♻ 002 | spam

[tucky]

[After a few days, Tiffany checks herself out of the infirmary. They were willing to let her go-- except for her teeth, she's mostly healed up; even her bruises are gone-- and she was starting to feel stir crazy, so out she went.

Except now she doesn't know where to go. She knows there's her cabin, but she doesn't want to spend all her time there-- it looks like a Litchfield prison bunk, so it's not the most comfortable place around. She's new, so she doesn't know the best common areas to hang out in. There are a lot of doors, but most of them are unopenable to her. So she wanders.

Despite her bravado and argumentativeness, the things people have been telling her since she arrived-- that she's dead, that she was chosen to be here, that she's here to make amends-- are getting to her. She doesn't fully believe them, but she can't completely disbelieve them either. If they're right (and what if they are?), everything she thought she knew about God and faith and atonement has been turned on its head. There was that man-- that Catholic-- who'd tried to help her reconcile this with what she believed, but it hadn't worked all that well. She's relatively new to her faith, and without someone spoonfeeding it to her, she's shaky in it. She's used it as both a comfort and a crutch in the past, and now she isn't sure that she has it at all anymore. She doesn't know whether that makes her feel depressed or furious; she doesn't know whether she wants to punch someone or curl up and cry. She isn't ruling out doing both.

Predictably, she finds her way to the chapel. Finding a Bible in the cabinet, she sinks down onto a bench and flips through it aimlessly, barely taking in what she's seeing. She tries the trick of opening to a random passage a couple times, but it only ever seems to be just that-- random. Sadness is the overwhelming emotion here-- sadness, confusion, feeling alone and lost. When a teardrop or two lands on the pages, she doesn't bother to brush them away.

At some point, she also wanders into the dining hall, circling the room and poking around for something to do. It's not time for a meal, but the cafeteria was a popular place to hang out and relax in Litchfield, so she figures it might be the same here. Unfortunately, she's leaning towards anger right now, and she's spoiling for a fight. That's not a good thing, on a prison ship filled with inmates just like her.]

[OOC: Permissions post for this character!]

Comments

[velocette]

[There are only two times of year he ever goes to the chapel: Christmas and Easter, and the days immediately before or after. There isn't a very big religious population on board, which means that mostly he comes here and has the place to himself.

He had perched himself in a corner, and doesn't notice Tiffany for a while. When he does, he fishes a packet of tissues from his jacket pocket (stolen and mostly forgotten from the last port), and a cigarette.]

Any answers yet?

[tucky]

[She startles at the sudden interruption-- she hadn't noticed him come in, either. She jerks up, hurriedly wiping her eyes.]

He don't talk to me. He don't talk to anybody, and if they say He does they're lying.

[velocette]

That's been my experience, too.

[He still asks everyone who comes in here. Who knows? Maybe the right crazy person will have something different to bring to the table.]

But I think of reading, meditation--it's all kind of the same thing. It's like a conversation with yourself, but you can trick your mind into being honest, or comforting...

[tucky]

So you're saying he's not real.

[Her tone is flat.]

Maybe he isn't.

[velocette]

[He shrugs and blows smoke up toward the ceiling]

Reality is one of those things you can mask up or bend if you work at it. What was real a thousand years ago has changed.

Do you really want Him to be, though?

[tucky]

Maybe I just don't care anymore. I gone back and forth enough.

[velocette]

Means you're not brainwashed.

[Something to take heart in, right?]

Most people are still in shock when they get here. You're not, though. [He looks at her curiously] What was home?

[tucky]

From what I hear, it don't matter. I might not ever go back.

[velocette]

Maybe not. Most people here, they would be very foolish to go back to what they left. Besides--you stick around here, you get a bigger payoff than you'd ever get at home.

Or so I'm told.

[tucky]

[She shrugs listlessly.]

If it's not a heavenly payoff, what's it matter? It won't last forever. Nothing does.

[velocette]

This is the afterlife we're in. I was shot to death--next thing I knew I was here. I wouldn't be surprised if the last thing you remember from home was so terrible you can't believe you survived.

[He gives her a sympathetic look.]

But you're right. If there's one thing I do know, it's that nothing lasts forever. Not even pain.

[tucky]

But that's what heaven was supposed to be about, y'know? Good things forever, and nothing bad. Getting rewarded for being a do-gooder and seeing all the evil-doers punished.

[velocette]

There are so many grey areas in 'good' and 'evil'...

[He nods, a little wistful now. He lights another cigarette, then offers her one.]

What would your own personal heaven be like?

[tucky]

[Hey, cigs! She hasn't had one of those in ages, and she takes it gladly.]

That's a personal question.

And if heaven isn't real then it don't much matter.

[velocette]

[He gives her a there-and-gone-again grin, and then hands her the lighter, too.]

I guess I expected you'd lie if you didn't want to answer. I just wonder, so I can tell you if we've found anything like it yet. We go through a lot of surreal adventures on the Barge...sometimes you have family, even.

[tucky]

[She doesn't grin back, but at least no more tears are falling.]

I got family already. Lots of it.

[velocette]

Yeah? What's it like? I always thought it'd be, I don't know, warmer. Busy.

[tucky]

You ain't got family?

[velocette]

Not anymore. There was a brother, but I think he's dead. My old man, but he's always at the bottom of a bottle. Oh, but I found my mother...she's living with a hippie in California. [He's affectionate as he says it; he has no family, but the one he had managed to amuse him.]

[tucky]

A lot of mine are in jail, and the ones that aren't are back home and can't visit. I ain't seen any of 'em in a while.

[velocette]

How are the people here, compared to back home?

[This is a question he's always asking, and never gets tired of. There are a lot of worlds out there.]

[tucky]

Nicer.

[Definitely more patient with her. She's insulted people's religions multiple times and only a couple have gotten annoyed about it.]

Ya'll make a lot less sense.

[velocette]

[He nods, grimaces a bit]

Where I came from, everyone had the same motivations: food, sex, smokes. It made things simple, but a bit boring. Here, half the ship doesn't smoke, most of them aren't interested in sex, and food is always available.

When there's no threat of dying, it gets a lot harder to figure people out.

[tucky]

[No threat of dying, because they're already dead. Her frown deepens, but she doesn't comment on that part.]

What's wrong with 'em? Everybody likes sex.

[velocette]

That's what I thought, too. Maybe it's just shock. Or maybe they're not sure how to get into it in a place like this.