T A H L I A S T Y L E S
Barracks / Mess Hall - New Anchorage
Tahlia sat on the ground with her back against the bed, knees up against her body. She held her left hand up in the air, looking at both her wrist and the bracelets that were surrounding it. The bracelets themselves hid away part of the southern cross tattoo that extended up covering about a third of her forearm, and whilst looking at her markings she was also counting the beads on each band. Her fingers plucked each timber ball with a gentle tug and Tahlia watched them spring back to her skin when she released the pressure. They gave a slight rattle like a maraca as the wood knocked against the neighbouring bead, transferring it's energy to the following one, and the one there after. The room was silent except for the clicking of Tahlia's actions.
5:58
She looked at the clock, remembering that it was mentioned somewhere that Dinner was from 6pm. Cautiously, Tahlia placed her hands on the ground and pushed herself up. Walking slowly over to the bathroom she took a look in the broken mirror, trying to glimpse her face. The eyes were red, she had dark shadows under them, and her overall expression was just giving off the aura of tired exhaustion. The tap flipped on, and her hands plunged into the warm stream of water scooping up a cupful and throwing it on her face. With a gentle pad of a towel she gave another look at herself, noting that her look of death warmed up hadn't really gone away.
"Pull yourself together," she mumbled to herself knowing that it wouldn't necessarily stop the hurt, but would drive her to rebuild her composure. The sound of glass crunching under Tahlia's shoes could be heard as she left the bathroom and made her way for the main door, pulling her hoody over her head to both protect her face from the cold outside, and hide away from the world once more.
Tahlia entered the mess hall, hoping no one would notice that she looked like ratshit. She could see a few of the other pilots surrounding a table with the man she saw on the train earlier acknowledging the girl known as Stein. According to Philip and Thomas, Stein was the first in a generation of Volkov Artificial Intelligence. A smart, highly skilled girl that did not compute when it came to any sort of personal emotion. Sitting with her and now talking to the older gentleman was Agatha Smith. For an older generation of pilot she was quickly making her rounds in getting comfortable with the other pilots on base, showing the younger ones that age doesn't always matter. Tahlia passed them and proceeded to the serving table, picking up a tray and making her own rounds in an effort to collect as much food as she could handle in her current, terrible state. On her plate was a few greasy bacon rashes, some baked potatoes and a couple sausages, a necessary item that would lubricate the arteries and help reduce her sickly alcoholic feeling.
When Tahlia turned to reface the seating area, she noticed that it was starting to fill up with more and more people. She was tempted to sit on her own, away from the others for the evening, but she already had enough of that feeling of solitude in her own room. The Australian walked over to the table where the two girls were sitting, dropping her tray onto the hard bench like a convict in a supermax prison before plonking down both next to Stein, opposite Agatha and the new occupant, Jan.
"Well, he seems like a lighthearted guy... must be great at parties, isn't he?"
Tahlia caught the last of Jan's sentence as she stabbed the fork into some diced up potato and moved along to a folded up piece of bacon. She lifted up the small stack and fed it into the mouth of her hooded figure, making a small comment before taking a bite.
"So who is he? He seemed to know a fair bit about 'Slave Boy' when we were on the train."
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