#(i'm just reposting this so i can add it to my threadtracker!)

[isha-feinberg]

end transmission | isha & rosa

@rosastein​​:

isha-feinberg​:

when: wednesday 12th april 2163 where: a corridor, by a supply cupboard who: open!

[So many black clothes. Isha doesn’t like cleaning them as much; white clothes are easy because you can bleach them. Dark clothes show every little hair and bit of fluff, and she’s spent the better part of the last hour with a lint scraper trying to clean up everyone’s funeral clothes. When she gets send off to get some more laundry detergent, she suspects it’s because she keeps sighing so fretfully while everyone else is chatting and trying to establish some sort of normality after Kaiser’s death.

Isha is fine with that, gliding down the corridor and slipping into the nearest supply cupboard. She has to stand on the lowest shelf to reach the detergent, which is far back on the highest shelf, and while she does so the door swings shut behind her.

It’s very dark, all of a sudden. Isha always needs to know where the nearest exit is, and she fares poorly when she’s trapped somewhere like this. Her PDD does nothing to open the door, but it won’t bend to brute force either; why doesn’t she know how the bloody doors work? Is it a mechanical error? A computer thing? Someone in the tech department is playing a joke on her? The light of her PDD is painfully bright as she types out an indignant message to the first IT person she can think of, that Paxton person, to say that she’s stuck.

In the meantime, she’ll try slow deep breaths like they always tout in therapy. It’s only when she hears someone coming along the corridor outside that she slams her palm against the door.]

Excuse me? Hello? [She manages to sound rather annoyed for a woman hoping to get some help. She doesn’t want to admit to the pounding in her chest or the strangling feeling in her throat. She just wants to get out of this stupid damn cupboard.] 

[ The week had gotten off to an unusual start, which isn’t so much a complaint as an observation: she’d moved house, more or less, and a man died. Or was murdered. From what Rose can sus out, there doesn’t seem to be a general consensus among the masses. Just a thick air of mixed sadness and apprehension, with a dash of suspicion to taste. She doesn’t know what to think about it all herself, doesn’t know enough about the place to discern whether murder is something anyone here is capable of. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make it any less terrifying to be shaken from ones thought by a loud noise. Nor does it make it any less likely to scream at the aforementioned loud noise. ]

…What the sh-!  [ She shoots a fist out and raps on the nearest wall, all strength and not even a pretense of technique. Some might call it an offensive reflex. Rose would call it an offended reflex. (The trainers back in Sixteen would call it a stupid reflex.) Regardless, her heart is pounding, and now her hand hurts. ] Fuck! [ Tight-lipped and high pitched. As she clutches throbbing thing to her stomach, Rose looks around belatedly in search of the source of what spooked her. The rattling of a nearby supply closet seems to be the most likely offender. Frowning, she approaches. Slowly presses her ear against the frigid surface of the door. ]

God, what… are you trying to kill someone else? Hello?! [ Only once she’s yelled at what looks like no one does it occur to her how unhinged this must look. The subsequent tapping of her PDD a bid to feel less embarrassed about the whole thing  – she’s certain some security camera caught her physically and verbally assaulting colony infrastructure. Admirable second day behavior. But once the door opens, and whoever is inside can explain themselves, it’ll be fine.

Naturally, nothing happens.

Typical. ]

…Yeah, mkay. Sure. 

[Isha is not easily startled, but the sudden heavy thwack that resonates through the wall makes her jump. Thank goodness nobody can see her. As it is, she startles and takes a step back, hand jumping to her sternum and pressing against it as if to coax her heart into a slower pace. She wouldn’t be so damn jumpy if she wasn’t stuck in this absurd little cupboard.

She knows she’ll get out sooner or later, particularly now somebody knows she’s in here, but she’d just really rather it was sooner and not later. It’s dark and cramped and the smell of cleaning products is pressing against Isha’s head. The person outside seems to be just as upset as Isha, and that makes her feel a little better. It’s probably not precisely what they mean when they say a trouble shared is a trouble halved, but Isha likes not being the only on in distress.

Perhaps, Isha thinks with a private sense of amusement, this person had thought she was a ghost. Isha doesn’t believe in such things, but if she were the sort of person to hold those beliefs then this draughty old school building on this breezy little island would be a likely candidate for a haunting.

It’s difficult to hear through the door but she thinks she can make out the sound of whoever is out there trying to open it, unsuccessfully. Of course. The tip of Isha’s thumb makes its way unconsciously between her lips so that she can chew on the nail, which is a habit she trained herself out of long ago.]

...Did you just hit the wall? [There are better questions to ask, but it’s the one Isha wants to know the answer to. She thinks it’s a bit funny, the idea of having startled someone so well that they lash out blindly against a wall. It doesn’t make her feel any more in control, but it makes her feel at least a little less alone in her stress.]