but at the same time weightless as if she’s about to faint. The gas mask, the voice modulator, an end by sinister means — but not this visit, he tells her. The trepidation of what else he has in store yet holds her in a chokehold; her body trembles and her limbs refuse to move.

“Then,” her soft voice travels on a shaky exhale; her spine straightens, and wide eyes peer upward, pleading with her words. “Whoever is paying you to kidnap me, I will pay you more not to.” Resources keep the upper echelons of society in power; resources she has and knows well enough to wield.

𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 ↳↳    ACCEPTING    ( @prvtocol )

❛ are you here to kill me? ❜

orion cringed behind his gas mask, tipping his head to one side as he stared down at her. he preferred not to think of himself as a killer but it would be hypocritical of him to say he hadn't killed or wouldn't kill again. there were some people that just didn't deserve to live, that were so protected from the usual paths of justice and consequences that the only way to stop them was to take matters into his own hands.

but brianne wasn't one of those people, not yet anyway. orion shook his head and lowered his gun.

❝ nah, this isn't one of those visits, darlin', ❞ orion said, his voice modulator disrupting his voice and accent. ❝ but you are coming with me, so don't put up a fuss. ❞

#bytectrl #⚘ ˚◞ interactions ◞ . #⚘ ˚◞ future dystopia au ◞ .

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Whether it’s her wound, the mix of herbs seeping into her broken skin, or Skorakstxey’s words that sting, Brianne cannot tell. Rather, numbness starts to resettle; even her sigh is held back. Too much to expect the Sarentu to be anything but smart with her. A fleeting thought goes to being smart back, to stoop to his level of name-calling, but it is not in her nature to be uncouth. Hers is an ingrained politeness and the maturity of years beyond the youth of her hybrid body.

Watery eyes that refuse to leak turn to stare blankly at the dense tree line, trying to be patient. As if foretelling a storm, the warm breeze picks up, drying her tears and tussling the short hair peeking out from under the headscarf that serves to hide her kuru from sight. Modesty dictates the growing discomfort of a bare back. She hopes this doesn’t take too long.

“A waste of resources aside, I am thankful. I rather not die the same way again.” She returns quiet and unenergetically, the cause of her prior death, or at least what the report stated happened via feral wildlife in the Western Frontier after her transport was downed is on her mind. “Valuing life is not a value exclusive to the Na'vi. I would have done the same for you.”

Skora's hands moved with practiced precision as he applied medicinal herbs to Brianne's wounds, his expression stoic despite the discomfort evident in her shaky breaths. He harbored a resentment towards the corporate intruders who seemed to treat Pandora as nothing more than a resource to exploit, and he projected that routinely onto Brianne.

"I don't do this for you," he reiterated, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation. "I do it because despite your arrogance and disregard for this land, every life on Pandora holds some measure of value." His words carried the weight of years of conflict and frustration with the RDA's presence on their sacred moon. Yet, there was a begrudging recognition in his tone that even amidst their differences, survival depended on cooperation.

"Wasting resources on the likes of you seems like a luxury we can't afford," he stated, his gaze momentarily meeting hers with a glimmer of begrudging respect. "So be thankful for this, if nothing else." There was a silent acknowledgment in Skora's demeanor that, despite their animosity, they were both merely pawns in a larger game played by forces beyond their control. And in the unforgiving wilderness of Pandora, survival often demanded unlikely alliances, no matter how distasteful they might be.

#tarsyu #⚘ ˚◞ interactions ◞ . #⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ avatar ◞ 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓅𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓊𝓇𝒾. #⚘ ˚◞ post-2170 ◞ .

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Mary Oliver, from Long Life: Essays And Other Writings originally published in 2004

#⚘ ˚◞ about ◞ 𝒾’𝓋𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝑜𝓉𝓈.

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@bellytochin : The possum ikran is back! Though, this time she’s very adequately distracted as her rider is with her this time, doting so much affection and love on their happy bf. | wonderfully random asks ( always accepting ) ᠂ ⚘ ˚

Ten. Twenty. Twenty-five… Brianne points as she counts the meticulously stacked rows of grenades in the one steel crate before moving on to the next equipment haul. In between, sight shifts to her datapad to check that item off her inspection list. Periodically, chin turns and gaze corners, concerned with the ikran and its rider still loitering on where the Resistance marked a makeshift helipad — a patch of cleared ground for their repurposed Samson to land and pick up supplies. Any minute this spot will be put to use.

The watch on her wrist is checked. A curved nail raps on the side of the screen. A foot taps the dirt. The nerve to ask them to relocate is worked up. “< Hello. Sorry. >” Approach is slow, her tone careful; eye contact is kept on the rider, not the ikran. < I need you to move. Please. We have a metal ship coming. From the sky. It will land here. Where you stand. >” A finger points to the ground beneath their feet. Her Na'vi is improving but her sentences remain short and (purposefully) to the point. Still, she never assumes any of them understand a word she says.

#bellytochin #⚘ ˚◞ answers ◞ 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑜𝒻𝒻𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓊𝓉𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒾𝒸 𝓇𝑒𝓅𝓁𝓎. #⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ avatar ◞ 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓅𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓊𝓇𝒾. #⚘ ˚◞ post-2170 ◞ . #(( ty for sending!! bri's memory of ikran is not the same as her memory of faces ♡))

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#⚘ ˚◞ visage ◞ 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓂. #(( this is probably my 3rd fav look of hers in a film (i rank by bri-ness) #she does go through a fringe phase in her early 30s... #from the film contagion (2011) ))

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The specialist’s boisterous laugh maniacally echoes across the airtight steel facility, video feeds glitch, holograms flicker, and the cool blue lights bounce off a director whose features contort in confusion. Has Mugi lost the plot? If the defector files passing her desk weren’t enough, the number of mental health cases of employees not able to hack it severed from their home planet and family, and locked in a grueling and dangerous task-oriented job are skyrocketing.  

“Absolutely not.” She sputters, maintaining some semblance of professional defiance by making a beeline to the comm-unit. “You continue this and they will send you on the next vessel home.” She warns with a huff, foregoing a mention that directors like Mercer would probably have him shot on the grounds of mutiny. She picks up the earpiece only to have her hand lower back down in slow motion; the line is dead. With her eyes dumbfoundedly wide, she further realizes he is serious.

“And what do you plan to do, hm? Broadcast it? Where? To who? Obviously not home.” The cost and the RDA's control of superluminal communications assures of it.  “Or to others here? They are not in charge. They can do nothing to change it, believe me.” 

𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 ↳↳    ACCEPTING    ( @prvtocol )

❛ are you trying to get us in trouble? ❜

orion laughed, a wild bark-like laughter that was as short as it was sudden. joining the RDA had been a mistake, a horrible, stupid, naive mistake. he should have seen through the propaganda, should have known that paradise on another planet was a pipe dream at best and a lie at worst. his technological knowledge had guaranteed him a spot on their specialist team and where did it get him? a front row seat at the annihilation of an entire race.

❝ abso - fucking - lutely i am, ❞ he hit the flashing blue button on the screen of their system and the holograms flickered jarringly. mass megabytes of data flooded the screen as bagley sifted through the pools of encrypted files at his fingertips.

orion stood and turned to face her, for all the power, wealth, and access that she had, she was just another cog in the metaphorical death machine that was the RDA and yet still, he couldn't help but feel . . . angry. he at least had been blindsided, but could he say the same about brianne?

❝ everyone deserves to know the truth about what's happening here, ❞ orion said, ❝ no more bullshit, no more lies. so, you gonna help me or are you gonna stand back at watch like everyone else on this shit station? ❞

#bytectrl #⚘ ˚◞ interactions ◞ . #⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ avatar ◞ 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓅𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓊𝓇𝒾. #⚘ ˚◞ 2168-2170 ◞ .

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sometimes making tea is less about drinking it and more ab it keeping you company

#⚘ ˚◞ about ◞ 𝒾’𝓋𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝑜𝓉𝓈. #(( and bri felt that ))

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The vague answers result in a hum. It’s not that she needs a comprehensive process on intended lab and field safety, but she does expect some ideas for improvement. The stretch of silence instead has the director assuming her question presented a curve ball of expectations. It’s as if she’s giving a first round job interview. He adjusts his posture. His tail flicks. If she had more experience with blue faces perhaps that skin of his even appears a little ashen. She’d ask if he is alright but fears it might lead to more discomfort; keep it professional.

“Suits. Other standard procedures. Those are all well and good, but I did read an incident report from prior. As you know, they may not be enough.” She pauses. Hands refold on her lab. Might as well provide her thoughts since her own preliminary plan of action has already been formulated. “There are currently projects underway testing shock control on wildlife. I’m afraid it’s not quite working as intended for conditioning purposes. As a side note, if you would like to read any reports on these training programs, I can arrange that.” Yes, more communication between labs would be beneficial to the operation as a whole. One lab’s discoveries might be useful to another. 

“But,” she cycles back swiftly, “I think it would be useful to implement the same as a sort of non-lethal kill switch. An easily accessible button to put the animal down. No seconds wasted. No need for SecOps intervention. More control. The biotech is already developed and can be fitted quite easily.” Her voice is bright and confident as she speaks, believing in this solution as the answer to her scientist’s safety (and little regard for the test subject’s autonomy).

“Also, how do they function after the removal of their stingers?”

Now was the hard part, the part that had his mouth run dry and throat grow tight. Sparrow’s mouth strung into a thin line, and he found himself staring just above and beyond the Director’s head, the burning flames in the oven he’d stepped into like an animal into a trap. His throat bobbed down as he swallowed, trying to hold onto his façade of silent nonchalance. Looking down to her once more, he let out a soft small breath as he put together his words.

“Stab proof suits, that all about you can do.” Sparrow signed cursing himself for the slight slip in his turn phrase. Adjusting himself as he sat on the ground as but a means to breath in the whole situation, he couldn’t get the distinct sound of his heart pounding just behind his ears to leave as he fussed with his sitting position. His large tail softly flicking alongside him.

“Standard procedure stuff of course too. Like medical.” Flashes of Goober attacking personnel, scientists removing his stinger, the poor creature being shot on sight while a human did their best to fend themselves all swirled like a cocktail of stress in his mind. Then came the words… Intrusive phrases calling him soft or reprimanding him for thinking one creature’s life had more value over a human being, or why should he care over what happens to humans… After all he himself was no longer one of them why should their worries matter to him?

The swirl of thoughts attacked him, hell they down right were trying to drag him under and drown him get any sort of answer any kind of reaction from as he sat waiting for the Director to speak.

#pandoranfalconer #⚘ ˚◞ interactions ◞ . #⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ avatar ◞ 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓅𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓊𝓇𝒾. #⚘ ˚◞ 2168-2170 ◞ .

[prvtocol]

“Change, I’ve come to understand, rises up like nausea: the promise of relief is what makes it bearable.”

— Durga Chew-Bose, Too Much and Not the Mood

#⚘ ˚◞ about ◞ 𝒾’𝓋𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝑜𝓉𝓈.

[prvtocol]

So leaves her last cry for help before a palm flies to cage her mouth shut, thumb pinching her nose against her index finger. The uncomfortable pressure of her hit head bursts against the need for air to fill her lungs. Still, she tries — desperate — crawling on her knees, her free hand anxiously pushing items aside to seek another mask hidden beneath. Somewhere between hearing metal creak to Mays’ entry, her body gives out; collapsing, the hand that gatekeeps falls from her mouth and toxic air inevitably seeps in. Her twenty seconds to unconsciousness counts down.

Landry? The recom’s voice is as blurred as her vision until the hiss of the valve stirs a shrill gasp, and oxygenated air fills her hurting lungs. Breathe. Shaky and uneasy inhales follow while his orders to tighten the straps will the movement of her limbs. Slowly, fingers rely on muscle memory to hinge the clasp behind her head. Unable to stand, she rolls to her side, sight lulling with the movement only for Celene to come into view — still lifeless but this time, without a mask. A trembling hand recoils, fingertips making contact with the thin perspex shield over her face as if physically making the mental connection. 

“No." A whimper escapes under hasty breaths, her body inching closer to the lifeless lab assistant. “No. No.” Anguish contorts her face; guilt seeping in with realization. Frantic. “This is her mask. You … you took her mask. She’s….” Words meant for Mays are not directed at him. Sight instead shifts, desperately searching again for what she couldn't find before — another mask. “Is it too late? How long has it been? Where is Josh?” Then, more firmly with a tinge of hurt, she calls, “Weber? Where were you?”

A cough stands in for an initial answer. The scientist only then rises from his supine position in the corner, a hand splayed on the side of his head, a frown on his ruddy face. “I am bleeding,” his whiny voice is sharp, annoyed. Beady eyes corner on the recom. “I want to ask why I am bleeding — what the hell were you boys doing out there? Obviously not your job.”

Hit by a wave of dizzying nausea, Brianne reels back, palms finding the floor again; her breathing deepens. "I think I'm going to throw up." The mask is coming back off.

　　　No later than hearing the croaked plea for help does Mays start working on the door; he grips the edges that he can fit his hands around. Both boots firmly plant on either side of the opening and he pulls. A creaking runs deep through the mangled metal as it fights against the marine's strength. One second, two, three -- the door scrapes through its bent frame and pops open; Mac catches himself upright. Well, if there is one thing these recom tails are good for, it's to help one easily catch his balance. Feet first, the marine squeezes himself through the warped doorway like a pipe fitter into a manhole.

　　　Even before disaster, fitting through the cabin of this hauler was always going to be a game of tetris for the recoms, and now that it lay on its side he finds less headroom in the course of his crawl beneath the passenger seats. Mays weaves his head through the canopy of dangling seatbelts until he's at Landry's side. Hastily he examines her. No mask. She's asphyxiating. Yellow eyes dart around in search of the spares. Where the fuck did the rack go?? His gaze lands on the female lab assistant laying within reach. She's masked. Oh, fuck that; a million things race through the recombinant's mind but above it all remains one paramount obligation; the Director can't die.

　　　Mays reaches over and rips the exomask off of the other woman whose name is already forgotten. The pressure of circumstance makes this sacrifice necessary. He begins to calm his adrenalized breathing as he gently fits the faceplate to Brianne's nose. No valuable time is wasted trying to get the straps around her head; one blue palm stretched across the faceplate, his thumb and forefinger instead pinch the polymer seal airtight against both sides of her face. Then he releases the high-flow valve. A cough from somewhere else in the cabin draws his attention; Mac looks up and over.

　　　Weber. Seems he got to the exopacks before Landry did. So then why hadn't he helped her? Even in critical situations the asshole's still thinking only about himself? Mays' face darkens with anger and resent, but he has no words for the man right now. He looks back down at the human beneath his hand.

　　　"Landry? Breathe. When you're ready, I need you to tighten the straps around your head."

#badtrigger #⚘ ˚◞ interactions ◞ . #⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ avatar ◞ 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓅𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓊𝓇𝒾. #⚘ ˚◞ 2168-2170 ◞ .

[prvtocol]

my heart is confused she needs a break from all of this

#⚘ ˚◞ about ◞ 𝒾’𝓋𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝑜𝓉𝓈.