ataraxioff | BABY YOU CAN DRIVE MY CAR

[Lisbeth got most of the screaming out of her system in the med bay, when she'd woken up feeling disoriented and violated and angry. She wonders for the better part of the first day if she's been drugged, if this is an hallucination, if she's back in a psych ward--and when she feels the roiling unease start to settle, she spends hours in the room she's been issued, crew uniform dumped unceremoniously in her trash bin as she sifts through the functions on her device, absorbs as many posts as she can from the network without engaging yet.

Today, she's camped out in a media library, dressed in the few clothes she was given from home: plain black tank top, worn grey cargo pants, combat boots that are propped up on the table in front of her as she pores over a datapad. She tends to be more covered than this when she's not at home, but two of her tattoos are readily visible: the wasp on her neck and dragon curling over her shoulder blade.

The contents of her inventory are spread out around her--one lukewarm can of Coke, a half-finished pack of cigarettes and lighter, a small leather backpack.

Is smoking allowed in the library? Either way, she doesn't give a shit: just holds a cigarette between her lips and flicks the lighter on, lets smoke curl through her nostrils as she works.]

Edited 2013-09-29 21:08 (UTC)

[ There's a man in the corner. He's been there a while, maybe. It's hard to tell; he doesn't make much noise. He sits with his feet propped on a chair, holds a datapad in one (metal, armored maybe?) hand, occasionally swipes with the other to turn the page, doesn't do much stand out.

At least, not until she lights her cigarette, but although it's the light that catches his attention, the can of Coke is what holds it. Such a simple thing. He doesn't move, but nods to her. ]

Care to trade?

[She'd noticed him when she settled in, took in the prosthetic hand without comment. Lisbeth doesn't trust easily and trusts even less easily here, where she's out of her element and anyone could be a potential threat. Kidnapping doesn't sit well with her.

Her gaze doesn't move for a moment; it's like she hasn't heard him, still focused on the swipe of the data pad and each drag on her cigarette until finally she shifts, inclining her chin to look in his direction, jaw working before she speaks.]

For what? [It's clipped, gaze holding his. Minimal words, but he might notice that her accent is Swedish.]

[ His is generic American with a hint of Southern, and his gaze doesn't waver. Not a challenge, but a certain comfort with hostility. ]

What do you want?

[ She's laid out her inventory; he isn't interested in doing the same. But there's a secondary implication, too — if she wants something, he might be able to get it. ]

[It's an interesting question. Her can of soda isn't worth enough for what she actually wants, nor does she think he's capable of getting it for her--she wants her laptop, she wants technology she's familiar with and doesn't have to start from square one to hack into. She's been working at the encryptions on the network, has made some progress in understanding the coding but it's still different enough to slow her down.]

I want access to information that isn't bullshit. [She sets down the data pad to punctuate that, because everything she's looked at today? Mostly useless. Interesting enough to keep people busy, keep them quiet, keep them wondering about the culture if they care about that sort of thing. Lisbeth doesn't care about the great literary works of these people.]

I also want a taser and a gun.

[ A beat. He studies her for half a moment, then nods, pulls his feet off the extra chair, and sets his datapad to the side.

Right now, he has exactly one of those things — in threefold, but still, guns being in short supply, he's not eager to part with any of them for a can of Coke. He is, however, interested in developing a working relationship with someone intelligent and industrious enough to get frustrated with the confines of the environment so quickly. And he's not without a few MacGyver-esq skills. ]

Taser. Contact, not projectile. I can have it to you tomorrow. [ He could have it to her today, but he prefers to be underestimated. ] For the Coke and two cigarettes.

I get the feeling cutting the bullshit will take a little more time.

Edited 2013-09-30 03:29 (UTC)

[It's rare that someone immediately holds her interest, but he's managed. Lisbeth is still wary, doesn't know enough about him to feel comfortable yet but this is the first useful exchange she's had since she arrived.

She slides the Coke down the table towards him, leaves it for him to take.]

The cigarettes will come with the taser.

[ His non-mechanical arm reaches over to scoop up the can. He doesn't open it, though, just holds it in his hand and lifts it as if testing the weight. A slight, satisfied smile spreads across his lips. ] I miss the bottles, you know? Heavier.

[ ...The bottles that Coca-Cola started phasing out in the 1950s, yeah. What. ]

Tomorrow, then. [ He taps the table with one knuckle and takes his data pad, headed for the exit. ]

[ the media library is typically the last place anyone is going to find jax. he's been hiding out in the gunnery more often than not, kicking back with spike or tagging along with him on security patrols to avoid conversations he doesn't want to have, but today there's no patrol and he's done with gunnery, so here he is. bothering strangers up here is permissible in a way jax has never really seen outside charming, but charming doesn't count. everyone knew him in charming, and here it's not--

it's different. that's the best word jax can apply.

he nudges the seat next to her out, drops into it unceremoniously. she's got ink, but nothing identifying. ( nothing that belongs to one gang or another, because that's just how jax's mind works, the first place it goes. ) he plucks the cigarette out from behind his ear, sprawling a little, every line of him nonthreatening. jax is good at that, at pretending he's harmless. ]

Borrow your lighter?

[Lisbeth doesn't appreciate the closeness; normally she'd have baggier clothes on, layers that would hide the line of tension in her shoulders, the stiffness of her frame when he sits down beside her.

She doesn't move much, doesn't open herself up to make him feel more welcome or offer a greeting. There might as well not be anyone there, though her gaze shifts to watch him as she chews slightly at the filter on her cigarette, to read his body language and determine that he's not going to lash out.

Won't lash out too quickly for her to react, at least.

Lisbeth says nothing, doesn't want to give up the one potential weapon she has on her--so she turns toward him just enough, lighter curled into her palm as she presses down with her thumb, lets it catch. He can lean in to meet her.]

Edited (WOW pronouns woops) 2013-09-30 02:52 (UTC)

[ he's seen tension like that before. jax has been to prison, watched ceasefire's negotiated. he can recognize the set of her shoulders, the wariness in her gaze. it prompts him to drop it a little, the act, because it's not fooling her, and let it ebb into something a little more real, jax spreading a palm wide as if to prove he's got nothing.

he's not a safe man. he'll never manage to pass at that. but maybe as someone not immediately dangerous. ]

Easy.

[ is the last thing he offers before leaning in, catching the flame. he inhales slowly, leans back with a grunt as he exhales a breath of smoke. ]

Thanks. Lighter's all the way up in the room, and taking the lift up'd take forever.

[That's better. Lisbeth doesn't do well with fake pleasantries or facades, would rather see someone for what they are right from the get-go without having to work through layers of bullshit.

Her gaze is sharp as she watches him lean in, following his movements before she tucks the lighter away into the front pocket of her backpack, takes another drag on her cigarette, flicks ash onto the floor.]

You've been here a while. [It's not a question. Lisbeth knows she's not the only newcomer but she also knows they've been bringing people onto this ship for years now.]

[ a while. jax shrugs, settles in, apparently convinced his company is welcome. or isn't a complete intrustion. he turns his arm, displays the set of numbers there. ]

Only one jump. Like a month. It's not that much.

[ but it's enough to get the hang of the place, to figure things out. or to get attacked by demons and stomped on, but apparently that's par for the fucking course around here. ]

[She takes in the numbers, doesn't have to glance down at her own forearm to remember hers. Tattoos are reminders for her, they're important--this one is unwelcome.]

One month is longer than I want to be here.

Longer than anyone wanted to be here, and yet.

[ jax gestures expansively, expression dropping into a frown. he looks pissed. he is pissed. he's got shit to do, and he's cooling his heels here.

he keeps opening his cell phone when he has a spare minute, like he thinks he's going to miss a call from stahl. he's got no signal, but knowing that doesn't help. ]

People keep fucking telling me I'm gonna get used to it.

[Lisbeth knows, from her perusal of the network, that people don't leave deliberately but they do disappear. That displeases her as much as being dumped here in the first place.]

When people get used to things they stop asking questions. [Which is convenient for the show runners. She chews at the inside of her lip, just below her piercing.]

I don't plan on getting comfortable.

BABY YOU CAN DRIVE MY CAR

lisbeth salander || millennium trilogy

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screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!

ahhh i'm glad people are excited

no one is more excited than me

i'd express my glee icly but her glee only comes in the form of tiny smiles and bedroom domination

jax will take the smiles hold the domination

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