sirenspull | Entries tagged with !: chane laforet

[ There is little audio in the background of her post to indicate that the post has come up at all; in the quiet breaks between jobs, her surroundings are ominous rainclouds and grey brick as she sits perched in the rusty emergency stairs of an apartment block. It's in these short times that she allows herself to think, and on this occasion, remember that she, too, has a voice on the network. ]

In this place, some of us are far away from the people we were raised by. Our parents and friends. Some of you may be reunited in this world, or separated again. Some of you may only be connected by a common friend of the same world.

[ Friends have left the port not long after she finally found her comfort in them and the term friends. There were those, too, that came from her homeworld but proved to be more causes of friction and annoyance than anything resembling an amiable bond. Yet they still gave a sense of familiarity that, to her, could have been as comforting as seeing her own world again. As though swallowing a lump in her throat, she pauses, gaze lowered by a few degrees, before continuing. Discussions are not her strong suit. ]

I was separated from my father soon after being reunited in this place-- nearly a year since we had last seen one another. Now, two years. I can feel the distance of the worlds between us. But...

[ But the emotions that envelop and burn around all mention of her father, those that motivate her to protect him and to jump at the bare mention of his name, won't let themselves be shown. Her eyes are as steady as ever, barely betraying this trailing-off, this uncertainty in what to say next. It's like a wave of self-doubt and camera-shyness has overtaken her, before she seems to pick up again as though that pause had never happened. She does have a request to make, after all, and inclines her head slightly before making it. ]

I do not mourn his parting from me, as he is not gone. He does not miss me as I do, but I still miss him.

So, please tell me about your families. What you remember of them. What you feel at this distance as you miss them. Whether you are missed too.

[ Despite such a straightforward question, she has still opted to deliberately turn the video function on. Firstly, to show the more recent arrivals her face. Secondly-- to draw out those who knew her father, or sees their connection in her resemblance to him. Her eyes remain fixed on the feed a while longer, unblinking, before she leans to switch it off and shuts her eyes in a small, careful motion. ]

vinovidivici

[ Scene: A room in the Sector 4 Boarding House, completely bare except for the furniture it was supplied with and several cardboard packing boxes. Claire's sat on the bed, leaning an elbow on one of the boxes that's perched next to him and thumbing through a deck of playing cards. He is Mayor of Box Town. ]

A few weeks back Firo Prochainezo vanished into thin air. Now, I know a lot of people here like to keep their messages short and sweet when a friend goes home, but I've never been too good at wearin' my heart anywhere but on my sleeve. I didn't really get around to sayin' this to him while he was here but - you couldn't ask for a brother more loyal than him. I missed him when I was back home and travellin', and I guess I'm back to missing him again now. The world's a lot emptier without him.

[ He shuffles the deck of cards once and grins ruefully at the camera. Eulogy over. ] This does actually have some relevance for you people out there who didn't know him. All you new fellas - and the dames too - there's another room open at the boarding house now. The rent's low as it gets in Sector 4, and if you pitch in with the upkeep Chane'll give you a deal on top of that. I spend a lotta time here and can vouch for the neighbourhood, it's quiet as they come -

-- Get back here, amiga!! I’m not done with you yet! [ There’s a crash as two lovely ladies enter the room momentarily, knocking over quite a few of the aforementioned packing boxes in a flurry of swords and knives. Chane herself is one of them, the other the resident Maria, too occupied deflecting her blows to contribute to Claire’s pitch much at all; but granted, she’s at least angling her defensive swipes so that the arcs of the blades don’t nick the walls or any furniture as she’s pushed relentlessly back. Fortunately for Claire’s business proposal, the two women are as fast as they are ferocious, and the battle’s only visible on camera for a moment before the scuffle makes its way back out of view. Hopefully they won’t get blood on any carpeting that might be around.

As the dust (and several fragments of playing cards that got cleaved out of his hands) settles Claire looks back at the camera. His ears are pretty red for some reason. ] - Yeah. You don’t need to worry about the folks outside.

[ And cue Claudia marching into the room, holding a bucket that is presumably filled to the brim with water. ]

Felix!! Come look at what I caught! Look!

[ Claire leans in to peer at the bucket, levels of naivete and trustingness off the charts. At least Claudia is one bastion of unwavering love and support in his life. ] Hey. You hook a shark yet?

[With that, Claudia bursts out laughing, swinging her arms back with the bucket secure in her hands as she spreads her feet apart in preparation for her attack. Her demeanor is more or less the same, but there is an underlying hint of mischief in her wide-set smile.]

It’s you, silly! [She heaves the bucket up and forward, spilling the contents over the front of Claire’s chest … and face … with impressive accuracy and speed.] Surprise!

[ After blowing a spray of the water out of his mouth and wiping it off his eyes Claire looks three times as baffled as anyone else would in this situation. He doesn’t know whether to scold her, laugh at her, or praise her for being the first person to land one on him since her great-grandma.

The camera sustains some water damage and short-circuits. Replies will come once Claire fixes that, or from the ladies: Maria, Claudia or Chane. ]

fidele

[ It is rare for her to appear on her own video feed, rather than using bare text. But after one too many incidents of mistaken identity, she believes this might counter it. Not in the sense of confidently putting herself out there-- simply, showing the person behind her writing so that she can be remembered. It will simplify things, she's hoping.

From the way she's recording this, however, the person posting the text and the one on the feed could well be unrelated; she looks up between every penned phrase, regarding the feed for a beat after every finished sentence. Behind her is the dining room of the boarding-house, lit warmly by a momentary break in the clouds letting sunshine through, but it does nothing for that contrast she herself has within the colours of the video feed. All in all, a near-still image, with very little sound. ]

There are many Newcomers I don't recognise... [ Only highlights how many of those she cared for have disappeared from this place, and reminds her how little mere surveyance of the network can actually do for her connections. ] I don't believe I am recognised either. My name is Chane.

This boarding-house I live in has several unoccupied rooms. It was mostly untouched by the tremors last week. I cleared up- however... [ Then she seems uneasy for a moment, hesitating. Smalltalk isn't her forté. ] For anybody looking for somewhere to stay, contact my NV. This house is in Sector 4, far from the coastline, and well-protected against Darkness. Rent is not very different from that at Tower Apartments but negotiable. It needs better maintenance if you would want to compensate with chores and upkeep.

[ Maintenance of the financial kind is more necessary, however, she neglects to mention, gazing at those lacking words. As though the overwhelming silence of the video feed, other than occasional quiet scratches of her pen, catches up to her, she seems to simultaneously relax and become more self-conscious of being recorded, her eyes darting up to the top of the feed and connecting with the viewer's for a second. That wasn't terrible, but she looks neither pleased nor disappointed. As long as she made her point. Without any warning other than the suggestion of her outstretched hand by the knuckles at the bottom of the feed, she turns it off. ]

( Privated to Claire Stanfield; )

( Privated to residents; )