En route to Absalom pt. 1
Detective Olanti knocked at Taroyn's door. He hadn't seen her around the ship in a while and surmised she'd sequestered herself in her quarters.
A gentle outward push of his psionically-derived senses would generate a unique signature for each individual who crossed into the radius. The upside? He didn't have to worry about sightlines or barriers. Downside, there was a small but distinct amount of invasion of privacy involved. Though he hoped the average person would have enough awareness about Contemplatives to know they were wholly dependent on psionics to cope in common society. Virtually the whole world to them was contained (or at the very least filtered) in the minds of the people surrounding them. It wasn't so much an intent to snoop as it was just a benign natural behavior.
Kephales hoped his companions saw it that way. It required more effort than he'd like admitting to keep himself purposefully in the dark with them, and he wasn't sure if they even realized he handicapped himself out of courtesy alone. That's how he would build trust and companionship.
At least, that's how it had always been in the past.
Now he usually worked alone.
But here he was again, working with a team. And it was a member of that team who was still very much a stranger to him that had him knocking on her door. The woman on the other side had experienced real trauma, that deep aching kind that carved out a piece of you and crushed it as a final sacrament to lost hope.
There was nothing for it now. He'd known death too, intimately in his own way, and he had perhaps the faintest clue as to what she might be going through.
"Taroyn?" he knocked again, "Got a moment?" he played his small reedy voice through the amplification speaker to be heard by those more auditorily inclined..
Taroyn heard a knock on her door. She ignored it, hoping whoever it was would think she was asleep. She continued to contemplate her recklessness of late, especially since she became more comfortable with her new friends. She thought about the time she spent alone on Verces, how careful she'd been then, how deliberate, how professional; her heart ached. In a way, she thought, she and Verces were sharing the same fate, both being shells of their former selves.
She couldn't help but relive those horrible moments over and over, two of the worst moments she had experienced; first, the swarm of dead ships bombing her home of over a hundred years, and next, the swarm of dead dragons attempting to use her as a sacrifice. She watched again as the knife went into her throat, felt again that deathly cold creeping through her body as the very essence of her life flowed out of her and formed a pool on the floor underneath.
She was surprised by the knocking, and this time heard Keph's voice through the door. She wiped some tears from her face as she stood up from her bed before putting on her goggles.
"Sure," she said, and opened the door. "Please, come in."
Keph carefully pressed the button that would slide open the door. There was a marked lack of subtlety in space ships. As lavish as it was, it wasn't home.
Nothing about the Idhani was laid out like Contemplative architecture. There was so much focus on light, color, and comfort. Such trappings were lost on Kephales. Things he appreciated were non-90-degree surfaces, so that his arms could reach things properly -- it is noted his brain's radius is ever so slightly greater than his reach, so he would, for instance, be unable to press a button on a wall without adjusting his body's angle of levitation. Most everything he did was with telekinesis, first out of necessity, then eventually out of habit.
He floated into the room. He was wearing only his white collared shirt and brown trousers. His green tie was loosened and he wasn't putting in much effort to keep his small secondary set of vestigial arms tucked anywhere. But over his shoulder, he carried with him a small bag.
"Not to assume, but... I've been through a few crises in my life, and I get concerned about people isolating themselves after a traumatic event. The need to reflect is important, but it can turn into a meltdown quickly if the control rods are out...so to speak" He stopped near her and set his things down, "This is a wellness check." he finished plainly. His tone was painfully nonchalant, as if he were ordering hamburger.
"Well," Taroyn said hesitantly, "I...I've been through..." She paused, wondering how much about her past she should reveal, "...difficult times before this. My parents were killed by pirates when I was a girl and I was kidnapped and kept as a slave..."
She shut the door with an easy button press and sat down on the corner of her bed. "And Verces... that was my home. I saw the destruction before we had to jump away." She stopped again for a moment to wipe away another tear that began to form under her goggles. "By the way, I hope you don't mind the dark."
"Of course not," he replied. He could hardly tell the difference between light and dark anyway. "What happened on Verces and now my own home of Akiton is... unbelievable. The mind is not equipped to fathom tragedy on such a scale. It's okay to feel adrift. We must cast a wider gaze for now and consider the galaxy as a giant game board. Each move we make is for a longer goal. Our weakness as a team thusfar, has been that we are all the kind of people who react rather than stay a step ahead."
As he spoke in his quiet voice he removed two very small glasses from his bag and a small bottle, so small in fact he didn't use telekinesis to open it. His small limbs worked in tandem opening it and filling the small glasses. He scooted one over to her.
"I was saving this, but I think its needed more now."
In her hand, the glass would be almost like a shot glass, but squatter and with a protuberance that would evidently be a means to grip it, though she wouldn't need it.
"I cant guarantee you'll get drunk, but it will quiet down the ruminating. I like to think I'm an expert on overthinking. It's normal for us to have trouble sleeping." Kephales tipped it back and drank a good gulp with his near-invisible mouth orifice. The glasses and beverage were clearly not designed for Drow-sized people in mind, though it would fit nicely in Fisk's hands, but he didn't make a comment about it. It didn't matter to him, because there's nothing more important than including a stranger in something cultural. That's what made them trust you. That's what made them like you. And then, maybe eventually, you'll start to believe you like them too.
It wasn't that he didn't like Taroyn, or anyone for that matter, it was that it was easier to lose people if you never let them in. He'd learned to maintain a detached clinical association with people ever since.....
"I mean, that's why its called a nightcap right?"
((A compilation of text-based RP between Keph and Taroyn))
