versusnurture | first ♢ voice

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first ♢ voice

[Abigail's voice quavers, as though she's uncertain of the connection, like someone making their first long-distance call. She starts out firm and then peters out into uncertainty, the tail end of her first sentence almost a question.]

My name is Abigail . . . Hobbs.

I'm not sure how I got here, but I'm here now. [A pause; who to ask for?] I'm looking for Dr. Alana Bloom. She's tall with dark hair. She was supposed to check in with me this morning, but instead I'm here.

Are there - [And here she inserts a little more tremor than necessary into her voice, because she doesn't know what else to do right now - ] Are there letters home? That kind of thing? How does this work? Because I need to talk to my dad.

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Now I would normally suggest familiarizing yourself with your surroundings, but it has been particularly dangerous to do so recently. Are you able to defend yourself?

[She knows he's not joking. She laughs anyway.]

[That would be a no, Ben.]

[Ben waits for several moments, uncertain what he said that was amusing.

Oh. He's uncertain when he comes back.]

Is that meant to be a positive or negative answer?

[Wh-- well, okay.]

Negative. If I knew how to defend myself, I wouldn't be dead.

That is not an entirely true statement.

I wouldn't have died like I did, then.

[Ben doesn't hesitate enough that anyone who doesn't know him well would notice it; the raw nerve is still close to the surface, but he's still Manticore bred and raised.]

Acceptable.

I would be willing to accompany you if you would like to see more of the Barge.

['Acceptable'. She laughs again, more quietly.]

How do I know you're not one of the people making this place dangerous?

I am.

But my contribution to the danger of the environment is currently manageable. In addition, in the event of a flood, breach, or widespread affectation of the Barge and its passengers, everyone bears equal possibility of danger.

It is, of course, your choice.

[This makes her feel better. Which probably says a lot about her, really.]

I'm in - level 8, room 19.

I will come to you. I can be there in approximately eight minutes.

[He doesn't wait for a response, but instead hangs up immediately.

The Barge doesn't bear much menace for him despite all the bloodshed lately. He and Alpha have been avoiding each other per their agreement, and Ben has once more taken refuge in his routine. He's alert but not particularly wary, not without knowing him well, when he draws himself upright in front of cabin 19 on level 8, knocking succinctly and waiting at a loose attention for instructions or action.]

It's Ben.

[She opens the door promptly once she hears his name - Ben; she's expecting him. She is wearing a dress of muted blue, a light gray cardigan, a scarf around her neck, and the bland smile of a hostess.]

[She notes several things distantly: that he's attractive, that he moves differently than other people do, and that it did take him approximately eight minutes to get here.]

Hi. I'm Abigail.

I remember.

[Ben, in turn, looks her over in one quick glance and breathes in ever so slightly deeper, just in case. Baseline human. He's not familiar with the exact scent he's picking up in addition, but institutional is universal enough that he makes a note of it, just in case.

She had seemed fairly comfortable with the idea of being a prisoner, he'd noticed. Moreso, anyway, than many new arrivals. He steps back slightly out of the doorway, bright brown eyes returning to her face. He's wearing his usual of black BDU pants and boots, a grey t-shirt, and a black leather jacket fitted to him over that. He keeps his hands folded behind his back for now, shoulders straight.]

Are you hungry, Abigail? Or do you require medical assistance? We can start in the dining hall or the infirmary, if so.

[Her eyes widen slightly, and her hand gets halfway to her throat before she pushes it down. No.]

I don't need to go to the infirmary. [She's had enough of hospitals, all kinds.] And I'm not hungry. So, wherever you want.

[Ben's eyes flick down, dagger quick, to catch the movement before returning to her face. He tilts his head.

Curious.]

Noted. You have been assigned quarters on level eight, which is currently at approximately 60% occupancy and contains two common areas, one at each end of the corridor, a broom closet, and the engine room. The common areas are standard per level. I do not advise attempting to enter the engine room unless you have experience in this field. It is a somewhat sensitive area.

One level below is the detention block, colloquially called Zero. One level up is level seven, containing the maintenance and repair office, the custodial closet, and the art therapy room. Does any of this interest you?

Edited 2013-07-23 03:52 (UTC)

[This is a lot to take in, but she manages it, letting it soak into her mind. Her eyes half-close as she thinks.]

[She's very interested in Zero. But no. That's not a good idea, not today, not yet. Maybe if she asks him again later, he'll still let her in.]

We used to do art therapy, where I was before. [A brief, disdainful smile.] Is there a - is there somewhere outside?

[Ben waits patiently, observing in a practiced, detached way though his gaze is intent and focused. She's still an unknown. She might be pretending, but Ben doesn't really think that she is.

He's been wrong before, but it hardly matters.

Ben doesn't care much for the disdain for something he's truly beginning to enjoy, and he's drawing in a slow breath to explain about the proper use of the facility when she asks a question to which he absolutely knows the answer.]

There is somewhere that simulates being outside. You will not be able to tell the difference unless you have some manner of internal ability that would allow you to, or enhanced senses. It is on the deck.

Do you have a fear of flying, space, heights, or darkness? [He's already turning to lead the way towards the nearest stairwell.]

No. I'm not afraid of any of those things.

[She follows him unquestioningly, in part because she wants to see what there is to see, and in part because he seems like the kind of person you follow.]

I'd be up the creek if I was anyway, being here.

[It's a long way up from level seven to the deck, and Ben paces himself with careful attention at the corners of his eyes, sparing a very small portion from the characteristic wariness of their surroundings in general.

He blinks.]

Why? What creek?

[She opens her mouth, closes it, and looks at him in confusion. Is he joking?]

[He's not joking.]

In trouble. It means I'd be in trouble. If I was afraid of flying, space, heights or darkness, in a space prison. You know?

[Oh.]

That is true. It would be unfortunate.

[He doesn't know, of course, but it seems less important now that she's given him a partial explanation.]

Where were you before?

Port Haven Psychiatric Facility.

[She wields this information like a weapon, though against what she's not sure. Regardless, she watches his face as she tells him for any signs: concern, fear, pity, surprise. She doesn't look like a crazy girl. She just looks like a girl.]

[This is something she knows, and also uses.]

[Ben does look her way for a moment, but it's curiosity behind his eyes. He's vaguely aware of psychiatric facilities, wondering at them from the outside like he had churches. How he felt about them changed with the day and his stability levels, but all that means is that they're as much a mystery to him as the rest of the world he left.

He doesn't know what she looks like. He only just met her.]

You did not enjoy your experiences there.

[He's strange. Beyond the obvious - the obvious is incredibly obvious - but underneath it all he's not right. She wonders briefly what it would be like if Hannibal got his claws into Ben, and to her credit doesn't flinch at the thought. She is sure that it would be ugly.]

[Her smile, now, is faint and vague, but not teary, like she might make it for someone more likely to pity her.]

I didn't. No. I ran away a lot. But they always brought me back.

I understand.

[They only ran once, and he'd died rather than be taken back, so there are differences. He does, however, understand.

He glances ahead of them, thoughtful while he considers.]

Some find it to be better, here. Others never will. I hope you are amongst the former.

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