Post by Ari Deschain on Feb 7, 2012 2:49:57 GMT -5
The engine room was dark save the ambient light from some dials and interfaces, and Ari was laying in the cot in the corner, staring at the ceiling. An old music box on the table next to the bed buzzed out a tune, the sound tinny until Ari struck it distractedly with a fist. The man singing had a bit of a twang to his voice, one that had taken Ari some time to get used to, but he'd grown some on her. Especially considering there wasn't much entertainment out in the black.
Love is all, from what I've heard, but my heart's learned to kill.
Oh, mine has learned to kill.
The mechanic was in baggy cotton pants and a tank top, clothes meant for sleeping though she did not plan on doing any of that anytime soon. She wearily brought a bottle to her lips, taking a long pull from it. Closing her eyes tightly, she set the bottle aside and coughed. It was strong stuff, but she'd bee drinking a lot more recently than she used to. She was not proud of it; her father had been an alcoholic, and she surely did not want to go down that road.
Oh, I said I could rise from the harness of our goals.
Here come the tears, but like always...I let them go.
The Lenore was losing money and Grimm was losing his grip, though Ari was loathe to admit it to herself. He had mostly checked out these last few months, and the mechanic was starting to worry that Minerva was going to catch the crew with their pants down. They'd been flying directionless, without a pilot and on a bare-bones crew. There was not much for it; if they did not find a job and hire more people. Ari was tired at sitting in the pilot's seat, staring at the intangible Black all the time. The engine room was where she belonged.
The future was our skin and now we don't dream anymore.
No, we don't dream anymore.
The bottle was brought to her lips again, the liquid fire warming her belly and numbing her. She sat up, setting the bottle down and gripping her head in her arms. There was too much loss in her life. Her mother before she'd had the chance to know her. Her father before she'd even become a teenager. Her brothers in arms in the same battle that had lost her most of the eyesight in her left eye. Stoot, her love. Ryan Hannigan, her captain and Stoot's best friend. Conrad...Leighton. Maybe Grimm, next. The Lenore was too much...it meant too much. She reeled suddenly, gripping the sidetable as she waited for the wave of dizziness to pass. She fumbled for her eyepatch, and once she had it on to block the shadowy decimated vision of her left eye, she felt a little better.
Love is all, from what I've heard, but my heart's learned to kill.
Oh, mine has learned to kill.
Ari grabbed the music box in a sudden fit of rage and tossed it to the floor, then dropped to her side and curled in a tight ball. A low keening left her throat for just a moment, but she did not allow her self-loathing to last. It was impractical and counter-productive. So, she drunkenly staggered to collect her toolbox, then dropped to a seated position beside the broken music box and began repairing it, grunting curses under her breath.
youtu.be/lAloh3RVx7s
Love is all, from what I've heard, but my heart's learned to kill.
Oh, mine has learned to kill.
The mechanic was in baggy cotton pants and a tank top, clothes meant for sleeping though she did not plan on doing any of that anytime soon. She wearily brought a bottle to her lips, taking a long pull from it. Closing her eyes tightly, she set the bottle aside and coughed. It was strong stuff, but she'd bee drinking a lot more recently than she used to. She was not proud of it; her father had been an alcoholic, and she surely did not want to go down that road.
Oh, I said I could rise from the harness of our goals.
Here come the tears, but like always...I let them go.
The Lenore was losing money and Grimm was losing his grip, though Ari was loathe to admit it to herself. He had mostly checked out these last few months, and the mechanic was starting to worry that Minerva was going to catch the crew with their pants down. They'd been flying directionless, without a pilot and on a bare-bones crew. There was not much for it; if they did not find a job and hire more people. Ari was tired at sitting in the pilot's seat, staring at the intangible Black all the time. The engine room was where she belonged.
The future was our skin and now we don't dream anymore.
No, we don't dream anymore.
The bottle was brought to her lips again, the liquid fire warming her belly and numbing her. She sat up, setting the bottle down and gripping her head in her arms. There was too much loss in her life. Her mother before she'd had the chance to know her. Her father before she'd even become a teenager. Her brothers in arms in the same battle that had lost her most of the eyesight in her left eye. Stoot, her love. Ryan Hannigan, her captain and Stoot's best friend. Conrad...Leighton. Maybe Grimm, next. The Lenore was too much...it meant too much. She reeled suddenly, gripping the sidetable as she waited for the wave of dizziness to pass. She fumbled for her eyepatch, and once she had it on to block the shadowy decimated vision of her left eye, she felt a little better.
Love is all, from what I've heard, but my heart's learned to kill.
Oh, mine has learned to kill.
Ari grabbed the music box in a sudden fit of rage and tossed it to the floor, then dropped to her side and curled in a tight ball. A low keening left her throat for just a moment, but she did not allow her self-loathing to last. It was impractical and counter-productive. So, she drunkenly staggered to collect her toolbox, then dropped to a seated position beside the broken music box and began repairing it, grunting curses under her breath.
youtu.be/lAloh3RVx7s
