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((OOC: This is a chapter for Ebiara's personal story. Sort of a means to jumpstart an arc involving all of my characters and a way to re-integrate them into the roleplay on my terms. Luckily that means frequent updates so yay. This chapter has some really heavy tones in it, especially my opener. Maybe possibly read at your own risk?))
CZ-100 Deep Space Patrol Corvette Marrella
Somewhere on the border of Sith Space...
The pre-packaged scrambled eggs quivered on his plate, the greyish-yellow mound rolling around with Private Dregolt's fork. His head rested on his other hand, the bristly stubble poking and prodding his palm with each absent-minded chew. The hum of the ship's engines filled the ship's galley with an audible roar. He felt its vibrations through the floor, each pulse shaking his feet ever so slightly. He wasn't the only person in the galley - there were a good fifteen other people in the galley doing the exact same thing. Absently chewing food, not talking to anyone. Not talking about the big old bantha in the room, which was perfectly fine in Private Dregolt's book.
A pair of droids shuffled past, catching the attention of Dregolt for a short moment as the only moving things in that galley. In those brief seconds, the treads on the astromech and the insufferable babbling of the protocol droid filled the room, echoing off the walls. Once they'd passed, it was back to the silent cacophony everyone had been enduring before.
It'd been days since anyone on the ship had slept for more than a few hours. At least, anyone in the galley. It started a few days ago, when one of the hands on the lower deck started hearing voices. He was given some medication and told he was suffering from starship fever. Some people did not handle being in space for extended periods of time like this. It's not a fault in character, it's not a weakness. It's simply a case-by-case basis. Starships, especially ones that operated on long patrols like this, expected some people to crack. And then they'd threw some pills at them and saw what stuck. Of course, this was an excellent way to get hooked on whatever they were using to treat starship fever.
But the longer time passed, the more people started hearing voices. Little tingles at the back of the neck. At the tip of the ear. At the base of the skull. They could be eerie, indistinguishable murmurs. The ones that didn't have a voice, but carried a presence. The sense that something - or someone- else was in the room. Something terrible. Other times, it was distinguishable whispers. Sometimes even inviting voices. A soft, warm female voice who knew what was best for them. It carried with it an almost maternal presence, like something the crew was more afraid of disappointing than anything else. A few days ago, the yelling started. An angry voice that spoke venomous words and ill suggestions. The kind that scared you. It wasn't the voice that was the scary part either. It was the almost instinctual response to listen to it.
Yesterday, there were three suicides and two murders. Those people were already dead and cremated. Private Dregolt thought they were the lucky ones.
He tossed the eggs with the fork and sighed. She was back again. The sweet voice. "You don't want to eat those eggs. They're spoiled. Go throw them out," it said. He pushed it to the back of his mind. "Nobody's talking, are they? They're all sitting there. You should try to make them feel better." He pushed the eggs back and took a sip of his coffee. It poured over his tongue, the already-cooling drink creeping to the back of his throat, seemingly not touching a single taste bud.
"They're thinking about you, you know. You're one of the new guys. Nobody knows you. They wish it'd been you in the escape pod yesterday,
not Arik or Sharr. Or Gamby," it said. The voice was so close, it was like it belonged to someone sitting next to him. "You didn't even know who any of them were. Three months in space and you didn't bother to learn their names. You could have saved them," it said, an almost jovial tinge echoing in the voice. Dregolt put his fingers in his ears and shut his eyes tight, trying to center himself. He was in the galley. Nobody was talking to him. "You're so kriffing stupid, that's not going to work," it said. A chill ran down his spine. It was getting angry.
"YOU AREN'T EVEN AN ESSENTIAL MEMBER OF THE CREW. YOU ARE RUNNING THEM OUT OF ANTIPSYCHOTICS. END IT SO THE CREW CAN REACH REPUBLIC SPACE ALIVE," it screamed at him. He rested his head in his hands and scrunched his face in pain. Whoever, whatever was in his head needed to come out now. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. He felt himself slowly begin to sob silently before a sharp noise knocked him out of it. One of the crew members flung his food across the table and screamed before running out of the galley.
And just like that, it was silent. The voices were gone. Whatever was poisoning the minds of the crew was gone now. Satisfied... for the time being. But it would be back. It always would.
CZ-100 Deep Space Patrol Corvette Marrella
Somewhere on the border of Sith Space...
The pre-packaged scrambled eggs quivered on his plate, the greyish-yellow mound rolling around with Private Dregolt's fork. His head rested on his other hand, the bristly stubble poking and prodding his palm with each absent-minded chew. The hum of the ship's engines filled the ship's galley with an audible roar. He felt its vibrations through the floor, each pulse shaking his feet ever so slightly. He wasn't the only person in the galley - there were a good fifteen other people in the galley doing the exact same thing. Absently chewing food, not talking to anyone. Not talking about the big old bantha in the room, which was perfectly fine in Private Dregolt's book.
A pair of droids shuffled past, catching the attention of Dregolt for a short moment as the only moving things in that galley. In those brief seconds, the treads on the astromech and the insufferable babbling of the protocol droid filled the room, echoing off the walls. Once they'd passed, it was back to the silent cacophony everyone had been enduring before.
It'd been days since anyone on the ship had slept for more than a few hours. At least, anyone in the galley. It started a few days ago, when one of the hands on the lower deck started hearing voices. He was given some medication and told he was suffering from starship fever. Some people did not handle being in space for extended periods of time like this. It's not a fault in character, it's not a weakness. It's simply a case-by-case basis. Starships, especially ones that operated on long patrols like this, expected some people to crack. And then they'd threw some pills at them and saw what stuck. Of course, this was an excellent way to get hooked on whatever they were using to treat starship fever.
But the longer time passed, the more people started hearing voices. Little tingles at the back of the neck. At the tip of the ear. At the base of the skull. They could be eerie, indistinguishable murmurs. The ones that didn't have a voice, but carried a presence. The sense that something - or someone- else was in the room. Something terrible. Other times, it was distinguishable whispers. Sometimes even inviting voices. A soft, warm female voice who knew what was best for them. It carried with it an almost maternal presence, like something the crew was more afraid of disappointing than anything else. A few days ago, the yelling started. An angry voice that spoke venomous words and ill suggestions. The kind that scared you. It wasn't the voice that was the scary part either. It was the almost instinctual response to listen to it.
Yesterday, there were three suicides and two murders. Those people were already dead and cremated. Private Dregolt thought they were the lucky ones.
He tossed the eggs with the fork and sighed. She was back again. The sweet voice. "You don't want to eat those eggs. They're spoiled. Go throw them out," it said. He pushed it to the back of his mind. "Nobody's talking, are they? They're all sitting there. You should try to make them feel better." He pushed the eggs back and took a sip of his coffee. It poured over his tongue, the already-cooling drink creeping to the back of his throat, seemingly not touching a single taste bud.
"They're thinking about you, you know. You're one of the new guys. Nobody knows you. They wish it'd been you in the escape pod yesterday,
not Arik or Sharr. Or Gamby," it said. The voice was so close, it was like it belonged to someone sitting next to him. "You didn't even know who any of them were. Three months in space and you didn't bother to learn their names. You could have saved them," it said, an almost jovial tinge echoing in the voice. Dregolt put his fingers in his ears and shut his eyes tight, trying to center himself. He was in the galley. Nobody was talking to him. "You're so kriffing stupid, that's not going to work," it said. A chill ran down his spine. It was getting angry.
"YOU AREN'T EVEN AN ESSENTIAL MEMBER OF THE CREW. YOU ARE RUNNING THEM OUT OF ANTIPSYCHOTICS. END IT SO THE CREW CAN REACH REPUBLIC SPACE ALIVE," it screamed at him. He rested his head in his hands and scrunched his face in pain. Whoever, whatever was in his head needed to come out now. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. He felt himself slowly begin to sob silently before a sharp noise knocked him out of it. One of the crew members flung his food across the table and screamed before running out of the galley.
And just like that, it was silent. The voices were gone. Whatever was poisoning the minds of the crew was gone now. Satisfied... for the time being. But it would be back. It always would.
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