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» WHO? The Roci Crew and whoever else wants in on this mess
» WHEN? after the gravity is back
» WHERE? A few different places
» WHAT? A few different prompts as well as a catch-all for any roci crew or related logs for the month of june
» WARNINGS? these are all just terrible people what do you want from me

001: Alex, Bobbie and Amos are Judging You

The Martians and the Earther are sitting at a table in the Mess Hall, and they've started a game. That game? To rate everyone else on the ship in order of attractiveness. Want to be rated? Find the comment header below, drop a picture in of your character, and watch the comments fly. Feel free to overhear them and give them hell.

002: Closed, Alex >> Frank

Going on the morning walk-about to search for Holden was ritual, at this point, and Alex was very used to Frank coming over first thing before they headed out. So the door was already open, waiting for him. Alex was fishing through his drawers, trying to find where he'd stashed that singular glove that he'd found, to show him for a laugh. But instead his fingers found something else - a thin sheet of plastic, creased and bent a hundred thousand times, and Alex's heart nearly stopped.

He pulled it out of the drawer like it was made of plutonium, careful not to touch the edges of the drawer with it.

Christ. Oh, Christ.

003: Open, Alex >> Anyone who wants to find this wrecked man.

He goes straight to the bar.

It's not that he isn't a fairly regular fixture there, anyway, but especially right now, all he really wants is to drink until he numbs everything. So hi, have a depressed Martian with a bottle of who knows what, sitting at the bar and just staring at a picture of a woman and a child smiling lovingly at the camera. He keeps stroking his thumb over it, then looking wrecked and saying something like 'god damn it' under his breath before he pours himself another drink. One of his arms is still wrapped up in a sling against his chest.

If he recognizes you, he might look up when you get close, and sigh. "Hey, partner. Everythin' alright?" Because it's a lot easier to worry about other people, than to keep being miserable about yourself.

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"You're not," Clara assures her as she slides into the next chair. Her hand stays steady on Bobbie's shoulder, trying to provide as much comfort as she can, useless though it is. She's working hard to mask her own panic, turning it into resourcefulness instead. "Whatever's going on, we're going to figure it out. We're going to fix it."

Lie to them. Keep their hopes up. That's what she was taught to do, right?

"When did you start feeling off?"

Bobbie's eyes flick over to Clara again. She knows she's lying, because it's exactly what her superiors were doing to her a few weeks ago. There was no seventh man, Sergeant. No soldier could survive with a vac suit. What a load of crap.

She can't blame Clara, though. What else is there to say?

"This morning. I couldn't lift some of the weights in the gym."

And now it's progressed to this point in just a few hours. She knows how that looks.

Clara thinks for a moment, eyes skating back and forth in the air, as though she's trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle.

"Could be a pathogen." Oh, why did she never beg for her own sonic screwdriver? Solving this would be so much easier if she could just scan Bobbie to find out what's wrong. "Something in the air, or the water."

"Could be, but I haven't seen anyone else affected." And in Bobbie's experience, infections in closed environments like space stations spread like wildfire. She's not entirely sure she should share Alex's experience, but it's the only thing that makes sense as a comparison. She'll just leave his name out of it.

"Something like this happened to someone else, but it was more... brutal."

There's just a hint of fear edging into her voice now, despite her best attempt to keep herself steady.

That certainly gets her attention, and she leans closer, eyes wide with concern.

"What? What happened to them?" Could they have some kind of plague on their hands? "Are they okay?"

"He's fine. He..." She swallows, not sure how to explain it, even now. "It was like all the moisture was sucked from his body. He withered away in a matter of minutes, and then it reversed, like nothing ever happened." It's still unsettling to think about. It almost made her sick, watching the video.

Jesus, that's... utterly horrifying, really, on multiple levels. That certainly doesn't sound like a pathogen. It sounds more like someone just playing around, experimenting on them.

"Those wires some of us found, back at the beginning," she starts, gesturing to the faint scar on her inner arm. "They've still got control of us. That has to be it. They're not just in our heads, they're in our bodies."

Sorry, Bobbie, none of that is very comforting. She's just hypothesizing out loud.

That's... a hell of a theory. Bobbie's mouth twists, considering it. "So you think they're... what? Using us as guinea pigs?"

Oh, she hates to throw around speculation, but...

"Frank thinks we're test subjects."

Speculation is all they've got, but Bobbie's face darkens. "Seems to be a fucking theme with me," she mutters, and then she stands, suddenly and a bit unsteadily.

"Come on. You're going to check me for a wire."

Clara hops up just as fast, trying to make sure she's going to stay vertical.

"Sure you're alright on your feet?" She doesn't want to crowd or nag, but Bobbie still looks about half a foot in the grave.

Bobbie just shoots Clara a look, then starts off towards the exit at her current blistering top speed of a shuffle. Sorry, Clara.

Okay, jeez. She gets the hint, and follows close behind on her much, much shorter legs. Even incapacitated, she takes about three steps for every one of Bobbie's.

It's slow going and she knows it, and it's clear from her expression that she hates every second of it. By the time they get back to the room Bobbie is staying in, she's out of breath, and she has to lean against the wall again.

The room itself is in an odd state. It's one of the family units, but extra mattresses have been dragged in and laid down on the floor, making the entire space cramped. It looks like a handful of people are staying here, with belongings shoved wherever they'll fit. After a second or so, still struggling to catch her breath, Bobbie unzips her jumpsuit and starts to shrug out of it.

"The ones everyone found were moving, yeah?"

She hasn't seen anything like that, which means if there is anything under her skin, it's going to be harder to find.

The space immediately strikes Clara as homey more than anything. She takes in the extra mattresses and the scattered belongings, and can't help but compare them to the empty, sterile space she's been half-occupying for the last month and a half.

"Alright, just-" Oh. Okay. She doesn't need to awkwardly ask Bobbie to disrobe, because there she goes. And it's a damn good thing that Clara can't blush anymore, or else her face would be quite warm.

"Yeah. Looked like a worm, right under my skin."

Unfortunately for Clara, Bobbie doesn't have any shame when it comes to undressing. Usually, at least. This time, taking off her jumpsuit makes her stomach lurch, because everything about her is... thin. She looks so weak.

She sucks it up, kicks her jumpsuit aside, and starts checking the parts of her she can see easily, dragging her fingers over her skin and pressing down.

"I haven't seen anything like that."

"And if it was somewhere you couldn't see, you'd probably be able to feel it."

Clara moves behind Bobbie and starts with her back, shifting hair out of the way to get a better view. Even thin, even weak, she's still a complete marvel to look at. She could never be anything but. Pushing that thought aside, though, Clara starts her careful examination, her small, cool fingers prodding as gently as possible. She starts with the back of Bobbie's neck, then on down her spine, so the broad stretch of her shoulders. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, so far.

This isn't a very great experience for her, because as she searches, it just drives home how wrong she looks and feels. She can feel the jut of her hipbones and shoulders. She was always athletic, but even before her military training bulked her up, she was more soft curves than this. She sets her jaw and tries to ignore it.

"What did it feel like?"

"Like a weird itch."

Clara notices there's a difference, after a minute. It's been a month and a half on a space station; maybe she got a little lax on the exercise? Even under a jumpsuit, Bobbie never looked this lanky.

"Have you been losing weight? Rapidly, I mean?" That could be a parasite, again.

Bobbie shoots Clara a look over her shoulder, though she's more frustrated with herself than with Clara. "Rapidly is a way to put it. I've been shrinking since this morning."

"This morning?"

Clara comes around her side to look up (way up) at her face, as if hoping to see a smirk or a laugh, some sign that that was a joke, an exaggeration. When she sees nothing of the sort, her brows furrow.

"That's... really not good." Which doesn't need to be said, of course. With a renewed concern, Clara gets back to checking Bobbie's body for any sign of... of something, whatever could possibly be causing this.

"I know."

She's terribly aware of it. She thinks of Alex again, withering away alone. Honestly, she thinks she'd prefer that over someone having to watch her go out that way.

"Are you seeing anything?"

"Not yet."

She splays her fingers over Bobbie's back, slipping down her spine, eyes scanning over every inch of skin for an abnormality, other than those caused by the weight loss.

"Is it still getting worse?"

Bobbie lets out a breath, raking a hand through her hair. She's exhausting, and this is a little humiliating. It's starting to get to her in a way she can't hide.

"I think so. I don't know how much worse it can get."

"Hey, shh, it's alright." Clara lays a hand on Bobbie's shoulder, trying to make her voice calm. "Why don't you sit down? I can check your legs from there."

She gestures to the closest comfortable surface, gentle and pleading. There's a prickling fear in her stomach, but she can't let it show. She has to believe Bobbie is going to be alright, or else Bobbie won't believe that.

If only basic crisis tactics worked on adult marines.

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marineris - 2018-06-22 04:19 (UTC) - Expand

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