Erin goes up to the door to the bridge in the late afternoon. She has cleaned up; showered especially for this, scrubbed her ice-mail down until it gleams white, bound her hair in a ribbon of blue sky. She's even polished her boots (poorly, because she can't fucking see them). She carries a plate with her, stolen from the buffet, upon which is a small fungus that looks for all the world like a wad of partially-chewed gum, faintly pinkish-gray in color.
She does not particularly care who sees her going, but she doesn't stop to chat. Her sword has been peacebonded, and rests at her hip tied into its sheath with a certain formal air.
She hesitates when she gets to the door. Leave it and go? Half-remembered sayings about private prayers being more true chase each other in her mind, along with a song that would be far less annoying if it hadn't been on repeat in her head since she got up this morning.
She's not sure what to do. Erin's never really had religion.
Finally she raises a delicate fist and knocks, politely, on the bridge's door. "Captain, it's..." she falters. Finds her courage. "Erin Peters, of the Serena Eterna. I've come, a bit late, to...to pay my respects to my host, and my creator, and make an offering."
She sets the plate down in front of the door and steps back.
Stay or go?
Go or stay?
(Pick one, Peters)
Erin bites her lip, not sure if she wants to be answered or ignored.
Erin takes the hit hard, crying out. She staggers back and plants her foot firmly. The plate's a loss, pieces everywhere, but the fungus just kinda.
Sticks there.
On her blindfold.
The color rises in Erin's face. The gunpowder haze around her goes off like a gunline, crying havoc on her behalf, crackling and roaring -
"...Very well." Erin puts one hand on the blindfold to hold it there and pulls the fungus off with the other (little threads remain connected to the cloth, and will be a bitch to clean off later) before sticking it gently to the wall where others won't step on it. "...Thank you, regardless. For the gift of life and a home here. For bothering to answer." The gunpowder leaves behind trailing skulls and crossbones, roaring.
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Captain || Late October
She does not particularly care who sees her going, but she doesn't stop to chat. Her sword has been peacebonded, and rests at her hip tied into its sheath with a certain formal air.
She hesitates when she gets to the door. Leave it and go? Half-remembered sayings about private prayers being more true chase each other in her mind, along with a song that would be far less annoying if it hadn't been on repeat in her head since she got up this morning.
She's not sure what to do. Erin's never really had religion.
Finally she raises a delicate fist and knocks, politely, on the bridge's door. "Captain, it's..." she falters. Finds her courage. "Erin Peters, of the Serena Eterna. I've come, a bit late, to...to pay my respects to my host, and my creator, and make an offering."
She sets the plate down in front of the door and steps back.
Stay or go?
Go or stay?
(Pick one, Peters)
Erin bites her lip, not sure if she wants to be answered or ignored.
no subject
and then is thrown, with some force, directly at her eyes.]
no subject
Erin takes the hit hard, crying out. She staggers back and plants her foot firmly. The plate's a loss, pieces everywhere, but the fungus just kinda.
Sticks there.
On her blindfold.
The color rises in Erin's face. The gunpowder haze around her goes off like a gunline, crying havoc on her behalf, crackling and roaring -
"...Very well." Erin puts one hand on the blindfold to hold it there and pulls the fungus off with the other (little threads remain connected to the cloth, and will be a bitch to clean off later) before sticking it gently to the wall where others won't step on it. "...Thank you, regardless. For the gift of life and a home here. For bothering to answer." The gunpowder leaves behind trailing skulls and crossbones, roaring.
Erin turns to leave.