★
@theartofmadeline
ellievsbear
No title available
Kiana Khansmith
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Cosimo Galluzzi
No title available
Fai_Ryy
YOU ARE THE REASON
Keni
Game of Thrones Daily
Game Changer & Make Some Noise
occasionally subtle
d e v o n
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Phantogram Three
One Nice Bug Per Day
taylor price
tannertan36
seen from Indonesia
seen from Israel
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Chile
seen from United States
seen from Austria
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Philippines
seen from Philippines
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Morocco
seen from Venezuela
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh
@miranda-pryces-new-world
This is a roleplay blog for Miranda Pryce from Wolf 359! Finale spoilers ahead, be warned!
For this blog, Miranda is an amnesiac following the events of Brave New World. She lives with the surviving crew on Earth (though AU things will almost certainly occur).
Feel free to interact!
@miranda-pryces-new-world
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Lambert sighed, suppressing the urge to cough. The noise was difficult, if only because it was incessant. There was never a quiet moment in the lab, and although he sometimes wished that it were, he had to acknowledge that it was probably better than being completely alone with his thoughts. But the beeps and whirs and whistles from the various pieces of machinery had begun to metaphorically drill a hole in his skull at this point.
Shifting slightly on the thin gurney cot, he even began to wish that Dr. Pryce would come back. It was awful to have her staring at him with her strange eyes, but at least it had been some kind of human(?) interaction. He wasn't sure if she still counted as human anymore, though he suspected she might have been at some point.
At that point, the humming vibrations of the door unlocking rang through the room, interrupting his train of thought.
Samuel Lambert had been in the custody of Goddard Futuristics for... How long, now? It was hard to say, at least from his perspective. He was just one of Doctor Pryce's pet projects— one that she apparently liked enough that she had arranged for someone to feed him in her absence.
Not all of her projects had been so lucky.
The door opened, as it so often did. Two pairs of heavy, clomping footsteps. Those would be the guards, the staff.
Doctor Pryce had a distinctive gait, too. Was she back? She hadn't been back in so long! Was she-
The doctor appeared at the side of his bed, looking down at him. Two guards flanked her. She was dressed in a lab coat, but it seemed ill-fitting, as though she didn't know how to wear it.
She blinked.
"I don't understand."
Trying to sit up, but hindered slightly by the various IVs and tubing hooked up to him, he faltered. "Doc– Doctor Pryce?" He did cough, then, though he made an attempt to smother it.
"What," he croaked, "what do you want?" He knew that talking back in such a way would likely result in punishment later, but he was utterly bewildered.
Squinting at the woman before him, he noticed the differences between her and the imposing figure in his memory. The ill-fitting lab coat, the hunched shoulders, but most of all the nervous way her strange, strange eyes darted around. Yes, he knew those eyes. But not in the current expression in which they were housed. This did not seem to be the Doctor Pryce he was expecting, but nor did it seem to be a stranger entirely.
"Who are you?" He whispered hoarsely.
Miranda didn't like seeing the man like this. Something about his appearance made her uncomfortable. She had had plenty of tubes and IVs in her short time on earth, but he had far surpassed that amount.
"I'm... Um-" She glanced at the guards, then back at Lambert. "My name is Doctor Pryce.
Who are you?"
Lambert's forehead wrinkled as he listened. This most certainly did not seem to be Doctor Pryce, but then again, looks could be deceiving.
"My name is Communications Officer Samuel Lambert." He rattled off, and oh, how long had it been since someone asked him his name? And here he was, still chaining himself to a company that only saw fit to use him.
Glancing up at her face once more, he resolved that this really must be Doctor Pryce, if only for her eyes.
"Oh. Okay. I don't know you."
She sounded so small, her voice at a different pitch than usual. Higher. Younger? She almost sounded like it.
"Why are you here?"
That... was not what he was expecting.
"That's– That's a complicated question, Doctor Pryce." He cleared his throat, trying to find the words. "Why don't you tell me why you're here?" He said slowly, mind working as fast as it could to put the pieces together.
How was she here? And why didn't she seem to be herself? The coat, the posture, the voice... There was definitely something off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Maybe if he could just find the right questions, the right words, then he could understand.
Miranda felt much the same, at times. If she could find the right questions to ask, then maybe, just maybe, she could finally understand what was going on.
"Well, I was on the Hephaestus. Or... Doctor Pryce was on the Hephaestus. But then she got hurt. And she, um-
Well, she died. And now I'm here."
She looked at the staff minding her for approval.
The guard standing at her left shoulder nodded, glancing back at a woman Lambert hadn't noticed before, standing just past them. Pushing her hair behind her ear, she stepped forward, holding a clipboard to her chest.
"What happened to Doctor Pryce is more or less an unknown phenomenon; we are still studying it. However, the long and short of it is that her mind has been wiped. All memories; gone. So, in a manner of speaking, yes, Doctor Pryce did die."
She shuffled a bit, an excited smile growing on her face. "But, the main point of this exercise was to see if she might be able to regain some of herself with, er, well, you as a catalyst."
Lambert blinked. "And you thought me, a throwaway comms officer from the Hephaestus mission, who was only useful as a test subject, would be the 'catalyst' for her to regain her memory?"
The woman continued:
"Many of the people she knew well perished on the same mission in which she lost her memories. You're a familiar face.
Besides, you were already in her lab."
And, oddly enough, one of the guards started to let him up from the bed.
Shakily, Lambert tried to climb out of the gurney, but his arms collapsed under him almost immediately as he attempted to use them to support his weight. Choosing the simpler method of just swinging his legs over the edge and using the remaining guardrails to keep himself upright, he squinted at the woman with the clipboard.
"What do you mean '[they] perished'? Who did?"
The woman looked uncomfortable for a brief moment, but quickly regained her composure. "That's none of your business. Only necessary information is shared with test subjects, and who is and isn't alive anymore certainly doesn't concern you."
Gesturing for the guards to follow her, she turned on her heel and moved toward the door.
Miranda didn't follow. She hadn't been ordered to follow, so she didn't.
Instead, she just stared at Lambert. She seemed to relax a little once the others were out of the room.
She gave Lambert an awkward look.
"Um... Hi. You can call me Miranda."
Slowly, Lambert nodded. "I'm Communica–" he grit his teeth, letting out a controlled breath. "You can call me 'Samuel'. Or 'Lambert'. But I'm not really a Communications Officer anymore..."
"Oh. You're like Doug. Or, like Doug used to be, I guess."
She pulled over a chair and sat down, swinging her legs.
"Have you been here for a long time?"
Looking up at the ceiling, Lambert tried to count the time.
"It's been... a while." He said eventually, glancing back down at her. "Who is 'Doug'? Is he one of the people who died?"
Immediately, cringed. That was a great way to put it, why don't you upset the woman who tortured you for probably years?
"I'm sorry," he backpedaled, "I didn't mean it like that. Is he... a friend of yours?"
"Douglas Eiffel." It sounded like she was reciting something. "Communications officer of the USS Hephaestus station."
"O-kay," Lambert nodded hesitantly. "So... he was a Communications Officer as well? How did that go?"
"I am told he was not very good at his job. But it doesn't matter anymore. He doesn't remember anything, either."
She gave an odd, lopsided smile.
"Just like me. He's my friend. He doesn't mind... Me."
@miranda-pryces-new-world
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Lambert sighed, suppressing the urge to cough. The noise was difficult, if only because it was incessant. There was never a quiet moment in the lab, and although he sometimes wished that it were, he had to acknowledge that it was probably better than being completely alone with his thoughts. But the beeps and whirs and whistles from the various pieces of machinery had begun to metaphorically drill a hole in his skull at this point.
Shifting slightly on the thin gurney cot, he even began to wish that Dr. Pryce would come back. It was awful to have her staring at him with her strange eyes, but at least it had been some kind of human(?) interaction. He wasn't sure if she still counted as human anymore, though he suspected she might have been at some point.
At that point, the humming vibrations of the door unlocking rang through the room, interrupting his train of thought.
Samuel Lambert had been in the custody of Goddard Futuristics for... How long, now? It was hard to say, at least from his perspective. He was just one of Doctor Pryce's pet projects— one that she apparently liked enough that she had arranged for someone to feed him in her absence.
Not all of her projects had been so lucky.
The door opened, as it so often did. Two pairs of heavy, clomping footsteps. Those would be the guards, the staff.
Doctor Pryce had a distinctive gait, too. Was she back? She hadn't been back in so long! Was she-
The doctor appeared at the side of his bed, looking down at him. Two guards flanked her. She was dressed in a lab coat, but it seemed ill-fitting, as though she didn't know how to wear it.
She blinked.
"I don't understand."
Trying to sit up, but hindered slightly by the various IVs and tubing hooked up to him, he faltered. "Doc– Doctor Pryce?" He did cough, then, though he made an attempt to smother it.
"What," he croaked, "what do you want?" He knew that talking back in such a way would likely result in punishment later, but he was utterly bewildered.
Squinting at the woman before him, he noticed the differences between her and the imposing figure in his memory. The ill-fitting lab coat, the hunched shoulders, but most of all the nervous way her strange, strange eyes darted around. Yes, he knew those eyes. But not in the current expression in which they were housed. This did not seem to be the Doctor Pryce he was expecting, but nor did it seem to be a stranger entirely.
"Who are you?" He whispered hoarsely.
Miranda didn't like seeing the man like this. Something about his appearance made her uncomfortable. She had had plenty of tubes and IVs in her short time on earth, but he had far surpassed that amount.
"I'm... Um-" She glanced at the guards, then back at Lambert. "My name is Doctor Pryce.
Who are you?"
Lambert's forehead wrinkled as he listened. This most certainly did not seem to be Doctor Pryce, but then again, looks could be deceiving.
"My name is Communications Officer Samuel Lambert." He rattled off, and oh, how long had it been since someone asked him his name? And here he was, still chaining himself to a company that only saw fit to use him.
Glancing up at her face once more, he resolved that this really must be Doctor Pryce, if only for her eyes.
"Oh. Okay. I don't know you."
She sounded so small, her voice at a different pitch than usual. Higher. Younger? She almost sounded like it.
"Why are you here?"
That... was not what he was expecting.
"That's– That's a complicated question, Doctor Pryce." He cleared his throat, trying to find the words. "Why don't you tell me why you're here?" He said slowly, mind working as fast as it could to put the pieces together.
How was she here? And why didn't she seem to be herself? The coat, the posture, the voice... There was definitely something off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Maybe if he could just find the right questions, the right words, then he could understand.
Miranda felt much the same, at times. If she could find the right questions to ask, then maybe, just maybe, she could finally understand what was going on.
"Well, I was on the Hephaestus. Or... Doctor Pryce was on the Hephaestus. But then she got hurt. And she, um-
Well, she died. And now I'm here."
She looked at the staff minding her for approval.
The guard standing at her left shoulder nodded, glancing back at a woman Lambert hadn't noticed before, standing just past them. Pushing her hair behind her ear, she stepped forward, holding a clipboard to her chest.
"What happened to Doctor Pryce is more or less an unknown phenomenon; we are still studying it. However, the long and short of it is that her mind has been wiped. All memories; gone. So, in a manner of speaking, yes, Doctor Pryce did die."
She shuffled a bit, an excited smile growing on her face. "But, the main point of this exercise was to see if she might be able to regain some of herself with, er, well, you as a catalyst."
Lambert blinked. "And you thought me, a throwaway comms officer from the Hephaestus mission, who was only useful as a test subject, would be the 'catalyst' for her to regain her memory?"
The woman continued:
"Many of the people she knew well perished on the same mission in which she lost her memories. You're a familiar face.
Besides, you were already in her lab."
And, oddly enough, one of the guards started to let him up from the bed.
Shakily, Lambert tried to climb out of the gurney, but his arms collapsed under him almost immediately as he attempted to use them to support his weight. Choosing the simpler method of just swinging his legs over the edge and using the remaining guardrails to keep himself upright, he squinted at the woman with the clipboard.
"What do you mean '[they] perished'? Who did?"
The woman looked uncomfortable for a brief moment, but quickly regained her composure. "That's none of your business. Only necessary information is shared with test subjects, and who is and isn't alive anymore certainly doesn't concern you."
Gesturing for the guards to follow her, she turned on her heel and moved toward the door.
Miranda didn't follow. She hadn't been ordered to follow, so she didn't.
Instead, she just stared at Lambert. She seemed to relax a little once the others were out of the room.
She gave Lambert an awkward look.
"Um... Hi. You can call me Miranda."
Slowly, Lambert nodded. "I'm Communica–" he grit his teeth, letting out a controlled breath. "You can call me 'Samuel'. Or 'Lambert'. But I'm not really a Communications Officer anymore..."
"Oh. You're like Doug. Or, like Doug used to be, I guess."
She pulled over a chair and sat down, swinging her legs.
"Have you been here for a long time?"
Looking up at the ceiling, Lambert tried to count the time.
"It's been... a while." He said eventually, glancing back down at her. "Who is 'Doug'? Is he one of the people who died?"
Immediately, cringed. That was a great way to put it, why don't you upset the woman who tortured you for probably years?
"I'm sorry," he backpedaled, "I didn't mean it like that. Is he... a friend of yours?"
"Douglas Eiffel." It sounded like she was reciting something. "Communications officer of the USS Hephaestus station."
@miranda-pryces-new-world
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Lambert sighed, suppressing the urge to cough. The noise was difficult, if only because it was incessant. There was never a quiet moment in the lab, and although he sometimes wished that it were, he had to acknowledge that it was probably better than being completely alone with his thoughts. But the beeps and whirs and whistles from the various pieces of machinery had begun to metaphorically drill a hole in his skull at this point.
Shifting slightly on the thin gurney cot, he even began to wish that Dr. Pryce would come back. It was awful to have her staring at him with her strange eyes, but at least it had been some kind of human(?) interaction. He wasn't sure if she still counted as human anymore, though he suspected she might have been at some point.
At that point, the humming vibrations of the door unlocking rang through the room, interrupting his train of thought.
Samuel Lambert had been in the custody of Goddard Futuristics for... How long, now? It was hard to say, at least from his perspective. He was just one of Doctor Pryce's pet projects— one that she apparently liked enough that she had arranged for someone to feed him in her absence.
Not all of her projects had been so lucky.
The door opened, as it so often did. Two pairs of heavy, clomping footsteps. Those would be the guards, the staff.
Doctor Pryce had a distinctive gait, too. Was she back? She hadn't been back in so long! Was she-
The doctor appeared at the side of his bed, looking down at him. Two guards flanked her. She was dressed in a lab coat, but it seemed ill-fitting, as though she didn't know how to wear it.
She blinked.
"I don't understand."
Trying to sit up, but hindered slightly by the various IVs and tubing hooked up to him, he faltered. "Doc– Doctor Pryce?" He did cough, then, though he made an attempt to smother it.
"What," he croaked, "what do you want?" He knew that talking back in such a way would likely result in punishment later, but he was utterly bewildered.
Squinting at the woman before him, he noticed the differences between her and the imposing figure in his memory. The ill-fitting lab coat, the hunched shoulders, but most of all the nervous way her strange, strange eyes darted around. Yes, he knew those eyes. But not in the current expression in which they were housed. This did not seem to be the Doctor Pryce he was expecting, but nor did it seem to be a stranger entirely.
"Who are you?" He whispered hoarsely.
Miranda didn't like seeing the man like this. Something about his appearance made her uncomfortable. She had had plenty of tubes and IVs in her short time on earth, but he had far surpassed that amount.
"I'm... Um-" She glanced at the guards, then back at Lambert. "My name is Doctor Pryce.
Who are you?"
Lambert's forehead wrinkled as he listened. This most certainly did not seem to be Doctor Pryce, but then again, looks could be deceiving.
"My name is Communications Officer Samuel Lambert." He rattled off, and oh, how long had it been since someone asked him his name? And here he was, still chaining himself to a company that only saw fit to use him.
Glancing up at her face once more, he resolved that this really must be Doctor Pryce, if only for her eyes.
"Oh. Okay. I don't know you."
She sounded so small, her voice at a different pitch than usual. Higher. Younger? She almost sounded like it.
"Why are you here?"
That... was not what he was expecting.
"That's– That's a complicated question, Doctor Pryce." He cleared his throat, trying to find the words. "Why don't you tell me why you're here?" He said slowly, mind working as fast as it could to put the pieces together.
How was she here? And why didn't she seem to be herself? The coat, the posture, the voice... There was definitely something off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Maybe if he could just find the right questions, the right words, then he could understand.
Miranda felt much the same, at times. If she could find the right questions to ask, then maybe, just maybe, she could finally understand what was going on.
"Well, I was on the Hephaestus. Or... Doctor Pryce was on the Hephaestus. But then she got hurt. And she, um-
Well, she died. And now I'm here."
She looked at the staff minding her for approval.
The guard standing at her left shoulder nodded, glancing back at a woman Lambert hadn't noticed before, standing just past them. Pushing her hair behind her ear, she stepped forward, holding a clipboard to her chest.
"What happened to Doctor Pryce is more or less an unknown phenomenon; we are still studying it. However, the long and short of it is that her mind has been wiped. All memories; gone. So, in a manner of speaking, yes, Doctor Pryce did die."
She shuffled a bit, an excited smile growing on her face. "But, the main point of this exercise was to see if she might be able to regain some of herself with, er, well, you as a catalyst."
Lambert blinked. "And you thought me, a throwaway comms officer from the Hephaestus mission, who was only useful as a test subject, would be the 'catalyst' for her to regain her memory?"
The woman continued:
"Many of the people she knew well perished on the same mission in which she lost her memories. You're a familiar face.
Besides, you were already in her lab."
And, oddly enough, one of the guards started to let him up from the bed.
Shakily, Lambert tried to climb out of the gurney, but his arms collapsed under him almost immediately as he attempted to use them to support his weight. Choosing the simpler method of just swinging his legs over the edge and using the remaining guardrails to keep himself upright, he squinted at the woman with the clipboard.
"What do you mean '[they] perished'? Who did?"
The woman looked uncomfortable for a brief moment, but quickly regained her composure. "That's none of your business. Only necessary information is shared with test subjects, and who is and isn't alive anymore certainly doesn't concern you."
Gesturing for the guards to follow her, she turned on her heel and moved toward the door.
Miranda didn't follow. She hadn't been ordered to follow, so she didn't.
Instead, she just stared at Lambert. She seemed to relax a little once the others were out of the room.
She gave Lambert an awkward look.
"Um... Hi. You can call me Miranda."
Slowly, Lambert nodded. "I'm Communica–" he grit his teeth, letting out a controlled breath. "You can call me 'Samuel'. Or 'Lambert'. But I'm not really a Communications Officer anymore..."
"Oh. You're like Doug. Or, like Doug used to be, I guess."
She pulled over a chair and sat down, swinging her legs.
"Have you been here for a long time?"
@miranda-pryces-new-world
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Lambert sighed, suppressing the urge to cough. The noise was difficult, if only because it was incessant. There was never a quiet moment in the lab, and although he sometimes wished that it were, he had to acknowledge that it was probably better than being completely alone with his thoughts. But the beeps and whirs and whistles from the various pieces of machinery had begun to metaphorically drill a hole in his skull at this point.
Shifting slightly on the thin gurney cot, he even began to wish that Dr. Pryce would come back. It was awful to have her staring at him with her strange eyes, but at least it had been some kind of human(?) interaction. He wasn't sure if she still counted as human anymore, though he suspected she might have been at some point.
At that point, the humming vibrations of the door unlocking rang through the room, interrupting his train of thought.
Samuel Lambert had been in the custody of Goddard Futuristics for... How long, now? It was hard to say, at least from his perspective. He was just one of Doctor Pryce's pet projects— one that she apparently liked enough that she had arranged for someone to feed him in her absence.
Not all of her projects had been so lucky.
The door opened, as it so often did. Two pairs of heavy, clomping footsteps. Those would be the guards, the staff.
Doctor Pryce had a distinctive gait, too. Was she back? She hadn't been back in so long! Was she-
The doctor appeared at the side of his bed, looking down at him. Two guards flanked her. She was dressed in a lab coat, but it seemed ill-fitting, as though she didn't know how to wear it.
She blinked.
"I don't understand."
Trying to sit up, but hindered slightly by the various IVs and tubing hooked up to him, he faltered. "Doc– Doctor Pryce?" He did cough, then, though he made an attempt to smother it.
"What," he croaked, "what do you want?" He knew that talking back in such a way would likely result in punishment later, but he was utterly bewildered.
Squinting at the woman before him, he noticed the differences between her and the imposing figure in his memory. The ill-fitting lab coat, the hunched shoulders, but most of all the nervous way her strange, strange eyes darted around. Yes, he knew those eyes. But not in the current expression in which they were housed. This did not seem to be the Doctor Pryce he was expecting, but nor did it seem to be a stranger entirely.
"Who are you?" He whispered hoarsely.
Miranda didn't like seeing the man like this. Something about his appearance made her uncomfortable. She had had plenty of tubes and IVs in her short time on earth, but he had far surpassed that amount.
"I'm... Um-" She glanced at the guards, then back at Lambert. "My name is Doctor Pryce.
Who are you?"
Lambert's forehead wrinkled as he listened. This most certainly did not seem to be Doctor Pryce, but then again, looks could be deceiving.
"My name is Communications Officer Samuel Lambert." He rattled off, and oh, how long had it been since someone asked him his name? And here he was, still chaining himself to a company that only saw fit to use him.
Glancing up at her face once more, he resolved that this really must be Doctor Pryce, if only for her eyes.
"Oh. Okay. I don't know you."
She sounded so small, her voice at a different pitch than usual. Higher. Younger? She almost sounded like it.
"Why are you here?"
That... was not what he was expecting.
"That's– That's a complicated question, Doctor Pryce." He cleared his throat, trying to find the words. "Why don't you tell me why you're here?" He said slowly, mind working as fast as it could to put the pieces together.
How was she here? And why didn't she seem to be herself? The coat, the posture, the voice... There was definitely something off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Maybe if he could just find the right questions, the right words, then he could understand.
Miranda felt much the same, at times. If she could find the right questions to ask, then maybe, just maybe, she could finally understand what was going on.
"Well, I was on the Hephaestus. Or... Doctor Pryce was on the Hephaestus. But then she got hurt. And she, um-
Well, she died. And now I'm here."
She looked at the staff minding her for approval.
The guard standing at her left shoulder nodded, glancing back at a woman Lambert hadn't noticed before, standing just past them. Pushing her hair behind her ear, she stepped forward, holding a clipboard to her chest.
"What happened to Doctor Pryce is more or less an unknown phenomenon; we are still studying it. However, the long and short of it is that her mind has been wiped. All memories; gone. So, in a manner of speaking, yes, Doctor Pryce did die."
She shuffled a bit, an excited smile growing on her face. "But, the main point of this exercise was to see if she might be able to regain some of herself with, er, well, you as a catalyst."
Lambert blinked. "And you thought me, a throwaway comms officer from the Hephaestus mission, who was only useful as a test subject, would be the 'catalyst' for her to regain her memory?"
The woman continued:
"Many of the people she knew well perished on the same mission in which she lost her memories. You're a familiar face.
Besides, you were already in her lab."
And, oddly enough, one of the guards started to let him up from the bed.
Shakily, Lambert tried to climb out of the gurney, but his arms collapsed under him almost immediately as he attempted to use them to support his weight. Choosing the simpler method of just swinging his legs over the edge and using the remaining guardrails to keep himself upright, he squinted at the woman with the clipboard.
"What do you mean '[they] perished'? Who did?"
The woman looked uncomfortable for a brief moment, but quickly regained her composure. "That's none of your business. Only necessary information is shared with test subjects, and who is and isn't alive anymore certainly doesn't concern you."
Gesturing for the guards to follow her, she turned on her heel and moved toward the door.
Miranda didn't follow. She hadn't been ordered to follow, so she didn't.
Instead, she just stared at Lambert. She seemed to relax a little once the others were out of the room.
She gave Lambert an awkward look.
"Um... Hi. You can call me Miranda."
@miranda-pryces-new-world
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Lambert sighed, suppressing the urge to cough. The noise was difficult, if only because it was incessant. There was never a quiet moment in the lab, and although he sometimes wished that it were, he had to acknowledge that it was probably better than being completely alone with his thoughts. But the beeps and whirs and whistles from the various pieces of machinery had begun to metaphorically drill a hole in his skull at this point.
Shifting slightly on the thin gurney cot, he even began to wish that Dr. Pryce would come back. It was awful to have her staring at him with her strange eyes, but at least it had been some kind of human(?) interaction. He wasn't sure if she still counted as human anymore, though he suspected she might have been at some point.
At that point, the humming vibrations of the door unlocking rang through the room, interrupting his train of thought.
Samuel Lambert had been in the custody of Goddard Futuristics for... How long, now? It was hard to say, at least from his perspective. He was just one of Doctor Pryce's pet projects— one that she apparently liked enough that she had arranged for someone to feed him in her absence.
Not all of her projects had been so lucky.
The door opened, as it so often did. Two pairs of heavy, clomping footsteps. Those would be the guards, the staff.
Doctor Pryce had a distinctive gait, too. Was she back? She hadn't been back in so long! Was she-
The doctor appeared at the side of his bed, looking down at him. Two guards flanked her. She was dressed in a lab coat, but it seemed ill-fitting, as though she didn't know how to wear it.
She blinked.
"I don't understand."
Trying to sit up, but hindered slightly by the various IVs and tubing hooked up to him, he faltered. "Doc– Doctor Pryce?" He did cough, then, though he made an attempt to smother it.
"What," he croaked, "what do you want?" He knew that talking back in such a way would likely result in punishment later, but he was utterly bewildered.
Squinting at the woman before him, he noticed the differences between her and the imposing figure in his memory. The ill-fitting lab coat, the hunched shoulders, but most of all the nervous way her strange, strange eyes darted around. Yes, he knew those eyes. But not in the current expression in which they were housed. This did not seem to be the Doctor Pryce he was expecting, but nor did it seem to be a stranger entirely.
"Who are you?" He whispered hoarsely.
Miranda didn't like seeing the man like this. Something about his appearance made her uncomfortable. She had had plenty of tubes and IVs in her short time on earth, but he had far surpassed that amount.
"I'm... Um-" She glanced at the guards, then back at Lambert. "My name is Doctor Pryce.
Who are you?"
Lambert's forehead wrinkled as he listened. This most certainly did not seem to be Doctor Pryce, but then again, looks could be deceiving.
"My name is Communications Officer Samuel Lambert." He rattled off, and oh, how long had it been since someone asked him his name? And here he was, still chaining himself to a company that only saw fit to use him.
Glancing up at her face once more, he resolved that this really must be Doctor Pryce, if only for her eyes.
"Oh. Okay. I don't know you."
She sounded so small, her voice at a different pitch than usual. Higher. Younger? She almost sounded like it.
"Why are you here?"
That... was not what he was expecting.
"That's– That's a complicated question, Doctor Pryce." He cleared his throat, trying to find the words. "Why don't you tell me why you're here?" He said slowly, mind working as fast as it could to put the pieces together.
How was she here? And why didn't she seem to be herself? The coat, the posture, the voice... There was definitely something off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Maybe if he could just find the right questions, the right words, then he could understand.
Miranda felt much the same, at times. If she could find the right questions to ask, then maybe, just maybe, she could finally understand what was going on.
"Well, I was on the Hephaestus. Or... Doctor Pryce was on the Hephaestus. But then she got hurt. And she, um-
Well, she died. And now I'm here."
She looked at the staff minding her for approval.
The guard standing at her left shoulder nodded, glancing back at a woman Lambert hadn't noticed before, standing just past them. Pushing her hair behind her ear, she stepped forward, holding a clipboard to her chest.
"What happened to Doctor Pryce is more or less an unknown phenomenon; we are still studying it. However, the long and short of it is that her mind has been wiped. All memories; gone. So, in a manner of speaking, yes, Doctor Pryce did die."
She shuffled a bit, an excited smile growing on her face. "But, the main point of this exercise was to see if she might be able to regain some of herself with, er, well, you as a catalyst."
Lambert blinked. "And you thought me, a throwaway comms officer from the Hephaestus mission, who was only useful as a test subject, would be the 'catalyst' for her to regain her memory?"
The woman continued:
"Many of the people she knew well perished on the same mission in which she lost her memories. You're a familiar face.
Besides, you were already in her lab."
And, oddly enough, one of the guards started to let him up from the bed.
@miranda-pryces-new-world
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Lambert sighed, suppressing the urge to cough. The noise was difficult, if only because it was incessant. There was never a quiet moment in the lab, and although he sometimes wished that it were, he had to acknowledge that it was probably better than being completely alone with his thoughts. But the beeps and whirs and whistles from the various pieces of machinery had begun to metaphorically drill a hole in his skull at this point.
Shifting slightly on the thin gurney cot, he even began to wish that Dr. Pryce would come back. It was awful to have her staring at him with her strange eyes, but at least it had been some kind of human(?) interaction. He wasn't sure if she still counted as human anymore, though he suspected she might have been at some point.
At that point, the humming vibrations of the door unlocking rang through the room, interrupting his train of thought.
Samuel Lambert had been in the custody of Goddard Futuristics for... How long, now? It was hard to say, at least from his perspective. He was just one of Doctor Pryce's pet projects— one that she apparently liked enough that she had arranged for someone to feed him in her absence.
Not all of her projects had been so lucky.
The door opened, as it so often did. Two pairs of heavy, clomping footsteps. Those would be the guards, the staff.
Doctor Pryce had a distinctive gait, too. Was she back? She hadn't been back in so long! Was she-
The doctor appeared at the side of his bed, looking down at him. Two guards flanked her. She was dressed in a lab coat, but it seemed ill-fitting, as though she didn't know how to wear it.
She blinked.
"I don't understand."
Trying to sit up, but hindered slightly by the various IVs and tubing hooked up to him, he faltered. "Doc– Doctor Pryce?" He did cough, then, though he made an attempt to smother it.
"What," he croaked, "what do you want?" He knew that talking back in such a way would likely result in punishment later, but he was utterly bewildered.
Squinting at the woman before him, he noticed the differences between her and the imposing figure in his memory. The ill-fitting lab coat, the hunched shoulders, but most of all the nervous way her strange, strange eyes darted around. Yes, he knew those eyes. But not in the current expression in which they were housed. This did not seem to be the Doctor Pryce he was expecting, but nor did it seem to be a stranger entirely.
"Who are you?" He whispered hoarsely.
Miranda didn't like seeing the man like this. Something about his appearance made her uncomfortable. She had had plenty of tubes and IVs in her short time on earth, but he had far surpassed that amount.
"I'm... Um-" She glanced at the guards, then back at Lambert. "My name is Doctor Pryce.
Who are you?"
Lambert's forehead wrinkled as he listened. This most certainly did not seem to be Doctor Pryce, but then again, looks could be deceiving.
"My name is Communications Officer Samuel Lambert." He rattled off, and oh, how long had it been since someone asked him his name? And here he was, still chaining himself to a company that only saw fit to use him.
Glancing up at her face once more, he resolved that this really must be Doctor Pryce, if only for her eyes.
"Oh. Okay. I don't know you."
She sounded so small, her voice at a different pitch than usual. Higher. Younger? She almost sounded like it.
"Why are you here?"
That... was not what he was expecting.
"That's– That's a complicated question, Doctor Pryce." He cleared his throat, trying to find the words. "Why don't you tell me why you're here?" He said slowly, mind working as fast as it could to put the pieces together.
How was she here? And why didn't she seem to be herself? The coat, the posture, the voice... There was definitely something off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Maybe if he could just find the right questions, the right words, then he could understand.
Miranda felt much the same, at times. If she could find the right questions to ask, then maybe, just maybe, she could finally understand what was going on.
"Well, I was on the Hephaestus. Or... Doctor Pryce was on the Hephaestus. But then she got hurt. And she, um-
Well, she died. And now I'm here."
She looked at the staff minding her for approval.
@miranda-pryces-new-world
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Lambert sighed, suppressing the urge to cough. The noise was difficult, if only because it was incessant. There was never a quiet moment in the lab, and although he sometimes wished that it were, he had to acknowledge that it was probably better than being completely alone with his thoughts. But the beeps and whirs and whistles from the various pieces of machinery had begun to metaphorically drill a hole in his skull at this point.
Shifting slightly on the thin gurney cot, he even began to wish that Dr. Pryce would come back. It was awful to have her staring at him with her strange eyes, but at least it had been some kind of human(?) interaction. He wasn't sure if she still counted as human anymore, though he suspected she might have been at some point.
At that point, the humming vibrations of the door unlocking rang through the room, interrupting his train of thought.
Samuel Lambert had been in the custody of Goddard Futuristics for... How long, now? It was hard to say, at least from his perspective. He was just one of Doctor Pryce's pet projects— one that she apparently liked enough that she had arranged for someone to feed him in her absence.
Not all of her projects had been so lucky.
The door opened, as it so often did. Two pairs of heavy, clomping footsteps. Those would be the guards, the staff.
Doctor Pryce had a distinctive gait, too. Was she back? She hadn't been back in so long! Was she-
The doctor appeared at the side of his bed, looking down at him. Two guards flanked her. She was dressed in a lab coat, but it seemed ill-fitting, as though she didn't know how to wear it.
She blinked.
"I don't understand."
Trying to sit up, but hindered slightly by the various IVs and tubing hooked up to him, he faltered. "Doc– Doctor Pryce?" He did cough, then, though he made an attempt to smother it.
"What," he croaked, "what do you want?" He knew that talking back in such a way would likely result in punishment later, but he was utterly bewildered.
Squinting at the woman before him, he noticed the differences between her and the imposing figure in his memory. The ill-fitting lab coat, the hunched shoulders, but most of all the nervous way her strange, strange eyes darted around. Yes, he knew those eyes. But not in the current expression in which they were housed. This did not seem to be the Doctor Pryce he was expecting, but nor did it seem to be a stranger entirely.
"Who are you?" He whispered hoarsely.
Miranda didn't like seeing the man like this. Something about his appearance made her uncomfortable. She had had plenty of tubes and IVs in her short time on earth, but he had far surpassed that amount.
"I'm... Um-" She glanced at the guards, then back at Lambert. "My name is Doctor Pryce.
Who are you?"
Lambert's forehead wrinkled as he listened. This most certainly did not seem to be Doctor Pryce, but then again, looks could be deceiving.
"My name is Communications Officer Samuel Lambert." He rattled off, and oh, how long had it been since someone asked him his name? And here he was, still chaining himself to a company that only saw fit to use him.
Glancing up at her face once more, he resolved that this really must be Doctor Pryce, if only for her eyes.
"Oh. Okay. I don't know you."
She sounded so small, her voice at a different pitch than usual. Higher. Younger? She almost sounded like it.
"Why are you here?"
@miranda-pryces-new-world
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Lambert sighed, suppressing the urge to cough. The noise was difficult, if only because it was incessant. There was never a quiet moment in the lab, and although he sometimes wished that it were, he had to acknowledge that it was probably better than being completely alone with his thoughts. But the beeps and whirs and whistles from the various pieces of machinery had begun to metaphorically drill a hole in his skull at this point.
Shifting slightly on the thin gurney cot, he even began to wish that Dr. Pryce would come back. It was awful to have her staring at him with her strange eyes, but at least it had been some kind of human(?) interaction. He wasn't sure if she still counted as human anymore, though he suspected she might have been at some point.
At that point, the humming vibrations of the door unlocking rang through the room, interrupting his train of thought.
Samuel Lambert had been in the custody of Goddard Futuristics for... How long, now? It was hard to say, at least from his perspective. He was just one of Doctor Pryce's pet projects— one that she apparently liked enough that she had arranged for someone to feed him in her absence.
Not all of her projects had been so lucky.
The door opened, as it so often did. Two pairs of heavy, clomping footsteps. Those would be the guards, the staff.
Doctor Pryce had a distinctive gait, too. Was she back? She hadn't been back in so long! Was she-
The doctor appeared at the side of his bed, looking down at him. Two guards flanked her. She was dressed in a lab coat, but it seemed ill-fitting, as though she didn't know how to wear it.
She blinked.
"I don't understand."
Trying to sit up, but hindered slightly by the various IVs and tubing hooked up to him, he faltered. "Doc– Doctor Pryce?" He did cough, then, though he made an attempt to smother it.
"What," he croaked, "what do you want?" He knew that talking back in such a way would likely result in punishment later, but he was utterly bewildered.
Squinting at the woman before him, he noticed the differences between her and the imposing figure in his memory. The ill-fitting lab coat, the hunched shoulders, but most of all the nervous way her strange, strange eyes darted around. Yes, he knew those eyes. But not in the current expression in which they were housed. This did not seem to be the Doctor Pryce he was expecting, but nor did it seem to be a stranger entirely.
"Who are you?" He whispered hoarsely.
Miranda didn't like seeing the man like this. Something about his appearance made her uncomfortable. She had had plenty of tubes and IVs in her short time on earth, but he had far surpassed that amount.
"I'm... Um-" She glanced at the guards, then back at Lambert. "My name is Doctor Pryce.
Who are you?"
@miranda-pryces-new-world
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Lambert sighed, suppressing the urge to cough. The noise was difficult, if only because it was incessant. There was never a quiet moment in the lab, and although he sometimes wished that it were, he had to acknowledge that it was probably better than being completely alone with his thoughts. But the beeps and whirs and whistles from the various pieces of machinery had begun to metaphorically drill a hole in his skull at this point.
Shifting slightly on the thin gurney cot, he even began to wish that Dr. Pryce would come back. It was awful to have her staring at him with her strange eyes, but at least it had been some kind of human(?) interaction. He wasn't sure if she still counted as human anymore, though he suspected she might have been at some point.
At that point, the humming vibrations of the door unlocking rang through the room, interrupting his train of thought.
Samuel Lambert had been in the custody of Goddard Futuristics for... How long, now? It was hard to say, at least from his perspective. He was just one of Doctor Pryce's pet projects— one that she apparently liked enough that she had arranged for someone to feed him in her absence.
Not all of her projects had been so lucky.
The door opened, as it so often did. Two pairs of heavy, clomping footsteps. Those would be the guards, the staff.
Doctor Pryce had a distinctive gait, too. Was she back? She hadn't been back in so long! Was she-
The doctor appeared at the side of his bed, looking down at him. Two guards flanked her. She was dressed in a lab coat, but it seemed ill-fitting, as though she didn't know how to wear it.
She blinked.
"I don't understand."
(Continued from here)
Miranda didn't understand what was going on. One moment, the Commander had been just fine, and the next-
"You shouldn't have done that."
That wasn't Miranda's voice. Well, it was, but-
She spun around. There was someone else in the room. Not one of her housemates, but, rather, the woman from the mirror.
White hair. Lab coat. Disgruntled expression.
"Don't you know what's going to happen, now? They're going to lock you up. Padded cell, throw away the key."
"They wouldn't do that."
"You don't know them like I do."
@commander-renee-minkowski @captain-lovelace
Minkowski stills only for a moment, then pushes past Lovelace, grabbing her hand to drag her with her, trying to get them both further way from Miranda.
"We just have to- to go" She's not calming as quickly as she normally does, and she knows that this is the worst time for this but she can't help but remember the feeling of contentment that plagued her, the desire to please, the desire to serve that she felt while that chip was active. She can't lose control like that again. She can't be the idiot so desperate to prove herself she doesn't question why Goddard would actually send someone like her to space again.
Lovelace lets her pull her away, still trying to reason with her.
"Minkowski, look at me. Look at me." Seeing as that isn't helping, she softens slightly. "Renée. You're home. You're safe. I promise. I won't let-" She swallows hard.
"No one else is going to hurt you. I won't let them, I swear."
Minkowski turns to snap at Lovelace, to start a yelling match the likes they haven't had since Lovelace first arrived on the Hephaestus (for the second time). But she stops when she sees her eyes. When Lovelace says the word home.
"I... Lovelace? Sitrep. What you observe, not what you think is happening." They've done this only a few times before. Lovelace or Minkowski would have a flasback, or a nightmare, and they would give, or ask the other to give a report. It was a grounding exercise, one that helped both of them usually. Rarely did Minkowski ask for one, she usually gave it. Perhaps she isn't quite sure where she is, or when she is.
"February 2019. Isabel Lovelace speaking. We're at your house. You were having a discussion with Miranda, and something upset you. Miranda is behind you."
Lovelace looks at her, unsure what else to say. Truth be told, she isn't entirely sure of what's happening either.
Minkowski closes her eyes and nods, trying to calm her breathing.
"Right. Right. Something... 'upset' me. It was-" She shudders and shakes her head, trying to not think too hard about it, as she takes Lovelace's hand in hers. Gently she raises it to the back of her head, until Lovelace can feel just what set Minkowski off.
"I forgot. I forgot it was still there-"
There's a shock of cold metal on her hand, and the second she registers what it is, she pulls back.
"Oh," she breathes. "Yeah, that makes sense."
Lovelace just stares at her for a moment, eyes wide. She remembers it. She remembers it too well, the way her stomach dropped when she saw her and Eiffel like that, how blank her eyes were, how she smiled-
She breaks eye contact, swallowing bile.
“I don’t- Isabel what are we supposed to do? How do we-“
She takes a deep breath, trying not to work herself up again.
“We’ll find a way to remove it. Check Doug as well.” Minkowski shudders, and pivots to look at Miranda. She takes in a breath, steeling herself.
“What else do you remember? No hiding it.”
She says it perhaps more hostile than she meant to, but controlling her tone is not at the top of her list of priorities at the moment.
The Commander hadn't addressed her like that in some time. Miranda stiffened.
"I- I don't even know where to start."
"Idiot."
"Shut up!" Miranda spun around, seemingly addressing no one. "Be quiet, please!"
"Miranda?" Lovelace tries to sound calm, placating, even. She fails.
"Are you talking to someone?"
“Shut up? That better not have been addressed to me. We’re trying to talk to you about this!”
Minkowski steps in front of Lovelace, subtly trying to get her behind her.
“What do you remember? Who are you talking to? We’ll understand but we can’t try to if you hide it from us!”
"No, no, not-
It's her. The woman from the mirror. She's here and she won't leave me alone."
Her voice cracked as she spoke, a sob tearing itself from her throat.
"Make her leave me alone!"
"Make her leave me alone." Pryce mocked.
Lovelace nods, a bit too fast. She looks from Minkowski to Miranda, then keeps her gaze focused on the latter.
"Okay. We're gonna try, okay? But you need to tell us what's going on. We're just trying to understand."
Her and Lambert used to do this. Yell at each other while everything fell apart. Nothing's changed. Everything's changed.
Minkowski still looks unsteady, but she takes a breath. Miranda actually crying shocked her out of it, reminding her where she and who Miranda is. They’ve been living together for two years now. Minkowski knows Miranda, and she knows that she can do better than this. She may have pushed down a ton of shit, but that isn’t Miranda’s fault, and the worst thing she could do would be to take it out on her. She sighs.
“Miranda, we aren’t going to hurt you. No matter how frightened we may be, we will never hurt you. Can you tell us who you see?”
Their living situation was anything but normal, but even so, there were good times. They'd play board games— though never chess, as it got boring when Miranda won every single time. They'd watch shows, all curled up on the couch with popcorn and junk food. When it was nice out, they'd walk the nearby trails, Minkowski and Lovelace leading the way while the amnesiacs lagged behind, marvelling at every little thing.
Recently, Miranda had even started to learn more about cooking. She helped with the very basics: Mixing and pouring and measuring. She was still scared of the oven, but she was getting there.
There were good times, in the house. Even amongst the fear, the trauma, the undeniable untreated mental illness, there were good times.
They just had to get through this, and they could go back to those good times.
"I- I think-" She gulped. She felt like she was about to say a bad word. "I think it's Doctor Pryce."
(Continued from here)
Miranda didn't understand what was going on. One moment, the Commander had been just fine, and the next-
"You shouldn't have done that."
That wasn't Miranda's voice. Well, it was, but-
She spun around. There was someone else in the room. Not one of her housemates, but, rather, the woman from the mirror.
White hair. Lab coat. Disgruntled expression.
"Don't you know what's going to happen, now? They're going to lock you up. Padded cell, throw away the key."
"They wouldn't do that."
"You don't know them like I do."
@commander-renee-minkowski @captain-lovelace
Minkowski stills only for a moment, then pushes past Lovelace, grabbing her hand to drag her with her, trying to get them both further way from Miranda.
"We just have to- to go" She's not calming as quickly as she normally does, and she knows that this is the worst time for this but she can't help but remember the feeling of contentment that plagued her, the desire to please, the desire to serve that she felt while that chip was active. She can't lose control like that again. She can't be the idiot so desperate to prove herself she doesn't question why Goddard would actually send someone like her to space again.
Lovelace lets her pull her away, still trying to reason with her.
"Minkowski, look at me. Look at me." Seeing as that isn't helping, she softens slightly. "Renée. You're home. You're safe. I promise. I won't let-" She swallows hard.
"No one else is going to hurt you. I won't let them, I swear."
Minkowski turns to snap at Lovelace, to start a yelling match the likes they haven't had since Lovelace first arrived on the Hephaestus (for the second time). But she stops when she sees her eyes. When Lovelace says the word home.
"I... Lovelace? Sitrep. What you observe, not what you think is happening." They've done this only a few times before. Lovelace or Minkowski would have a flasback, or a nightmare, and they would give, or ask the other to give a report. It was a grounding exercise, one that helped both of them usually. Rarely did Minkowski ask for one, she usually gave it. Perhaps she isn't quite sure where she is, or when she is.
"February 2019. Isabel Lovelace speaking. We're at your house. You were having a discussion with Miranda, and something upset you. Miranda is behind you."
Lovelace looks at her, unsure what else to say. Truth be told, she isn't entirely sure of what's happening either.
Minkowski closes her eyes and nods, trying to calm her breathing.
"Right. Right. Something... 'upset' me. It was-" She shudders and shakes her head, trying to not think too hard about it, as she takes Lovelace's hand in hers. Gently she raises it to the back of her head, until Lovelace can feel just what set Minkowski off.
"I forgot. I forgot it was still there-"
There's a shock of cold metal on her hand, and the second she registers what it is, she pulls back.
"Oh," she breathes. "Yeah, that makes sense."
Lovelace just stares at her for a moment, eyes wide. She remembers it. She remembers it too well, the way her stomach dropped when she saw her and Eiffel like that, how blank her eyes were, how she smiled-
She breaks eye contact, swallowing bile.
“I don’t- Isabel what are we supposed to do? How do we-“
She takes a deep breath, trying not to work herself up again.
“We’ll find a way to remove it. Check Doug as well.” Minkowski shudders, and pivots to look at Miranda. She takes in a breath, steeling herself.
“What else do you remember? No hiding it.”
She says it perhaps more hostile than she meant to, but controlling her tone is not at the top of her list of priorities at the moment.
The Commander hadn't addressed her like that in some time. Miranda stiffened.
"I- I don't even know where to start."
"Idiot."
"Shut up!" Miranda spun around, seemingly addressing no one. "Be quiet, please!"
"Miranda?" Lovelace tries to sound calm, placating, even. She fails.
"Are you talking to someone?"
“Shut up? That better not have been addressed to me. We’re trying to talk to you about this!”
Minkowski steps in front of Lovelace, subtly trying to get her behind her.
“What do you remember? Who are you talking to? We’ll understand but we can’t try to if you hide it from us!”
"No, no, not-
It's her. The woman from the mirror. She's here and she won't leave me alone."
Her voice cracked as she spoke, a sob tearing itself from her throat.
"Make her leave me alone!"
"Make her leave me alone." Pryce mocked.
(Continued from here)
Miranda didn't understand what was going on. One moment, the Commander had been just fine, and the next-
"You shouldn't have done that."
That wasn't Miranda's voice. Well, it was, but-
She spun around. There was someone else in the room. Not one of her housemates, but, rather, the woman from the mirror.
White hair. Lab coat. Disgruntled expression.
"Don't you know what's going to happen, now? They're going to lock you up. Padded cell, throw away the key."
"They wouldn't do that."
"You don't know them like I do."
@commander-renee-minkowski @captain-lovelace
Minkowski stills only for a moment, then pushes past Lovelace, grabbing her hand to drag her with her, trying to get them both further way from Miranda.
"We just have to- to go" She's not calming as quickly as she normally does, and she knows that this is the worst time for this but she can't help but remember the feeling of contentment that plagued her, the desire to please, the desire to serve that she felt while that chip was active. She can't lose control like that again. She can't be the idiot so desperate to prove herself she doesn't question why Goddard would actually send someone like her to space again.
Lovelace lets her pull her away, still trying to reason with her.
"Minkowski, look at me. Look at me." Seeing as that isn't helping, she softens slightly. "Renée. You're home. You're safe. I promise. I won't let-" She swallows hard.
"No one else is going to hurt you. I won't let them, I swear."
Minkowski turns to snap at Lovelace, to start a yelling match the likes they haven't had since Lovelace first arrived on the Hephaestus (for the second time). But she stops when she sees her eyes. When Lovelace says the word home.
"I... Lovelace? Sitrep. What you observe, not what you think is happening." They've done this only a few times before. Lovelace or Minkowski would have a flasback, or a nightmare, and they would give, or ask the other to give a report. It was a grounding exercise, one that helped both of them usually. Rarely did Minkowski ask for one, she usually gave it. Perhaps she isn't quite sure where she is, or when she is.
"February 2019. Isabel Lovelace speaking. We're at your house. You were having a discussion with Miranda, and something upset you. Miranda is behind you."
Lovelace looks at her, unsure what else to say. Truth be told, she isn't entirely sure of what's happening either.
Minkowski closes her eyes and nods, trying to calm her breathing.
"Right. Right. Something... 'upset' me. It was-" She shudders and shakes her head, trying to not think too hard about it, as she takes Lovelace's hand in hers. Gently she raises it to the back of her head, until Lovelace can feel just what set Minkowski off.
"I forgot. I forgot it was still there-"
There's a shock of cold metal on her hand, and the second she registers what it is, she pulls back.
"Oh," she breathes. "Yeah, that makes sense."
Lovelace just stares at her for a moment, eyes wide. She remembers it. She remembers it too well, the way her stomach dropped when she saw her and Eiffel like that, how blank her eyes were, how she smiled-
She breaks eye contact, swallowing bile.
“I don’t- Isabel what are we supposed to do? How do we-“
She takes a deep breath, trying not to work herself up again.
“We’ll find a way to remove it. Check Doug as well.” Minkowski shudders, and pivots to look at Miranda. She takes in a breath, steeling herself.
“What else do you remember? No hiding it.”
She says it perhaps more hostile than she meant to, but controlling her tone is not at the top of her list of priorities at the moment.
The Commander hadn't addressed her like that in some time. Miranda stiffened.
"I- I don't even know where to start."
"Idiot."
"Shut up!" Miranda spun around, seemingly addressing no one. "Be quiet, please!"
(Continued from here)
Miranda didn't understand what was going on. One moment, the Commander had been just fine, and the next-
"You shouldn't have done that."
That wasn't Miranda's voice. Well, it was, but-
She spun around. There was someone else in the room. Not one of her housemates, but, rather, the woman from the mirror.
White hair. Lab coat. Disgruntled expression.
"Don't you know what's going to happen, now? They're going to lock you up. Padded cell, throw away the key."
"They wouldn't do that."
"You don't know them like I do."
@commander-renee-minkowski @captain-lovelace
(Continued from here)
Once the glass was cleaned up, Miranda and the Commander went downstairs, to the kitchen. Miranda was trying to drink a glass of milk, but her injured hands made it difficult.
She didn't want to talk, but she knew she likely didn't have a choice.
@commander-renee-minkowski
Minkowski gives her a few minutes to try to drink her milk and calm down. She doesn't offer to help, they've been through that song and dance before. She just lets her take a breather. After around 7 minutes of silence she sighs, and then she speaks.
"I know you don't want to talk about it. But this? The current state of things? It's not sustainable for you, and I think you know it. So either you talk to me about it, or you talk to a professional. Which one will it be?"
Miranda did know it. She knew it very well, even better than the Commander did, maybe. After all, the Commander didn't even know about the nightmares, or the hallucinations. She didn't know about the figures in the corners of rooms, didn't know that this wasn't the first time Miranda's hands had been covered in blood— it was just the first time that it was real.
It took her several moments to respond:
"I don't... Like doctors."
Minkowski sighs. For a moment, she looks wearier than Miranda has ever seen her.
"Yeah. That makes two of us."
She leans against the counter, and looks at the ceiling, thinking.
"If you want to talk to me, I'll listen. But if you don't, then we have to talk about what specifically you don't like about doctors."
She looks back at Miranda. "We can look for one that will fit, that wont be as scary. I can be there if that would help at all."
At the very least, she knew she didn't want to talk to a doctor. Doctors didn't understand.
Another long pause. She didn't want to meet Minkowski's eyes, so she just looked at her glass of milk instead.
"There was someone, in the mirror. A woman. She looked a lot like me, but she wasn't me. I know she wasn't me.
But... She had my eyes."
Minkowski visibly pauses. Miranda can tell this unsettles her, even though she's trying very hard to hide it. She takes a moment to think.
"...Okay. And this woman who wasn't you. What did you feel when you saw her? Did she scare you?"
Miranda's eyes never quite got any nicer to look at, no matter how long Minkowski lived with her. They shifted in her skull, twisted, zoomed in and out like a camera lens.
"Yes. Yes, she scared me. I didn't like her talking to me."
Minkowski sighs and nods to herself.
“What did she say to you?”
"She told me to hurt you."
Miranda refused to look up.
Minkowski is not surprised.
“And… do you want to?”
Immediately, Miranda shook her head.
"No, no, of course not!"
Minkowski tries to hide it, but she visibly relaxes at that.
"Then... there's nothing to worry about. I... know it must be really frightening though. But we trust you. And you're not going to hurt anyone, Miranda. It will be okay."
Are you going to make me see the doctor?
Minkowski sighs.
"No. I probably should, but no. I said I wouldn't if you talked to me, and you did. So thank you."
She washes her hands, just to have something to do. "We should still keep an eye on this. If you hear or see anything else, please tell me? I just want to make sure you're safe. And if you start... remembering things. That's okay. We just have to talk about it. So please, don't hide this kind of thing, okay?"
Miranda gulped. Her body language spoke of nothing but tension.
"Will you hurt me, if I remember?"
Minkowski looks a little surprised at that question.
“What? No of course not. Why would you-“
“Of course not. Things would… probably change bit, yes, but I wouldn’t hurt you and you will be welcome here no matter what you remember.”
"Okay."
She took a deep breath.
"Well, I've been remembering things. Kind of."
Minkowski also takes a breath, and motions for Miranda to follow her.
"Okay. That's okay. Why don't we go somewhere that isn't the bathroom and talk about what you remember?"
She starts walking to the living room area. "It'll be more comfortable to have this discussion over here, don't you think?"
Miranda follows, albeit cautiously, looking left and right to try to spot any potential dangers.
"Uh... Yeah. I guess."
She stood still.
Minkowski motions to one of the two plush living room chairs, moving to sit in the one next to it.
"Do you feel okay sitting down? Or would you rather stay standing?"
"I'd rather not sit."
At the moment, her mind was plagued with memories of being strapped down in a chair and having her mind torn away.
Minkowski pauses before sitting, and straightens back up.
"Right. That's okay." She leans against the wall, looking at Miranda patiently. "What kind of things have you started to remember?"
Miranda hardly even knew where to begin. She still felt like, if she said the wrong thing, she'd be shot. Or, at the very least, locked up.
"It comes in flashes. Or dreams. Like, everything will be fine, and then suddenly, I'm in an operating room with my hands wrist-deep in someone's chest cavity.
But then I'm back again, a moment later. And I can still see the blood on my hands, but it goes away when I blink."
Minkowski nods, expression neutral. "That might be frightening. Anything more specific show up?"
A shaky inhale.
"I remember you. You, but... Different. You smiled a lot. More than you do now. And you had something in the back of your head.
It's still there. If you look. Under your hair."
Minkowski pales at that, shifting uneasily.
"I-
What? Something in the back of my-?" She fumbles to check the back of her head, dreading what she might feel there.
The restraining bolt. It was barely still palpable, and pretty much invisible, especially given the position. But, if she pressed hard enough, if she put her finger in just the right spot, there it was. A little metal piece, embedded in flesh.
"The bolt. Don't you remember?"
(Continued from here)
Once the glass was cleaned up, Miranda and the Commander went downstairs, to the kitchen. Miranda was trying to drink a glass of milk, but her injured hands made it difficult.
She didn't want to talk, but she knew she likely didn't have a choice.
@commander-renee-minkowski
Minkowski gives her a few minutes to try to drink her milk and calm down. She doesn't offer to help, they've been through that song and dance before. She just lets her take a breather. After around 7 minutes of silence she sighs, and then she speaks.
"I know you don't want to talk about it. But this? The current state of things? It's not sustainable for you, and I think you know it. So either you talk to me about it, or you talk to a professional. Which one will it be?"
Miranda did know it. She knew it very well, even better than the Commander did, maybe. After all, the Commander didn't even know about the nightmares, or the hallucinations. She didn't know about the figures in the corners of rooms, didn't know that this wasn't the first time Miranda's hands had been covered in blood— it was just the first time that it was real.
It took her several moments to respond:
"I don't... Like doctors."
Minkowski sighs. For a moment, she looks wearier than Miranda has ever seen her.
"Yeah. That makes two of us."
She leans against the counter, and looks at the ceiling, thinking.
"If you want to talk to me, I'll listen. But if you don't, then we have to talk about what specifically you don't like about doctors."
She looks back at Miranda. "We can look for one that will fit, that wont be as scary. I can be there if that would help at all."
At the very least, she knew she didn't want to talk to a doctor. Doctors didn't understand.
Another long pause. She didn't want to meet Minkowski's eyes, so she just looked at her glass of milk instead.
"There was someone, in the mirror. A woman. She looked a lot like me, but she wasn't me. I know she wasn't me.
But... She had my eyes."
Minkowski visibly pauses. Miranda can tell this unsettles her, even though she's trying very hard to hide it. She takes a moment to think.
"...Okay. And this woman who wasn't you. What did you feel when you saw her? Did she scare you?"
Miranda's eyes never quite got any nicer to look at, no matter how long Minkowski lived with her. They shifted in her skull, twisted, zoomed in and out like a camera lens.
"Yes. Yes, she scared me. I didn't like her talking to me."
Minkowski sighs and nods to herself.
“What did she say to you?”
"She told me to hurt you."
Miranda refused to look up.
Minkowski is not surprised.
“And… do you want to?”
Immediately, Miranda shook her head.
"No, no, of course not!"
Minkowski tries to hide it, but she visibly relaxes at that.
"Then... there's nothing to worry about. I... know it must be really frightening though. But we trust you. And you're not going to hurt anyone, Miranda. It will be okay."
Are you going to make me see the doctor?
Minkowski sighs.
"No. I probably should, but no. I said I wouldn't if you talked to me, and you did. So thank you."
She washes her hands, just to have something to do. "We should still keep an eye on this. If you hear or see anything else, please tell me? I just want to make sure you're safe. And if you start... remembering things. That's okay. We just have to talk about it. So please, don't hide this kind of thing, okay?"
Miranda gulped. Her body language spoke of nothing but tension.
"Will you hurt me, if I remember?"
Minkowski looks a little surprised at that question.
“What? No of course not. Why would you-“
“Of course not. Things would… probably change bit, yes, but I wouldn’t hurt you and you will be welcome here no matter what you remember.”
"Okay."
She took a deep breath.
"Well, I've been remembering things. Kind of."
Minkowski also takes a breath, and motions for Miranda to follow her.
"Okay. That's okay. Why don't we go somewhere that isn't the bathroom and talk about what you remember?"
She starts walking to the living room area. "It'll be more comfortable to have this discussion over here, don't you think?"
Miranda follows, albeit cautiously, looking left and right to try to spot any potential dangers.
"Uh... Yeah. I guess."
She stood still.
Minkowski motions to one of the two plush living room chairs, moving to sit in the one next to it.
"Do you feel okay sitting down? Or would you rather stay standing?"
"I'd rather not sit."
At the moment, her mind was plagued with memories of being strapped down in a chair and having her mind torn away.
Minkowski pauses before sitting, and straightens back up.
"Right. That's okay." She leans against the wall, looking at Miranda patiently. "What kind of things have you started to remember?"
Miranda hardly even knew where to begin. She still felt like, if she said the wrong thing, she'd be shot. Or, at the very least, locked up.
"It comes in flashes. Or dreams. Like, everything will be fine, and then suddenly, I'm in an operating room with my hands wrist-deep in someone's chest cavity.
But then I'm back again, a moment later. And I can still see the blood on my hands, but it goes away when I blink."
Minkowski nods, expression neutral. "That might be frightening. Anything more specific show up?"
A shaky inhale.
"I remember you. You, but... Different. You smiled a lot. More than you do now. And you had something in the back of your head.
It's still there. If you look. Under your hair."
(Continued from here)
Once the glass was cleaned up, Miranda and the Commander went downstairs, to the kitchen. Miranda was trying to drink a glass of milk, but her injured hands made it difficult.
She didn't want to talk, but she knew she likely didn't have a choice.
@commander-renee-minkowski
Minkowski gives her a few minutes to try to drink her milk and calm down. She doesn't offer to help, they've been through that song and dance before. She just lets her take a breather. After around 7 minutes of silence she sighs, and then she speaks.
"I know you don't want to talk about it. But this? The current state of things? It's not sustainable for you, and I think you know it. So either you talk to me about it, or you talk to a professional. Which one will it be?"
Miranda did know it. She knew it very well, even better than the Commander did, maybe. After all, the Commander didn't even know about the nightmares, or the hallucinations. She didn't know about the figures in the corners of rooms, didn't know that this wasn't the first time Miranda's hands had been covered in blood— it was just the first time that it was real.
It took her several moments to respond:
"I don't... Like doctors."
Minkowski sighs. For a moment, she looks wearier than Miranda has ever seen her.
"Yeah. That makes two of us."
She leans against the counter, and looks at the ceiling, thinking.
"If you want to talk to me, I'll listen. But if you don't, then we have to talk about what specifically you don't like about doctors."
She looks back at Miranda. "We can look for one that will fit, that wont be as scary. I can be there if that would help at all."
At the very least, she knew she didn't want to talk to a doctor. Doctors didn't understand.
Another long pause. She didn't want to meet Minkowski's eyes, so she just looked at her glass of milk instead.
"There was someone, in the mirror. A woman. She looked a lot like me, but she wasn't me. I know she wasn't me.
But... She had my eyes."
Minkowski visibly pauses. Miranda can tell this unsettles her, even though she's trying very hard to hide it. She takes a moment to think.
"...Okay. And this woman who wasn't you. What did you feel when you saw her? Did she scare you?"
Miranda's eyes never quite got any nicer to look at, no matter how long Minkowski lived with her. They shifted in her skull, twisted, zoomed in and out like a camera lens.
"Yes. Yes, she scared me. I didn't like her talking to me."
Minkowski sighs and nods to herself.
“What did she say to you?”
"She told me to hurt you."
Miranda refused to look up.
Minkowski is not surprised.
“And… do you want to?”
Immediately, Miranda shook her head.
"No, no, of course not!"
Minkowski tries to hide it, but she visibly relaxes at that.
"Then... there's nothing to worry about. I... know it must be really frightening though. But we trust you. And you're not going to hurt anyone, Miranda. It will be okay."
Are you going to make me see the doctor?
Minkowski sighs.
"No. I probably should, but no. I said I wouldn't if you talked to me, and you did. So thank you."
She washes her hands, just to have something to do. "We should still keep an eye on this. If you hear or see anything else, please tell me? I just want to make sure you're safe. And if you start... remembering things. That's okay. We just have to talk about it. So please, don't hide this kind of thing, okay?"
Miranda gulped. Her body language spoke of nothing but tension.
"Will you hurt me, if I remember?"
Minkowski looks a little surprised at that question.
“What? No of course not. Why would you-“
“Of course not. Things would… probably change bit, yes, but I wouldn’t hurt you and you will be welcome here no matter what you remember.”
"Okay."
She took a deep breath.
"Well, I've been remembering things. Kind of."
Minkowski also takes a breath, and motions for Miranda to follow her.
"Okay. That's okay. Why don't we go somewhere that isn't the bathroom and talk about what you remember?"
She starts walking to the living room area. "It'll be more comfortable to have this discussion over here, don't you think?"
Miranda follows, albeit cautiously, looking left and right to try to spot any potential dangers.
"Uh... Yeah. I guess."
She stood still.
Minkowski motions to one of the two plush living room chairs, moving to sit in the one next to it.
"Do you feel okay sitting down? Or would you rather stay standing?"
"I'd rather not sit."
At the moment, her mind was plagued with memories of being strapped down in a chair and having her mind torn away.
Minkowski pauses before sitting, and straightens back up.
"Right. That's okay." She leans against the wall, looking at Miranda patiently. "What kind of things have you started to remember?"
Miranda hardly even knew where to begin. She still felt like, if she said the wrong thing, she'd be shot. Or, at the very least, locked up.
"It comes in flashes. Or dreams. Like, everything will be fine, and then suddenly, I'm in an operating room with my hands wrist-deep in someone's chest cavity.
But then I'm back again, a moment later. And I can still see the blood on my hands, but it goes away when I blink."
