[Isha knows what hangovers feel like. Pounding and brutal, dehydrated and quite frankly sometimes disorienting, depending on the amount of alcohol consumed.]
Bloody hell, I know what this is all about, go away.
[And it's... only halfway true. She stopped paying attention when she felt as if she were being pushed around. Some part of her suspects the scotch of last night has something to do with the inability to want to stare at the soft lights overhead.
The clothes are handed over, promptly ignored in favor of her favorite outfit: all black pants and sweatshirt, noiseless boots, black round sunglasses that obscure her eyes. It's a figure some may recognize, and others not so much. Despite the need for something greasy and spicy, she maintains her composure.]
Q?
[Her robotic greyhound takes a moment to whirr to life, gently nudging her calf.]
Looks like we're in trouble again, love.
[She pulls up the hood of her sweatshirt. Her hair piled into a braided mohawk makes the hood hang a little higher than usual, casting a more dramatic shadow across her face. Ah, what a normal-looking woman with a black and gold inlaid prosthetic left arm.
Time for assessments. Catch her being shady as she walks through the compound seeming as if she owns the entire place.]
grab a lab partner
Always the same thing.
[But it's comforting to know that tech will always be available, and that she has a certain penchant for it.]
You know, I'm starting to suspect aliens building our pyramids are a real thing.
[Q barks twice, glowing a gentle blue-green for half a moment.]
Really? Now that would be a lovely conspiracy theory.
[Clearly Isha is fluent in mechanical dog. If you're with her, sorry, you're being roped into something without your consent.]
Watch the doors will you? I'm not willing to trip an alarm and cause an Indiana Jones scenario while I'm here.
[And yes, she hears the chittering, she's just going to conveniently ignore it as she starts to work on whatever keyboard she can find.]
if only this were snapchat
If anyone would happen to have a miracle cure for the worst hangover of my life or perhaps some actual food that would force me to sit straight and focus, I would greatly appreciate it.
isha devan // original // guess who's briefly back tell a friend
[Isha knows what hangovers feel like. Pounding and brutal, dehydrated and quite frankly sometimes disorienting, depending on the amount of alcohol consumed.]
Bloody hell, I know what this is all about, go away.
[And it's... only halfway true. She stopped paying attention when she felt as if she were being pushed around. Some part of her suspects the scotch of last night has something to do with the inability to want to stare at the soft lights overhead.
The clothes are handed over, promptly ignored in favor of her favorite outfit: all black pants and sweatshirt, noiseless boots, black round sunglasses that obscure her eyes. It's a figure some may recognize, and others not so much. Despite the need for something greasy and spicy, she maintains her composure.]
Q?
[Her robotic greyhound takes a moment to whirr to life, gently nudging her calf.]
Looks like we're in trouble again, love.
[She pulls up the hood of her sweatshirt. Her hair piled into a braided mohawk makes the hood hang a little higher than usual, casting a more dramatic shadow across her face. Ah, what a normal-looking woman with a black and gold inlaid prosthetic left arm.
Time for assessments. Catch her being shady as she walks through the compound seeming as if she owns the entire place.]
grab a lab partner
Always the same thing.
[But it's comforting to know that tech will always be available, and that she has a certain penchant for it.]
You know, I'm starting to suspect aliens building our pyramids are a real thing.
[Q barks twice, glowing a gentle blue-green for half a moment.]
Really? Now that would be a lovely conspiracy theory.
[Clearly Isha is fluent in mechanical dog. If you're with her, sorry, you're being roped into something without your consent.]
Watch the doors will you? I'm not willing to trip an alarm and cause an Indiana Jones scenario while I'm here.
[And yes, she hears the chittering, she's just going to conveniently ignore it as she starts to work on whatever keyboard she can find.]
if only this were snapchat
If anyone would happen to have a miracle cure for the worst hangover of my life or perhaps some actual food that would force me to sit straight and focus, I would greatly appreciate it.