Post by Deleted on Jan 24, 2014 22:19:31 GMT -8
Her uniform had been tossed haphazardly aside the moment she’d returned to her quarters, and she was still clad in her undergarments. Think, Rychel, you’ve got to figure this out. She needed to talk to Desan. She probably needed a therapist or twelve. But everyone was around. They were watching, they were listening. She couldn’t. I can’t do this. I can’t not do this.
All of the books, all of the spy holoprograms, none of them could prepare her for the crippling reality that was her existence. She hadn’t planned for this. She thought she was prepared for anything.
He’d tried to kill her.
She started pacing like a caged lion, her hands reaching up every once in a while to push her hair out of her face in an agitated gesture. Then she sat down on the unfamiliar couch, curled up in fetal position, and began to rock. I can’t do this. I can’t deal with this, she thought. Tears sprung to her eyes once more, but she let them flow freely until she was almost choking on her sobs.
I’m sorry.
She wasn’t sure who she was sorry to or what she was sorry for, but she had no idea what else to do. She grabbed a pillow and threw it off the couch before straddling another and punching it futilely.
Desan was right.
If there were any words she hated more than those, she was unaware of them. They repeated over and over again, in Dakbar’s voice. The voice that used to calmly reassure her when she had nightmares. The voice that in her mind held a warmth for her that wasn’t duplicated for anyone else.
Grace.
Had he held her? Had he murmured reassurances? Stop it! Standing up, she walked over to the storage container that she’d not even begun to unpack yet. Digging around, she found the bottle of strong Bajoran wine. She couldn’t be bothered to uncork it. Grabbing a laser tool, she sliced off the top.
The glass bit into her lips as she sipped from the sliced glass, which had become quite sharp, but the pain allowed her to focus on something other than her misery for a time. The alcohol in the wine added an additional sting that was strangely invigorating.
I don’t drink often, she said, as she chugged deeply from the bottle. It was strong stuff, “borrowed” from Desan’s personal supply. The wine slowed her thinking. That was good, things were more clear.
But blurry.
But she was pretty sure she’d figured it out.
I can’t be on the Talon anymore, she decided.
Ok, so how did she get off the Talon? They weren’t near the station anymore, she knew that. Steal a runabout? No, she was pretty sure that they weren’t going to overlook that. They’d probably retrieve her before long. Besides, she didn’t want to lose her commission. I can wait until we get back to the station… But who knew how long that would be.
Another deep drink from the bottle, followed by a wipe of her lips with the back of her hand. The crimson stain on her hand transfixed her for a time, and she focused on it. I need to call Desan… no I can]t call Desan. Her judgement was becoming a little shaky, but she was pretty sure she was on top of things all the same.
She took another drink. That’s funny, the bottle is almost gone. Never in her life had she consumed a bottle of spring wine in a single sitting, and certainly not on an empty stomach, and so quickly.
I’m good, she reassured herself. She finished the bottle, and decided to fumble through her bag for another. She was almost to the point of genius-level inebriation, and suddenly she understood why all the best engineers were alcoholics.
Unfortunately, the bottle of wine that she expected to find was not in it’s sleeve. Instead was a note. Written on paper of all things.
”You’re not as sneaky as you think you are. Love you - Desan
Rychel grunted in frustration, grabbing the empty bottle and smashing it against the table in her frustration. She sighed.
Desan was going to be so disappointed.
She walked over to the replicator. “Penzzillll,” she slurred.
The replicator did not seem to grasp that.
“Ppp….nnn….sssillll?” she tried. Her tongue was thickened and heavy in her mouth. She took a deep breath, summoning all of her faculties. “PEN…..CIL.” The replicator beeped and provided her with one.
Taking the paper over to the table, she flipped it over, and began writing a note to Desan. “Dear Desan, I’m sorry.” She tilted her head to the side. The Dear and Sorry were clear, but the Desan was just a D and a squiggle. He’ll figure it out, She resolved.
Then there was the matter of the red liquid that was coating the table. Oh, hey, broken glass! That was right, she’d smashed a bottle. Picking up one of the larger shards, she rubbed the smooth side against her arm. A plan was forming in her mind.
I can’t stay here. They’re watching me, she thought. There was no where else to go, though. Not easily.
This is hopeless.
She continued rubbing the glass against her arm, the sensation peculiar in her drunken state. But as she was uncoordinated, she slipped, a line of red forming on her wrist. She studied it for a moment, and a sudden moment of clarity stuck her. Gripping it harder, she dug it deliberately into her arm, running it parallel in a downwards stroke.
That is a lot of blood! She realized, and panicked. She stumbled toward the door to her quarters, which opened obediently. Fortunately, it was either shift change, or busy hour on deck 7 because the corridor was occupied by several other crew.
And me in my underthings…
And then she fainted.
Tag: Any (Preferably those not afraid of blood)
All of the books, all of the spy holoprograms, none of them could prepare her for the crippling reality that was her existence. She hadn’t planned for this. She thought she was prepared for anything.
He’d tried to kill her.
She started pacing like a caged lion, her hands reaching up every once in a while to push her hair out of her face in an agitated gesture. Then she sat down on the unfamiliar couch, curled up in fetal position, and began to rock. I can’t do this. I can’t deal with this, she thought. Tears sprung to her eyes once more, but she let them flow freely until she was almost choking on her sobs.
I’m sorry.
She wasn’t sure who she was sorry to or what she was sorry for, but she had no idea what else to do. She grabbed a pillow and threw it off the couch before straddling another and punching it futilely.
Desan was right.
If there were any words she hated more than those, she was unaware of them. They repeated over and over again, in Dakbar’s voice. The voice that used to calmly reassure her when she had nightmares. The voice that in her mind held a warmth for her that wasn’t duplicated for anyone else.
Grace.
Had he held her? Had he murmured reassurances? Stop it! Standing up, she walked over to the storage container that she’d not even begun to unpack yet. Digging around, she found the bottle of strong Bajoran wine. She couldn’t be bothered to uncork it. Grabbing a laser tool, she sliced off the top.
The glass bit into her lips as she sipped from the sliced glass, which had become quite sharp, but the pain allowed her to focus on something other than her misery for a time. The alcohol in the wine added an additional sting that was strangely invigorating.
I don’t drink often, she said, as she chugged deeply from the bottle. It was strong stuff, “borrowed” from Desan’s personal supply. The wine slowed her thinking. That was good, things were more clear.
But blurry.
But she was pretty sure she’d figured it out.
I can’t be on the Talon anymore, she decided.
Ok, so how did she get off the Talon? They weren’t near the station anymore, she knew that. Steal a runabout? No, she was pretty sure that they weren’t going to overlook that. They’d probably retrieve her before long. Besides, she didn’t want to lose her commission. I can wait until we get back to the station… But who knew how long that would be.
Another deep drink from the bottle, followed by a wipe of her lips with the back of her hand. The crimson stain on her hand transfixed her for a time, and she focused on it. I need to call Desan… no I can]t call Desan. Her judgement was becoming a little shaky, but she was pretty sure she was on top of things all the same.
She took another drink. That’s funny, the bottle is almost gone. Never in her life had she consumed a bottle of spring wine in a single sitting, and certainly not on an empty stomach, and so quickly.
I’m good, she reassured herself. She finished the bottle, and decided to fumble through her bag for another. She was almost to the point of genius-level inebriation, and suddenly she understood why all the best engineers were alcoholics.
Unfortunately, the bottle of wine that she expected to find was not in it’s sleeve. Instead was a note. Written on paper of all things.
”You’re not as sneaky as you think you are. Love you - Desan
Rychel grunted in frustration, grabbing the empty bottle and smashing it against the table in her frustration. She sighed.
Desan was going to be so disappointed.
She walked over to the replicator. “Penzzillll,” she slurred.
The replicator did not seem to grasp that.
“Ppp….nnn….sssillll?” she tried. Her tongue was thickened and heavy in her mouth. She took a deep breath, summoning all of her faculties. “PEN…..CIL.” The replicator beeped and provided her with one.
Taking the paper over to the table, she flipped it over, and began writing a note to Desan. “Dear Desan, I’m sorry.” She tilted her head to the side. The Dear and Sorry were clear, but the Desan was just a D and a squiggle. He’ll figure it out, She resolved.
Then there was the matter of the red liquid that was coating the table. Oh, hey, broken glass! That was right, she’d smashed a bottle. Picking up one of the larger shards, she rubbed the smooth side against her arm. A plan was forming in her mind.
I can’t stay here. They’re watching me, she thought. There was no where else to go, though. Not easily.
This is hopeless.
She continued rubbing the glass against her arm, the sensation peculiar in her drunken state. But as she was uncoordinated, she slipped, a line of red forming on her wrist. She studied it for a moment, and a sudden moment of clarity stuck her. Gripping it harder, she dug it deliberately into her arm, running it parallel in a downwards stroke.
That is a lot of blood! She realized, and panicked. She stumbled toward the door to her quarters, which opened obediently. Fortunately, it was either shift change, or busy hour on deck 7 because the corridor was occupied by several other crew.
And me in my underthings…
And then she fainted.
Tag: Any (Preferably those not afraid of blood)