advena: all icons © brilliance. dnt. (spg101_1375)
[personal profile] advena posting in [community profile] spacebattles
WHO • kara zor-el ([personal profile] advena) & you
WHERE • many and varied places
WHEN • now, but possibly elsewhen
WHAT • hello, space. your resident alien is here.
WARNINGS • do you like sunshine? there is none.

➤ cinderella's gone to new york city
( kara arrives in space overnight, cold to the touch and unreasonably wet in a darkened corridor off the main hallway. as her eyes crack open, they're greeted by unwelcoming flickering lights, almost fluorescent; her first thought is simply: hospital? perhaps a wing of the deo she was unfamiliar with, carved out of rock and decorated with metals.

but there's no noise beyond that strange electrical popping, the sound of lights fizzing off and on. there's no sound of soldiers here, no chatter pressing into her headspace thanks to kryptonian superhearing. there's nothing, and that alone is enough to distress her. she should hear something.

brushing clammy hands — another first; kara makes a mental note to ask alex when she finds her about it — over her suit, the gummy residue slick under her fingertips, she does her best to brush herself off and clamber to her feet. maybe she can find someone, anyone, and figure out where she's fallen asleep at. and why.

her own footsteps create the only new sound in this strange space. they, too, should be louder. )

➤ like fancy ketchup. dijon ketchup.
( superhearing or no superhearing, kara's still kara. hungry is her default state. so it's unsurprising that her early explorations direct her towards the mess hall, where trial and error and a very loudly growling belly encourage the use of a set of very dodgy looking replicators.

she's seen these before. or rather, things like this. only once, and many years ago, while on a scientific ambassador mission with her father to another planet. the transport ship had had a wall full of replicators, shinier and prettier versions with bright screens, and she'd used them to pile her plate high with endless versions of kryptonian homefare.

if she couldn't be at home, or on earth, perhaps she could have something of her childhood. unfortunately for kara, the resulting glop on her plate looks more like the wastebins of krypton than any version of fine dining. and it smells like it too. )

Oh, no.
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