According to Echo's research, victims of grief could want to keep themselves busy in order to keep intrusive thoughts or painful memories out. She had recognized this symptom in Zanna over the past month, and was only too happy to point her in the direction of The Outcast's storage rooms. "Something—a box, perhaps—has bumped one of the pipes and dislodged a nail. There's also an old space heater in there, if you'd like to take a look. It's old, but I've heard Saral commenting on the cold."
Fwoosh, indeed. Vic remembered his first supernova down to the last detail—they'd brought the ship to a stop (a safe distance away) about a week after their escape. After a lifetime of sterile laboratory walls and grimy prison floors, the eruption of colour and light, the immense, catastrophic beauty of the event, had very nearly caused him to cry.
He motioned for Saral to continue, smothering a few clicks before they could emerge.
Zanna slowly stood up and gave a slightly less forced smile to Echo, "I'll take a look into it. Maybe I'll get it done before we get to Syxille."
She started to head off towards the storage room only remembering as she walked that she had to go through the kitchen and rooms. They took a deep breath and figured they could just walk through with their eyes closed. However, she walked into the kitchen and spotted both Saral and Vic in the kitchen. They were decently quiet as they tried to just walk through silently.
"Do you know what exactly happens when they die?" Saral asked, tilting her head. Her hand had found the ring again, tapping the points of the little star as she spoke. "You probably do, but I'm going to tell you anyway, because I can't stand the quiet right now. They collapse, right? But the outer layers explode, and you remember the bursts of light that one time? I still have dreams about it. The colors bursting behind my eyelids, and the lack of sound up here in this vacuum."
(That’s such a cool ring idea, oml)
Vic turned his head as Zanna entered the kitchen, giving them a small nod of acknowledgement as he shifted his chair to make room. His focus returned to Saral, and a smile, though faint, found it’s way into his face.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, clearing his throat, “Beautiful destruction.”
((isn't it? figured i needed to actually know what the rings looked like, and those popped up. just wish i had them myself.))
Saral shot Zanna a small smile, that small one she had only been able to manage every once in a while. She lifted her free hand at the same time, in a lack-luster half wave. "Yeah. Beautiful destruction is right. The birth of stars kinda fits that bill too. Okay." She hopped down, coming up next to him and leaving some space between them. "What's your favorite star." That had to have been the fifth time she'd asked him that, at least. And they both knew she wouldn't just forget it. But sometimes people's favorites changed. Jadie used to have a different favorite everything every week…
Zanna gave them a little half-forced smile and wave. She could definitely just ignore them and continue on to find the dislodged nail. Or they could stick and talk for a while, they hadn't done that in quite some time. As such her will to just ignore them crumbled and she made her way over sitting down in the vacant spot. They looked at the two, "Y'all talking about stars right?"
"I…." Vic rubbed the side of his throat, trying to loosen the taut muscles as he tried to speak. He nodded in Zanna's direction. "Don't remember its name." A mystery of a star—a diamond planet, actually, theorized to have once been a member of a binary system. PSR J1…. something. A neutron star, a pulsar with a dense carbon core that was somehow stripped of its outer gases when its twin went supernova. Or, if the theory of the odd planet's origin was incorrect, it could have formed from the collision of quark stars.
He leaned over to the telescreen in the wall and tried a search, coming up empty a few times before finally finding what he was looking for. Tapping the image on the screen, he turned back to Saral and Zanna. This one.
( PSR J1719-1438b)
"Oh, I know that one. PSR J1719-1438b. I read an article about it, a while ago." Saral said, nodding. The sight of the star had an actual smile forming on her lips. Stars were her comfort, being among them felt like the closest thing to home. "Stars, it's gorgeous. Can you imagine seeing it in person?" She whispered, both to Zanna and Vic, holding her ring for a moment before reaching up to push her hair back out of her face, the deep blue and purple strands looking like the backdrop of the stars they were discussing.
"No, never," Zanna responded as she looked at the star. They had heard of the planet before and seen pictures. She easily understood why it was Vic's favorite though it didn't bring her much comfort as it seemed to be for Saral. They looked over at her and then back at Vic. She knew she could trust them, they hadn't hurt her before. But there was a little voice in their head that they couldn't. Then again she couldn't completely close them out, that would seem suspicious, so she kept up the 'act' until she could decide what to do.
( @Izzy-is-a-Christmas-cat? if you don't want to be a part of this anymore, you can say so )
Watching his friend light up, seeing a smile on her features… it was almost enough to drive away the bitter cold, even if only for a moment. Vic returned his attention to the telescreen and added the diamond planet to their long list of places to visit, glancing over his shoulder at the pair for their approval. This was the first update to the document since—since—
He pushed the thought away.
(should we skip to the arrival at Syxille in a bit?)
((yeah, that would make sense))
Saral nodded a few times as Vic added the star to their list, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she did. Jadie would have loved the star, she thought, remembering the other girl's love of shiny things and things formed from tragedy. She had called it poetic once, how stars were born. And maybe she was right. Too bad no star would be born from the series of horrible events they had seen and were facing now. Nothing to come of death but death.
(Sorry, it's just that there's literally nothing for my character to do at the moment so I'm just waiting for everyone to arrive at Syxille)
(TiredOtter put a post up where her character went down to the dungeons, since that's where yours is)
(It would yeah.)
Zanna felt something tug at her heart as she realized that there were people she had once cared about that weren't going to be able to see that star with them. That there were a lot of things that they weren't going to see with her old friends. She hadn't allowed the reality to sink in yet, and she wasn't ready for it to sink in yet either. They let out a long breath and looked back down at their hands.
(Oh- sorry, I didn't see it!)
Silky hair, polished fangs, full lips, shimmering scales.
Caelon admired the stranger reflected in the smooth silicone columns. He slipped through the hallways like a ghost, barefoot, yet still in a sweeping gown, makeup and glitter hiding the bags beneath his eyes.
“To be or not to be my dear, Dallic? What would you suggest?” At the sound of his name, the guard blocking the entrance to the dungeons shifted his gaze over. His silence was a response all on its own. Dress dragging lazily on the floor behind him, Caelon crept forward. The scales on the bottom of his right heel clicking against the tile.
“My prince.” With a short head bow the guard was once again silent. It was obvious why— always the same. The same, the same, the same.
“I don’t bite.” The prince gnashes his teeth, snarling once again. Dallic remained stoic, much to Caelon’s frustration. “Let me pass— I wish to lament.”
“As you wish.” The man stepped aside, allowing Caelon to continue his drunken waltz towards the stairs. Misguided footsteps falling out of place. As he reached the edge part of him hesitated for a brief moment.
“If I ought to pitch myself down, Dallic, would you miss me?” His voice shriveled like a wilted flower. The darkness, there was so much of it now, rising up from the darkened dungeons and teasing at the edges of his vision.
The guard’s silence said everything. It was always the same.
The same.
The same.
The same.
Cold from the inside out, Caelon began to tread down the stairs, descending into the vast darkness ahead.
Charlotte stilled at the sound of steps echoing down the prison. The prince. She growled softly. She couldn't see him, but she could certainly hear. She remembered exactly how the prince had looked last time she'd seen him – that is, when he wasn't on his frequent trips down to the dungeons. Black ram-like horns. Copper-y skin. Black hair. And the most memorable one of all – the tiny fangs that the prince possessed. Oh- but she couldn't forget that the prince was insane. Crazy, even. Her eyes hardened as she remembered the tales of his cruel and evil acts told to her as a little kid. "Beware of the prince," they had warned. "Don't trust him," they cautioned. But now look where she was? She was in the dungeons, the prison. A dark cell. With the prince, who had entered the dungeons. The inky darkness that enveloped all who entered.
The dungeons had silver paneled floors and walls, half of them built in with censors. A specialized key pad sat by the door as he entered, hazy blue eyes taking the familiar surroundings.
“If it isn’t the prince?” A voice snarled out from behind glowing bars. An old woman, a servant turned thief, glared with the simmering rage of injustice. Her red scales lined patches of exposed skin like a furious rash. “Come to visit us again? The worst torture of all.”
A few others grunted in agreement, but all Caelon did was grin. It was a cold and wretched smile, too empty for its own good. “Ah! So I see you’ve all missed me. How delightful!”
“Can’t you let us sleep?” This voice was younger, perhaps of teenager of the sort. The familiar sound of a cracking voice had Caelon’s vision spinning.
“If I cannot rest, than neither can you.” He snarled, fangs bared once again. “I spend my days underneath my own Sisyphean curse, getting so little rest that each day melds into the next in an agonizing blur— bound to mediocrity and so deeply ensnared by my own sins that I am vexed by even the simplest moments of clarity. I will sink and sink and sink and sink until my own madness overtakes me and whatever beings oversee our universe seek to end my pitiful existence! Does that please you?! Can you leave me to rot in peace or have you no respect for the waking dead?”
Silence fell over the dungeons like a blanket. Moments later he quelled. He was shaking from the outburst, empty blue eyes widened and fretful. Leaning back against the cold wall, he sank down into a seated position, finned ears pricked up and listening intently for a voice that wasn’t there.
"Just let us out already," Charlotte muttered. She didn't think the prince would be listening so she thought it safe to say such a thing. Besides that, even if he did overhear, she thought. Good for him. He's already gone mad anyways. Tired of standing, she moved to the back of the cell, and slid slowly to a sitting position, legs sprawled out on the cold, silver paneled, floor. She just wanted to fight. To get some adrenaline running through her body. To feel the thrill of being in a fight again.
Caelon heard it, a frustrated voice from a cell nearly across from him. Summoned like a ghost, he got to his feet, drifting over to the bars of said prisoner. A floor length gown pooling on the floor behind him as he walked. He blinked in surprise as he spotted the occupant. “Human?” He breathed out the word, almost curious. “I haven’t spoken human in years. Odd language, very elegant.” He cleared his throat, mind fumbling to recall the ancient volumes deep within the castle library.
“Holla, I am Prince Caelon. I has't not spoken this language since I wast a but a bawbling issue. Can thee und'rstand me?” He blinked again, staring through the bars owlishly.
"First of all, of course I can. And, uh, a babbling issue? Are you inferring that you were a newspaper when you were a baby?" Charlotte asked, and she couldn't help but stifle a small laugh. "Also… why do you speak in such an odd accent? Firstly, 'Holla,' as you say it, is Spanish. That's the only word I know how to say in that language but… and human isn't a language. There are many languages that humans speak," Charlotte narrowed her eyes slightly, adding, "Oh, and 'thee' isn't used anymore. It's too old of a word. But it is not a surprise that you learned English, rather than any of the others…"
Caelon squinted at the prisoner with a mix of confusion and disbelief. “I suppose the translation is old.” He fishes around in one of the gown’s pockets, pulling out an old book labeled Works of William Shakespeare. “I was lead to believe this is how most humans spoke.”
He wrapped his hands around the bars, peering inside the cell. “Your hair…? You seem quite young to be married.” Her hair was short. Not as short as his, but still short. A sign of marriage in the Somi culture.
Charlotte took one look at the Shakespeare book and couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "It's Shakespeare! Of course not, he's long dead. Of course the translation is old," she exclaimed. "And uh… excuse me?" she raised an eyebrow in response to the second thing the prince had said. "What does my hair have anything to do with my marriage status? I'm fecking seventeen! Who gets married at that age? Especially if they're underage!" Charlotte shook her head, sighing.
Caelon couldn’t wrap his head around this human. He flinched a little when she had started yelling, ears drooping down. He took a step back from the bars, uncertain if approaching was a good idea at this point. “If you are… underage than why do you dwell here?” He gestured to the dungeon.
Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Because apparently taking a little every now and then for free to support a friend is apparently illegal." She shook her head, sighing again.
Theft… Caelon realized, studying the human. She was different, certainly, very confusing. It was hard enough for him to make sense of his surroundings on a good day, let alone while this human seemed to be bombarding his senses. But she was quite the opposite of the same. Of the usual fog and haze he spent the days stumbling through. “Your intentions were… honorable? You are an honorable thief?”
