ximilialog | OPEN - I wanna know who you are

Entry tags:

OPEN - I wanna know who you are

CHARACTERS: The Darkling and YOU
LOCATION: Around the station during downtime
DATE: Every date until the next mission
CONTENT: Meh, Darkling doing darkling stuff- but in space!
WARNINGS: None? Morally grey stuff?

i. Returned. Infirmary

[The transition to the station is less smooth this time, and the Darkling stumbles away from the drop-point, letting go of Alina's hand as he takes an unsteady step to avoid the utter disgrace of falling flat on his face.

What's left of his clothes has been dried out from the heat of Alina's Light, but it's still torn and covered with plaster dust, sticking uncomfortably to his skin and the blood has dried out in to flaky maroon.

He walks slowly towards the infirmary, right hand clenched around his side to stop the bleeding. Once inside, he rummages through drawers and cabinets, pulling out clean gauze, water and alcohol. Needle and thread, in case he needs it, putting it all out in a neat row. Slowly, carefully, because most of his left side feels burned, skin pulled too tight and near-blistering from the Small Science that seared what was left of the poison out of him before the fall through the floor.

The Darkling peels off his shirt, trying awkwardly to reach around on his back where a piece of glass is sticking out.]

Excuse me? If you could just pull on that for me.

ii. The Sunlight room

[The days drag on the station. There's nothing to do, except fall in to his own mind and work on the block that Rhysand seems to think is possible. Unless that too is a trick, another lie to worm his way closer.

The Darkling sits under a tree with the false sun shining on his upturned face, letting it warm him in ways the blankets and the heating of this place never could. It might be a simulation or something equally mysterious that powers it, but the rays are heated against his skin and it's something else to look at other than Kovacs or the pale walls in their room.]

Move.

[And without opening his eyes, he adds a-] please.

iii. Kitchen

[Without a mission, or even a clear goal to plan for, the Darkling drifts through the station, watching the other orbers go about their business. The careless way they might interact, who talks to whom and which rooms people go in to.

There's an idleness to this that grate on his nerves. That makes his skin itch, and he heads off to the kitchen to find something to eat, now that most people seem to have had their fill, thus leaving it mostly empty.

Sliding in to a chair, he grabs the tray of food, stabbing it as if it had personally insulted him.]

iv. Training

[The sense of boredom grows with every day, his body unused to this life. Sitting for long periods of time without anything to plan for, or to do, makes him restless, and the Darkling finds himself in the training room again.

Trying to burn off excess energy by punching a bag that hangs from the ceiling. For once, the Darkling isn't covered from head to toe in black, but has opted for a white shirt and loose dark pants that might once have been pajamas, his hands covered with black leather gloves and sweat making his hair stick up.

Punch after punch, hitting the bag until he's breathless and panting, muscles aching and mind a little less loud in the quiet of the room. When the door opens, he glances over before nodding at the row of weapons.]

How are you with a sword?

v. WILDCARD

[Throw anything at me, as the Darkling is lurking around in the shadows on the station when he's not in his room. Or hit me up at ireth

Threaded | Flat

[He's not hard to spot when Daisy enters the room, having heard of there being food still left from someone cooking. Arms covered in braces, Daisy's half tempted to just ignore that he's even here, but that doesn't sit right with her.

Plate of food in hand, Daisy goes straight for the table he's sitting at.]

Hey.

[She doesn't ask if the seat is taken and instead just pulls out the chair.]

[ Back at the station, Jim has tried to resume the lessons, or at least has made himself available for them again. He still needs to do something more defined, maybe a loose curriculum of sorts, and arrange for a set schedule of classes that people can attend while they're at the station between missions.

Barring that, he occasionally lets people know when he's available, sending some reading material if anyone's interested. It's mostly the basics of space, how it divides into galaxies and solar systems, how orbits work, what kinds of astronomical objects there are. Plenty to pick at there, since he doesn't get into details, but he hopes that each person will have their own questions and they can go from there.

He looks up when the Darkling approaches him. He's taking up one of the tables in the mess hall, and he sits a little more upright, glasses propped up his nose. ]

Curiosity got the best of you?

[ Or he just doesn't have anything better to do with his time, most likely. ]

[Sabriel's in the infirmary, mostly to look after others, having escaped serious injury herself. So when Kirigan asks for her help, she moves forward, freshly scrubbed hands holding a pair of tweezers.]

Do you want me to heal it afterwards?

Hmmm....since you asked so nicely. [ Says a familiar voice above the Darkling, moving as to not cast a shadow over him anymore.

Peter had come to the sunlight room less out of boredom and more because he was well aware of the importance of getting some vitamin D when you lived in a spaceship. His mood had lifted immediately when he spotted the Darkling there, sunbathing like a big, black cat under the fake sun.

There's a pause, and then a warm body is pressing against the Darkling's side. Peter has sat down next to him, apparently ignorant to the vast area in the room to sit, choosing to do so next to his 'friend'. ]

Cozy. Have you been here for long?

[Clara's in the middle of quietly eating down at the dark, shadowy end of the kitchen. She's leaning up against the counter, quietly observing him. She doesn't think much of his being there until he starts stabbing at his food. Either he's having a rough day, or he just is a really aggressive eater.]

Try stabbing harder. I'm not sure the food knows you're taking whatever's wrong out on it just yet.

[It's a casual suggestion, one that's made in between bites of the apple she's snacking on. ]

Threaded | Flat

Kitchen

wildcard

Infirmary

ii.

kitchen