The man in the black hat smiles

[cruelyethuman]

CHARACTERS: The Darkling / Aleksander and ??? [come see him]
LOCATION: Around the station
DATE: After The Fox and The Hare mission
CONTENT: Post-mission blues and station things
WARNINGS: None yet, but- who really knows, right? Will update


i. Hallway

[It's been a day or so, the sour taste of a mission succeeding but it still feels as if they failed. His own plans crashing and burning in the blink of an eye, snuffed out by neuro-toxins and the unbearable smugness of the Fables.

And he shouldn't care.

Wanting is weakness, even if the wanting is revenge. A petty emotion that leaves his mouth curled down and his hands twitching at his sides as he walks the hallways for no other reason than to... walk. He walks from one end of the station to the other, he walks past the occupied rooms and the locked door to the North wing. Past the common room and the kitchen.

Walking, because the simulation room is busy and his legs burn with the ache to move.]

Have you tried following it.

[A beat of silence, as his eyes cut from the small robot trying valiantly to clean the station, the whirring of it coming from the floor in front of him, to the eyes of who else might have stopped to watch it.] I have.

ii. The kitchen

[Hunger is what finally chases him from his room, from the shelter he's built for himself in the small room at the end of the corridor, selfishly sharing it with no one.

He slips in to the kitchen, heading straight for the cupboards.

The meal is more ravkan than something bright out of a box, the ready-to-eat meals that seem to spring up in the kitchen after every supply drop, a simple dish of steamed fish and what the tin promised were vegetables picked at the peak of freshness, frozen for his convenience.

All of it plated and carried to the table nearest the wall, topped with a glass of water.]

Did you want something?

iii.The Sunlight room

You don't have to be quiet.

[The sun warm against his face in the sunlight room, the grass soft and subtle under his socked feet. It's strange, to dig his toes in to the greenery and feel it. It's not the plastic-y feeling of falsehood, and it still thrills him a little, to touch it on occasion.

A gentle reminder of what he misses.

Ravka.

For all its flaws and failures, he misses his country and the easy predictability of routine.

Dressed down in soft-looking linen pants and a loose dark shirt, he stands with his face tilted towards the sun.]

I already know that you're there.

w i l d c a r d

[If nothing fits you, please contact me on ireth and we can work something out. Or hit up his inbox for more shenanigans.]