Scene #8416: Sooper 7 Motel

Owner	Pose
Nephra Tangent	Petra may not well-remember the town of Carnegie Park, especially without the birds-eye perspective her last arrival had, but the same dreary chimeys and hazy hills backdrop the landscape, and old buslines branch off from the motorways towards the same rain-pitted streets. Pedestrians are few and far between, mostly walking by in the form of chit-chatting groups, and the municipal transit is more a formality than a service- posted shedules being years out of date, and routes esoteric. The air is dense with humid warmth, ill-fitting the pervasive cloudcover. It's not a welcoming town. Nephra gave instruction to meet at a motel, and her room number. Puddles in the parking lot asphalt, nestled between stationary cars, reflect the neon-orange glow of "Sooper 7" from the signboard up above, visible all the way to the distant highways. Only some of its other bulbs seem to be lit, however- where motels often advertise "(No) Vacancies", this one only flickers with "can". It's a squat construction, as they all tend to be, L-shaped and concrete. Stairwells lead right up to the rooms, and Nephra is situated in lucky number 235. Not that Petra would ever have to check by the number- a folded bedsheet is clearly hanging from the handle of one single door in row after row of identical rooms, propped ever so slightly ajar so one could enter without having to be let in. A bit of curtesy, just as requested. The room's interior is far less a courteous sight- even after being hastily cleaned up, with dozens of wrenches, an oversized duffel, and a few spread-out toolkits covering the meager counterspace and windowside AC unit. The clean sheet came from one of the room's beds, and the trash bin is full of a surprising number of brown glass bottles. The carpet is a gaudy floral hellscape, clashing with striped wallpaper and diamond patterned blankets, and everywhere smells of dust. It's somewhere, and it's inside, and it's quiet, and there's hot coffee sitting in a still-sputtering machine. Nephra is visible, too, of course. She can't really hide, not in a unit like this. A shock of turquoise comes up over the top of an old fabric chair, turned to face the wall instead of the small table it's paired with. "Just say when." Her voice is flat, calling out to the other girl as soon as she hears her start to enter. But flat isn't angry, or frustrated, or anything else it could or should be, at least.
Petra Soroka	PHONE: Phoning Nephra Tangent, Petra Soroka blurts out all at once, "You feel like someone who's been homeless." . . . PHONE: Nephra Tangent says, "Yeah, okay. If you don't trust me, I can stick to advice. Suggestion one: you don't fucking want to sleep out on the street. You didn't fish. I offered." . . . PHONE: Phoning Nephra Tangent, Petra Soroka says, "No, I'm-- I'm-- well, maybe I'm panicking, but I feel like being homeless isn't the most important reason, I can deal with that, I just need to, I need--" PHONE: Phoning Nephra Tangent, Petra Soroka pauses for a moment. PHONE: Phoning Nephra Tangent, Petra Soroka makes an uncomfortable little noise. PHONE: Nephra Tangent says, "Haha. Yeah." PHONE: Phoning Nephra Tangent, Petra Soroka says, "You-- you're not a rat, you said. Um. There's--" PHONE: Phoning Nephra Tangent, Petra Soroka says, "I... I mean, it's not, if you..." PHONE: Phoning Nephra Tangent, Petra Soroka says, "...I could probably use a place to sleep." PHONE: Phoning Nephra Tangent, Petra Soroka says, "But that's-- there's some things you have to be completely, dead silent about, forever to everyone always." PHONE: Nephra Tangent says, "Okay. I can do that." PHONE: Nephra Tangent says, "I'll forward you the directions." PHONE: Phoning Nephra Tangent, Petra Soroka says, "And can you... leave a clean sheet by the door, and not look when I come in?" PHONE: Phoning Nephra Tangent, Petra Soroka says, "...Thanks. I'm sorry to-- sorry to, you know." PHONE: Nephra Tangent says, "Clean sheet, no looking. Sure thing." It's been less than 24 hours since Petra was released from jail. Less than 24 hours since she met Matthew Rook, since all that shouting in her cell, since he fucking hit her how dare he. Less than 24 hours since Petra weaseled her way out of his presence and masterminded herself into guilty homelessness. With the Kana still in Paladins holding, she doesn't even have the buffer she used to between herself and and the bleak reality of being a teen girl with no money and no place to stay. Except, of course, the alien Silver flowing through her metal framework, promising unparalleled strength, comfort, and supremacy. Thinking about that-- relying on that-- feels even worse than panicking. Petra isn't prepared for being turned out on the streets, even if what passes for her blood now insists that the whole city should be subservient to her. Her overalls were left behind in the cell. The thought sends a little pang of depair through her, since that specific set had been one of her favorite outfits ever since Applied Ontology. She does have her bomber jacket, zipped up for once to cover up the red and silver streaks on the shirt Lilian had given her. No such concealment can be done for the silver-undertoned ravaged marks on her legs, or her neck, or the irregularly-concealed damage to either side of her head-- but never her face.
Petra Soroka	Besides losing her access to shelter, not having the Kana forces Petra to do something she's never done before: rely on public transit systems. With her strange outfit, battered appearance, and bleary, unsteady readjustment to being outside, around people, Petra is worn down by the mortifying ordeal of continually making simple navigation errors. Refusing to ask for help at first from the apathetic, grungy, festering populace, Petra wanders herself in circles, failing to read paper maps correctly and being misled even when she does. It's not like she has her phone to direct herself, after all. The warm, thrumming energy coursing beneath her semisolid skin promises faster, more comfortable travel, if she would just use it. She doesn't. Despite the prickling, lingering stares of pedestrians, the questioning looks that bus drivers give her when she ends up boarding the same bus twice due to getting off at the wrong stop, despite the immediate aversion anyone on the street has to acknowledging her when she finally buckles and asks for help finding the motel. She gets there, eventually, trudging up the staircase with her indoor slip-on shoes that had already seen enough outdoor use to look ruined. Petra glances at the bedsheet on the door and deflates a little, letting herself relax just a tiny bit. She checks that no one's around to see, then unzips her bomber jacket, exposing the silver hatch marks down her forearms, along with the burns, bruises, and scabs that Lilian left. She wraps the bedsheet around herself, tossing it over the top of her head so that only her face is visible like a cloak, then pushes the door open slowly. Spotting Nephra, her shoulders sag further, and once she steps inside she immediately collapses to sitting on the ground. The thud of collision is heavier than it should be-- but not by much, maybe two times heavier than what Petra seems to be, rather than the full density of steel. "Yeah. I'm good, now." Petra readjusts on the floor, shuffling around to sit more comfortably. It's automatic. The position wasn't actually causing her pain, not with the way her joints can move, not with the distanced, dulled way she feels what approximates pain now. "...Thanks. I-- yeah. Back from the grave, I guess, to you, haha."
Nephra Tangent	Petra's crash to the floor doesn't even make the other girl flinch. Twice Petra is still barely anything, and Nephra is used to far louder crashes. That, or her eardrums are still spotty from being blown out by sonic booms. Instead, over the moments of shuffling and collapsing, she simply hums out a rhythmless trill, a distraction needed even for such short a period of patience. 'Yeah. I'm good, now.' Nephra leans her head back, over the edge of the chair, until she's bent back far enough to see Petra. Albeit upside down. Her feet brace her new posture against the wall, boot treads ever so slightly ripping at the wallpaper. Eh. Nobody'll notice. "Yeah. You really sound like the grave's where you came up from. Haha." A lollipop stick bounces around her lips, from how the candy piece is tucked in her cheek. "Though, Miss Rook tried to make it pretty clear you hadn't been offed by anyone, so, y'know. I'm not surprised you're not a corpse. I'm just surprised you're walking and talking here." Did she let you out? She pauses, and lets out a rough, wincing cough. The posture really isn't good to stay in long. "...No heat, no prison break, somehow out of 'you-won't-see-her-again' territory." She pushes against the wall with her leg, rotating the very much non-swivel chair she's sitting on, until it's once more facing the rest of the room. The vinyl of her jacket, pulled tight around herself, refracts spots of red-tinted light from the overhead source against the walls. "...Can't imagine you're having a good time. Haha. So tell me what you've got to. Or don't. There's coffee in the pot." She holds out an arm, leaning forwards and stopping sharp- Stupid ribs. -before opening her glove's grip, a lollipop outstretched and offered between two fingers. The room's not large enough to be terribly out of reach.
Petra Soroka	Petra isn't really sure if she can eat a lollipop. In the day since Dimo visited her, she just let her delivered meals pile up on the ground, like usual, so she hasn't had a chance to check. She takes it anyways, plucking the stick between two fingers, and freezes when the sensation reminds her of her lack of cigarettes. God, how was that not the first thing she did when she got out of jail, she's been dying to-- Or, not, actually. She plumbs for the neurological desire to find that it's mostly gone. There's no chemical yearning, just the dull throb of missing the routine and ritual. It's almost certainly because of the Silver. Rather than being relieved, Petra looks briefly annoyed. All that suffering through withdrawal and she doesn't even get a cathartic story out of it. Everything about Petra's demeanor communicates that she should look exhausted, from the drained way she talks, to the hunch of her shoulders beneath the obscuring sheet, to Nephra's-- even limited-- knowledge of the context. But despite that, despite the downturn of her eyes, she superficially looks rejuvenated. Silver streaks gleam in her eyelids when she blinks, faintly shimmering tar-black accentuates her face like eyeshadow. Her skin is clear and glossy, which seems out of place with what Nephra saw of her ruined shoes. "...Lilian wouldn't kill me. She tried-- she was more worried that I'd-- well, you know." Petra crosses her arm under the sheets, and the makeshift hood falls down around her neck. She tugs it closer, covering everything below her chin, but otherwise leaves it be. "If you're curious, you should just say that. Otherwise I'm not going to--" Petra cuts off and is silent for a moment, seeming to effortfully readjust a mental dial. "I guess you do have a bit of a right to know some of it, don't you. You did try to help, before, and you're not-- not one of the ones I'm mad at. I just-- I just don't want to barge into your place and start venting at you, you know?" She pulls her legs up to her chest and rests her chin on her knees. "I just... need to settle down for a minute. After everything. But it's-- it's Lilian I'm, that I'm worried about. She didn't release me, it's, i-it's, I--" Petra shudders and mutters an apology, popping the lollipop in her mouth and falling silent.
Nephra Tangent	The metallic color in Petra's eyes draws interest, and on instinct, Nephra indulges her curiosity. There's a subtle clicking noise, telegraphed by a faint twitch in the muscle of Nephra's left cheek, as her prosthetic optic focuses on Petra, overlaying her in a rudimentary structural readout- well, mostly attempting to check the density of the weird sparkling liquid, but it's not quite like the rest of her can avoid its analysis. A crude camera can't pick out just one thing in a shot. 'She was more worried that I'd-- well, you know.' Nephra gives this a small nod. It's not the kind of thing that needs words out loud. She does know. With gloves fingers, she pinches the bridge of her nose, and carries on. "Haha. Curious. Sure, you can color me curious, but who isn't, really." "I don't have a right to know. I'm not in on anything, and I'm pretty much no-one, anyways. Haha. But if you want someone to tell, you can rest pretty easy that I'll probably get my head bashed hard enough to forget it all someday." Knuckles rap against the side of her forehead- they sound louder than they should, even through heavy gloves. Heavy gloves worn indoors, in a motel, no less. "And if you're worried about rudeness, shove off. This place is barely even mine. Spill what's eating you. It probably eat me too. Probably. Haha." Nephra's molars crunch around her own lollipop, sending fragments chipping off, to stick tight against enamel. When she speaks up next, the joking tone's been replaced with a lower, quieter timbre. "But, ah. Do take your time. You do need a minute. Hell, you need more. So if you just want to sit tight, just tell me if you need anything I could get you. My help's probably not pretty deep, but.." She shrugs, shoulders rolling under vinyl, metal electrode caps brushing against it. 'She didn't release me' Haha. Oh boy. "...What's got you worried about Rook? Last I heard, she was the one worried about you." Her eyebrow raises, and teeth clench behind tight lips.
Petra Soroka	"I don't know about that. You're less of a nobody than me; you're like, actually a proper Elite." Petra's skin is a milimeter-thick film over a sea of silver. Skin over blood over muscle over bone over marrow, but all of it is made of a uniform semisolid metal, like a metamaterial of inorganic stem cells, none of it structured like a human's evolutionary history demands, built as function for the shape rather than shape for the function. Lightweight and flexible, durable beyond belief, near-infinitely adapable, the material has a non-newtonian sort of invincibility, where even if it's hit with the extreme force required to break, it instead shatters, softens into droplets, and recollects. She wasn't like this a couple months ago, probably. "...She was worried about me? A-and that, and she said that to you all? What did-- what did she say?" Her tone is blatantly needy and hopeful, and she's being careful not to look directly at Nephra, as if that makes it somehow casual instead. "God, I must've missed so much." Petra sighs in agitation, with an undercurrent of a distant, resonant hum, like the engine of a ship a thousand times her size. "I feel like I shouldn't even get to rest at all. She and I-- Lilian-- we, I guess we talked a lot, and it was almost-- it should've been all better, but something-- something happened, and now I-I-I'm, I need to fix it, but I don't know how at all, and don't know if I can."
Nephra Tangent	"Haha. That's a funny one. A proper Elite." She doesn't raise an eye at the startling discovery of Petra's (new?) physiology. It's... certainly a surprise, though- Nephra's felt the other girl's skin and flesh give way, and it didn't line up with what her readout is telling her. She shakes her head, softly. What the hell happened to you. "...I don't know what you think counts as proper. Haha. But you don't really know me in the first place, anyhow." She brushes off that line, and leans back in the chair, ever so slightly. Its frame creaks, and she reflexivly stops moving, to shrink her shoulders down a bit. "...She said a bunch of things about you. That it shouldn't have been you, that she wanted to take what she did back and that she'd figure something out to make stuff right. Told me not to think too hard about that, so I haven't. Haha." Hands get shoved into pockets. The paper stick between her lips is bitten into, bending slightly. "The fuck you plan on succeeding at like this?" Despite the words, still spoken dead-flat. "Shoulda's and coulda's and woulda's. Stick to the 'do's, okay? You do need rest. You do need that minute. And you do have a chance for it. Do you already have some sort of magic solution to this mystery problem? Sure doesn't sound like it." She sighs. "Sounds- well, looks and seems, more like you've got a whole lot of other problems you need help with, anyways. And they'll get in the way. They always do. Haha."
Petra Soroka	"I guess I don't." The line sounds anything but accusatory. Neutral like agreement, distant like she's talking to someone other than Nephra, a little hollow. Petra doesn't say anything after that, gaze directed unfocused at the far corner of the room. "Fuck. She said all that? Fuck. God." Petra shudders, her voice choked. The shaking keeps going, when she opens her mouth to try to continue, and words fail to come out. Exhaling forcefully, Petra presses her eyes into her knees to hide her face, and roughly reaches her arms over her back to grab fistfuls of sheet to pull it over her head. She doesn't seem to notice that this exposes a stripe of her lower back, carved with silver gashes like raw whipping. "God. I'm so stupid. I-I-I, I thought--" Petra hiccups, right as the sobbing starts. It makes her stumble over her words, which almost makes her stop, but holding the flood back isn't possible for her right now. "I-I-I thought she l-left, and abandoned me, a-after we, after we finally understood each other, and I was in solitary for like, a month, but she didn't, she was just being held away by the fucking Paladins, who were trying t-to, to fucking, 'extradyke' me! Like, trans-- transfer me, to another prison, and fucking, parade me around on trial, and they sent-- I don't know if you've, if you've met her, Dimo, this fucking horrible r-robot person to force me, and th-they said that Lilian sent her, and--" Petra takes a shuddering breath, trying to stabilize herself and failing, still muffled by being covered in the sheets. "Fuck. Shit. Sorry. I-I'm. That's not the-- that's just the, the excuse. I-I-I made a deal with someone I really really really shouldn't a-and, and she was, was t-trying to get me out the whole time, but she just-- and now she's-- she's--"
Nephra Tangent	"Haha." Quiet, reflexive, flat. Less like speech and more like breathing. It's normal, she thinks, to talk like she's not there in the first place. Backdrop and setpieces. The second Petra's gaze is far away from her, her face relaxes into a worried frown, freed from having to be seen. The silver mars Petra accidentally exposes elicit a faint eye twitch from Nephra. Blade wounds? Or... goodness, what was done to you... The idea of whip cracks and medeival wooden stockades fill her mind. The freshness of them- well, fresh by her best judgement, but her familiarity with injury doesn't stretch to people who bleed metal- concerns her. Not enough to try and consider why she'd have them, but enough to raise a hand to her mouth to cover a cough, and, quietly, say "...I've got rubbing alcohol and bandages, if you need." She carries on, doing her best to not dwell on it. "And, yeah. She said a lot. A lot of people have said a lot. Golly gee willicker should some of them just stayed quiet. Haha. Um." She pauses at Petra's tears, and winces. It's far harder to watch than the injuries. "...At least some of them got just a little of what they deserved. Oh well." 'I was in solitary for like, a month' Nephra sucks her teeth. "...Jeez, Petra. Solitary? No wonder you're a-" She stops herself from saying 'wreck'. "..Haha. Dimo." Is that who? She's not trying hard enough to mask a hint of anger in her voice. "Can't.. say I'm familiar. Can't say I want to be." The way Petra says 'force' comes with yet another shattering crunch of the lollipop still somehow in her mouth, finishing the job- just something in between teeth she desperately wants to grind. Too bad it doesn't end with that. "...Just the excuse." It's a damn unpleasant one. If it's not what's got her like this... Nephra holds on to the anger. Even if Petra won't. "...And now she's what, Petra?"
Petra Soroka	"...I've got rubbing alcohol and bandages, if you need." Petra pokes her head up with a watery-eyed glare, then flinches and tugs her shirt down to cover her back. "I don't. I'm fine." Then, quieter, "Sorry. Thanks. I don't need it." Petra exhales a shuddering, angry breath, past the lollipop in her mouth. "I wish they'd all get what they deserved. Lilian deserves better. She deserves better from them. I fucking hate a-all of them and I-I-I'm, I'm going to make it a little better, for h-her, anyways. Even if all the rest of them deserve w-worse. 'Deserving is something invented in hell.'" "...And now she's what, Petra?" Petra squeezes her arms around her legs and swallows. It feels really, really nice to talk to someone normally, finally, after so long, but the world still swims with remnants of a dreamlike haze. Petra doesn't trust herself, to know what kinds of things she should say, and what she shouldn't, and especially can't trust herself to share information about Lilian. Once she says something, it can't be taken back. "I-- she's. I-I-I put her in danger. L-like, really, serious, actual danger, b-because I-I, I didn't trust her enough, a-a-and, and I, I contacted a, a, someone, and told him things I-I shouldn't, and now he's hurting her, and I was w-wrong, the whole time, and--" Petra's repetitive rambling is cut off, when she pulls the lollipop out of her mouth and gestures with it between her fingers. The candy is noticeably smaller than it was before, but a layer of squirming, hydrophobic mercury engulfs it, even crawling down the stick. Petra shrieks and throws it across the room, and with her face upright like this, Nephra can see identically-composed mercury tears welling in her eyes and glittering in electroplated trails on her cheeks. "Fuck! God! Ew! P-pretend you didn't see that. I-I-I, it's, s-something's wrong with me, it's not--"
Nephra Tangent	"Yeah. Figured you'd say that. Haha. It's always fine, it's always nothing. You don't wanna talk about it, that's fine. I can't make you." She curses, under her breath, and speaks back up, quieter. "Fucking figures. Nobody's a prison guard 'less they get off hurting kids like you. 'Course whatever hellhole they put you'd be just like all the rest." 'Deserving is something invented in hell.' "Haha. Fuck's that supposed to mean. Deserving's just the way of things. Talk shit, get hit. Fuck up, get fucked up. Something, something, equal and opposite reaction, what goes around comes around. You can say it a lot of different ways, but it's what it is, ain't it? Up to everyone to mete out what's earned." "People deserve plenty worse. Ishirou deserved worse than getting thrown off a building. Too bad I'm nice." She pauses, as if for dramatic effect in the juxtaposition. A wincing cough cuts off her silence. "...Yeah. Next time I'll find a taller one, the fucker." "Ain't mine to know who fucked you over bad, Petra. But it's pretty easy to be a pain to others who're gettin' better than they deserve, if you're already deserving worse than they can give out. Can't fall from the bottom." Shoulders roll into a shrug. '...I, I contacted a, a, someone, and told him things I-I shouldn't, and now he's hurting her...' Nephra grimaces, for just a moment. "...Right." She's quiet, breath held in. Her eye finds Petra, and fixes on her, expression flat and still. Percieved betrayal into fearful lashing out. That much is clear, through all the vagueness. Nothing more really needs to be. "Yeah. Sounds like you did fuck stuff up." 'I-I-I, it's, s-something's wrong with me, it's not--' Her expression shifts, from grim and flat to worried and softer. "Someone did this to you, huh? I, uh.." Nephra taps the corner of her face, right near the patch of her prosthetic eye. "Wasn't really hard to notice, you know. Weren't lining up with flesh and blood from the start, and.." Don't mention the tears. She'll see if she looks in a mirror. "You didn't want that done." A statement, not a question. Did it hurt? "Yeah. Really ain't fucking fair."
Petra Soroka	"Nobody's a prison guard 'less they get off hurting kids like you." A queasy expression and uncomfortable shuffling beneath the sheet is the only response Nephra gets for a bit. And then, halfheartedly, feeling like a half true explanation of her discomfort, "I'm not a kid." "'Deserving' is... it's tautological, I think." Big word! Petra clearly put a lot of time into thinking about this topic, from her thoughtful tone. "It doesn't actually mean anything besides 'deserving', and it doesn't have any effect on what happens. It's different from 'should' and 'could', and has nothing to do with 'did'. So what's the point?" "Ishirou didn't deserve to come back, but the Paladins shouldn't have left him there to rot. The rest of them deserve to be hurt, but right now, I need them for Lilian's sake. I think..." The sheet bunches up and trembles, where Petra's hand under it grabs angry fistfuls. As she keeps talking, her voice builds with a jagged, unsteady hum, like a distant subvocal snarl. "If you want to drag people down and beat them and make them hurt-- if you want to punish them for their good fortune-- getting caught up in 'deserving' is pointless. It's looking for an excuse for something you can just do anyways." Petra forcefully exhales some of her built-up tension, then blinks in surprise, silver-lined eyelids reflecting twinkles of light. "You threw Ishirou off a building? For Lilian? For me? Or did he do something else?" "Wasn't really hard to notice, you know." Petra groans, hiding her face in the sheet. "I hate her. I hate her so much. I-I can't even do anything about it, r-right now, because I need to help Lilian first. Aren't you...? Your mech thing is part of your body, sort of, i-isn't it? It's not really the, the same thing at all, but... I don't know.")
Nephra Tangent	'I'm not a kid.' "Haha. Sure you aren't. And I'm the-" A flinch cuts off whatever would ensue as the latter part of her joke. There's a heavy pause, as Nephra shifts her gaze around and takes a long, shallow breath. Can't be- oh, no. She probably is younger than me. So that's... She backs off. "...Yeah. Guess you're not." "Tautological. Haha. That's a big word. Means.. kind of recursive, don't it? Or I'm misrememberin' what miss Persephone explained it as. But I think she meant it pretty similar to you. I don't really think I get what's different between 'deserve' and 'should', though. Haha. But maybe that's too tricky thinking for little old me." Nephra lets out a groan, which quickly breaks into a strained cough. "Ugh, you know what the worst thing about bashing his silly little viewplate in was? I was doing it for his sake. The fucker. Mad he's making me regret being soft on him. Just wanted to scare the stupid out of him, but I think it's in too deep for that now, though. Hoped he'd cut the shit, or run away and live a normal life, like he, at least, probably coulda. If he gets on my nerves again, don't think I'll be so nice to call his friends to help him back on his-" A small giggle, fading into a wince, and Nephra readjusts her posture once more. "Foot. Didn't have two by the end of it. Haha." 'If you want to drag people down and beat them and make them hurt-- ...something you can just do anyways.' "Damndest thing. Second time I've heard that in 'bout as many days. You and Miss Rook really do think pretty likewise on some things." Nephra scratches at her head, absentmindedly, gloved fingers running against still-fading scabs. She doesn't offer her thoughts beyond that. 'I-I can't even do anything about it, r-right now, because I need to help Lilian first.' Teeth grind between tight-pulled jawbones. "Her. That Dimo figure?" It's still a guess. Her anger mirrors off Petra's tone, Fingers curl underneath glove canvas, the sole barrier from fingernails digging into skin. If pressed, she wouldn't be sure in any answer as to why. "Yeah. Well. You ever feel the need to stick a knife in her guts, I'll pin her arms for you." It's not quite an offer. 'Your mech thing is part of your body, sort of, i-isn't it?' She speaks up, a slight defensive edge to her voice. "Why do you keep calling it that? It's nothing like your machine. And it's- I can hook it in to me, sure. But the part that's... physically part of me is just the neural bridge for that. The suit's not even really built to handle that. Haha. So it's like me, in that regard." She taps her shoulder, vinyl crinkling at the impact. "Ain't even in right now. Got busted up bad, I'm- I'm still setting its guts straight." A faint curse slips past her lips. "...Oh, yeah. It's standin' in the bathroom. Wouldn't want it to jumpscare you. But there's, ah, less static there than... I'll move it. Don't worry."
Petra Soroka	"I was doing it for his sake. The fucker." Petra scoffs, lips twisting into an ugly sneer for a moment. "You're nicer than I am. I murdered him just for myself and now I kind of feel like I want to do it again for everyone's sake but his." She sighs, sagging against the bedframe behind her. "But I won't. Also, unfortunately, for everyone's sake but his. Well, mostly Lilian's, to be honest. Most of 'everyone else' can get fucked." "You and Miss Rook really do think pretty likewise on some things." Quiet again, Petra shuffles awkwardly, then mutters, "I try. She's the smartest person I know. I-I-- you saw her recently? I-is--? N-no, wait, a couple days ago, that's... before...." A heavy breath out, trailing off. Taut silence, like the sigh was supposed to release the tension in her voice and failed. Shallow breath in, deep breath out, then again, forcing out every bit of air inside her, suffocating just by sitting there. The sensation feels like it should go away, but doesn't. She just has to sit with it. Dimo. Petra nods, still huddled with the sheet scrunched up under her chin. "Maybe I'll make a habit of killing Paladins Chevaliers. There's practically none I like, anyways, besides Lilian. Maybe Tamamo if she didn't rightfully hate me. Futaba's alright, I guess." Petra hums derisively in an attempt to snort. "But Dimo. Ishirou. Hearthward. Hearthward hasn't even done anything much to me, he just sucks, and I don't think anyone would miss him." Petra's head droops, and she tenses up. "God. I must be exhausted, if that's where my mind is going. I'm not killing anyone, I'm-- I need to help, now, and fix things. Whatever happens with Dimo happens later. And they took my mech, anyways, so it's not 'my machine' anymore." Petra looks away from Nephra, towards the door. "Yeah. No mech, anymore, it's just me. I-I'll figure out something to do, somewhere to go, so I'm not-- loitering here for too long."
Nephra Tangent	'Also, unfortunately, for everyone's sake but his. Well, mostly Lilian's, to be honest.' Nephra snorts. "She didn't really seem so keen on him staying alive, last time I heard. Said she wouldn't blame me if I offed him, and that's basically giving one's blessing, ain't it? Haha." A short pause, as teeth grind against a paper lollipop stick. "You'd know if it's for the better not to, probably. But if you wind up wanting him dead, don't think for a second you'd be alone in your corner." Her joking tone is mismatched with her dead-serious expression. 'I-I-- you saw her recently?' "Oh, yeah. That's why my suit's needin' fixing. Haha. I-" She winces, not quite from pain. "...We had a talk." As if that answers much at all. 'Maybe I'll make a habit of killing Paladins Chevaliers.' "There's worse habits." Her gaze shifts around the room, but settles back towards Petra, after a moment. Something faintly akin to skittishness, maybe. "If that Dimo fucker's out there, doing-" She pauses, and doesn't elaborate. Monster. "Then at least she's got it coming. If you don't want to be involved, I'd get it. Keep busy with what you've got to." 'I'm not-- loitering here for too long.' "Yeah, 'course you ain't. I'm not either. I'll probably be somewhere else this time next week." She sighs, slow and long. "But I'm going to fucking get you if you're stupid enough to think callin' me, or anyone else, for somewhere indoors, isn't part of 'figuring it out'. And I'm gonna get you even worse if you feel bad about it." Hands fish back into her jacket's pocket. The fact that it's clear fails to hide the handful of lollipops kept in them, and one such candy is pulled back out. Not to eat yet, but just to flip around her gloved fingers, absentmindedly. "Besides. Wouldn't be right of me to throw you back out in the world without, at least a new pair of shoes. Haha. So don't be in a huge hurry, yeah? Nothing's getting fixed this moment."