Daily Logs 1-27-16

I. Fallan and Brava discuss the state of things


I.
Fallan: *He's sitting on the o-deck, his hood fell off and he's leaning on his cane watching what he assumes are stars. It's possible that the window isn't showing anything right now and he wouldn't be able to tell, but it gives him something to do while he contemplates his life*
Brava: *outside the O-deck, there's a jangling sound like metal on metal, and Brava enters. She's wearing civvies--a halter top and a skirt--because that's all she could figure out how to put on, given her current predicament: her hands are shackled together and her feet are likewise chained, and she looks tired and gaunt. A metallic tattoo in foreign script marks her right shoulder, and her hair has been shorn. She's moving gingerly, as if it hurts.* Hey... Fallan.
Fallan: *He hears jangling, and when he looks up at Brava, he has to squint. Is that her face? where did her hair go?* Brava? Good evening. Would you like to sit down?
Brava: *smiles slightly* Very much so. Glad to see you're relatively unharmed. *sits down next to him, arching her back and wincing slightly as it touches the back of the seat. her back is covered in whip-marks, some fresh, some scarred* And I'm also glad to know that I'm still me.
Fallan: Well, we're all still us, no matter how ugly, hm? *Smiles at her. His face still looks like it's nothing but a giant wrinkle.* What's the jangling I heard? Do you have a tambourine on you?
Brava: I... no. *looks down at the shackles on her wrists* They're chains.
Fallan: I see. *He can't see shit* And you...don't have hair? *Squiiiiiint*
Brava: Yes, it's all gone. *starts to raise one of her hands to touch her head, but she stops halfway and lowers them back down to her lap*
Fallan: ...I suppose that's fairly upsetting for you? *Doesn't think shaved hair is all that bad, but then again he's a weirdo*
Brava: Not really, I've changed my hair plenty of times. It's just that I'm... a slave. *she exhales the last word*
Fallan: ...To what, or whom?
Brava: I don't know. *she twists her head to look at her shoulder* I haven't figured out what language this is yet. *she seems kind of distant, like she's thinking about more in her head than she's actually voicing*
Fallan: *Makes a very confused face,* Well. That's confusing. How are you doing so far?
Brava: ... Okay. It's been a little difficult doing things... but I'm managing. Sort of.
Fallan: you are not distressed?
Brava: I'm /very/ distressed. *clenches her fists* I'm just trying not to let that get in the way.
Fallan: I suppose you might not want to talk about it then...?
Brava: *sighs* I'm sorry. It's fine. *looks over at Fallan* Are you doing okay?
Fallan: Well, I could be better. I actually threw out my back so I'm just sitting here for a spell.
Brava: *cringes* Should you go to sickbay?
Fallan: What good are they if they can't find anything wrong with me. *He leans further on his cane and grumps* ...I really shouldn't complain. I've seen much worse walking the halls.
Brava: Mm. *she's definitely seen some shit, too* I tried to get Engineering to remove these... *raises her shackles slightly* ... but they couldn't get them off. None of their tools had any effect.
Fallan: It's bunk, that's what it is. Sickbay can't cure my blind eyes, engineering can't remove some shackles...But I suppose it has its upsides.
Brava: *looks at Fallan* Like what?
Fallan: We're all together in this, in a way. We all have our miseries laid out bare. If we choose to, we will grow strong and overcome this together.
Brava: How? *looks confused and tired and ready for some answers*
Fallan: We must be able to trust each other and support each other, the way a community does. *A family, he thinks, but he won't say that. That's creepy, right?*
Brava: We can't overcome any of this if it's not going to go away. *leans forward slightly, looking down at her feet*
Fallan: But we can. *He tries to lean with her,* Overcoming does not mean getting rid of these vulnerabilities. Our flaws are here to stay. *Just like his anger, he thinks. It makes his stomach drop a little...* It's about owning them.
Brava: *gives a slight laugh at his last sentence* Right now, looks like /it/ owns /me/.
Fallan: I sincerely doubt it. *He sounds firm about that, at least.*
Brava: Why not? This- this could all come true. *holds up her shackled wrists*
Fallan: When has any event on this ship been permanent?
Brava: Maybe a few things...
Fallan: Look, it does us no good to worry about whether or not it's permanent, so don't worry about it.
Brava: *sits quietly for a moment as tears continue to form in her eyes, and she weakly tries to pull her wrist chains apart with a soft 'clink-clink' sound*
Fallan: *Sits and thinks a moment...* ...Would you like me to try to undo those?
Brava: *sniffs and wipes away her tears with the back of one hand* You can try, but if lasers can't, I don't see how...
Fallan: Well, some of them uncouple if you just yank them right... *He scoots and grabs her shackles and starts to fuss with them, looking for weak joints or seams. He sounds like he has experience with this topic*
Brava: And you know this... how? *shakes her head as he works on the shackles, flinching a little when they press too tightly on her sore wrists*
Fallan: *Automatically, like he's said this a million times before:* I'll tell you when you're older.
Brava: *huffs* How much older?
Fallan: When you're my age. *He looks like he's 190*
Brava: *laughs and lets him work in silence for a while*
[He continues to fuss with her shackles, fails to remove them after a while, and they chat about light topics for some time before Fallan falls asleep in his chair and Brava finds something else to do]