HarperMadi
🎨 Media Gallery
- RP Date
- YE 46.2
- RP Location
- Yamatai
Thread is series of JPs with @Rizzo
Preamble: Interview with Thorn Ironhart
In space, no one can hear you scream.
Probably for the best, given the impotent, incoherent rage as Thorn, the real Thorn Ironhart’s mind thrashed against the confines of its mortal coil. The late night talk show had cracked her will to be unseen, the rage crushing any hope of a quiet retirement of stellar geography and prospecting.
"Well of course it is, after all," he looked into the camera, "I'm the one who built it."
This statement caused an incoherent scream of rage before she took a deep breath, calming herself.
“Okay, Thorn, you’re okay. He just… Stole your life’s work. It’s okay… No physical harm. I’m gonna fucking kill him.” She reached up, sucking down a ration bar before entering a course, and with a moon shaped tear in reality, the Oracle dropped from normal space, already on course to Yamatai.
She had broken into Yamataian space before. Broken into the Capitol world twice. It was a simple matter for her. The Oracle could disguise itself as a piece of debris from the battle of Yamatai, ignored and systems dead. It could easily use this disguise to latch on to a passing freighter. Could easily fall off in orbit and “burn up in the atmosphere,” her personnel pod and cargo pod making a simple deorbit maneuver, the core of the ship casually disguising itself as a derelict and tumbling communications satellite. From there, she could hunt, observe, watch Candon’s every move.
Like a cat stalking her prey, she would be careful, makeup to disguise her scars, hairstyles to hide the augment replacing her ear. Dye to change her hair color. A stolen Kikyo Scout uniform to shift suspicion away. A schoolgirl’s uniform the next day, then a farm child’s clothes for the final, where she would pick the lock for that hangar near Uesureyan Fields. A simple EM spike was all she needed to disable the lock and destroy the alarm. She returned her hair color to that distinct brown, dressed in the distinctive space suit she had worn for every mugshot. She casually, ritually placed the stunner on her wrist, with a knife at her belt. Then she used the little weapon to shatter the lock on his liquor cabinet. Then she poured herself a drink of his finest, unplugged the fridge, reset the clocks behind by two hours.
This was mild for the four feet and three inches of scars and chaos. She thought she must be mellowing in her old age, her body always ached so. Tiny, emaciated, with her body incapable of telling her how hunger gnawed at her and a pair of air filters replacing too much of her lungs. But perhaps she could be okay one day. For now, this body had proven too useful. Easy to incite pity that she could leverage. Incite anger at the “others.”
With her second drink, she sat in his favorite chair, sipped her drink, and watched the door. Candon’s android, who’d gone by the name Donny for some years now, entered his house and hung his hat on the nearby coat hanger and locked the door. The spartan interior of his home didn’t have all that many amenities except a few obviously fake pictures of him photoshopped into pictures of other people. Though the quality of the fake photos was seamless, Thorn had know where Candon had been during those times the photos were obviously meant to have been taken. The clever Thorn would have been impossible to fool with such a small ruse, though her fury may have narrowed her vision to only her goal at the time. Donny entered the room, oblivious to her presence as he headed toward the pile of mail next to the front door, opening each one, reading, and discarding each one in a manner that made even dripping molasses impatient.