never_francesca | IC Inbox

[Shaw had been up and active throughout the majority of the flood, even powering through the early stages of a death toll like it was nothing (though admittedly, it hadn't been nothing, and that approach had eventually led to her crashing for fifteen hours straight). In comparison, being mind-controlled by a vampire at the tail end of it had been far less physically taxing: but these days, psychological trauma hits her like a whip on raw nerve endings, and not in the fun way.

So. She's made an executive decision to bench herself for a while.

She goes out for food, and not much else; luckily, she has her kitchen appliances back, which means she can store several meals' worth of dining hall takeout in her fridge. Accordingly, Franky will catch her carrying multiple cartons, attempting to juggle keeping hold of them and unlocking her cabin door.]

[At least the situation allows for a restoration of her amour propre, or at least being in her proper armor - and she goes to approach, leaning down to snatch at one of the cartons before it slips out and hits the ground.]

[She straightened up, giving the packet a read.]

Well, someone's stocking up. Nobody likes this stuff enough to steal it, after all.

Someone hasn't tried the mac and cheese yet.

[It has the cadence of a joke, but is delivered in the flat, dull tone that's the only thing she can muster up right now. She gets the door to her shitty cabin unlocked, then holds out a hand for the box she'd almost dropped.]

Thanks.

[The attitude says a lot, after this long on the Barge. She looks around the cabin, placing the box back in her hand.]

You're welcome. And wait here. I'll be right back.

[And she's off, not waiting for any potential word of protest. She's aware of how people often react to the seeming death toll this place extracts, and she doesn't think Shaw will be the sort to respond to most conventional forms of therapy.]

[But for someone like her, who has stashes and little bolt-holes hidden around? Possibly. And it's to one of these that she goes, retrieving a large bottle, obtained in the future New York. And she's back soon after that, knocking.]

Right, so. Hair of the dog?

[Shaw, as it happens, does not wait right there, choosing instead to go and put her food in the fridge - but she leaves her cabin door ajar for Franky's return, and when it comes, she gives the bottle an appreciative look.]

Yeah.

Wanna come in?

[She nods.]

I'd hope to. Not letting you have all of it yourself.

Shut the door behind you.

[She says, going over to her little table by the window and slumping into one of the chairs.]

[She does so silently, crossing to what passes as cupboards. She's roughed it on ad-hoc airstrips in China, and this is still a bit...something. She bites back a comment about asking if the rats came with it, instead fishing two glasses out where she can, placing them on the table with a slight clink, before sliding into a chair opposite, crossing her legs.]

Smoke?

[Asked gently, reaching into a jacket pocket to offer a cigar. She's trying to cut back, but it does help with the stress.]

No thanks.

[She takes a moment, trying to decide whether or not she cares if Franky smokes herself. On the one hand, there's no airflow to air the place out after. But on the other hand, this is probably an elaborate simulation, so what the hell does it matter?]

You can, though, I guess.

[She puts it away, with a slight shake of her head.]

I'm not the one in need today.

[She uncorks the bottle, pouring out two healthy measures, placing the bottle back down with almost theatrical care.]

Right, down the hatch.

[She slides one of the glasses over to Shaw.]

It'll make you feel better. Probably. At least eventually.

[Her own sense of humour poking out.]

It won't.

[She says readily, though that doesn't stop it from downing half the glass in one go.]

This is a short term fix, not a long one.

[But that's fine.]

Flood went okay for you? I haven't seen you since our fun patrolling.

[She nods, downing her own with a satisfied, somewhat surprised nod.]

Of course it's short term. Sometimes you have to just patch the fuselage and keep 'er going until you can get to an overhaul, if you get my drift.

And honestly, I kept out of the way - turns out nobody has enough of a grudge to seek me out. This time, anyway.

You don't have an inmate to look after?

[She asks, surprised.]

Or did they hunker down, too?

Comatose.

[She refills each of the glasses, with a shrug.]

Kept an eye on him, but he's got enough people close to him I doubt it was strictly necessary.

[God, those comas. What the shit is up with them. Just hearing about it is enough to finish off her drink and reach for the bottle, intent on pouring another one.]

I was busy. Did a lot. Protected some people.

[Failed to protect some others.]

For a hot second, it was enough to make me forget that this place is bullshit.

[She nodded, pushing her own glass forward for refill.]

Well you're right about it being bullshit - the question is: what kind do you think it is?

Depends.

[She murmurs, topping off Franky's glass for her while she has the bottle in hand.]

There's levels to it. There's the, uh... the fact that we're all stuck in a tin can together. There's having to deal with people in a way I don't at home. Having to deal with people being stupid.

I don't know how existential you wanna get.

[She nods along to that.]

The first three I got in the navy before coming here. [She waves a hand, with a nod.]

Come on, all of it is better out than in. I can handle philosophy.

The military was fine; there was structure, and orders. I got no problem with that kind of tin can.

[She takes another long pull.]

This place isn't real. You aren't, either.

Glad your time is better about that.

[A lot goes unsaid in that sentence, a lot that doesn't need to be said between two women.]

[But then there's that second part, and she barks a laugh, genuinely surprised for the first time in a long time.]

Really, now.

[The eyebrow-raise of wry acknowledgement that Franky gets to that first part says all it really needs to say: unfortunately, there still had been plenty of sexist bullshit.]

I'm going to act like it's real, because I could still be wrong. But yeah. Really.

[She shakes her head at that.]

You bloody well are. Hate to tell you this, but I'm real, this is real. All of it is real.

What do you think it is?

You're from, uh... what year are you from again?

[She idly turns her glass on the table, looking at Shaw.]

1939. Not the same as yours, I'm rather sure on that. Turns out mine didn't get the horrible mustached German man so it's turning out rather different. That and the bloody robots.

Do you know what virtual reality is? Have you been in the Enclosure?

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With a line stolen from Pratchett...

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