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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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Well, that's-- that's already obvious, isn't it? I'm a Christian woman who lives a life dedicated to the Lord.
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Anything else?
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I'm a country girl-- from Pennsylvania. I'm proud of that.
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[Big cities, bright lights: that had been Simon's goal. Big cities, bright lights, and happiness. He'd managed two of the three, and then he'd gotten depressed again and slunk back home with half a pharmacy in his carry-on.]
That's-- Philadelphia, yeah? The Liberty Bell and all that?
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Where're you from?
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[But he smirks slightly, shaking his head -- just a joke. He chafes his hands over his wrists absently, looking down at them.]
Dublin, originally. ...Ireland.
[Because honestly, he's very fond of her already, but he's not 100% sure she would know that off the top of her head.]
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Which time? What d'you mean by that?
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Born in Dublin, died and rose again in Lancashire.
...England.
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Look, you ain't Jesus, okay? I'm not going to believe that you were resurrected; I'm just not going to believe that.
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[He turns to face her and lifts an arm, scrubbing at his cheek with his sleeve. He holds it out to show her: see? no makeup rubbing off.]
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cw: medical torture and gross stuff
[He's almost tempted, in sheer contrariness, to turn around and show her just how far beneath -- the ugly, forever-unhealed wound where Victor and John sliced his back open down to the spine to poke around inside him. That's a bridge too far, though. He can't be that open. Even Kieren's never seen it.]
I don't have a heartbeat. I don't eat or drink.
cw: medical torture and gross stuff
[Ugh, excuses are hard.]
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But he does hope that she does. There's no real reason for him to like her, but he does anyway. She seems lost, vulnerable -- exactly the sort of dead person that needs to find the ULA. Besides, she's got a flair for the dramatic he can't help but like.]
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You want me to change everything I know about God-- that he resurrects people, that he makes the undead. But the God I know is the only thing I got going for me, so no, I won't.
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That's not all you've got.
[He shakes his head again, though he doesn't look back at her, his voice low.]
It might be you've got to work that out for yourself, but... it's not.
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[His lips quirk faintly.]
And because if nothing else, Tiffany, you've got something everyone else here has got: a golden opportunity.
[He stands, then, readying to go, though he reaches out and brushes her shoulder as he does. His hands are broad and gentle, and as long as he's touching her shirt, maybe she can still pretend that there's an iota of warm-blooded body heat in them... Maybe.]
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What that might mean scares her.]