outer_divide | [video]

Entry tags:

[video]

[River is a seventeen-year-old girl who looks exactly like this. The cuts on her arm and forehead are relatively recent, though they've been cleaned up. But there are older scars and marks if you look close enough. She's wearing the same dress, and still isn't wearing any shoes.

She turns on the video, and frowns at the device in her hands. It's clear from the background that she's on the ship again, sitting on the floor.] Dedicated source box. Filtered information from the Cortex...only what they want you to see. But it’s broken. Bits and pieces stuck inside that don’t belong.

[Then, she looks directly into the camera.] We don’t belong. We’re lost...lost in the woods.

((ooc: River won't really be able to read thoughts through the communicator, but let me know if there's any significant body language or physical features she might draw conclusions from. She may or may not actually comment on it.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[she smirks] Semantics are important.

No, lovely. Survival is important. Food, shelter, fresh pack of cigarettes, those are important.

Smoking causes at least twelve types of cancer. [why is that important, seriously :|]

No one lives forever, little one.

[pointedly] Some try harder.

You ever hear the tale of the grasshopper and the ant?

The fable is broken.

Actually I find it quite apt.

See, and stop me if you've heard this one, there was once an ant and a grasshopper who lived close together in a very nice patch of meadow. All summer long the ant worked hard, pacing back and forth from his hill, gathering food and fortifying his home. And all summer long the grasshopper sang his merry little tunes and enjoyed a life of leisure.

Once or twice the ant spared just enough time to lecture the grasshopper, telling him winter would be on its way sooner than later, but the grasshopper went on enjoying those balmy summer days without a care in the world.

[ He pauses for effect. ]

Then, through this particular meadow on a cool fall day, a herd of deer ran through and trampled both of them to death.

Care to guess the moral of the story, little one?

The grasshopper died singing...he was happy.

But that isn't how the story goes.

A good observation. But wrong.

The moral is that there is no moral. A person's tale can end suddenly, unexpectedly, for no reason at all. You can take all the precautions in the world, eat all the right foods, work hard, live in all the ways they say you should. Or you could live a life of indulgence until you were sick on it.

And a robber could stab you tomorrow, and then none of it would matter.

So I'll enjoy my cigarette, if it's just the same to you, miss.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only