[ It takes Chyler a long time to get to sleep. She's never really been one for insomnia--growing up in an Insurrectionist war zone teaches a person to sleep when they can and be wide awake when they're not. Same went for school.
But that's different. That was the chaos of Mamore, and then the vigilance expected at Corbulo. It's not a different universe entirely.
Maybe the homesickness is why she dreams of Corbulo, its brutalist buildings, crisp open green areas, the statue of General Corbulo himself in the middle of the common. It's a vivid dream, eerily vivid, and made more eerie by the fact that the campus is empty. There's not another soul in sight, and when she calls for Orlin, the campus AI, there's no reply.
So here Chyler stands next to Corbulo's statue, in her dress uniform, trying to keep herself calm. Almost under her breath: ] Helljumper, Helljumper, where you been? Feet first into hell and back again.
>ENJOY THE FESTIVITIES
[ It's hard for Chyler not to feel self-conscious even in the anonymous press of the crowd. Her hair is just a pixie-cut memory of her long braid, her ordinary clothes a poor substitution for Corbulo's military accouterments. Normally she wouldn't even be out in the middle of a crowd like this--too dangerous, too vulnerable to attack--but she was going crazy in the safehouse with nothing to think about but where she was and how she got there.
She runs a hand through her hair every few minutes, like if she tries it enough, her pinned-up braid will come back. It doesn't exactly help her blend in, any more than the stiffness in her shoulders or the way she tries to look at everything at once. Not like she's trying to enjoy the sights. Far more like she's waiting for something around her to quite literally explode.
Eventually she finds her way to one of the food trucks, after her stomach makes its wishes known, and gets herself a plate of pasta and ground bug protein balls.
She takes her food toward a tiny corner where she can wedge her back against something and observe the crowd from the relative shelter of the joining between a building and a wall.
Too bad she trips over someone else's feet on the way there and starts to go down, food and all. ]
>THE NETWORK: chyler.silva<
What is Morningstar in this world, other than a destabilizing force? Do we know what they want from us? What benefit do they get from helping us this way?
Someone has probably asked these questions a long time before me, but I would like to know how people decided whether or not they were the ones to trust over the UN.
Chyler Silva || HALO: Forward Unto Dawn
[ It takes Chyler a long time to get to sleep. She's never really been one for insomnia--growing up in an Insurrectionist war zone teaches a person to sleep when they can and be wide awake when they're not. Same went for school.
But that's different. That was the chaos of Mamore, and then the vigilance expected at Corbulo. It's not a different universe entirely.
Maybe the homesickness is why she dreams of Corbulo, its brutalist buildings, crisp open green areas, the statue of General Corbulo himself in the middle of the common. It's a vivid dream, eerily vivid, and made more eerie by the fact that the campus is empty. There's not another soul in sight, and when she calls for Orlin, the campus AI, there's no reply.
So here Chyler stands next to Corbulo's statue, in her dress uniform, trying to keep herself calm. Almost under her breath: ] Helljumper, Helljumper, where you been? Feet first into hell and back again.
[ It's hard for Chyler not to feel self-conscious even in the anonymous press of the crowd. Her hair is just a pixie-cut memory of her long braid, her ordinary clothes a poor substitution for Corbulo's military accouterments. Normally she wouldn't even be out in the middle of a crowd like this--too dangerous, too vulnerable to attack--but she was going crazy in the safehouse with nothing to think about but where she was and how she got there.
She runs a hand through her hair every few minutes, like if she tries it enough, her pinned-up braid will come back. It doesn't exactly help her blend in, any more than the stiffness in her shoulders or the way she tries to look at everything at once. Not like she's trying to enjoy the sights. Far more like she's waiting for something around her to quite literally explode.
Eventually she finds her way to one of the food trucks, after her stomach makes its wishes known, and gets herself a plate of pasta and ground bug protein balls.
She takes her food toward a tiny corner where she can wedge her back against something and observe the crowd from the relative shelter of the joining between a building and a wall.
Too bad she trips over someone else's feet on the way there and starts to go down, food and all. ]
What is Morningstar in this world, other than a destabilizing force? Do we know what they want from us? What benefit do they get from helping us this way?
Someone has probably asked these questions a long time before me, but I would like to know how people decided whether or not they were the ones to trust over the UN.