( how apt is the assumption that hungry vector ghosts make up the bones of this entire ship? because that's what she's now walking away with.
and how successful would it be if she showed up at the crew quarters door sum hours/maybe like a day later with a notebook, a pen, a knife, and the utmost determination to slip a piece of paper under the door? it's just like the bridge, after all right? )
( hm. well, not so unexpected enough to be completely surprising.
clarke has a long and storied history of standing in front of doors she can't open and trying to think her way through the locking mechanism. and there's not a lot about this particular one that anyone's seemed to know thus far so. time for some trial and error.
first, she leans in close and presses her ear to the metal of the bulkhead, in case there's anything to hear besides the rushing of blood in her own head.
second, she pulls out her knife, cuts on the pad of her index finger and writes Hello? in sloppy, smeared lettering before trying to nudge it against the nonexistent gap at the base. )
after the knock, there are no audible signs of response, but Clarke may notice that the smear of blood on the handle is gone very suddenly, as if wiped off by unseen hands.]
( well, forget final. it's hard to miss a smear of jet black suddenly go missing. but harder still to parse if that's an extension of the normal janitorial services offered here.
best way to test? repeat. the cut on her finger is already starting to clot and stopper up, but a good squeeze gets her enough to draw a decent two-inch line of blood on the door proper. and this time she watches intently. )
( ...yeah that was the most anticlimactic result, clarke almost cusses out the door before remembering there is obviously a wash cloth wielding ghost nearby. swallows frustration, says very conversationally to thin air: )
Thanks. Sorry about the mess. Any suggestions?
( expects silence and for that to be just as helpful as asking friday to draw her a map. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Well, it's a bit too early to judge that, I think! We'll have to see!
no subject
I appreciate your time. And I meant it, glad you're back.
no subject
Um... Glad to be back! I'm pretty sure!
no subject
( how apt is the assumption that hungry vector ghosts make up the bones of this entire ship? because that's what she's now walking away with.
and how successful would it be if she showed up at the crew quarters door sum hours/maybe like a day later with a notebook, a pen, a knife, and the utmost determination to slip a piece of paper under the door? it's just like the bridge, after all right? )
no subject
so, not entirely like it.]
no subject
clarke has a long and storied history of standing in front of doors she can't open and trying to think her way through the locking mechanism. and there's not a lot about this particular one that anyone's seemed to know thus far so. time for some trial and error.
first, she leans in close and presses her ear to the metal of the bulkhead, in case there's anything to hear besides the rushing of blood in her own head.
second, she pulls out her knife, cuts on the pad of her index finger and writes Hello? in sloppy, smeared lettering before trying to nudge it against the nonexistent gap at the base. )
no subject
no subject
fourth, and maybe final: after a beat of thought, a very polite knock. )
no subject
after the knock, there are no audible signs of response, but Clarke may notice that the smear of blood on the handle is gone very suddenly, as if wiped off by unseen hands.]
no subject
best way to test? repeat. the cut on her finger is already starting to clot and stopper up, but a good squeeze gets her enough to draw a decent two-inch line of blood on the door proper. and this time she watches intently. )
no subject
no subject
Thanks. Sorry about the mess. Any suggestions?
( expects silence and for that to be just as helpful as asking friday to draw her a map. )