(no subject)
The music that swirled around her head was full of grief and sadness, the lurkings of madness creeping in about her and hiding just outside the door, as if waiting to be let in. It was a piece she had heard before on Caprica, on machines that had not yet achieved the level of advancement that Cylon machinery had.
All she knew was that she could hear beautiful music in her head, hitting the highest of notes and the despair of the low, cycling again and again.
She had, in her hand, one of Gaius' cigars which she had found so many months ago and sat perched gracefully atop a low-hanging tree branch near to the compound, thinking of such things as sensory association and whether or not she should ration the thirteen cigars left in the case. It was a terribly unlucky number. It should be decimated nonetheless. And if she did light the cigar with the flint in the case, then there would be scent to evoke memory.
She turned it once more in her hands, thumb running over the uneven wrapper, taking in the tiny familiarity the sense of tactility gave her.
Six could hardly think to truly begin ruminating on the events of the past week, month, year. Of disappearances. Of life, simply not given to her. Did faith fix this? Did blind faith somehow make it better? Of all things, why would God choose to punish?
Cutting the cigar, she lit the tip, abandoning all worries of ghosts brought back in the smoke of the object. It would do, for now.
[Six has just realized that Gaius is gone. Feel free to approach and try and talk to the cylon!]
All she knew was that she could hear beautiful music in her head, hitting the highest of notes and the despair of the low, cycling again and again.
She had, in her hand, one of Gaius' cigars which she had found so many months ago and sat perched gracefully atop a low-hanging tree branch near to the compound, thinking of such things as sensory association and whether or not she should ration the thirteen cigars left in the case. It was a terribly unlucky number. It should be decimated nonetheless. And if she did light the cigar with the flint in the case, then there would be scent to evoke memory.
She turned it once more in her hands, thumb running over the uneven wrapper, taking in the tiny familiarity the sense of tactility gave her.
Six could hardly think to truly begin ruminating on the events of the past week, month, year. Of disappearances. Of life, simply not given to her. Did faith fix this? Did blind faith somehow make it better? Of all things, why would God choose to punish?
Cutting the cigar, she lit the tip, abandoning all worries of ghosts brought back in the smoke of the object. It would do, for now.
[Six has just realized that Gaius is gone. Feel free to approach and try and talk to the cylon!]