siriseen

[siriseen]

never satisfied

[siriseen]

“Huh,” she answered — just a surprised noise, a huff of voice. Quiet, but enough that she didn’t need to sign.

For a few minutes, she stood like that, hands over the warmth until they stopped searing painfully. She wiggled them, experimentally... then leaned her face towards his warm hands.

“Can you make food, too?” She’s mostly joking, but her face is deadpan.

siriseen​:

   What? He could… make warmth? 

   He could make light, so — perhaps that shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. But still, it was a bit like magic, to feel heat radiating from hands outstretched. She reached out, put her hand above it. It felt… good. The numbness in the tips of her fingers burned, in response to the ebb of energy, but she didn’t pull away. Not until a question came to her mind. 

   “You don’t need to be warm to make this heat? If not from you, where does the heat come from?” 

He retracted his hand when she formed a question, and after getting it, Galfore thought about how to best word it for a moment before he began signing back. “My people, we have an energy within.” There were various ideas of what exactly their energy was, but it probably didn’t really matter for a good explanation. “It gives us strength, and this energy. We can use it for light, for cleaning ourselves, for sealing wounds, for warmth, and to fight.” And that was only a basic summary. “The energy is a part of us, but it does not depend on our warmth. It connects with our emotions.” That might make it sound too difficult though, if he continued on that. For now, he held out his warmth-glowing hand again for if she wanted more of the warmth.

[siriseen]

[siriseen]

The words are clear enough with what she’s taught her. Ship, I, place— no, move— no... drive, obviously. And Sirise smiles, all mirthful amusement at the thought of driving the Rigel J’hordak. You really want to get us killed, don’t you? she thinks, entertained enough with the consideration.

But, of course, Sirise doesn’t want to get killed. She didn’t come talking to the prisoners to get killed. Neither did she do it to break out. That’s the plan, eventually, of course — she has to get out of here, one day. But today? Tomorrow? That’s impossible. Naiycuh still narrowly wins when they scrabble. There’s no way she could beat her — no way she could figure out how to— no way to —...

But... having an accomplice would help. With her new friend’s claws and teeth along with hers, she may actually... win.

Hm...

Sirise stares at her PADD, trying to decide what to say. O.K., she types, and looks at it for a moment. Should she really commit to this? Will she actually go through with it? Does it actually matter if she doesn’t? After all, if she doesn’t save this girl, she’ll just be sold off. It won’t tarnish Sirise’s reputation, or anything.

Better safe than sorry, though. She erases the O.K., writes something else.

This is how you sign “leave”. She teaches, waits for repetition, enough that she feels good moving to the next word. This is how you sign “take”. Another sign, another moment of teaching. This is how you sign “kill”. Perhaps a menacing sign to learn, but she wants to give her new wolf friend all the options, of course...

If we break out the rest of these people are going to get caught up in it some way or another. They may alert someone or be found and get us caught. What do you want to do with them?

And she watches.

To see how much of a wolf her new friend really is.

The screen is only turned to her for a second, but it’s long enough for her to have read the short sentence written out there.

We’re both trapped. If she could just get this stupid field down—

❝Anywhere!❞ It is as descriptive as she can be when she has no idea where in the galaxy she is, where this ship is going, how far they are from her home system by now. For all she knows, she could be on the other side of the galaxy, lost forever with stars she’s never seen before and languages that are so strange and different she would never be able to talk to anybody ever again.

Ly throws both arms out to the side, indicating here, there, everywhere.

❝It’s better than being trapped here. My dad started to teach me about ships and how to fly them.❞ Starships have been her second home, what with her father’s position, and just like with the preparations for First Shift, he’d begun to teach her a little about what he did for when she eventually was to succeed him.

She’s far from a trained expert, but in the moment, it’s better than nothing. All they need is the chance.

She looks at the PADD in Sirise’s hands and growls a little, frustrated once again by this barrier to communication that is thicker than the forcefield keeping her trapped in the cargo hold.

Ship. She taps at the floor and gestures to the walls and the air around them. I, she jabs a clawed finger toward her chest, will fly. Ly puffs out her cheeks and acts out sitting in the pilot’s chair, grabbing the manual controls, and makes a loud sound that may or may not supposed to be the sound of a ship jumping to warp.

‘You, me, go,’ she signs, looking pointedly toward the door.

❝And if they try to stop us, I’ll fight.❞ Ly snarls at the door, looking every bit the wild animal her kind have been likened to, baring fangs and claws toward an invisible enemy.

❝What if we wait and they know somebody there? That’s dangerous. Bad.❞

And how can I talk to anybody there?

❝If you can…❞ Ly shifts her attention back to the forcefield. ❝Ah…❞

'This,’ she signs. The forcefield. 'No.’ Off. Turn it off. Break it.

'We…go.’

[siriseen]

12.17.23

[siriseen]

@hookd

Pointed teeth, pointed nails, pointed eyebrows, elbows, ribcage, shards in her stomach. Everything she is is angled, inwardly or outwardly, digging into her own flesh, crescent moons carved into her palms, ragged breaths from between a snarled maw, bare feet pattering.

Anxiety, anger, feeling overwhelms her, broad strokes, dizzying, blinding, making her stagger, making her hands shake. Just a little further. Up on that platform. Now stand still. Watch the door. Now hold your breath.

The nausea from her first transport beam is nothing in comparison to the terror she feels in her limbs from the realization that she’s actually done it. For the first time in her life, she’s off the fucking ship.

She’d laugh, if she weren’t so afraid of making noise.

And she should be — she hears something. Creaking of a hallway, like boots are running. She spins, searches for an exit that ought to be there — and there is one. A Jefferies Tube. She wrenches it open, climbs in, closes it behind her, quickly.

It makes a noise. Maybe whoever has heard. On her heels and hands, she crawls backwards from the port entrance. They can’t find her. If they find her, and make her go back, she’ll— she’ll—...

[siriseen]

I’m gonna take the L here guys, I didn’t know how good AI voices would become in such a short amount of time. By the 2100+s, they’d be like, superb. So I’m saying that Sirise does use the option where her mic speaks verbally for her, like, more often than I’d insinuated before. She probably flips back and forth between that and text. Anyway— yup, this is just a little update!

[siriseen]

Nonverbal RP Starters

I’m finding it difficult to find memes for nonverbal characters ( be they mute, or just not fond of talking ) so I thought I’d make a few!

Neutral

☝️ Tap my muse on the shoulder

👉 Point to something for my muse to see

🤙 Bump into my muse

😊 Sit down next to my muse

🤨 Sit down across from my muse

📓 Push/Slide [an object] across a table to my muse

✍️ Pass my muse a note

🙄 Roll their eyes at my muse

🚪 Tap on a table/door/wall/chair to get my muse’s attention without speaking

Aggressive

🐺 Growl at my muse

😬 Snarl/show teeth at my muse

😠 Death Glare at my muse

🙌 Push/Shove my muse

👊 Punch my muse

👖 Kick my muse in the shin

👠 Stomp on my muse’s foot

😵 Knee my muse in the gut

💀 Knee my muse in the groin

🔪 Point a weapon at my muse

🖕 Flip my muse the bird/a similar gesture

👔 Roughly pull my muse down by the collar

💢 Bang on a door/wall/table to get my muse’s attention- angrily

Angst

👩‍⚕️ Put pressure on my muse’s wound

🌡 Push my muse down to give them medical attention

🥣 Bring my muse soup/medicine when they are sick

🤢 Hold my muse’s hair back/Rub my muse’s back while they are sick/throwing up

👐 Hold my muse when they are badly wounded/dying

👁 Wake my muse up during a nightmare

🐱 Hold my muse after a nightmare

�� Hold my muse when they are crying

😢Touch my muse’s shoulder while they are crying in secret

💧 Wipe away my muse’s tears

💥 Try to calm my muse during an overwhelming emotional moment

⛈ Find my muse after some kind of trauma

Soft

👕 Tug on my muse’s sleeve/shirt/skirt

🐈 Lean against my muse’s side

🤝 Hold my muse’s hand

🤗 Pull my muse into a hug

🐕 Rest their head on my muse’s shoulder/knee

🐶 Nuzzle my muse with their nose [specify a location]

✋ Touch the back of my muse’s hand

🤝 Reach for my muse’s hand to hold it

👗 Fix/Straighten my muse’s clothes

😴 Stand by the bed to see if my muse will let you under the covers with them

🛌 Crawl under the covers with my muse

🥪 Set a plate/tray/bowl of food down for my muse

😚 Kiss my muse on the cheek

Playful

🌸 Put a flower in my muse’s hair

✨ Playfully shove my muse’s shoulder

💃 Pull my muse onto a dance floor/up to dance

🤞 Come up beside them and tap the shoulder opposite where they’re standing

😈 Jump out of the shadows to scare/startle my muse

😛 Stick their tongue out at my muse

😱 Make a silly face at my muse

🤭 Tickle my muse

👃 Poke my muse’s nose

💪 Pick my muse up

Sensual/Sexual

💘 Pull my muse in for a rough kiss

💕 Pull my muse in for a tender kiss

💞 Pull my muse in for a messy/desperate kiss

💖 Lean in to give my muse a sweet/chaste kiss

❤️ Lean in to give my muse a tender kiss

🔥 Pull my muse down by the collar/by their clothes - in a sexy way

😉 Pull my muse in by the hips

😲 Smack my muse’s butt

💋 Kiss my muse’s neck

👌 Push my muse down and give them a massage

👙 Pull [an article of clothing] off my muse

👀 Push my muse down on the bed

👄 Pull my muse onto the bed

[siriseen]

Frustration again — understandable, because it seems Sirise’s really misunderstood this time, by the amount of nos she gets. Her fingers flash an “O.K., O.K.,” before she remembers that she doesn’t know what those words mean — and she’d probably find it somewhat patronizing, had Sirise explained.

It’s fine, though — there’s more to be said, to be gleaned, to be read.

Hear, know, she says. And Sirise understands — truly, she does. She wants to know what Naiycuh and the others are saying. If she doesn’t want to talk to Naiycuh, then it’s a survival instinct that’s grabbing at her. A very similar one taught Sirise Federation Standard and Orion. (It wasn’t as if her mother sat cross-legged on the ground with flash cards for her!) It makes sense — and more than that, she can almost see herself now, in this similarly aged girl sat across from her.

Sirise doesn’t have too much time to ponder that, though. There’s more to say— the prisoner (well, the other one) — continues.

We what? I want here.

It’s almost a perfect here — but it’s the small differences that make up Sign, and life itself, too.

The other follows it up with a scratch at the forcefield, which intrigues Sirise far too much. She looks for injury, but, to her disappointment, the new signer hasn’t injured herself — even if it was clearly painful, by the shrill noise she released.

She wants to get out. That’s what she’s saying. Anyone could read it, even without Sirise’s sharp eye.

You and me both, she writes and shows. A stab of regret, and Sirise turns the PADD back on herself quickly; it was there long enough maybe for the other to’ve read.

When the PADD is turned towards the other again, the previous words are wiped clean.

Where would you even go? We’re in the middle of space. It’s better to wait until we’re near a planet or station. Then you’d have somewhere to go.

siriseen​:

   Sirise’s new friend makes a noise that sounds like an utterance of shock, and Sirise smiles, because things are so similar, even when so different. She’s grumbled in awe, too, more than once. They are from totally different planets, in completely different systems, with lives that were never meant to even cross. And now they have, and they’re so similar, so alike. 

   It gives her hope, perhaps, that people out there will be forthcoming to her. That people will see themselves, in her, enough to trust her. 

   Even so different — maybe there’s something in her that’s like others, too. 

   I want to know, her friend says, and Sirise watches, head half-tilted, in curiosity at what could come next. The door. Naiycuh. I want to know how Naiycuh speaks. 

   And then she points to both of them, and the door again.

   Sirise’s come to understand the door as meaning them — and the sign is the same, so it makes sense, both in the context of the conversation and in the way she understands Signs. But what she doesn’t understand is exactly what her friend wants. To know how Naiycuh speaks, yes. But… what was that part about the both of them and them? 

   There’s only one conclusion Sirise can come to in her mind, and it is absolutely ridiculous. 

   You want to speak to Naiycuh? She hates how her hands shake as she types it, and she forces them steady, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. Are you crazy? If she finds out we’re talking together, she’ll kill me and you. We barely have worth to her. You don’t want to threaten that and make her think we’re utterly worthless. It’s part of the reason why Sirise keeps working. She’s worth something, now, as a janitor — if Sirise ever lost that small amount of value she’d gained, Naiycuh’d absolutely go back on the promise she made to Vattu and kill her. Probably in front of him. 

   And I can’t speak so I can’t teach you how to speak like her anyway. And don’t even think about asking my father for help. He’d rat us out in a heartbeat. Do you know what pheromones are? Naiycuh uses hers to keep all the people on her ship completely devoted to her. They’re in love with her. They can’t even think of betraying her or doing something to hurt her. My father won’t help. I’m the only one immune to her. You’ve only got me. 

   It’s only after she shows that message to her that the pattering of her heart eases out from her ears, searing hot anxiety crawls down from her throat, and she realizes how she sounded. Probably controlling, and harsh, and all the horrible things she was but she didn’t want people to know. 

   I’m sorry, she types next. I didn’t mean to be so rude. It’s just a very very VERY bad idea. 

     She knows there’s the very real and likely chance that her words will be misinterpreted—she knows only so few words in this sign language and she has to speak as if she’s just a child learning to talk for the first time—but that knowledge doesn’t stop the frustration from finding its way back to her face. Sirise was good at guessing her words before, but she must not have been clear enough.

     It’s still frustrating, going from knowing so much and being able to get her point across so easily to talking in broken words like she’s never had a conversation before in her life.

     This time, she adds a huff to that look of frustration and shakes her head so fervently that her hair flies up, forming a cloud of fire around her head. A few wavy strands catch on the points of her long ears.

     “No!” she exclaims, but in her excitement does not miss the way Sirise’s hands tremble on the PADD, the different way her nails click against the screen when she types. “I don’t want to talk to her.” No, talking to the woman is the last thing on her mind, even if she knew whatever language Naiycuh knew—what she would do goes far beyond the realm of talking.

     It’s something far more instinctual and primal, something sharp and hungry shaped by fear and defiance, anger and a want for her life back. It is that want to live at all costs, that natural feeling all Kovans her age are warned about as they reach the age of maturity—to come of age means to accept and learn to live with all of themselves.

     She has never felt anything quite like this before. When the time came, she thought she’d be navigating more of these feelings in a familiar environment with some sort of backup, but here she has only herself and whatever grip on control she can try and latch onto.

     She thinks, for the first time, about what it would be like to tear someone apart with nothing but her own strength.

     “I don’t trust those people,” she says with a shake of her head, knowing that’s the only thing Sirise will understand, but she finds she needs to talk anyway, to at least say what’s on her mind. “I don’t want their help either. If we’re stuck here, I need to understand.” Her hands fly to her ears again—listen, she tries to convey—and know.

     “We can’t stay here and wait for her to kill us.” Or whatever they plan to do—she doesn’t know yet which exactly is the worse fate, being sold or being killed, for the way she sees it, they end the same way. Here or there, with these people or someone else, she gets hurt or dies. “We need a plan.”

     There are so many other things she wants to say about those messages, things that spring to her tongue that she ultimately forces herself to swallow down because there’s no point—without a translator, she’s wasting her breath. She knows. But if nothing else, from this misunderstanding, she’s learned a little more about this ship and those people, reaffirmed that anything that could even be remotely considered a friend is in short supply.

     Maybe that was the reason for Sirise telling her all that, she thinks momentarily, to reaffirm how pointless it is, how alone she is.

     But then again⸺Sirise is there, isn’t she?

     “Then what do we do?”

     ‘We—what?’ How can I get out where you are? she thinks next, points at first to herself then gestures aimlessly to the room they’re locked in, the space beyond the buzzing forcefield. ‘I want—there.’ 

     And to truly get her point across, she makes what can only be described as a stupid decision and cleaves at the space in front of her with her claws. The forcefield doesn’t give. She knew it wouldn’t. It bites back, sends a wave of pain lancing all the way up into her shoulder that she conveys with a yelp, but the message should be clear: out. 

[siriseen]

I apparently have five notifications but Tumblr says there’s no activity sooooooooo 💖

[siriseen]

We're accepting canon, original, and crossover characters for a brand new, Discord-based Star Trek roleplay group! Officially opening March 1.

Read our rules and guidelines here.

Read our available crew roster here.

Join our Discord server here.

[siriseen]

the hottest thing a hero can do is be completely doomed from the start & know it & keep going <3

[siriseen]

entpilot​:

@siriseen​  requested a starter 

 it was nothing more than a scratch… three days ago. that was when she noticed it at least. she must have gotten it on her last away mission. she doesn’t remember getting it. what she did know was that it was painful, inflamed and itchy. whatever had scratched her was more of a problem than she had initially thought. for such a small scratch, the way her skin reacted to it seemed extreme. however, alien unknown planet, unknown everything about it. it didn’t seem like so much of a problem until the scratch began to itch, so medical bay was her assignment for that day.  

she planned to not take up medicals time unless it was really needed. pike however didn’t think so. with a  swish of the door, she sighed walking in. “I was told to get this scratch looked at.”

   It was a slow day in the medbay, one free of catastrophes. Any doctor would be elated to have a quiet medbay — but Sirise was not any doctor. She was born of blood, of metal, of fire, and a day without something, at the very least, upon which to puzzle and ponder was a day of utter boredom. 

   Then, her favorite sound in the world — doors sliding open. 

   It’s the helmsman. Swift footsteps, succinct words, and... what do they have here? 

   Sirise’s at a loss, momentarily, staring at swollen skin, red and agitated, bumpy and enraged. She looks at Erica in askance. 

   “Lieutenant... what happened?” 

[siriseen]

*puts my hand on your shoulder* listen. I DID mean to make you upset and i DO think your opinions are shit

[siriseen]

zuufenrovaan​: 

       the two of them stare at one another, evaluating unyieldingly —– until her figure sways unexpectedly back, and she begins barking at the branches overtop. the noise startles him, and his validated tension bursts into his hands. by instinct alone, his fingers race behind his shoulder and snatch two arrows from their quiver, ready to marry to his bow. as well, he springs to his feet, hoping to put a pace or two of distance between them… but he doesn’t. instead of following through with whatever it was his adrenaline had planned, rivak stops and listens.

       he had expected, still, the ghost of pain in his ankle when he stood, and didn’t find it. he had also expected this stranger to grow louder, and she hadn’t. the cry was over as soon as it had begun, soon enough for rivak to hear a bird fleeing to the safety of anywhere-but-here. his head turns to look at it, watching its path of flight until the trees overtake it, and then looking overhead at the branch from which it flew. he watches it bounce, trying to determine the bird’s weight. if its presence was an omen, knowing the bird’s identity would prove useful in deciphering it…

       …but then his head swivels again, back to his company, and he’s reminded of the lack of pain in his ankle, a testament to her skill. skill… that one would not devote on him, if they were not of good intent. still wary, but less than he just was, his fingers release, and the arrows sink back down as if they, too, are embarrassed.

       “uh…” he blinks at her signing, needing an extra moment or two to take it in. when she moves forward and hits him, his shoulders rise, but his eyes are not wary now ——– they are wide and bewildered. the inappropriateness of looking so shocked in the face of her joy is not lost on him.

       what’s your name ?  his least favourite question, just below what’s valenwood like ?, but for opposite reasons. unlike valenwood, it is correct for people to assume he knows what his name is, and he does !  but the long pause he gives her in search for an answer might not be very convincing. it’s her fault, he thinks, for startling him so much, so she can deal with it. “name, name. vuh– vee– vod—” inward frustration cracks in his throat. “kkh !  it’s— vak. virak, no— ri-vak. rivak. rivak, that one. …name is rivak.”

   For a moment, she’s attempted to tell him to nevermind it — his name’s really not so vital a thing that he should die attempting to summon it from his throat. But he does, shakily, stutteringly, echo out, four times, Rivak. 

   She tests it against her fingers. “Rivak.” Unthinkingly, after spelling it, she gives him a sign name. It escapes her in the moment the weight of that decision — the belief, apparent, that she will have cause to use it. She smiles, signs her sign name for him again, and drops it. 

   He looks, by all accounts, terrified by her — she almost laughs again. How smart this man is, to be so burdened with terror at her presence. He was wiser than any man she’d known, and she liked it about him. 

   “Come back to town with me, Rivak.” She stands, suddenly, joining him, eyes still full of mirth and warmth. “I have a potions shop. I’ll give you some elixirs that’ll help you get out of unlucky binds, in the future.”  

[siriseen]

Anaïs Nin, Fire: From “A Journal of Love”: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1934–1937

[siriseen]

royalcaretaker​: 

Her answer came, but it didn’t really make things better. It started to sound like she was just kept here, forced to live in an uncomfortable place and without even getting much food or probably anything else, like a prisoner or something along these lines. “Okay,” he replied to her words - he was certainly going to keep in mind to avoid being caught. As for the cold, though… “I can give warmth.” After finishing signing this, he held out one of his still softly glowing hands, changing the type of energy to also be emitting heat. He was going to add a warning that getting too close might be too hot, but, he wasn’t using that much energy so it probably wasn’t that warm; and of course, to add that warning he would have needed to take his hand back already.

   What? He could... make warmth? 

   He could make light, so — perhaps that shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. But still, it was a bit like magic, to feel heat radiating from hands outstretched. She reached out, put her hand above it. It felt... good. The numbness in the tips of her fingers burned, in response to the ebb of energy, but she didn’t pull away. Not until a question came to her mind. 

   “You don’t need to be warm to make this heat? If not from you, where does the heat come from?”