(no subject)

[shitforhonor]

It had been days, weeks if he had counted correctly, though, with constant sun or moon the days seemed to blur from one to the next -- connected by a string of endless confusion and incredible indifference and apathy. He had lived to see a year come and go in the dank cells of Riverrun, he had faced Robb Stark and his direwolf, he had lost the most beloved thing to him -- his sword hand and now he was on a ship with no sails that traversed an ocean of black instead of blue and none of it made sense to him.

Of the few pleasant thoughts he had of his father was the night his mother died giving birth to Tyrion. Casterly Rock had been a riot that night, maids running in and out of the room with hot water and clean sheets, he had to hold back Cersei from running into the room. I want to see, Jaime! I'll have babies one day, I want to know! She battled with him but he didn't let her, father would be angry if she barged in. But, later that night after the screams of his mother had faded away and died out to the sounds of Tyrion's tears Jaime was taken out onto the balcony of his father's room. Tywin's heavy had rested on Jaime's shoulder and he explained that his mother was gone, that she had gone off into the stars to be with the gods. It had been the only time Jaime had seen his father vulnerable and now that day meant nothing, the stars were a place like any other with comings and goings and among those coming and going ... was not his mother.

He had made no friends in this place. He didn't understand it and if he had spent a year in the captivity of Robb Stark, he could survive a year here -- it was far more pleasant than any cell he'd ever seen. It was a cell nonetheless and he wandered its halls like a ghost that went mostly unseen and unheard from and although that image of his mother in the stars had been ripped from him by this place there was something incredibly pleasant about watching those stars slowly creep by and from the observation deck he saw them best. As he paced toward the enormous floor to ceiling window his arms came behind his back, his only hand gripping just above the scared flesh of where his right hand had once been.

docking plot : post one

[oneandtogether]

The middle of the morning usually found Spock in the science labs, where he was continuing work on a wormhole simulator array. Once complete, it was his hope that the simulator would be able to use some of Mr. Isaacs' wormhole equations to plot potential courses for the stations' residents to return home.

Residents: he thought of them thus, although he was certain most of them would balk at the title, as none of them seemed particularly fond of the idea of staying there permanently. However, with over a month gone by and no further clues as to the identity of their kidnappers or the means by which they had been retrieved, it seemed a way home was, as yet, beyond their collective grasp. Spock had been successful thus far in refusing to dwell on their predicament, or to lose focus on the ways in which his skills could be put to use.

He was not the only one in the lab that morning. The scientist named Baltar had been coming and going, and Holmes was sitting at his usual table conducting tests on some blood and tissue samples. It was quiet, save for the occasional murmur of Baltar talking to himself, which made the computer's voice, when it came, even more of a surprise.

"Attention," it announced in a cool voice-- the same female voice that had greeted Spock upon activating his communicator for the first time. "The station has successfully completed docking procedures and the transporters are now active. Please proceed to the Porta Ianualis for transport to the planet's surface."

Simultaneously with the computer's voice airing in the room, the narrow screen that ran the length of the wall like a news ticker lit up and began to display the same message-- first in Standard English, then in German, and from then on in a series of what Spock deduced must be other languages spoken by those on board the station. Glancing at his communicator, he saw the same flashing alert. With no time allowance in which to ponder the implications of such simultaneous syncing between the main computer and their handheld devices, Spock set the issue aside for later consideration.

He looked up as he pocketed the communicator again and found Holmes looking at him with interest. "Let us move quickly," Spock said, starting toward the door. "We do not know how long the transporters will be active, and it would be unfortunate if we were late." He did not need to look back to know that Holmes was right behind him.

April 11th [Closed]

[shepard]

[April 11th]

Bashir and Shepard celebrate her birthday.

[Here|PG]

Talking to themselves [closed]

[nuadasvengence]

[April 10]

Where Nuada meets the creature in the wall and gets outsmarted by a child.

[Here|G/no warnings]

*Because they had to meet.