♻ 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

[absentconstellation]

All things talk, if you know how to listen.

[ That sounds so much douchier than it actually is: in his world almost everything is in some manner alive. ]

[tucky]

What about, like, dogs? 'Cause there was this guy who had one here, and...

[absentconstellation]

They understand human speech well enough. Most are not able to form the sounds themselves.

[tucky]

Don't they, you know, get pissed off when we keep them as pets?

[absentconstellation]

They are pack animals. Their humans are their family.

[ And anyway it's the other way around. Cats keep humans around because they're useful. ]

[tucky]

Humans don't think of them that way.

[absentconstellation]

Humans treat even their own kind as commodities.

[tucky]

... What, you mean like slavery?

[absentconstellation]

In the most literal sense, yes.

[ He yawns, then curls a little tighter in on himself, getting comfortable. ]

[tucky]

We got rid of that, you know. America did.

[absentconstellation]

[ His ears flick back and forth once, listening to the echo of that word. He's not familiar with the country. Oh well. ]

You sound very pleased with yourself.

[ Slavery isn't truly any concern of his, but he has always found it frustrating how hypocritical humans can be. ]

[tucky]

No, no, I... I mean, I didn't do it. I weren't alive yet.

[absentconstellation]

Younglings rarely have the power to change law.

[tucky]

And it was like three hundred years ago.

[absentconstellation]

I'm sure your people are paragons of compassion and justice.

[ He doesn't actually care enough to argue his point. ]

[tucky]

You mean human beings, or Christians?

[absentconstellation]

Only you can define who your people are.

[ What the heck are Christians ]

[tucky]

Okay, well, I'm both. Human and Christian.

[absentconstellation]

There's your answer, then.

[ He is perfectly satisfied with the direction (or lack thereof) the conversation took. ]

[tucky]

Nah, not really, 'cause you still haven't told me which people you were talking about.

[absentconstellation]

I was talking about the people you consider yours.

[tucky]

You mean like... my family?

[absentconstellation]

[ He is quiet for only a brief moment, calling on his vast patience to consider how to explain this is a way that she will accept. ]

You seem proud of the knowledge that there is no slavery in America, but slavery is not the way that humans treat each other as objects. Have you never felt like a prop in someone else's performance?

[tucky]

Hm-- nope. Nope, not really.

[In actuality she plays that role quite often-- she just doesn't recognize it as such.]

[absentconstellation]

Then you have been exceedingly lucky.

[ And he'll just let that be food for thought, however long she remembers to think of it. ]