andreya-roche

[andreya-roche]

cvnstantin·:

steady as a star ⚔️ constantin & ? ⚔️ d.m.c

[Constantin was having the time of his life. Everyone was so happy, and it was just impossible to feel anything but thrilled to be here. He was especially pleased for Felix, who had obviously loved every moment of his performances. There’s a strange sort of feeling about the night, almost surreal, which is largely caused by Constantin’s eyesight. It’s improved vastly since his return, but it still often takes some time for his eyes to be able to focus. The disco ball and the twinkle lights look like softly burning fireworks, and everyone is laughing and dancing. It’s like being in the very crux of humanity, where it shines brightest, and he feels very close to everyone despite being seated alone for now.

He’s not taking part in the dancing. A part of him would like to, but he knows it wouldn’t be sensible. Now that Constantin is slowly being introduced to AP training, he feels more fatigued than ever even though his strength is growing daily. He already knows he’s not got the strength to dance, but is perfectly happy nursing his drink and watching people have fun. With the tables pressed against the wall, there’s not vast amounts of available seating, so it doesn’t surprise him when someone takes the seat near him.

Constantin tries to put his glass down so he can say hello, but makes the mistake that’s ingrained in his muscle memory and proving difficult to unlearn: he just tries to put it down in midair. Naturally, the glass (near-empty) tumbles down to the surface of the table, while Constantin’s gaze goes up to try and find it when he realises it’s not where he left it. It takes a moment to process what he’s just done, at which point he looks at the table where the mercifully unbroken glass lies on its side.]

Jesus fuck. [He shakes his head at himself, then address the person beside him – it feels important to clarify.] I am not drunk, you have my promise.

[Nothing could be closer to Andee’s idea of party heaven. Costumes, lights, and dances·-- so many dances. Solo dances, dance floors, all the bodies together dancing, it’s like her pheromones have been spiked and all she can taste is the next adventure. She can live in this headspace forever. The night is still young, and she’s just warming up, a few drinks coating the ends of her nerves and the music elevating her mood. It’s not that she’s tired (what is·“tired”?), it’s just that she sees a familiar face, and, well, Andee is drawn to friendship like a bear to honey. She laps it up.

She flops herself down in the chair beside Constantin, opening her mouth to make some kind of pirate joke or innuendo, when he just...plain old lets go of a glass. It clanks onto the table, drink going everywhere, and when she look at him for his reaction, his eyes are up. Oh dear god -- she realizes with a burst of laughter what’s happened.]

Space cadet! [She giggles, taking a handkerchief from inside her jacket and laying it down over the spill.]·Mate, even if you were drunk, you’d know how gravity works.

[andreya-roche]

STEALTH IS WEALTH: ANDEE’S PARTY OUTFIT

“One of the most notorious pirate queens, Mary Read, an Englishborn bastard of a sea captain’s widow, was known for masquerading as men to wheedle money and goods out of wealthy strangers and celebrities. She even joined the British military as a man. What, you didn’t think I was going to come as a wench, did you? It’s customary to choose a costume in contrast to one’s own personality.”

[andreya-roche]

A SECOND OPINION || alois & andee

alois-the-real-boy​:

Sure. If you’ve got the laptop or the Echo pad, I’ve got the link cable in my room. I can bring that next time. 

[[ Alois inspects her face as she inspects his arm, and the acuity in her eyes settles his nerves that much the more. When she asks to see the adhesion site, Alois has only a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it hint of hesitation before he nods. ]] Yeah. Okay.

[[ This feels like a textbook moment to throw in a flirtatious comment – particularly with one so pretty as Andreya – about not being that kind of guy, but the situation is a bit too serious and Alois is feeling just a shade too vulnerable. He always has a far different purpose in mind when disrobing, and while plenty of his partners have expressed more than a passing interest in where his arm connects with the rest of them, Alois typically doesn’t grant them the time to look too closely. It isn’t self consciousness, not necessarily; Alois would be hard-pressed to find a self conscious bone in his body. Maybe he’s simply too averse to being studied too closely

That’s reflection for another time. Withdrawing his hand and standing, Alois reaches his hands over his shoulders to grasp the back of his sweater, tugging it smoothly over his head. Assuming she’ll stand, he turns to toss his shirt onto the chair he vacated and remains turned away, offering a better view of his back.

The scarring that sunbursts out from his shoulder is subtle but extensive, and a number of the thick lines of tissue are obviously quite old – specifically, since he was a child. The residual marks are far from experimental but they do have an air of having been worked and reworked over the years, and even as the Asch company developed products to minimize or even disappear scar tissue, some of the work done was too invasive to erase completely.

Scarring aside, the juncture of his arm and shoulder is as seamless as it can be. Alois is thin enough that there are a few points where the plates joining to his ribs and shoulder blade can be seen sliding under his skin as he moves. There’s a clear line where the arm can be removed from the shoulder anchor. ]]

The dart hit about here. [[ He gestures to a spot a couple inches removed from the joining of metal, fiberglass, and flesh. The bruising is probably gone by now. ]]

[She expects scarring -- even if the prosthetic is old and seemingly welded straight into his naturally occurring body; there’s always signs of what once was, the beginning of something new where something original ends. What she doesn’t expect is how hard it hits her own soul, how close a kinship she feels with him when she sees the actual scar tissue, how the scar along her own back seems to flare up with memory. Like a clairvoyant reminder of the past, her scar feels much more prominent against the soft fabric of her shirt, something she’s grown so used to ignoring it almost doesn’t exist anymore. The difference is, he appears so non-plussed by his, and she keeps the sentiment of their similarity to herself.

Coming around to see it more closely, Andreya runs a thumb and forefinger along the outer edge of the scar, where the crease of attachment between his skin and the attachment lives. Not only to inspect the stitching, but to see if there’s been any disconnect that might be causing the miscommunication inside the prosthetic, and thus the twitching. But it seems to be intact, no signs of damage aside from where he points to the area of impact.]

I see. [There’s the smallest abrasion in him, a mark left behind that discolors the skin ever so lightly. She gently presses her thumb pad onto the spot to feel for internal damage.] Yeah. It feels like there’s some kinks in there -- feel how my thumb kind of pops right there, how it’s not smooth? [Her finger runs over the small bump, a telltale sign of something being broken or knocked out of place.] It might just be something popped out of whack, or there are exposed wires, or both. I’ll need a way to see inside, I’m afraid. Do you know if the prosthetic safe to go under a portable MRI?

[andreya-roche]

The Mincing Mockingbird Guide to TROUBLED COLONISTS pt. 2 [x]

[andreya-roche]

for your hypothetical future child(ren): who would you want the father to be?

Okay, seriously, with this question.

Any person, living or dead? Obviously Nikola Tesla or Idris Elba. Let’s take it one step further and say I have to perform an elaborate dance for them as well, to prove my worth that they want to put their sperm in me.

I should just stick with cats.

[andreya-roche]

is there someone that you miss having in your life?

Besides my family and my clan and all my old friends?

[andreya-roche]

You're on good terms with a lot of people in the Colony, will that make it hard to stay professional if you end up working as a therapist?

Why would I have to be on worse terms with people based on my job? Unless I was, like, an executioner. Then I could understand not having many friends.

[andreya-roche]

Top 3 hypothetical baby-daddies you'd pick out of the extremely appealing selection the Colony has?

This is such a creepy question. Like, “Hey, whose essence would you steal in the form of seminal fluid?”

Also, maybe I’ll adopt.

Point is, I won’t be propositioning anyone in this forum. It makes me feel like a pervert.

[andreya-roche]

Do you worry that getting more involved in an official capacity, as an Elite, will make you complicit in the bad things that are happening?

I’ve given this a lot of thought. It’s true that you have to take responsibility for the institutions you align yourself with and people you agree to work for. But to say “Elite” is synonymous with “corrupt” is refusing to do a lot of critical thinking. The bottom line is that it’s the people in positions of power who implement societal structure -- and if those people believe in equity, fairness, and justice, those are the structures that will be built. So being “indoctrinated,” so to speak, into the Elite system can be an attempt to create good change from the inside out.

Do I believe it’s right that you have to be approved to do things like have babies? No. Do I believe I can use the current system to my advantage to eventually change it? Yes.

[andreya-roche]

dante-carrington·:

[It would surprise few to learn that Dante enjoys well-structured profesional boundaries. For many reasons, the closer he works with someone the more distant he tends to be with them – at least socially. The small medical team at Altcourse had often gone out for drinks after work, and Dante had always declined their invitations. They joked that it was because he was the boss, the haughty superior, but the reality is that he feels it is inappropriate to be too friendly with your colleagues. It can make it difficult to maintain a proper work environment.

Not much has changed, in that regard. Any conversations he has with other members of the therapy team here tend to be strictly work related, and that extends to the few volunteers they have. They all know this, so when Andreya comes calling he can only assume that it’s a professional visit and not a social one.

Which is unexpected, as Dante has few expectations of volunteers. Not because he doesn’t trust them, but because their role is a little more casual than that of an official therapist. Few of them come knocking for professional tête-à-têtes; if that’s what this is, Dante supposes he is pleased that she is taking her role seriously. Though he’s never doubted her – Andreya is trustworthy and good with her patients – he has always thought she was a little flighty. Mind in a million places at once, not strictly work focused.

But perhaps he is to be happily proven wrong.] 

By all means. [He gestures to the seat opposite his desk.] What can I do for you, Andreya?

[All of a sudden, her nerves appear. She’d had this conversation with herself and with Imaginary Dante in her head so many times, she figured all preparation would be the resistance between her heart rate and the situation. But these talks never go the way you plan, no matter how hard you try. What she finds solace in is her own conviction -- how far she’s thought ahead, how sure she is that this is something she wants, and how much she trusts that Dante will hear her out with honesty, empathy, and dignity.

Now all she has to do is remember what the hell she meant to say.

For privacy’s sake, because a rejection would only make her feel worse if it’s overheard, she lets the door slip shut behind her and she takes the seat offered.] I was hoping you might be able to help me, actually. Talk through the some things and maybe point me in the right direction. I’ve been thinking a great deal about my next moves in the Colony.

[It makes her cringe a little, admitting that she might want to be more fully entrenched in the waters of Colony life, but if she’s not going to leave, and this is where society is going to restart, she wants to be a part of it.

Crossing her ankles, she realizes her hands have come together to do a fidgety dance in her lap. It’s just a conversation, Andee, she tells herself, however this ends, something else can always come up. He doesn’t hold your future in his hands. Bloody hell, speak, woman.]

With everything that’s happening, and working like I do in CISM, I’m starting to feel like I want to do more... To make more of a difference. [She wets her lips, taking a breath.] So I was wondering if it would be possible to look into becoming a real psychologist?

[Part one down. Part two’s where it gets hairy.]

See, because I love working with people so much, and I’ve been able to keep inventing on my own time, but eventually, the wheels will start turning on the world again, right? I want to keep learning, doing things. Moving on with life. Perhaps one day having a family, which I know can be a hard program to get into. And, maybe, someday, being an Elite will prove to be an advantage for that.

[Andee feels winded. She lets her shoulders come down from her ears and her ankles lock in place, awaiting his response, trying to read his face.]

[andreya-roche]

HERA ♚ andreya roche, goddess of women, family & childbirth

O royal Hera, of majestic mien, aerial-formed, divine, Zeus’ blessed queen, throned in the bosom of cerulean air, the race of mortals is thy constant care. The cooling gales they power alone inspires, which nourish life, which every life desires. Mother of showers and winds, from thee alone, producing all things, mortal life is known.

—orphic hymn 16 to hera | @andreya-roche

[andreya-roche]

[andreya-roche]

step by step || dante & andee

[So, it’s been on her mind for a while. She’s twenty-six, and, well, life has to go on, doesn’t it, in some form? Even if this isn’t where she plans on building her forever home, or even establishing roots, some of it has happened without her knowledge or power. Friends -- family -- lives here, and each day they get further from their own tragedies. Life has its own, inevitable motion, and she’s never been one to fight the current. It’s time to make the most -- the best -- of it.

Action steps are what make Andee feel successful, like progress is being made. She can enjoy the slow, savory parts of life as much as anyone. But there comes a time when idling becomes annoying, and being stagnant is torture. That time seems to have approached for her quickly, almost as if out of nowhere. She woke up this morning and started making decisions -- and that first one lied with Dante.

She’s probably not his favorite person, but they aren’t on sour terms. Andee certainly respects him as a therapist, as a master of psychology, and that is really all the reason and guidance she needs to be sure he’s the right one to approach. At least to begin massaging the idea, the growth -- Andee can’t sit still. Never could.

Naturally, she checks his office first. Approaching the door, she taps with three light knocks of her knuckles to find the door slightly ajar, and pokes her head in as the gap widens.] Afternoon, Dr. Carrington. Could I have a word? There’s something I’d like to pick your brain about.

@dante-carrington​

[andreya-roche]

lemonade, muthafu*kers | andee + ajay

ajay-bennett·:

[So like, if he’s got to be stopped by any one remotely in a role of authority, he figures Andee is a pretty good way to go. It’s weird, because he’s always thought she was an Elite for some reason, but he’d eventually noticed she didn’t have the tell-tale gold stripe on her PDD. Which means…. well, he has no idea what that means. He always sees her bustling around with papers and an Echo Pad, looking busy and important and o r g a n i z e d in a way he doubts he’d ever been, much less could be now, so maybe she volunteers or something. Which is a hard thing for him to wrap his head around now, especially with his status—volunteering in a place that basically uses the Infected for slave labour. 

Anyway, she just looks amused now, if anything, so he supposes that’s a good sign. He could have met with much worse fates.] Primitive? [he repeats, mock-offended as she laughs.] Excuse me, Telekinesis is one of the abilities of the new age. I am evolved. Therefore, this version of the game is about as modern as it gets, thank you very much. 

[He smirks—technically, the fooling around with his infection is the only thing in this scenario that is probably more explicitly against the rules, but he doesn’t figure she cares about that.] But uh, yeah. My bad. Sorry, I got… distracted. But! In my defence, I finished loading everything in the wash, but then I had to wait for the cycle to finish and I… [he shrugs.] Listen, I am a creative. I find things to do in boring hell holes like this one. 

[He should probably… quite while he’s ahead (if he ever were, that is). He clamps his mouth shut.] 

[It’s not a facade she can keep up for very long. His response makes her laugh, which arguably is much louder than any cart careening down the corridor. Shaking her head at his wonderfully childlike behavior, she sets her hands on her hips and gives a defeated shrug.] I guess I can’t argue with that. Still, you can’t have much control over that thing from being inside it -- [she shakes a finger] -- which is also what she said.

No, see, what you need is rear-wheel drive, mi amigo. [She takes the corners nearest her side and gives him a hearty spin, taking him a full two circles around before catching the cart on the back side.] You provide the steam, I’ll make sure you don’t crash through any windows. We make for the mess hall, we grab all the snacks we can throw into the cart, and we run like hell. Deal?

[andreya-roche]

TEST SUBJECT || andee & mitch

mitch--douglas·:

[[ Mitch automatically gives a brief shake of his head when Andee says she hopes it works – up until now he hasn’t had the opportunity to work with any of her projects firsthand (what a shame, and no pun intended), but based on reputation alone he has every faith in her capabilities. He tucks his journal into the back of his waistband because he’s not about to waste time setting it aside when she’s already offering the gauntlet. Mitch keeps his hand and arm steady but relaxed, letting her maneuver the delicate instrument into place.

Even once it’s secure he keeps his arm carefully still, listening to her explanation with rapt attention. ]] Okay– yup, [[ He confirms when she mentions the tension, wrinkling his nose at the slight discomfort but still smiling all the same because it’s simply fascinating. ]] Tension, yes. Confirmed. Not bad, though, not painful.

[[ If she didn’t think it were possible for him to be any more interested or excited, she’d be sorely mistaken as he watches it light up and effectively does the same in return. ]] My god. Okay, um. [[ Gingerly, he turns his hand over, holding it between them palm-up. He’s careful not to move too quickly at this point, if there’s some concern with overload. ]] It feels tingly, mostly. The tension is ebbing, which I assume is a good sign? [[ He gives a couple of the fingers an experimental bend, and they react accordingly. ]] I’m not using any of my ability yet. Let me know when you want me to throw that into the mix.

[Noting the tension on his face, she garbles through the box and pulls out a leather-bound journal -- oh yeah, old school, pen and paper -- and scribbles down some notes for future reference. Half the pages smudged and sharing leftover ink onto the outside of her left hand, it has obviously seen frequent and passionate use the last few days.] Tension... [Murmuring, as if to confirm what she’s seen with her own eyes.] No pain, fantastic. Brilliant. I was afraid of that, especially -- with all due respect and professionalism -- with someone with muscular definition. Pushes the veins and the nerves closer to the skin, what have you.

[Realizing how it sounds, she clears her throat, happy to move onto the success of the prosthetic’s synchronization with his arm.

Andee chuckles, nodding at his observation.] Yes, it’ll do that. Like pins and needles, right? Your body’s trying to decide how to disperse the energy overload. Breathe normally to keep the blood moving. [Without direction, he goes on to bend some of the fingers, lifting her heart in an excited blip. Unprompted, a visibly seamless maneuver -- despite its simplicity, she is overjoyed that his body seems to be taking to the addition so well.

No time like the present to give it a go. Nodding, she takes a step behind Mitch to direct him toward a pair of left behind trainers just a few meters away.] Let’s start with something lightweight and close by, just to test the connection. If you feel a glitch coming -- a big surge of energy building, like you’re about to sneeze -- and you can’t disengage...duck.

[andreya-roche]

everything is a playground || andee + orson

bear-little-loss·:

♣

[It’s as if time echoes itself in the moment, too—a crude and cruel mockery of the way the memory of that day reverberates off his skull, straight between his eyes like a nail gun. 

Because while his vision swims with a brief relieving of that day in the locker rooms, his present with Andreya rocks, and he hears her question repeat itself, the first time muffled, unintelligible, the second time clearer, than clearer the time after that. 

She touches him—not once, but twice. No, three times. Her hand grips his shirt, then pulls away. Grips then pulls away, grips then—

God, what the fuck is happening to him? Is this what he gets for talking to Annie about that stupid time theory? Is it fucking with him now? Is he… getting too close to answers he isn’t supposed to have? 

No. Fuck, no, he is not doing this. He is not going to let himself go mad. For all they call him crazy, delusional, he knows he’s not, and he’s not going to do this to himself. He needs to get a fucking grip. 

‘Orson? You all right, love?’

Orson shakes his head. Reaches out—a little too blindly, which in retrospect was a bad idea, but he’s shaken, and it’s too late now, but at least he was lucky, because his hand finds her arm just above her elbow and he grips it—not too hard, but hard enough to probably not to his panic, a little. He takes a shaky breath.] Can we—I need to get out of here. Can we change in the Brink showers? Please? 

[He knows she’ll say yes, of course she will, she’s a mother hen of Brink, but a part of him wants to plead her—come with me. Please stay with me. Anything to ground him. Anything to keep him from getting lost in this sensation of madness. It’s one thing to relieve a bad day, to remember a vision all-too clearly in the daytime, just as it plagues his nightmares. But it’s another to wonder if, with each vision he has, he’s slowly losing grip on what’s real and what’s not.] 

[It’s like he disappears. Gets lost in the woods, surrounded by tall shadows and loud monsters, because although he stands in front of her, it’s like she can’t see him at all. Orson has left the room, the building, the planet, and she has no idea how to reach into the dimension where he’s been dragged and pull him back. If it’s a rescue he needs, she’s useless. She can bring a person out of a panic attack, but what does she do when their mind is transported entirely?

Only what she knows. That’s what. And pray, hard, that it works.

Relief washes over her when he grabs onto her arm. It means a part of him is still here, still with her, and more than that -- wants her to be there. Is pawing for a life preserver. Okay, she can be that. She can do that. Keep him afloat, even if the water is deep and cold.]

S’all right, I’m right here, love. Come on back. [Andreya is surprised to hear her own words slur, a symptom of shock, her eyes welling but her mouth run dry. All systems seem to be down. There is only his hands, her eyes, and a tunnel between them.]

Orson, breathe. Come on, babe, come on. Look at me. Hey, love, look at me. Right here, yeah? Right here.

[She takes his hand from her arm and holds on tight, thumb over thumb, palm to palm, and presses it to her cheek. And just as quickly as he went, he returns. Like a shot from the sky, his presence booms onto the ground, and suddenly she can hear him breathing again.

Andee nods fervently to his request, without thought.] Of course. Of course, yeah. Come on. [She starts the slow walk toward the door, feet dragging and lungs heavy.] Talk to me, are you all right?