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♻ 002 | spam
[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!]
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!]
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[Merlin interrogates this line of thinking for a moment.]
So?
[It's not confrontational, more genuinely curious. There's no iron bars separating the Inmates from Wardens, and he doesn't know why he ought to be uninterested in learning someone's name based on their status.]
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[So she doesn't know. But the guards back in Litchfield had always made sure to maintain a professional distance at best, and treated the prisoners like they weren't even human at worst. She's gotten the sense that this place is different, but she hasn't quite internalized it yet.]
-- Tiffany.
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Tiffany. I'm Merlin.
[Handshakes aren't the typical greeting he'd offer a lady back home, but they don't seem to have failed him here so far, so he offers a hand and a brief, respectful dip of his chin.]
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[But she shakes his, albeit very briefly.]
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[Merlin half-smiles.]
I'm sorry. I'd bow, at home, but I don't know how many people here would appreciate it.
[He wants to ask where she's from, but she seems troubled by having questions asked of her and it's not as if he's got any great need to know.]
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[That's way stranger than hand-shaking.]
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Really. But I've not seen anyone do it here, so it didn't seem like a good habit to keep up.
[He already feels like a stranger in a strange land - and looks like one, to an extent, since not many other people are up to the whole Renaissance Faire bit. No need to compound it with odd behaviour.]
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[At least by now he's had the opportunity to look up what Albion is called in the 2000s. His voice goes wry.]
I could teach you to curtsey, if they do.
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[Everyone thinks they know, and then they actually try it in front of royalty. No use splitting hairs, though. He smiles softly.]
Forgive me, Tiffany. I didn't mean to assume otherwise.
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Are you royalty yourself or something?
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[He shakes his head, half-smiling.]
I'm as common as they come. But I was the servant to a king, at home.
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[That smile tugs a little harder at the corner of his mouth.] Constantly. This is the first time in years I've had a chance to stand up straight.
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Not literally. [He sits back.] Bowing was four, five times a day at most, unless we had guests.
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[Merlin nods.] Very much. Royalty entertains other royalty, and nobles, and it made them look bad if their servants weren't obedient. So - there had to be a lot of bowing.
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[He sputters out a soft laugh.]
No. No, they wouldn't cut off my legs. Put me in the stocks a few times. People threw rotten fruit at me.
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Thought they were made up.
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[How else would you hold people still and ritually humiliate them?]
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[She pronounces it like the word "shoe".]
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[Spam] vghbkjlkl I am so sorry I lost this tag!
[Spam] it's okay I do that a lot myself 8(
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