After her 'encounter' with Ana and the ...stranger, Cyrine grumbled a farewell, and bolted for the door.  She dashes through the hallway, a blur of red and black,  wondering why it is she still feels the 'episode' coming on.  She starts to whisper to herself as she heads back towards the safety of the room Anastasia had offered her.<br/>She is rounding the corner, when she hears the vox in her ear purr with the captains voice.<br/><br/>The lithe redhead falls to her knees instantly, "Nonononono..." she starts to beg to no none in particular, as her body tenses and her head lulls back slowly.<br/><br/>The redheads eyes start to turn from deep green to near black- her head cranes back at an unnatural angle- "So fucking close..." she sighs-her hand on the door. The words reek with the stink of failure, as the redhead feels the inevitable coming on..<br/><br/>Her voice drops as a low growl starts to emanate from her, soon “words” start to pour over her thin lips, and out of her mouth- but in a language far different from the common gothic tongue. The ‘jibberish’ starts to come more rapidly now , words  filled with x's and z's...a rambling diatribe of seemingly nothingness, spewing from the girls lips in rapid succession.<br/><br/>Splayed out on the floor, just outside the Captains chambers- her 'salvation'  held just with in the doors- if she only could have made it to her room, and downed any of the narcotics smuggled aboard- maybe she wouldn't be  a quivering heap sprawled out on the deck.<br/><br/>She continues to mutter and mumble for a few minutes, eventually rising to her feet, still rambling, - and starts the slow trek to her chambers. Once in her room, instead of going for her drugs, she reaches for her knapsack, pulling a small sketchbook from her bag  she starts frantically scribbling into the book.<br/><br/>Images of the captain and her companion start to flood the pages of the note book, all in startling detail, and all showcasing either the strangers phallus, or the captains tail, or horns. She continues to ramble, and scribbles on page after page, tossing the discarded pages aside thoughtlessly, still rambling in total incoherence.<br/><br/>It’s not long before the small guest chambers floor is filled with page after page torn haphazardly from her notebook.<br/><br/>As quickly as it had started, the ‘ jibberish’ stops, Cyrines eyes return to their normal hue, and the redheads voice loses its airy quality, and returns to its thick, viscous normal tones.<br/>Cyrine is momentarily dazed, she kneels to pick up one of the drawings, scratching her head because she..can’t draw. At all, well …at least not like<i>this</i>. These images were perfectly detailed, perfectly proportioned, just…far beyond what the woman ever felt capable of.<br/><br/>She scratches her head, and looks around the room. This was strange…even for her.<br/>She proceeds to adjust her hair in the decorative mirror, shake off the ‘strange’ feeling still clouding up the back of her mind, pockets  a stick of Obscura, downs half a bottle of Roshvod, and heads out to the bridge.<br/><br/>When she arrives she hangs  back near the doorway, only watching .  Strangers all of them(save the captain): a battle sister…a Tau?  She shakes her head and tries to resist the urge to start documenting the unfolding events. She doesn’t resist long however, within minutes the red head is silently moving about the room, snapping pictos of anything that strikes her interest- which in the current situation, is everything.<br/><br/><br/>(TL: DR- Cyrine has an 'episode'- starts frantically speaking in tongues, and exhibiting a skill for drawing she does not have. Then...gets drunk and heads to the 'party'.)<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>