[center][h1]Lysandra's Journal[/h1][/center][hr][hr][center][h3]Childhood[/h3][/center] [hider=Childhood] [hr][hr] [hider=October 5, 2029][sub][h3]October 5, 2029[/h3][/sub] Hi MY NAMe is LYSANbra iTs MY BiRTHbAY (Gregory's note: like with her brother, we've started Lysandra on journaling. Once she turns seven, this will become a private diary. We believe that its significance is twofold: it's a literacy activity that she can take ownership of and a place for her to collect her thoughts and feelings and work through them. We hope that this is the start of something that will stay with her into adulthood and serve her well. If you ever go back and read this, we love you very much, cupcake - Daddy & Mommy.) [/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=September 28, 2031][sub][h3]Setemder 28, 2031[/h3][/sub] Deer Jurnul, I mab a dron today!!!! I nameb him Mister Scrufels. Mom anb [s]Dab[/s] Dad helped. I druw a fase on him and flib him aronb eveywer. Im super happy. its my birthday in a week Ill be 7 anb I [s]mab[/s] mad lots of new frends in Fresh Havin. Dad ses I can invit them. He ses were guna stay here a long tim. Good bye. Lysanbra[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=November 24, 2033][sub][h3]Novermber 24th - 13:51[/h3][/sub] [s]Dear[/s] Journal, I hate you. Why do I have to write in you!? Why do I have to talk to you like a person? Why? Becuse mom and dad say so and there even gunna check later. They litterly took Mr Scrufles away untill I did it. I always have to do what they say, even when I have my own ideas. Like last week, when we went [s]forig[/s] [s]forge[/s] forageing and I found a sellphone. It looked pretty good and I thouht we should restore it but they said no it was more usefull for wires and it's tuch screen. What if there was cool stuff on there they didn't even look! I watched every epasode of Star Trek. Like [u]every[/u] one and then Teen Tittans Go. Daniel's boared too. But he didn't even stand up for me and I have to write in this poopy thing. Ya, I said poopy and theres nothing you can do abbout it mom & dad. You aready took Mr. Scrufles and grownded me and theres no new shows so whatever. Did I write enugh? Lys[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=October 5, 2036][sub][h3]October 5, 2036 - 22:25[/h3][/sub] Dear Journal, I got a [s]metal[/s] medal today! No, I didn't win it lol and that missed spelling is going to bug me now. The line through it is a mark of eternal shame. Anyway! Mom and Dad won't tell me how they got it, but it's a Supergirl one and it's pretty rad. Daniel only got a sweater for his birthday. That's kind of useful and neccessary actually, but a medal is still better. It's got a bright shiny ribbon too. Of course Supergirl would never actually wear a medal unless she was just rewarded it by the government or whatever, but I get to show it off a bit. Elise and Mel have already asked me to borrow it and I was like maybe. Dad said it was good luck. I don't really believe in luck, tbh. I believe in science, like him and Mom do, but I know he was just saying that because that's like what you say, right? I'm going to treat it like a lucky charm though, and take it everywhere I go. Mostly so Daniel or my "friends" don't try to steal it. I'll stab them in the kidney's if they do. :) Whenever I'm not using it, I'll hang it on Mr. Scruffles. That's where it is right now. Anyway, the lights are about to go out because Fresh Haven saves most of it's power for growing plants. Till next time, Lys[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=April 30, 2039][sub][h3]April 30, 2039 - 21:00[/h3][/sub] So, I think I have a crush on Josh. He has just like... such a kind face and his hands are really nice. I'm blushing so much writing this. I feel so dumb. Only Josie and Mel know so far though, and Mel was like, "talk to Daniel, he knows Josh" but that'd just be super weird. I'm not going to tell my older brother that I like one of his friends. Sometimes Mel is kind of... special. Anyway, the big question is whether he has a crush on me. Josie insists he does. She says she caught him staring at me at least twice but I've never seen him. He always likes to hang out but then he gets really quiet around me so... I don't know. I literally [u][b]just[/b][/u] [u][b]don't[/b][/u] [u][b]know[/b][/u]. It's not like I could ask Mom and Dad. They'll just give me some sort of speech about how I'm "becoming a woman now" and "it's normal and natural" and "you'll figure it out, sweetie" and "when I was your age". Mom's period speech was traumatic enough. Seriously, I can't survive another one. Not even the supergirl medal's mystical powers can protect me lol. I got one piece of advice, and that was to ditch Mr. Scruffles. Yeah, that's not happening. He's my oldest and truest friend, he can fly, and he doesn't talk back. Mel, you're cut off for now (j/k). I'm seriously going to have to figure it out. Wish me luck! Lys[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=January 9, 2041][sub][h3]January 9, 2041 - 08:45[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles, I'm writing this now because I was too tired to do it last night. Your pages are filled with my growing list of adventures scouting. I'm usually quick. It's a point of pride. I can outrun, climb, and dodge basically anyone else my age. Mom says I'm lucky I got her legs and not Dad's because his knees are awful. I'll never know why parents brag about that stuff unless I ever become a parent, which I don't ever see happening, to be honest, unless we can reverse the collapse somehow. Maybe it'll start right here in Fresh Haven, but I'm not holding my breath. Anyway, I think I'm trying to distract myself from writing what I know I have to write, almost as if putting it down on paper will make it real. Mr. Scruffles is gone. He was my first creation. Sure, Mom helped me (and even Dad), but I was seven and he was mine and I drew that derpy lil' face on him in permanent marker and it's been there ever since, all scuffed and dirty from a dozen forced landings. Logically, I know he[s]'s[/s] was just a piece of machinery, but he felt like a pet or even a friend. God, I'm such a loser. Daniel and I were out on a scrounging mission. We've been going further lately without telling anyone because everything - and I mean [u]everything[/u] - close to home has been picked clean of anything useful. We were ambushed. It was a pack of thralls and one of those tentacle guys. I just left Mr. Scruffles behind. I had to run and I forgot to pick him up and he's still there. Honestly, Daniel and I were really lucky to escape. I just keep thinking about my little buddy, though, alone and lonely out there in an unsafe place. I couldn't find his signal once we got safe. Daniel gave me a hug, but I can tell he secretly thinks I'm overreacting. Maybe I am, but for now until I find him again, you're Scruffles. Do the name proud. Signing off, Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr][/hider] [hr][hr][center][h3]Young Adulthood[/h3][/center] [hider=Young Adulthood] [hr][hr] [hider=October 20, 2043][sub][h3]October 20, 2043 - 19:00[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles! I scored my first kill yesterday (aside from grimes since they don't really count)! I was with Brian, deep in the city where we usually like to go. It's our playground, honestly. Nobody else ventures out as far as we do, but I'd go further if he wasn't such a lil' chicken. Sometimes, I tease him about it, but then I always feel bad. He's honestly such a great guy and I know it. I don't want to emasculate him. I'd rather do... more productive things [s]and we actually get some privacy out there[/s]. Aaaaannnnyways, we found this office building a week ago full of good tech stuff. Those things are a pain with all of their stairs, but Dad always tells me how I'm young and in good shape and I should savour it because it won't last forever though I've got another solid fifteen years and blah blah blah. I just bend down, kiss him on the cheek and go. Really, the stairs are nothing if you pace yourself and one of the bonuses is that not many Lost make it up that high. There just isn't enough prey and it's not worth the effort for them. Well, not yesterday! A pack of three thralls came straight out at us and I matadored (yes, that's a verb now) one and it went tumbling over the edge. I swear, for a second, I felt its claws grab at my shirt, but it didn't get a grip or that would've been a long [u]long[/u] fall. Brian was able to impale another on a piece of rebar and beat its head in while it struggled to get free. I took my pistol out and all the practice I've been doing with Josie and Elise paid off. Three headshots and it dropped. Brian helped me toss him over the edge so it wouldn't just reform and gank us later. God, we had the best sex that night. TMI, I know, but I had to say it. We returned like conquering heroes this afternoon with backpacks full of power coils, batteries, screen components, speaker components, and vacuum tubes. I'm ready to go out again as soon as I can, but it'll be a science run. I've been working with Mon & Dad, learning everything I can before they get too old. Honestly, they're already too old to take the risks that I do, so I'm doing 70% of their sample return and scavenging. Fingers crossed I can keep learning, Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=July 5, 2045][sub][h3]July 5, 2045 - 20:30[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles, He left. That asshole fucking left. Fuck. Fuck Fuck [b]Fuck[/b] [u][b]Fuck HIM[/b][/u]. It was supposed to be cathartic getting that out but it hardly was. I know we had problems, but then he's just like, "I think we want different things out of life blah blah blah. I tuned out the rest. He was just looking for an excuse. I'm angry. I know that. I'm being irrational. I know that. You know what? I don't care. Emotions are a part of life and we need to get them out. Besides - Ugh - that's one of the most bullshit things men always do, and Brian did all the time too: "let's look at this rationally," or "can we just calm down a bit," or "I honestly don't think it's as bad as you're making it out to be." It's all of the subtle accusations and mansplaining. That shit is toxic and he became toxic. You know you're done with someone when the thought of seeing them doesn't make you happy anymore, when you're more nervous than excited. We'd reached that point and, if I did make a mistake, it was trying to fix it. I put myself out there and then he just tore me down. I'm twenty FFS. I get that he's a few years older and I don't want to be an old parent like Mom and Dad, but we had time and it's suddenly such a big sticking point for him, like, "make a baby for me Lysandra." Fuck you, pig. [u]My[/u] body. [u]My[/u] choice. It's irresponsible to bring a kid into this world. Like seriously, take a look around. It's just selfish. I'm going to be real here: he was never that blunt or rude about it literally, but it was this constant, building pressure to get serious. I'd be lying if I didn't say he had his good points, but I can look back on things with some clarity now and see how controlling he was. We had to go everywhere together and do everything together and god forbid I talked to any guy friends. Like Josh? Okay, I had a crush on him when I was twelve and here we are a decade later and you're going to be [u]that[/u] insecure? Yeah, no thank you. I just wish I'd had the guts to be the one to end it. 'Rationally', I know it's not true, but I almost feel like he got one last shot in. He controlled me one last time and put himself above me. Whatever. Fuck him. Here's to a few weeks of depression, too much drinking, and reconnecting with my friends and family. Maybe I'll even find time for some of Dad's 'back in my day' stories. 'Til then, Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=June 11, 2046][sub][h3]June 11, 2046[/h3][/sub] My Dad died today. He's gone. I'll never see him again. I can't even find the words and I don't know why I'm writing it. Maybe because I can't [u]say[/u] it. He was the only one I could share my feelings with and I didn't do it enough. I always just kissed him goodbye even when he had something important to talk about. I can't believe this is real. I can't imagine anything worse. I keep hoping it's a nightmare but I know it's not. Honestly, I don't have the energy to write anymore. [/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=March 30, 2047][sub][h3]March 30, 2047 - 21:45[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles, Guess who's an auntie! It's yah girl, Lys! Daniel and Mel have been busy preparing for the past nine months, pretty much, and to be honest, I was getting a little sick of it. It's all good now, though! The lil' guy finally decided to enter the world. Shame it's such a sad sack place, but if anyone can keep him safe, it's my big brother (and Mel's pretty badass too). I could see the pride on his face. It was a tangible thing, and I couldn't help but feel some too. I'm proud of my brother and his big heart. He's not a reckless idiot like I am. He's actually building something and sometimes it makes me wonder. The spectre of children was enough to drive a wedge between me and Brian, but that's neither here nor there. Today was all about little Tucker. He's still a shriveled red little conehead at the moment, but if he ends up looking anything like his parents, he'll be just fine. It was good to see Mom so happy too. She's been coping since Dad passed in the only way she knows: by working harder, but I hope that being a grandmother will bring back a bit more of her smile. I've missed it. The three of us and Mel spent hours trying to coax him to open his little eyes, and he did - kind of - a handful of times. I know he isn't mine, but I find myself caring about him and in wonder at a new life. This world is so broken. It doesn't have enough of that. I'll protect that kid. I'll be that friendly non-parental adult I know that he'll need. I wanna be the cool aunt and not the wine aunt, but we'll see where life takes us, eh? I seriously can't imagine myself ten years from now. What'll thirty-two-year-old Lysandra Tran look like? Seriously, if you're reading this, future me, you'd better be awesome! Until next time... Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=October 10, 2049][sub][h3]October 10, 2049 - 23:45[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles, I should totally be asleep right now. I have a scav mission in the morning. I got the radio to work, though, and pulled the songs off of that old smartphone. It's crazy to me how everyone used to have one and you could just keep all of your favourite stuff on it and talk with anyone anywhere anytime. To think that we had that and lost it all... it's sobering. Speaking of which, you know you're drunk when you wanna write a happy entry but end up in that place. Geez. Anyway, pre-collapse music is really something. It's so dense and layered. There are so many sounds and so much of it is electronic. We danced like demons. God, it was so much fun. The parts were a birthday gift from Derek and this was the best use I could've imagined for them. Honestly, I wasn't sure about him before. He seemed like a playboy, but he does these sweet things - genuinely sweet and not contrived - and I think I need to own up to my misjudgement of him. Someday, Derek, if we're an old married couple and you read this, know that tonight was the moment I started believing in you. Right now, you're lying in bed, all snuggled up and I just want to make you happy. I want you to be mine and to feel loved. You deserve that. Really, everyone does. Okay, I can officially admit that was corny AF. Time to fall asleep. 'Til next time, Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=December 29, 2050][sub][h3]December 29, 2050 - 17:30[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles, It was a rough Christmas. Mom had a flu and, after what happened with dad, we were all on edge. Even little Tucker seemed to sense that something was up. He kept saying "Hawmyomi" and trying to scamper over to her bed. Mel was pretty much ready to pop so we didn't want to put any more stress on her. The result was that the little rugrat got to spend plenty of quality time with "Aunt Wyss" and said aunt had precious little time to spend with a special somebody named "Umcuh Dewek." I'm sitting here with that lucky medal around my neck. I guess I've become a little more superstitious than I'd like to admit, but it seems to have worked. Little Lyra entered the world yesterday and Mom seems to have turned a corner. We didn't want her standing yet, but we wheeled her into the room to take a look from a distance. She isn't contagious at this point and she knows it, but there's an excess of maternal caution at work. Sometimes I feel weird about that. Am I just wired wrong? I like Tucker. God knows I'm pretty much an overgrown child myself. I just... don't really feel the urge to have children of my own, and it's not a fear of pregnancy or childbirth either. I just... I don't know. Anyways, I have to go. Tucker's crying and I want to let his parents get some long overdue sleep. Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=August 18, 2052][sub][h3]August 18, 2052 - 13:30[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles, I dumped his ass. Honestly, it's been coming for a while. I'm kind of not even mad, per se - just fired up. If I'm going to be totally honest, once it happened the first time, I should've cut him loose, but he's so smooth. I think, even in some messed up part of his mind, he believes his own bullshit. I pegged him for a player and I was right. Men say we're the irrational ones yet, as soon as they see a pretty woman who pays them any real attention, they just lose all logic. It's kind of pathetic. Truth told, I kept him around for the sex. I kept him around because I was needy. I kept him around because I was almost... ready for the letdown, as weird as that sounds. It doesn't hurt as much when you're expecting it. It was almost a case of, "okay, well you're cut. Bye." He's already tried to worm his way back in. He didn't try the "it'll never happen again" approach because he knows that I wouldn't buy it. He's not intellectually dumb. He's brilliant. He's not socially dumb either. He's smooth. He's emotionally dumb and... I'm rationalizing for him again. Fuck, I have Stockholm syndrome. He's not emotionally dumb. He's selfish and an asshole. There. I said it. Deep down, I think I'm a bit scared. I'll be twenty-eight in just over a month. I'm not super young anymore. I remember that conversation I had with my Dad when I was nineteen. He said I'd have about fifteen more years of youth. That was almost a decade ago and just thinking about that makes me miss him so dearly. He'd give me the hug I can't admit I really need. I'm more than halfway through that fifteen, though. How many more chances will I have before I'm old? What'll it look like being thirty-five or whatever? What'll it look like if I'm on my own? The one thing that I know is that Derek isn't the one and that's that. The search resumes. :( Stay tuned for the next episode of: Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=February 14, 2053][sub][h3]February 14, 2053 - 07:45[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles, Just a quick one today, since I'm headed out on a long scav run. We had a traveler come by a month ago - a Sidhe - and she told us about a mistle she'd seen and gave some rough coordinates. Normally, Fresh Haven would never send someone into that part of the city - it's rough - but they know I'm their best person and, honestly, I volunteered. I've been trying to continue Dad's work but I've been bottlenecked for almost a year without samples, but I'd be lying if I said that was the only reason... Mom's not doing so hot. She's not sick, exactly. She's just elderly and her blood pressure's high and... I'm not ready for what I know is coming. It could be in six months or six years, but it's coming and, to be honest, how can you ever be ready for that? Then there's Derek and his attempts to "win [me] back" and it's getting kind of pathetic. Add to that, Mel's been bugging me to watch Tucker all the time lately, like I don't have a life of my own. When a situation frustrates you, you need to remove yourself from it, so that's what I'm doing. Wish me luck! Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr][/hider] [hr][hr][center][h3]Injury & Recovery[/h3][/center] [hider=Injury & Recovery] [hr][hr] [hider=February 24, 2053][sub][h3]February 24, 2053 - 09:40[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles, I finally got them to bring you back to me! I wish we didn't have a lot of catching up to do. I [u]really[/u] wish we didn't. I'm admittedly in a happy drug-induced haze right now and I think the full enormity of things hasn't really dawned on me. I'm actively pushing that back. When it hits me I'm sure it'll be awful but... I don't know. I'll cross that bridge when I reach it. I fucked up, finally. Me against three Lost - and one was pretty serious. I should've died, but I didn't. That's always a good thing. No matter what I think later, it's good and I need to remind myself that. I can hold my hand to my chest and feel my heart beating and I'm just so grateful that this adventure called life didn't end. I tell myself that's not the morphine speaking. I'm in the med room, just dreaming away, feeling all warm and safe and cared for. I've seen so many people who I haven't in years. Even Brian - my ex from way back when - stopped by and we talked. It was good to see him and he's doing well. They brought my good luck medal and figures I didn't have it on me during that last run. Daniel came with my radio too and put it right up by my bedside. It sucks being stuck in bed. It'll be over soon but, whatever happens, I just want to be out again and moving around. Dr. Sandhu says I broke my back but that it's early going and I'm young and healthy. I know how this works in vertebrates (of which I'm one!): the spinal cord goes into shock. It heals and scabs and tries to repair, and you don't know how serious the damage is until later. It's hard to tell how much function I'll lose - if any - or retain - if any. I shudder to think about it and the spectre of how things are going to change reaches in through my rose-coloured cocoon of chemcially enhanced euphoria like a cold, rough hand to shake me. My scavenging days are over. I just pray that it's not too bad. My body's strong. I've treated it well and now is its time to repay me. Truthfully, though, we can't separate the body and the mind. That's poetic folly. I can't feel my legs. I keep waiting for something. I keep telling myself I've felt something. Dr. Sandhu said it'd be a week or two before we'd really know more and he could start getting me ready for rehab. Hah! That's a place I've been before. Brian was the cause last time around, or all the drinking I did after our breakup. I was half a girl then, and stupid. I might be half a girl again now, just more literally. I have three more days; then, we reach the two week point. I'm counting the hours, praying to a God I don't believe in. And should the worst happen and I hear a regretful "Lysandra, I'm sorry, but you're never going to walk again"? God, that's an alien thought. It doesn't seem real. I feel so nice right now, even though I'm scared. So if it happens that way, then I'll get my crippled ass in a good wheelchair and I'll manage. One way or another, I will. Just thankful that there will be a next time, Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=April 18, 2053][sub][h3]April 18, 2053 - 18:30[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles, I didn't feel like writing the 'dear' and that's not your fault. Last night was a good night, sitting there with Daniel like when we were kids, making up ridiculous creatures like the "Plum-bottomed Flutz-Warbler, Purple-speckled Snobleorb, and the Pickled Vomitfish. I tell myself that it was fun to remind myself that there [i]will[/i] be good times. I can [u]still[/u] have good times. But it's so hard to see that now. The pain today was unreal. Just sitting up without the back support. They have me in this kind of brace but I can [i]feel [/i]the rods - foreign objects - implanted in my body. They're making me do things that they say are for my own good. Dr. Sandhu and the nurses are looking in all of these old pre-collapse books and they're asking me to help, trying to get me to take an interest in my own 'recovery'. I can't. I just fucking can't. I tried to be optimistic. The first time they let me out of bed, they lifted me into a wheelchair and, honestly, I'd been robbed of going anywhere for more than two weeks, so it felt amazing just to be able to move around at all. I thought I'd be okay, but I'm not. This body is a prison. It's a broken thing and all the rehab in the world might make it a bit better but will never make it heal. My only option is to live like this - reduced - forever. I thought it'd just be a matter of not walking. I thought I could live with that, but... God... this journal is only for me. Maybe you're the only thing keeping me in the game at this point, Scruffles. You and the shame of giving up and letting my family down. They're all stupidly happy-faced and encouraging because they don't have to be me. They don't have to 'live' like this. It's really dawning on me that they have no idea. I can't even go to the bathroom properly. I can't get myself out of bed. [s]I won't feel sex.[/s] God, I'm crying as I write this and I feel pathetic and helpless. How could this happen to me? [u][b]Why[/b][/u] did this happen to me? It's so fucking cliche - "why me?" - but I get it now. I wish I didn't. I wish I could go on living blissfully unaware. I don't want this knowledge. I don't want this burden but I'm just trapped and can't give it back. I've lost basic things - bedrock things that you learn as a little little child - and I have to somehow come to terms with that or I don't think I can go on. I can't live as a [u]thing[/u] that other people move around and say nice things to. I can't be an object without agency, always [u]needing[/u] from others just to function - an object of pity, a "what happened to her?" or an "it's not nice to stare." And I'm scared of being alone. I'm half of me and I'm helpless and, sure, everyone was there at my bedside a month ago, but that's not the case anymore. It's just Mom and Daniel mostly now and Mom is so old. She shouldn't be taking care of me. I should be taking care of her. She says there'll be time for that later, that I can pay her back when I'm better, and I want to take comfort in those words. I want to manifest them into reality, but they're just not true. My mother is a smart, strong woman - I've always wanted to be like her (even though I never will be, now) - but she doesn't know what she's talking about. I will never be able to care for her. It'll be a challenge just to care for myself and reach an uneasy kind of resource-neutral. The future is a terrifying place. All of the stairs and tight passages in Fresh Haven have dawned on me. This place is a trap and I can't navigate it. I just want out, so badly. I just want to fast-forward the next year. I want to finish rehab and achieve all of those things the books say that I can achieve. Then, I tell myself, it won't be so bad. But it will. Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=June 11, 2053][sub][h3]June 11, 2053 - 22:30[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles, Today was the seventh anniversary of Dad's death and it should've been a sad day, but it wasn't. It brought my family and friends together and we had fun. I turned on the radio and people danced. It felt like half of Fresh Haven was there and that was probably about right. We're only a big settlement by the standards of post-collapse. There are two-hundred-twenty of us. To put that into perspective, had I died, we'd have lost 0.45 of our population. Good thing I'm still kicking... well, not literally, but you get the idea. :P I put on a brave face for Mom and did my best to help out. There's some biochemical truth to the idea that smiling enhances your mood. If I can bear to be that cringeworthy, I'm going to try to wake up every morning and make a point of smiling. [i](Lys note December 6, 2053: that didn't last)[/i] I helped cook, I babysat Lyra with some of Tucker's help, and I carried things on my lap. I've learned that I'm basically a human shopping cart now. I should start renting my services out. Of course, the kids wanted rides and I indulged them. It turned into an impromptu workout, but then Tucker was so sweet. He said that he should pay me back for carrying him around all day by pushing me. I didn't refuse. I also didn't skip rehab. I've been reading all the old books. I've learned everything that I can, and I'm trying to push myself and beat the expected progress chart for someone with my injury level. Ever since the body brace came off a few weeks ago and the settlement pulled together to trade blood for my new permanent wheelchair from the provisional government, life has started to feel worth living again. I can kind of pop a wheelie now. I couldn't transfer into the old hospital chair before because of the armrests but, as long as someone spots me, I can kind of get it now. The various helplessnesses that have been shackling me are falling away and I can't get very far yet - it's like some pre-collapse videogame and I'm still in the starting area - but I've been trying to be a help around the office. I've been giving some thought to that. Josh dropped in last week to prep for a scav run and we talked shop a bit, but it struck me that my days as a scav are definitely behind me. Maybe I can learn medicine. Juliana's not young and neither is Dr. Sandhu. I can become a nurse or a doctor. God knows Fresh Haven needs those. I think that practicality is going to be key, going forward. I made a decision last week when Dr. Sandhu and Juliana offered to put me in a standing sling and help work my legs out. Sure, it was tempting. One of the things that's been weirdest is always looking up at people I used to see eye-to-eye with. It'd be nice to stand. It'd be nice to tell myself that, with enough practice and determination, I'll walk again, but that's the path to fruitless obsession. Rationality dictates that complete paralysis won't undo itself because I 'work hard,' so all of my current efforts are focused on absolutely optimizing the abilities I still have. Dr. Sandhu says that being so healthy and a natural athlete has helped. It's such a long climb and I really don't feel like an athlete most days - I feel more like a sack of potatoes with two dangly things - but I asked my body to return the favor and take care of me, and it's giving me all that it has left. I can't ask for better. Mom's been pushing herself too hard coming in and helping me as is. God, she even helps me in and out of the bath. Getting [u]that[/u] independence back is my next goal, and not just for my own dignity. She's plucky, but she's old as dirt. I can't bear to see her hurting and she [u]was[/u] today, on the anniversary. I won't let myself be the source of any more hurt. You raised me right, Mom and Dad. Paralysis sucks, more than you could ever understand, but I'm not a quitter. I'll find a purpose and I'll make you proud. Yours in hope, Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=October 8, 2053][sub][h3]October 8, 2053 - 01:10[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles, I celebrated a birthday a few days ago, I'm out of rehab (almost eight months clean from devastating injuries!), and people have fixed up a new little place for me on the first floor. I should be happy, right? I swear this isn't another emo entry. God only knows most of your recent pages have been filled with the long, depressing, semi-coherent rants of a bitter cripple. I'm not here for that today. (subsequent note: okay, I kinda was) Full disclosure: it's late and I'm not sober. See? Only a drunk person would think that's worth putting to paper. Hah! Anyways, the power is out now and I'm doing this by candlelight. I just need to wax philosophical and drop some honesty about Lysandra 2.0. [u]Truth bomb one:[/u] I'm twenty-nine, a paraplegic, and haven't had a man in my life for almost two years. I can't do the job that I used to do anymore, I can't get around the settlement I live in, and I can't afford to take the physical risks that have always brought excitement to my life. Those are just facts. I could cry about them and I have plenty of times before, but I'm weirdly at peace with it all now. I had incredible adventures and incredible loves. I did things that almost no human gets to do. I'm grateful for all of that, and I'll cherish that Lys and her adventures forever, but it's time to turn the page and let her go. My second chapter is going to circle the wagons around the other skills and talents that I have and that I've neglected. It's going to be a selfless chapter, dedicated to making the world a better place instead of pursuing my selfish whims and subjective wants. [u]Truth bomb two:[/u] I have skills and I'm smart. Is there any way to say that without sounding full of myself? It's true, though. In my seven months on the med floor, I picked up things to the point where I was treating people. I've been going in twice a week since release not as a patient, but as relief for Juliana. Then, during my convalescence, I read through all of Dad's old work. I helped Mom with hers as much as I could and all of those neglected skills came back so easily. I fixed half of the PA system myself, built an infrared-sensing drone, and came up with a new greywater recycling system that increased our efficiency by twenty-five percent. At the risk of sounding either arrogant or like some useless person trying to convince herself that she still has worth, the world needs me. I can do a lot of good. [u]Truth bomb three:[/u] But I'm not going to make the most of my potential here. This next bit might just be me telling myself lies to help my shitty state of mind, but I feel like I wasted the last ten years of my life running around the ruins digging up parts from dead civilizations. There are other people who can do that. I should've been researching and building, using my [u]mind[/u]. It's less immediately rewarding and exciting, but it can actually change the world. [s]and, had I taken that path, I wouldn't be stuck in this wheelchair.[/s] The thing is that there's only so much I can do in Fresh Haven. We're all humans and a couple of Sidhe and we don't have the numbers or resources that the provisional government does. I hate the idea of existing as some kind of cattle to be farmed and I tell myself that maybe I can earn their respect as a researcher, but I have my doubts. Are they only going to see some broken human: a thing to protect? [u]Truth bomb four:[/u] Except for Mom, Daniel, Tucker, and Mel, all that people see now is the wheelchair. It broke my heart the other day when I was watching Lyra as she was climbing around on the lower rungs of a scaffold and I told her about how I used to climb on them as a girl. "Buh Auntie," she said, confused, "how could you cwimb? Youw wegs don't wowk." She has already forgotten and will never know the me that was. It's indescribably hard to put myself out there these days. I can sense the awkwardness in people. I can feel them not wanting to invest in me. I can hear their judgements and pity in my mind's ear, even when they're well-intended. I try to use humor to cope: for myself and to set others at ease, but always being the one to take the first (figurative) step is exhausting. I need to reach out first and remind them that I'm just another person with a whole personality, sense of humor, set of skills, and hopes, fears, and dreams to match. Sometimes, I don't feel like laughing at myself. I want to skip straight to being seen as capable, but I know that it's worth it. It's one of the adaptations I've had to make: less obvious but every bit as important. Most importantly, it usually works. [u]Truth bomb five:[/u] I'm going to need that skill because I think I have to move. Fresh Haven itself is a problem. I can't believe I'm saying it because I've spent the last twenty-four years of my life here. I've become the person that I am here. It feels ungrateful and I really do appreciate the effort that everyone has put in for me, but I can't live in a place that's all vertical. Sure, I have a little apartment on the first floor, but that's the [u]only[/u] place where I can move somewhat freely. I can't even make it to the big lunch room. I can't get to the med floor or workshop on my own. I have to be carried up multiple flights of stairs to my brother's or my Mom's place. I'm cloistered here on my own: the only inhabitant of a floor that most people pass through on their way to something else, or the sole reason for their brief visit. It's just not tenable in the long term physically or emotionally, for me or for them. I can tell that my family and friends aren't ready to accept that yet. They can't imagine me not being here, especially after they almost lost me, so I haven't brought it up. The thing is, [u]I've[/u] accepted it. I just need to break it to them. [u]Truth bomb six:[/u] the hardest one is going to be Mom, but she's also the one who needs to hear it most. The way that she's been busting her ass for my sake since my accident is going to kill her. I'm more grateful than I'll ever be able to put into words, but there's just as much guilt. She's seventy and she carried me up two flights of stairs twice last week. She can't keep this up and she has to realize that deep down. I know her, though. She doesn't know how to [u]not[/u] answer the call if there's work to be done. That's why I'm worried. I haven't seen her since my birthday three days ago and that's unusual. Daniel says she's just tired from overwork, but I can't help but feel like he's keeping something from me. Tucker always talks about Grandma when I babysit him and Lyra during the afternoons. He was tight-lipped today. Something is up and they've decided that telling me is more trouble than it's worth. I want to see my mother. I want to help. Tomorrow, when I go in to the med floor, I'm going to ask to be dropped off on my Mom's floor. I don't care if I have to sleep on her couch. If the world won't help me freely, I'll trick it into doing so. Anyways, I've spent an hour on this. I don't know how I'm awake, but I think it's helped me sort out a few things. Thanks Scruffles, Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=October 12, 2053][sub][h3]October 12, 2053[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles, Mom is dead. She was dying and they didn't tell me. They pretended everything was okay. They kept me from my mother until she was almost gone because I was too much of a burden to bring upstairs. They didn't consider that maybe I could've stopped the flu. Maybe I could've saved her. All I got to do was say goodbye. She was barely even coherent. I'm shellshocked and don't have words for everything I'm feeling, but I've lost more than a mother today. I've lost my whole family. This is the kind of betrayal that just... How can I forgive it? I shouldn't. Daniel, you're my brother. We grew up together. You protected me. You loved me and I loved you. I don't want to make everything about me. I want to mourn the woman who brought me into this world, who made me who I am (and who I am is a damned good half a person), who survived seventy years in a place where everything wanted to kill her. I just have so much anger right now. I hit him with all of it. We had a screaming match right then and there and I wanted to hurt him - physically hurt him - but there was nothing I could do, nothing I [u]can[/u] do. Then Mel tag-teamed me and they let it all out together. Apparently I made things all about me and I needed to be grateful for everything they'd done on my behalf, for all they'd given up. I am fucking sick of being 'grateful.' Maybe had you pieces of shit let me help, our mother would still be alive, but all you saw was a burden - worthless deadweight - and not someone who had medical skills, who would've given her everything to care for Mom, and who had a right to be there. The best part was when I had to 'apologize' and grovel and he had to carry me downstairs. We didn't speak a word. I honestly wouldn't have cared had he dropped me. [s]I would've dragged him down with me.[/s] The hardest part is Tucker and Lyra. Their parents are going to raise them to be as cold and narrowminded as they are. I love those kids - I spend as much time with them as their parents do - but they're screwed. I wonder how the couple that slays together will manage without me to do all the work raising their kids now. Not my fucking problem. I tried. I loved them. Just like I loved my mother, but that's all gone now. She's gone. She's literally dead and I will never get to see her again. I can't. [/hider] [hr][hr][/hider] [hr][hr][center][h3]Vein & Commune[/h3][/center] [hider=Vein & Commune] [hr][hr] [hider=February 13, 2054][sub][h3]February 13, 2054 - 09:45[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles, For the first time since I was six years old, I'm going to lay my head down in some place other than Fresh Haven and call it home. If my writing is a bit messy please excuse it. I'm in a van as we speak, I've just stopped waving goodbye, and my old home is fading into the distance. We're headed for Vein, the provisional government's capital. They say they're impressed with my work and they have things all set up for me there. I'm sorry that I haven't written as much as I should've lately. I've been a busy woman. That decades-old project to redo our entire filtration system? I've completed it. The sheer number of parts that I accumulated during my years as a scav was prodigious, and Mom had the schematics ready. She was just waiting for someone - me - to help her complete it. She put that on hold at the end of her life so that she could help me rebuild mine. The word 'grateful' has become, in many ways, a poisoned one for me over the past year, but I am grateful to her for more than I can ever express. She saved me. She gave me everything I needed to remake myself, so I finished her final, great project. In truth, it was already nearly half-done. I'm leaving Fresh Haven behind today and I doubt that I'll ever be back except, hopefully, to visit. I leave with a clean conscience, though. I made up with Daniel and Mel. I spent my last two months training him to take over my job. He can be so much more than a soldier. I can see now how it ruined him: how it turned him harsh and anxious and overprotective. Soldiers are valuable, but he has a mind that he's wasted, like I did before. You know, as we moved through the halls and basements, as we elbow-crawled through access tubes and hatches, it was almost like we were kids again, exploring this wondrous new place. I looked upon it with new eyes too, really appreciating the ramshackle wonder of it and what it means to so many people. We made peace. I spent my last few days in Fresh Haven with Tucker and Lyra. I've mostly been sleeping over at Daniel's, but they came over to my little apartment and, since most of my few belongings were already in boxes, we made the entire place our playground. We painted the walls with our handprints, played tag, and slept in blanket forts. Dammit. I'm crying. I will never see those kids grow up. I hope they remember me because I'll sure remember them. Tucker, Lyra, if this ever somehow makes its way into your hands, know that I love you and I'm sorry. I did what I had to so that [u]I[/u] could live a good life and so that I could help other people. I hope it worked. I hope I made the world a better place. Your aunt and friend, Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=March 28, 2054][sub][h3]March 28, 2054 - 11:45[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles, My favourite place in the world right now is the long gallery. Let me describe it for you: it's this epic covered bridge and the whole thing has a curve and a slight slope. All along the sides are what used to be little restaurants and shops. Some of them still are, but most are storage. The best thing about it is the tiles, though. They're super smooth and kind of slippery. Okay, well, when I have to go back up the slope, it's pretty awful. My arms are usually done by the end of it unless I can get a revenant to give me a good shove forward. That runs about a fifty-fifty. Anyways, put it together, my nonsentient journal friend: Long open downhill with a curve, smooth, slippery tiles... I Tokyo Durifted that shit! [u]All[/u] of it! Skrrt skrrt! Not gonna lie: it took a lot of spinouts first and more than one nasty spill. People watched cripple meet ground with horror etched on their faces: Oh no! Squishy hooman down! To be honest, I've still got this sweet purple bruise on my right knee, but joke's on [u]it[/u]: I didn't feel nuthin' (and I checked to make sure there was no serious damage - we're good). A month and a half into this experiment, and I'd say that things are going pretty swimmingly. I think I can finally say that I've explored almost every wheelchair accessible inch of the city and it's been good for sating my wanderlust. Speaking of sating, my biggest misgiving was always (and remains) the mandatory blood donations. They leave me weak and drained for hours afterwards and, seriously, I feel like I'm being farmed. For what it's worth, the people here appreciate it, though. I can see that they like me and I like 'em right back. I have ambitions to learn how to cook a bit better than before. I'm not a field operative anymore, so a life of shitty rations is not in the cards. There are enough humans here that cooking isn't seen as decadent and wasteful, either. Besides, when we have surplus, the revenants love sampling. They were human once too and I'd never deny them the joy of eating. There are times, to be honest, when I'm hunched over a workbench at two in the morning and my stomach starts grumbling, when I momentarily wish that I didn't get hungry. Overall, though, I couldn't imagine a life without food. Speaking of which, it's lunchtime! Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=August 18, 2054][sub][h3]August 18, 2054[/h3][/sub] Dear Scruffles, I'm frustrated. No, not [u]that[/u] kind of frustrated (well, actually, that too). I've just been struck, quite clearly, with the realization of exactly what I am to the provisional government: a free source of blood. Sure, there are people who like me here. I like them right back. The thing is that I came here to have some agency and to make a difference. Aside from the fact that it's a lot easier to physically get around, life here has fallen well short of both of those goals. As a human, I have no value. As I suspected, I'm only here to be farmed. I've applied for field research support five times now. They made valid-sounding excuses the first few: I hadn't settled in yet and there'd be plenty of time for that later, I should coordinate with other researchers in the field (turned out that there were none), they had to look through personnel files to help me put together a team (waited two months on [u]that[/u] one). Then, they said that they couldn't spare the personnel and recommended that I go into the field myself. Oh how I wish! Trust me! It felt like some pencil-pushing jackass had sat there, with a wormy little smile on his face, writing that recommendation as a deliberate 'fuck you'. It's been suggested to me, none-too-subtly - or maybe these people just suck at subtlety and that was their idea of it - that, if I want to get ahead here, I will have to become a revenant. Trust me: it's something I've considered. Eternal life, super strength, and special abilities definitely have their appeal. Of course, the elephant in the room is my injury. Revenants heal from anything as long as it doesn't destroy the BOR grafted onto their heart. That's the thing, though: they're brought back to life from fatal injuries and then heal fuller and faster from those they sustain [u]while[/u] they're revenants. I'm a grey zone case and nobody's ever bothered to revive a paraplegic. It's an old injury and I've been alive and more or less functional with it for over a year. Could I spend an eternity in this body? Shit, I don't know. I really don't. Of course, there's no guarantee that things will even work out. I could wake up in a matter of days or decades. So many of what we assumed to be the rules of biology are broken by that of revenants that it's hard to say. So, here's what I plan to do: I'm going to apply for an archives research permit. That won't cost them anything. They keep records of all approved parasite implantations. I want to build up some data on that. There has to be some method to the madness. I'll have to look at factors like age, gender, cause of death and nature of injuries, ethnicity, time of death, and so on to determine how they affect sleep time before a new revenant wakes. If I can find a way to predict, with reasonable accuracy, when one will wake up, I'll have done at least [u]some[/u] good here, despite their insistence that I do nothing but feed them. Then, maybe. It feels like giving up on life. I don't want to die, even if it'll fix my body. I don't want to lose my people, even though I've left them. Honestly, though, if I can be whole again, if I can have more agency and more time, it might really be worth it. I promised I'd make my decisions for others and not myself, after all. If I can't, however, then... I'd say it'd be time to go back to Fresh Haven, but I don't know if I can live in that much dependence after experiencing this. It would be really nice if a third path showed itself, but that's nothing more than blind conjecture and wishful thinking. I'm better than that, I think. Yours in frustration, Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=August 29, 2055][right][sub][h3]August 29, 2055 - 21:00[color=2e2c2c]oo[/color][/h3][/sub][/right][table][row][cell][color=2e2c2c]stuff[/color][/cell][cell][color=2e2c2c]stuff[/color][/cell][/row] [row][cell][img]https://i.imgur.com/TX7lg87.png[/img][/cell][cell]Dear Scruffles, I thank a nonexistent deity every day that you're not sentient because, if you were, you'd hate me for the endless streams of angst and snark I fill your pages with. Honestly, I feel like I have a right to. I'm fucking crippled and it fucking sucks - forgive the unladylike language. This is my place to vent my hundred little frustrations and spill out my self-doubts so that I don't do it to other people who neither want nor should have to hear it.[/cell][/row][/table]Anyway, that got kinda dark. This isn't actually a dark entry for once. Yay! For pretty much the first time since I got here, I felt like a badass today. We were out on a short mission. I was freaking out inside. It's been two years, six months, and fifteen days since I've come face to face with actual danger and, the last time it happened, I had legs (technically still do, but they're just there to taunt me now). Erik was kind of nervous about me coming even though he was super positive on the outside, but Ajax was all doing Ajax things like, "I'm the [s]Edge Lord[/s] Sword of Cerberus, yeeeaaa," and leading the party into danger with the not-so-subtle hint that there was no way I should be there. Cherry Darling was almost suspiciously nice. Sometimes I love that girl and sometimes I swear there's something up with her. Who's [i]that [/i]friendly [i]all [/i]the time? We parked the van, piled out, and then things got bad. As soon as I saw the enemy, I knew I was fucked. Cobblestones: my newfound nemesis. God, I used to think they were cool and quaint back when I didn't have to roll over them. So, long story short, I volunteered to stay behind with the van. I'd like to say that it was chill, but I'd be lying. Being half a squishy human all alone in the middle of a dangerous wasteland is not a good feeling. See my last entry for an example of what extreme anxiety looks like when coupled with crushing boredom. I made so many laps around that van that I swear I wore the pavement thinner. I'm pretty sure I gripped that machine gun so hard that I left permanent imprints of my hands on it. I had Princess and Sage up scouting the area, switching them between auto and guided and trying to keep up a perimeter scan. I've been working on them. I installed that smokescreen in Sage last week and that sonic disruptor in Princess. Let's just say that it paid dividends. Princess kept the Lost at bay for hours. Things went as they went and I'll get to that soon, but I really think there's something to this approach: I kept almost a dozen Lost from coming anywhere near me just by hitting them with a constant, subtle unpleasant sound whenever they got too close. For five hours, none even entered visual range. Long story short, two got through... when it was night, because that's scarier and sometimes I feel like my life is a bad slasher flick or someone's cruel joke. I used to have a rule about always always always finding a safe place to hide when it got dark if I was out in the ruins. I was kind of tied to the van, though, and I'm still working on hand controls so I can actually drive it. I'd rather be outside, armed, and mobile than passively waiting in a claustrophobic space. The first thing I saw were their red eyes. The fuckers were big and one of them had these horror movie claws. No subtlety, no fucks given: he just came straight at me. In the walking days, I'd have run, but I think I'm just going to have to get used to being braver now. I can handle myself. I had Princess flash blind him and I lit his ass up. The recoil sent me rolling backwards, I reached down, half-turned, and hit the second one who'd dodged the flash and was coming at me from the side. The feeling when you miss a kill shot and this thing that can tear you apart is only a few yards away... Terror doesn't describe it. Dear Scruffles, I sometimes wonder if I'm just wired wrong. I'm this squishy little sack of meat and bones and yet... I'm just gonna say it: I haven't felt so alive in years. The adrenaline rush was amazing. I had Sage drop a smokescreen. I bolted for the back of the van and I swear I missed a crack in the pavement that would've made me faceplant by maybe an inch. Switched to infrared, watched the Lost bumble around in the murk - lost - and took aim. Ugly bastards might not use their brains, but they still need 'em. Right through the eyeball, fuck you very much. Rolled up to both Lost and double-tapped 'em. Brought out Mountain Man and had him snip their heads off to keep them from reconstituting anytime soon. Had him snap a couple of pics of me gloating too. As an aside, definitely going to wear that top again. Comfy, warm, flattering, and now it has badass bloodstains. The team was impressed when they came back about an hour later. At least, I think they were. Maybe they'll let me have another crack at this sometime, as long as I avoid the cobble. I think I showed them that I wasn't just a liability. Maybe I showed me too. I'm still giddy as I write this. I have so many ideas for Sage and Princess and what I can do with them. Anyway, we scrounged up some plywood and enough green paint for a ping-pong table and it should almost be done drying. I think I'll go check that out and burn off some energy! 'Til next time, Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=April 3, 2056][right][sub][h3]April 3, 2056 - 01:30[color=2e2c2c]oo[/color][/h3][/sub][/right][table][row][cell][color=2e2c2c]stuff[/color][/cell][cell][color=2e2c2c]stuff[/color][/cell][/row] [row][cell][img]https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/05/b8/54/d3/not-cooked-carrot-cake.jpg[/img][/cell][cell]Dear Scruffles, Happy Easter. I'm sick. I know it's not just me. I'm sure it isn't. It can't be, right? Frickin' revenants and their cast iron stomachs. Long story short, Poppy scares me a bit. I cover it up with all the snark and bravado I can muster, but seriously, you don't say 'no' to the lady! She cooked us a 'feast' and those quotation marks are doing some work, let me tell you. I did the polite thing because she seemed so enthusiastic and I ate the 'food' she prepared.[/cell][/row][/table]I must've looked like a bulimic for the rest of the night, I swear. Something wasn't cooked right. I had to excuse myself three times. I claimed 'cripple problems' but these were more like 'human problems'. I like these people but, sometimes, I wish there was another squishy here with me. Anyways, to make up for my absence, I referred to Pops as a 'Master Chef' when I returned, told her that her cooking was 'totally killer', and took a picture and even extras of her 'carrot cake' so that she wouldn't feel offended. Crisis averted but a new one created: it's sitting on my nightstand as I write, a general hazard to any living thing within a fifty yard radius. I'd foist that biohazard off on some poor soul, but fortunately or unfortunately, I don't have anyone in the world I hate that much. I might've said Ajax at some point, but I kind of get him now, and he was the only one with the cajones to tell Poppy the truth. He was so deadpan about it too. God, I had to stop myself from giggling like a schoolgirl... mostly because it probably would've made me puke again. You know what? I just had a brainwave! We have rats... and roaches. I think it's time to try a little experiment. It's late, the others are sleeping, and I don't make any loud footsteps. Wish me luck! Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [hider=February 20, 2057][right][sub][h3]February 20, 2057 - 19:30[color=2e2c2c]oo[/color][/h3][/sub][/right][table][row][cell][color=2e2c2c]stuff[/color][/cell][cell][color=2e2c2c]stuff[/color][/cell][/row] [row][cell][img]https://www.hallsteninnovations.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/crash.jpg[/img][/cell][cell]Dear Scruffles, We got a new guy today. He's hot and he's an idiot. I don't know what to think. I'm trying harder to be friendly these days. People who know me say I'm unapproachable. So, I offered to help. Nonexistent God, why did I offer to help? Maybe I could tell myself it was because that was [i]my [/i]junk room that he moved into, but I fricking put on makeup, so yeah.[/cell][/row][/table]Angst warning - I don't want to be just 'that girl in the wheelchair'. I could deny it, but the thought is always there when I meet new people: what'll they think of me? Are they judging me? FFS, are they pitying me again? Pity is the most counterproductive emotion ever. Not really having mentioned my minions yet, I asked him if he wanted to take a break and let me handle the heavy lifting and his answer was, "Nah, I don't need a break. I can do this kinda thing all day! If you're offering, though, I won't say no to some help." First test passed. So far so good, right? I might've tucked some hair behind an ear. I let him use me as a shopping cart. Those forearms: *chef's kiss*. I went out of the room to dump another load of cans to be melted down in the storage room and a few might've fallen off my lap as I went. I was going to bring in Iron Horse to use as a second cart, but I goofed and called up Sage Junior... on autopilot. Long story short, there was a yelp and a crash and, by the time I'd turned around, it was just like that scene in Megamind (yes, obscure pre-collapse movie chalked full of awesome) where all of the cute helpful little drones get crunched by the big evil galoot. And Vincent's excuse? "This was yours? Goddamn, I thought it was some kind of bee or Lost! ...Or a Lost bee..." "Fucking...Megamind," I hissed, with little to no context, at which he gave me a perplexed look. "Megamind?" Sage Junior. RIP (Rust in Pieces). You were so new and shiny and cute and... seriously? [i]"A Lost bee..."[/i] Jokes lamer than my legs. I'd say it's nice not being the only disabled one in the commune anymore, but I can't even deal. I just [i]can't[/i]. All beauty, but not even two goddamned brain cells to rub together. I shall call you 'Megamind' from now on and the irony will get me through my days. Goddammit! Gonna go outside and fling some arrows at some targets to cool down. Signing off for now, Lys.[/hider] [hr][hr] [/hider] [hr][hr] Link to Alternative format [url=https://pad.riseup.net/p/Lysandra's_Journal-keep]here[/url].