tucky | ♻ 021 | video/spam

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♻ 021 | video/spam

[Tiffany - looking worn out, but generally fine - is curled up on her couch as she addresses the network today.]

Me and Lourdes were stuck in the Enclosure, and I guess it was for longer than it felt like it was, 'cause there's four days of rabbit shit all over my room and people are saying it's Saturday. But we're okay. It was-- we're okay. I couldn't've done it without her.

Hey. You guys seeing these ghosty things walking around? They barged right in and started grabbing at me when I tried to wish my room clean. Are they part of the flood? Or... or whatever this is.

[She rubs a hand over her face.]

You think they'd mind if we tried to steer the ship again? Let's try it out. Let's all imagine a port with a lot of bars, filled with guys that really wanna get laid. Don't say "that was Paris"; I was still getting laid in Paris.

[Pause.]

Nah, I'm just kidding; don't wish for a new port or nothing. It's a bad idea, trust me; those things are creepy. I'm too fucking tired to deal with 'em. And I'm worried about the rest of y'all, so check in. Especially if you're still missing - Letty was making broadcasts, so I know some of you can get on.

[filtered to Lourdes]

[Once they've been out for a little while, Tiffany shoots Lourdes a follow-up message.]

thanks again

you doing ok

[filtered to Pietro]

[After her conversation with Lourdes, Tiffany shoots off a quick private message.]

you still want your powers back if you could get em right?

[spam]

[After a long rest, Tiffany ventures out of her room and heads out to one of her favorite haunts - the deck. Or that's the plan, anyway. The second she steps onto it she feels the wrongness, the precariousness, the sense that the ship's gravity is going to fail at any moment. She lets out a yell of surprise and throws herself back onto the ship, slamming the door behind her.

It's going to be a long, long time before she feels comfortable enough to go back out there again.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Are you angry?

... I don't think so.

[She sort of recognizes that she's thinking back to her conversation with Ivy about consent, and subsequently projecting a bit.]

I don't know. Not really. I'd probably be angrier if you was angry, or upset.

I'm not angry. I'm.

I missed him when I couldn't feel him.

[It's complicated.]

Do y'all love each other?

He's a part of me.

[It's not really an answer, but she doesn't know how to answer that question.]

Does he make you feel like you belong to something?

Yeah. He does.

That's the part I'd like.

That's . . . the part I like, too. It's just the rest that's hard.

[And tentatively, she reaches out, calls to him, a gentle hello.]

What's the rest?

That I can never get away from him. That he knows all the bad things I've done and why I've done them.

I thought you said he didn't use his mind-reading on you.

He doesn't. He was just there for everything.

Oh. Right.

... See, maybe it's weird, but that's the part I liked. He looked into my head and saw all the bad stuff there was to see about me, but he liked me anyway.

It just feels like he's lying when he says he loves me.

[Tiffany reaches down to scratch Johnny's ears as she takes this in. Then she gives Lourdes's knee another tiny little nudge.]

I know I don't know him like you do.

But I know him pretty well, and I bet he's not.

[She sighs, then nudges back with a little half-grin.]

I know what to do when I make people love me. I don't know what to do when people love me on their own.

[Another nudge. Nudging contest.]

Is Dillon the first person to do it?

[Nudge nudge!]

The first person since my parents, and they don't count. The other four don't . . . understand me as well, I don't think.

[Nudging forever.]

Why don't your parents count?

They're parents. They have to love you. And they wanted me to die, once.

[p.s. nudge.]

[Tiffany stops nudging. She just lets her knee rest against Lourdes's.]

... Why?

Because I was fat. They thought it would be merciful.

Just 'cause you were fat?

I don't get it.

[She shrugs, a little helpless.]

Maybe you should ask Dillon. We were all . . . cursed.