bitteraftertaste: (show me the right way to go)
Spam for Bond )

[Public]

[Vesper's in her room, sitting at a desk, and looks as put together and professional as usual.

She doesn't waste time with memories, or explaining what the ship has done for her, or how she feels about leaving. That's no one's business but her own]


I'm leaving. [And she's not expecting there to be a lot of sad feelings about this. It's not as if she's gone out of her way to make friends here, so it doesn't especially bother her.] For good, hopefully. I've been here for well over a year now, and I think it's important to realize when you've spent as much time here as you can.

[This isn't running away. It's choosing to build a life for herself outside of this place, something she hadn't had when she first arrived here.

She smiles a little wryly when she thinks of how to conclude this, this incredibly strange second chance she'd been given.]


It's been... an experience.

[Private to Cassel]

[There's one person apart from James that she's especially sad about leaving behind, and in many ways, this is a lot harder than telling her - she still doesn't have a term she likes to describe their relationship, and she's not sure she ever really will - boyfriend.

It's ridiculous to think of Cassel as a son for so many reasons, but she's stopped trying to question her feelings of responsibility for the teenager a long time ago, and they're making it difficult to be really comfortable with saying goodbye.]


Where are you planning on going, once you've finished with the Barge?
bitteraftertaste: (my beloved was weighed down)
[Backdated to after this thread; Vesper doesn't bother with filters because she's in a hurry, bordering on panicked but mostly just confused because-]

I think there's been some sort of gas leak, [Or something, but she has no idea how it happened or if it's affecting the rest of the ship or what.] James is unconscious, I need help getting him to the infirmary.

[She's about to leave it at that, but.]

We're on the sixth floor in the hallway.
bitteraftertaste: (my feet dragged across the ground)
[Spam for the Market]

[Vesper has fallen overboard, and it's probably apparent to anyone who's been Below for longer than a day that she isn't human, or at least that there's something a little different about her since you last spotted her on the Barge.

Namely, she's paler than usual and wearing a deep purple - almost black - velvet dress, and although she lingers at some of the stalls, maybe even makes a few purchases, she seems ultimately disinterested in what's being sold here, particularly when she passes by anyone selling food.

Sometimes she's with a group of women, all similarly dressed and adorned, but it's easy to catch her alone, and she seems almost normal, like maybe this is the woman from the Barge, she's just wearing a different outfit and put more effort into her make up than she usually bothers to on board.

Except that she's cold, if you happen to brush up against her. Really cold, although she doesn't seem especially bothered by it right now.]


[Spam for the rest of Port]

[Once Market's over, it's back to life as usual for Vesper. She always moves with confidence no matter where she walks, although there are some places she knows better than to wander alone. Her kind isn't welcomed everywhere, and there are some places here where no one should go, if they have any sense at all.

She likes to think she has sense. She always waits for someone on the fringes, someone who won't necessarily be missed or raise too much of a fuss if she allows them to live. There are hazards to living her, and she won't be made to feel badly for being one of them. She has every right to live, just as much as any other creature here does, and so she does what she has to do without an ounce of guilt or shame.

Which means she's confident and interesting and all too interested - without being pushy, without showing you her hand until it's too late to do anything about it - in getting you alone and away from your friends.]

[ooc: lmk if you'd like Vesper to actually succeed in kissing/killing/Velveting your character, if you specifically don't want that to happen, or we can just see how things go. c:]
bitteraftertaste: (I awake to find no peace of mind)
cw: animal death, not a barge pet or anything but still )

I don't know who's responsible for this, [Her voice sounds angry, but trying to stay calm, although there's definitely something in her eyes that gives away that she's scared, too.] But if this is supposed to be some kind of threat, or just a sick joke, I'd like to reassure you that I'm more than happy to discuss things face to face rather than come home to find your notes tacked to my door.
bitteraftertaste: (but now it seems)
That wasn't so bad, was it? [Vesper's smiling maybe a little nostalgically and holding up one of the Clara dolls handed out during the flood. You might have seen her at the party dressed up in a frilly pink number.]

My grandmother was a particular fan of the ballet, and one year we wound up seeing The Nutcracker around Christmas time. [The smile turns almost self depreciating after a moment.] Which I'm certain you were all desperate to know.

[Private to the Admiral]

I honestly can't remember ever writing a letter to Father Christmas, and I think I'm a little old to be starting now, but if you could arrange a new suit for James (something designer, I can provide the measurements if need be), an OMEGA watch for Cassel and something for his cat, equipment for caring for the dog James asked for for Chris (or a stuffed corgi, if you're not going to deliver the dog), and some decent coffee for Nathan, I would appreciate it.
bitteraftertaste: (and a bargain must be made)
slightly backdated spam for bond )

[Public]

[She's realizing the second she opens her mouth that she probably should have made this a text post, because her throat feels constricted and awful, and she's never been one for letting other people see her weakness, or wearing it on her sleeve like a badge of honor.]

James Bond appears to have left the Barge.

[And her voice - controlled and composed as it is, as she tries to force it to be - does wobble, and it's embarrassing, because it's not like she can take it back or pretend like this isn't affecting her the way it is.

There's a long moment where she considers saying something else, opens her mouth and gets ready to phrase it, even, but there's just a soft rush of air which is definitely not leading up to a sob before she clicks off the feed.]
bitteraftertaste: (let the only sound)
I appreciate that everyone has been taking the opportunity to apologize and recuperate from what happened, [And she means that, even if she won't be apologizing for anything herself. It wasn't her. She wasn't that person, and it's a lot easier to just bury everything and move on instead of letting it linger.] But has anyone really discussed the fact that what happened on that other Barge could potentially happen here? I mean, obviously if it did, we wouldn't exactly have much to do other than wait it out if the Admiral lost his ability to send us home, but...

[But nothing, really, besides one thing that she hasn't seen anyone mention anywhere public.]

Did anyone actually get through the door?

[Private Separately to Cassel + Chris]

Let me know if you need anything.
bitteraftertaste: (I awake to find no peace of mind)
[So Vesper clicks on the video around this comment of this thread. Bond and Archer are apparently quite content to keep wailing on each other in the middle of the dining hall now that Vesper and any other innocent bystanders are out of the way, and it doesn't take an expert in martial arts to recognize that their respective styles are pretty fucking brutal, even if at the moment, they're sort of in a... compromising looking position? You can probably hear Archer yell "Did you plan this??", even though she's a good couple meters away from them.

Vesper sounds more tightly controlled and maybe a little bit angry more than anything else, because from her perspective, it's like Archer just marched down to the mess hall, threw a punch at her boyfriend and got... whatever this is started for no good reason.

(Presumably no good reason, anyway, she's not naive enough to think that Bond couldn't possibly have done something to encourage this.)]


Rogue, I would sincerely appreciate it if you could get down here and help contain your inmate.
bitteraftertaste: (I awake to find no peace of mind)
[Warden Filter, minus Cassel]

[Vesper sounds calm, factual, but the reason this is a voice post and not a video is because she doesn't want people to see the effort required to sound that way, because she's holding a cage with a person turned into a rat inside, and that person happens to be someone she cares about quite a lot. Who was turned into a rat by another person she happens to care about quite a lot.

It doesn't really help that there's a cat in the room who's become increasingly interested in the new arrival.]


Something is very wrong with Cassel. He just left my room after dropping off a rat in a cage - it's James. He used his ability to change him into a rat, told me he did it because "being a good guy isn't in him", and refused to change him back.

I have no idea what's going on, but I think it's in everyone's best interest if someone gets a hold of him and making sure he doesn't do harm to anyone else.

[There's a second where it almost sounds like she's finished, but then her voice gets an edge to it, something icy and almost threatening.] And if anyone's inmate has the ability to manipulate someone into doing this, I very strongly suggest you speak up sooner rather than later.
bitteraftertaste: (but the spies hide out in every corner)

[Spam for Bond, backdated to the start of the flood]

[The unfortunate part of floods like these when you're in a relationship with someone on the Barge is that you're very likely to wake up next to someone you've never seen before, and have no idea who they are and how you got there.

This is generally made even more horrifying when you're a very unhappy teenager on the best of days, and waking up with an unfamiliar teenage boy spooning you is definitely a good way to ignite all sorts of latent intimacy and commitment issues that only vaguely have to do with the extremely unlikely chance that she lost control of herself long enough to wind up in this sort of situation. That kind of thing definitely does not happen to Vesper Lynd.

Fortunately (?) Vesper is still asleep for the time being, and blissfully unaware that anything's amiss. Of course, that really means it's just a matter of time before the shit hits the fan and she realizes what the hell is actually going on here.]


[Public]

[Vesper addresses the Barge a little while later, once she's had more opportunity to encounter her ex-roommate James' behavior. She looks like she's about fifteen, but she sits so her back is ramrod straight, her shoulders squared and head held high, making it more or less unmistakeable that this girl is confident and self assured and not in the mood to take anyone's bullshit, even if they're an adult and she is - technically - a child.

Really, this is just a carefully constructed mask, but no one needs to know that. Obviously.]


Is there anyone whose supposed to be assuming responsibility for James Bond? [This is being said in a way that suggests she thinks you are doing a terrible job of it, whoever you are.]

bitteraftertaste: (take what the water gave me.)
Well, I can say very confidently that I'm still not exactly a fan of breaches, although I suppose it could have been substantially worse.

[She hasn't been forced into having a relationship with anyone she can't stand on the Barge, she hasn't been killed or had to do some horribly embarrassing job, or remember a life where she actually did answer to Miss Stephanie Broadchest. That was certainly something she could do without.

But she's still not a fan. Oh well.]


I've found myself at a bit of a loose ends since Mr. Wilson graduated, apart from the plans to get classes up and running for anyone interested, so if there are any departments that need an extra set of hands, I'd be happy to help. I have to admit, I don't do too well without having some work to do.

[Private to Dean]

I hope this isn't an imposition, Mr. Winchester, but I have a favor to ask.
bitteraftertaste: (you've been holding on a long time)
[Vesper is not affected, but she has definitely been keeping to herself since a certain someone left without prior warning. They've tried to keep their relationship quiet for the most part, and she's not interested in letting on that it bothers her - even though it obviously does - so she appears just as well put together as ever when she clicks on the video feed.]

For anyone interested, I'm staying on as a warden for a while longer, [Because she really has no fucking clue what she's supposed to do when she goes home, and was sort of hoping she'd have Bond to talk stuff over with before that happened, but.] and I've been considering finding a more productive way to fill my day than sitting around twiddling my thumbs waiting to be repaired.

I'm afraid I can't offer anything that exciting - [It sometimes seems like she's one of the only people on board whose boring, normal job really isn't a cover for being a superhero or a spy or an assassin or god knows what else.] but I know some people have expressed an interest on catching up on any schooling they've missed, and I've always been fairly handy with mathematics. I'd be happy to arrange private lessons or organize a larger group to discuss it. If anyone's interested in economics or financial planning to help prepare for life after the Barge, I'd be more than happy to arrange meeting about that, too.

Obviously it's going to be a bit tailored to what I consider modern Earth standards, but I can try to assist anyone with a more exotic point of origin, if they're willing to be patient with me.

[Warden Filter]

I'd also be interested in continuing self defense lessons, but as my former teacher's returned home for at least the time being, I'm on the market for a new one. My schedule's quite flexible.

[Private to the Admiral]

I'd like to request some high school level math books. From Earth, please, if it's not too much trouble.
bitteraftertaste: (a woman walking by)
[Vesper sounds tired, and not particularly interested in drawing out this conversation for longer than she has to, but she's alive and in one piece so. That's something.]

Mr. Wilson and I both made it through in one piece. I don't know how much help I can be in the coming days, but if there's anyone in need of an extra pair of hands, I'm certainly willing to give it a shot.

[Spam for Bond]

[First things first: she needs to get out of this body armor.

She heads to her room and strips it off before she's even in the bathroom, and when she steps under the hot spray, she can remember another time everything had gone badly wrong when her knees had given out and she'd curled up in a ball and cried, feeling helpless and scared in a way she hadn't since her parents had died. The temptation to give in and do that now is unquestionably strong, and she bites her lip to stop herself from screaming.

Yusef had been lying to her the entire time they'd been together. How could she have been so stupid?

She stays in the shower for longer than necessary, but only allows herself a few minutes to cry, keeping her hand over her mouth to muffle the noise. She's angry more than anything else, angry and suddenly furious and unwilling to let herself spend more time crying over him. She'd done that enough when he'd been taken, and when she'd been sure that her loyalty to Bond had meant his death, when in reality, they'd meant nothing. He'd been alive the whole time.

She was done. She was tired of it, tired of feeling like she needed to apologize for what happened, of not feeling like she deserved to live her life because of the choices she'd made. She wasn't going to let that happen again.

Bond had to have known. For a moment, she almost felt angry that he hadn't told her, but then she softened a little. She wouldn't have been in a place to hear it earlier, and he probably wouldn't have been in a place to tell her the news kindly.

The sudden rush of gratitude is what gets her to turn off the water and finally step out of the shower. She dried herself off, put on a fluffy bathrobe and retrieved a bottle of wine and some glasses before heading over to the cabin next door. She made herself comfortable on the sofa and poured herself a glass to wait for James.]
bitteraftertaste: (whispering like it's a secret)
[Vesper's sitting on a couch in her room - which, for anyone who hasn't seen it, is a very swanky hotel room, which looks somewhere between lived in and waiting for the next guest to come visit, because she's a bit of a neat freak - and looks a little contemplative, like she finds the idea of talking about this to everyone a little ridiculous, which... she does, really.]

When I was about seven, my parents bought me a cat. She was just a cat, nothing special, but she was my closest friend up until she passed away while I was at university.

Maybe that's a bit pathetic. [There's... a lot more to this story than she's letting on, but she's certainly not someone who 1. enjoys revisiting some of the crappier things about her life or 2. feels like sharing much about herself with anyone, so that's a story that's better saved for a truth flood.

Or not at all, really, but we all know how this place works.]
But I seriously doubt I'm the only one here who's ever felt like a pet understands them better than most people do. She always seemed to know when I wasn't feeling particularly well, and maybe that's just her wanting something warm to sit with, but I still appreciated having some company when I was feeling low.

Anyway, [Her smile isn't really self-depreciating, but she definitely looks like she thinks it's a little silly that she's telling you all this.] I suppose I was just feeling nostalgic. So if anyone else has any pet stories they feel up to sharing, I certainly wouldn't mind listening.
bitteraftertaste: (time it took us)

[The woman looking at the camera smiles, and while she looks normal enough from the neck up, the fact that she's mostly naked and half covered in glittering scales means she's a mermaid, or perhaps something similar.

Those particularly familiar with mythology should probably be at least somewhat concerned, given that things that look like mermaids but aren't really pretty much are never good signs.]


Welcome to our island, travelers. I'm afraid some of my companions have not been entirely gracious in their greetings, and I do hope you can excuse them for it. We don't often get visitors, and I'm afraid our manners are lacking for it. [Some of the weaker minded people on board the ships - those prone to suggestion - may find themselves nodding in understanding - yes, of course, we aren't offended.]

My name is Vesper. I hope you enjoy your stay.

[Spam for the Beaches]

[Once the sun begins to set and the sky grows darker, turning the bright blue of the day into oranges, pinks and purples, the singing begins. It's coming from a single figure out on some rocks a half mile or so from the beaches, and it is undeniably the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. The song is different for everyone, but that truth remains the same, and you want to go to it, no matter how much your companions might beg you to stay right where you are. You're being promised everything you've ever wanted - love, fortune, power, forgiveness, peace, war - and the image is so dazzlingly beautiful, you may find yourself wanting to cry.

Although in her network post, she appeared to be a young woman with auburn hair and a dress made of feathers or scales, now her appearance shifts in the eyes of those listening. She now represents what you most desire, so accurately that you could swear it was your lost love singing to you from the rocks, or your parents, or anyone else, and it only adds to the desire to run into the waves and swim out to her as quickly as possible.

Some myths insist that sirens sing at midday, but myths are often wrong about these things, and this particular one only sings in the evenings, which is how she got her name. The song continues for a few minutes after the sun has set, and while it's quiet for those standing on shore, it's nevertheless appealing. You may be able to appreciate it safely from the shore, or you might find yourself desperate to get to her and everything you've ever wanted.]


[ooc: So basically, Vesper is a siren who enjoys luring people into dying terrible deaths while trying to reach her out on the rocks when she sings. She's also a little lonely without her sisters and finds humans interesting, if ultimately good for little more than temporary amusement, so if anyone wants less drown-y spam with her, let me know. c: Or just tag in, she mostly hangs out around the beaches or on her rocks.]

bitteraftertaste: (and he took me to the river)
[Vesper clicks on the video feed and smiles, looking more wryly amused than annoyed. Her hair is still pulled back from her face, but it's not the usual every single hair in place, almost severe bun or French braid that it usually is, and her clothing's more casual, too.]

I hate this sort of flood. You can never tell who's actually affected or not until it's all over, and in the mean time, you have everyone trying to guess the pattern and over analyzing everything that comes out of people's mouths. [But again, she doesn't actually sound that annoyed about it. It's just a part of life, here.]

I suppose there's nothing much to be done about it until the Admiral manages to get the ship through whatever universe he's poked a bit of a hole in.

I'd appreciate hearing how you're doing, Mr. Wilson. And I'm certainly not opposed to coming to check in on you in person if you're more amenable to that.

[Filtered away from Ned]

Out of curiosity, do we have any psychologists or therapists on board presently? I honestly can't keep track.
bitteraftertaste: (and a bargain must be made)
I'd just like to apologize for my behavior in my last broadcast. Obviously I wasn't myself.

[And it has been taken down because seriously, this is just embarrassing and awful. B(]

[Private to Dean]

I'm especially sorry for the way I acted with you, Mr. Winchester. I appreciate your trying to help.

[Private to Slade]

Check in please, Mr. Wilson.
bitteraftertaste: (be the overflow)

[The feed clicks on to show a few seconds of the ceiling in Vesper's cabin. All the lights are off, so it's pretty dark, but the faint shapes of objects, fingers and hands come into view with the glow of the screen as she fumbles to get the camera pointed at her face.

It's too close to see anything much at first - an eye, a cheekbone - before she pulls it back to a good angle and the image comes into focus. She's sitting on the floor in a nightgown, and she looks awful. There are dark bags under her eyes, and her already pale skin looks corpse white in the glow of the communicator's screen. Her dark hair, which is usually incredibly neat and pulled back from her face in a perfect bun is hanging loose, and looks wild and messy. She's obviously been crying, and the first word she manages is on the tail end of a sob.]


Please, [Her voice is hoarse and emotional, eyes glazed with fever, but still focused, almost manic in her desperation and very apparent fear.]

Please stop hurting him. Please. You have to let us go. I'll do anything, just please, please stop- [She cuts herself off, choking, dropping the communicator again to draw her knees up to her chest and press both her palms against her ears, rocking nervously back and forth, almost childlike, in an attempt to block noise out.] I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It has to- it has to-

[Her attention suddenly snaps back to the communicator, and while she doesn't pick it up again, she glares at it, almost snarling, now more like an animal than a child, although the fear and the tears streaking her face are still just as present as ever.]

How did you find us? I thought we were- You promised! We were supposed to be safe!

[Her voice breaks for what seems like for good on the last word and a defeated sob bubbles up from her chest. She folds in on herself, wrapping her arms around her legs and pressing her face against her knees, seemingly forgetting about the communicator and going back to rocking slowly back and forth, like the gesture might provide some amount of comfort, her continued speech muffled and quiet.]

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

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