Open ♫ if you sneeze, a butterfly in a forest somewhere will dance

[fairysong]

Who: Sheryl Nome and anyone else! Including you. Especially you.
Where: All through the temple.
When: Arrival / sickness event
Rating PG13+, warning for mild nudity
What: Sheryl ain't down with the sickness.

[Week One:]

[It's silly to be worried about this. Sheryl knows that. She knows that her V-Type Infection had progressed to a stage where the symptoms were completely different from this; even if Ranka hadn't cured her, a resurgence would feel completely differently. And everyone else is sick, too. This can't be the disease that nearly killed her.

A part of her brain is completely ignoring all that logic and reason, though. These symptoms are like what she'd first felt, after all. And there's that tiny nagging voice that she can't banish, constantly asking her: What if? What if Ranka had just delayed her death? What if everyone else has one thing, but she has another?

It's a stupid, irrational thought, and she can't banish it. So Sheryl deals with the deep-seated panic the best way she knows how: She throws herself into her music.

The only trouble is that this lingering headache and stuffiness makes it so very hard to write lyrics. So you'll find a young woman sitting at a table in the kitchen with a pencil and a torn sheet of paper that's full of scribbled out words. Most of them are crossed out. Sheryl is looking very frustrated-- and then she turns, pointing the end of the pencil at you.] You!

...what rhymes with "forest"?

[Week Two:]

[It got worse. It got much worse.

The good news is that Sheryl is now fairly certain that this isn't her V-Type Infection coming back; the symptoms have progressed in a completely different way.

That's the only good news. Sheryl feels like shit. She hasn't experienced the hallucinations that she's heard other people dealing with, which she's thankful for, but a violent fever and everything else that comes with it isn't much better.

The worst is that she constantly feels like she's just burning up, across her entire body, and since the bathing area is communal here, she hasn't figured out how to take a cold shower or bath to try and counteract it. Still, she's a resourceful young woman.

In the hallways just outside of the bathing area, you'll come across Sheryl with a rolled-up wet towel draped around her neck and over her shoulders. Though the towel hangs down in front of her chest, it is very clear that she is not wearing a shirt. Still, any potential sexiness is blunted by the fact that Sheryl looks rough and completely exhausted.

She's just too drained to give a shit about this right now. She does glance in your direction, though, and speaks in a slow voice that sounds impossibly tired.]

Can't a girl get some privacy around here...?

[Week Three:]

[Again, there's good news and there's bad news. The good news is that she feels much, much better than before. No fever, no chills, no cold sweats, no trembling.

The bad news is that she can't see.

In a place where she still doesn't know anybody that well, she's reluctant to ask someone for help like she might someone she trusts, like Alto or Ranka. Which means Sheryl is moving slowly around the temple, one hand on the walls at all time, dark glasses on even in the middle of the night.

At some point leaving the kitchen area, you might hear a girl's voice yelp in pain. If you investigate, you'll find Sheryl doubled over, rubbing at one of her shins and hissing obscenities through her teeth.

When she hears footsteps, she straightens up abruptly.] Ah... someone must've moved that chair, I don't think it was there before!

[It's an odd excuse, mainly because she'd just run into a bench, and you're pretty sure the bench has always been there that whole time. Also, she's not looking directly at you, but also a little off to the side.

A little suspicious.]

Comments

[fairysong]

The rhyme's good. I can work with that. [She glances up at him, frowning softly before looking back at the page.]

Close. I'm writing lyrics.

[bleps]

Oh, I see. That makes sense.

[He remains standing, then clasps his hands behind his back as to exude both politness and formality.]

Are you a songwriter, then? Or is it just a hobby of yours?

[fairysong]

I'm one of the only singers in the galaxy to sell a trillion albums, you know. I'm somebody.

[It's said off-hand, as she's still focused. But there's a tone of irritation-- frustration-- in her voice.] Nobody's heard of me here, though.

[bleps]

A trillion?

[That is a mind-bogglingly impressive number, but in the context of her saying galaxy, he supposes it makes sense. Knowing that everyone here seems to come from frankly extraordinary circumstances, perhaps it's not so strange to imagine.]

So you're something of a celebrity. I'm sorry that you're no longer in the proverbial spotlight here.

[A statement that might be couched in sarcasm from most, but the way Connor states it, it's genuine.]

It must be a very jarring change.

[fairysong]

[Sheryl shoots the man a look; she wants to give him a snide response to his comment, assuming it's sarcastic... but no, it seems completely genuine, and it blunts whatever sharp-tongued retort she might have had coming.] Well... it is. Thanks for noticing.

[She says, her held-back scorn replaced by awkward honesty.] And yes, a trillion. I have a lot of fans.

[Beat.] They're just not here right now.

[bleps]

You're welcome.

[-he says, in honesty that might also be awkward, but Connor doesn't think so.

At any rate, she has his attention. He gestures at the empty seat near where she's sitting.]

I wouldn't mind hearing about your circumstances and where you're from, if you're willing to share. May I sit with you?

[fairysong]

You're a very straightforward man, aren't you? [It's not an insult or anything, just a mildly bemused remark at his demeanor.] Go right ahead.

Because you asked so kindly, I wouldn't mind talking a little about it. What do you want to know?

[bleps]

[She's not wrong about that. Connor can be straightforward, maybe even a little awkward, though it's all born of good-intentions and curiosity that he cannot ever truly discard, not as an RK800. Currently, his social subroutines see nothing wrong with his line of questioning so far.

And she's reacting well enough to it, so he takes the seat, leaning his elbows on the surface of the table.]

I guess you could tell me your name first. [An introduction time.] My name is Connor, by the way.

[fairysong]

[What an odd man.

Sheryl has no clue that he's a robot, of course. She's just assuming he's weird.] Sheryl. Sheryl Nome. A pleasure to meet you, Connor. Do you interview everyone who comes here?

[bleps]

[He smiles a little wider at that.]

No, not interview. Not exactly. But I do like to know more about my fellow Circle members, especially since we're meant to work together as a team.

Therefore, it's only natural that I quell my curiosities by asking as many questions as people will allow me.

[fairysong]

Makes sense to me. [She says, putting her pencil down and folding her hands on the table.]

What's the most interesting person you've met since you've been here? Other than me, after all.

[bleps]

Difficult to say. That depends upon what you qualify and define as "interesting". All very relative.

[But...]

I come from a world where magic doesn't exist, in the year 2038. But I've spoken to some here that come from places that are the opposite -- magic, monsters, fantasy archetypes. All of that, for instance, I consider very interesting, simply because it's difficult for me to draw parallels against my own experiences.

[fairysong]

2038? You're a couple of decades behind me, then. [He's got a point, though. Magic and the like sounds just like a fairy tale, as far as she's concerned. Were it not for literally everything here, she wouldn't be convinced.]

So if magic and monsters are so beyond what you're used to, what about space fleets and aliens?

[bleps]

[Time is a weird and wobbling thing here, he’s learned. Connor doesn’t so much as blink at the remark regarding a couple of decades having passed for her, though he does look a little surprised at the talk of space fleets and aliens. The former seems far beyond what technology is capable of just yet for his world, even if given a few generous decades; the latter still sounds like something out of a sci-fi novel.]

That would also qualify as something I have no experience with at all.

[fairysong]

So when you say 2038, you mean on Earth, right? America, Europe, all those other countries. [Sheryl those are continents not countries.]

Because aliens were definitely a thing by 2038 where I come from.

[bleps]

That’s right, Earth. The country [country!!!] of the United States. Detroit, Michigan.

[He usually forgoes specificity unless needed; there have been too many instances here where individuals haven’t even heard of the city.]

Will you tell me about these aliens?

[fairysong]

[She has definitely not heard of Detroit or Michigan. The United States, though, she's heard of at least.] Same planet I'm thinking of, then.

The main aliens to know are the Zentradi. They're giants. They attacked the Earth around the beginning of the 21st century, but the war ended in a peace treaty. Now, there are a bunch of Zentradi on our colony fleets, in the military, you name it.

[bleps]

An alien invasion come to reality… To be honest with you, that sounds terrifying and exactly like something you’d see in an old sci-fi film.

[Do they have those, wherever she's from? He could ask. But he wants to know more about these aliens, first.]

Why did these Zentradi initially choose to start a war? What were their motivations?

[fairysong]

[Sheryl is by no means an unintelligent young lady, but she's an artist, not a historian. The look on her face is very much that of a high schooler who's just been asked, on the spot, to explain the root causes of World War I that weren't just "some guy got shot."] Well, you know-- it's really complicated.

They were created as warriors, you know? And one of the battleships that belonged to their enemies crashed on Earth, and humans rebuilt it. So to them, it looked like we were just another enemy.

[Sounds legit.]

[bleps]

[Connor isn't quite sure just how legit that sounds. In fact, it's lacking a fair amount of details that an android like himself would find unsatisfactory, and the logic behind it is questionable??]

That's a strange reason to wage an entire war; over a single crashed ship, and no research towards who actually resided on the planet.

[But then again, what does he know? These worlds were all very strange, very alien and fantastical, compared to his Detroit.]

Though I do appreciate you sharing this with me. But perhaps we should get back to talking about yourself. I'm interested in your occupation.

[fairysong]

[She may be missing some important context there.] Well-- nobody ever said it was a brilliant tactical decision. [Sheryl says with a shrug.]

See, the Zentradi were incredibly strong fighters and soldiers, but they were only warriors. They didn't have any culture. So it was the work of a single singer who helped bridge the gap between them and humanity.

[Another shrug, but this one with a smile.] I like to think I'm following in her footsteps.

[bleps]

[Almost something... storybook. Song ending a war, bringing two races together, ushering in peace.

(He wonders, briefly, what a certain revolutionary back home would think about that. Then ignores this quiet question, knowing that it shouldn't matter.)

Connor gestures at her as he speaks, voice showing interest.]

So, they're your inspiration then?

[fairysong]

Mm, a little bit. You'd probably have a hard time finding a singer anywhere in the galaxy who's not a little inspired by Lynn Minmay.

Growing up, though, I was more of a Fire Bomber girl myself. They're a rock band that performed on Macross 7-- one of the colony fleets. I listened to their songs all day, every day.

[bleps]

What sort of rock? I’m a little familiar with death metal, myself.

[He says with an interested look and a simple grin.]

[fairysong]

[She sits up a little straighter, and there's a glint of something in her eyes.

This is, of course, one of her favorite topics.] Not exactly death metal; their sound's a little... more fun. Here--

[A little wag of her finger, and some distorted guitar licks-- and the rest of the music-- starts playing out of nowhere. Notably, however, it's only instrumentals; there aren't any words.

If it sounds like cheesy 80s rock, that's because it probably is. Sheryl lets the music play for a while before joining in, singing the first few bars of the chorus:] Soar through the sky, love heart; on the wings of burning emotions...

See? Fun stuff.