Abigail Hobbs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
versusnurture) wrote2013-07-22 05:46 pm
versusnurture) wrote2013-07-22 05:46 pm
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.
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.
[ Spam ]
[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.
[ Spam ]
[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.
[ Spam ]
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.
[ Spam ]
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?
[ Spam ]
[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?
[ Spam ]
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.]
[ Spam ]
[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.
[ Spam ]
He blinks.]
Why? What creek?
[ Spam ]
[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?
[ Spam ]
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?
[ Spam ]
[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.]
[ Spam ]
He doesn't know what she looks like. He only just met her.]
You did not enjoy your experiences there.
[ Spam ]
[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.
[ Spam ]
[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.
[ Spam ]
[This is not a dig, although it can easily function as one. She presents it reasonably, as a logical argument. She just got here. She's not important to anyone.]
Not that I disagree. I'm just wondering.
[ Spam ]
Because it's no way to live, being held captive.
It's no way to live, not expecting better.
[This, too, is a statement of fact, but it's one with which Ben is intimately, thoroughly familiar.]
[ Spam ]
You know.
I wasn't captive for very long. Were you?
[ Spam ]
[Ben does not even consider smiling back, though his tone carries through with his reply: he says it like most people would say they have blonde hair and blue eyes and like the color green. It's a piece of who he is, no more and no less.]
Including, technically, here until approximately a month ago. I did not mind as much as others do.
[ Spam ]
[Abigail marvels at this, but doesn't find it all that surprising, really. She knew there was a story there.]
How did you get out? What did you do? Why didn't you run?
[ Spam ]
[He's about to point out that the reasons for not running are every bit as obvious as why a fear of flight and darkness and space would be unfortunate when he realizes he's not sure which time she's asking about, not certain why he's like her. He hesitates.]
When?
[ Spam ]
I kept running even though they kept putting me back in. I didn't want to be stuck anywhere.
[She's been stuck enough. She wanted to fly.]
[ Spam ]
I would rather be brought back here, than where I was before.
[ Spam ]
Why were you locked up?
[She isn't afraid. She just wants to know.]
[ Spam ]
They only wanted us to know what they taught us. So they created us, and then they kept us.
[Ben is still working that out for himself. He's becoming, slowly, attached to people but not yet places; slowly because he remembers that had been his mistake, before.]
You?
[ Spam ]
They thought maybe I helped.
[She did.]
They wanted to keep me safe and sane and ask me questions.
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