WEEK 11

[al2955]

the pygmalion. . . ONLINE CAPTAIN'S LOG: WEEK (11)

monday - thursday (14) survivors Sunday's trial was only mere hours ago, but you find yourself faced with a new week on The Pygmalion. When you awaken, you will find the ship restored to its previous state, all areas interfered with during the murder looking mostly the same as they did before. It seems you have more exploring to do. The robot in the cafeteria has prepared another breakfast of various foods. (OOC: Please submit your murder proposals by 9 PM EST Tuesday.) taken list profiles private conversations setting rulebook murder proposals ENTER COMMAND_

Comments

tuesday.

[erythristic]

[being one of the only people who might be able to be a nurse on the ship has its disadvantages, like trying to get Adrien to sleep more on Monday and being infuriated that Luke hauled him out of bed and having to deal with nothing like morphine existing on the ship. but Grell is patient and thorough, and so it means that every day, she's going to be worrying.

it also means that he's subject to what remedies there are for recovering from this sort of thing, brought together from common sense and textbooks. currently, it involves a cup of something hot and smelling strongly of flowers.]

This should help stave off any infections from our battlefield medicine.

[between the salve and the painkillers, it should be able to bring down the pain enough that Adrien can be awake without collapsing. the tea probably doesn't taste the best, but she's sweetened it with honey to make it bearable.]

[monsieurchatastrophe]

[Adrien is immensely grateful to Grell for all her work in helping him deal with the (admittedly considerable) pain he's been in, on top of his injury. But he's also not exactly a great patient, having never had a propensity for staying still and being in general a stubborn teen completely unused to being injured or sick in any way. Which is probably why he's sitting upright when she comes in, and he wrinkles his nose a bit at the smell of the tea. It's not awful, but... it's a strong smell.

still, he attempts a smile and holds out his left hand to take the tea because he is, again, stubborn, and wants to do it himself]

Is that what we're calling it...? [he sounds amused, at least.] Thanks, Madame.

[erythristic]

It sounds more elegant than "a panicked attempt to stop you bleeding out."

[fine, fine, he can take the tea on his own. that he's sitting up and has this boundless energy she thinks is a good sign - if he was weak, they'd have to be nervous as to how stable he was.]

Is everything still working? No strange side effects or sudden ineffectiveness?

[monsieurchatastrophe]

Fair enough. At least it worked? [there's a slight tremble to his hold on the tea, but it's not enough to make him spill it, and he sips it carefully. the question gives him pause, though]

I... don't really have anything to compare it to, but I think so? I don't feel worse, in any case.

[erythristic]

If that changes, let me know. Or whoever's around, if I'm not.

[she won't, can't helicopter - and the way things are, she has to leave every now and then to be able to give him the space a person needs - but she's trying to make herself available.]

You know, once you go back, you'll have the story of all stories to tell people if they ask about it. A time traveling alien in sunglasses, and your bravery to rival the classical heroes.

[monsieurchatastrophe]

Okay. I will.

[he curls a bit into himself at that follow-up, staring at the tea instead of looking at Grell. He knows she means well, but...]

Please don't talk about it like that. [he can joke about his arm-- it's the only way he can even begin to cope-- but it's not a story he'd ever want to share. Roxy died before he could react, and he hadn't even noticed Emily through the shock, and now Dave is the one living with that guilt. He can't help but think if he'd reacted faster, or better, somehow... he looks up with a wry smile, to try to soften his objection:] Besides, I don't think anyone would believe that.

[erythristic]

[looking at the tea, he won't see how something like regret flashes across her face, quick and gone as she turns away to check something in a cabinet. too soon? too soon, definitely. she'll take the request to heart then.]

That much is true. We've dealt with so much that others would consider impossible. I would have considered all this impossible before I came here - I would have thought the idea of a craft that sails the stars pure fantasy.

[monsieurchatastrophe]

[he's relieved that she doesn't protest or comment, and his smile looks more genuine for it]

Right? We've sort of got space travel back home, but nothing on this level. And I thought life in Paris was crazy and intense.

[erythristic]

What's your Paris like? Undoubtedly drastically different than my own - but I can't help but be curious about it.

[a safer topic. safer waters to traverse, remembering home.]

[monsieurchatastrophe]

Constantly under attacks by supervillains? [there's a kind of half shrug that follows that statement. he doesn't like thinking about the likelihood of Paris still standing when they come back, but there isn't a whole lot he likes thinking about these days.] For us, Jack the Ripper was over a century ago, so it's hard to compare... I know technology and culture wise, it's completely different from what it must've been like for you, at least.