<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/92/1a/5e/921a5e26056ce84da5052a39054ebdf3.jpg)</div><br/><br/><hr/><br/><strong>NAME:</strong>Ciane (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=333213.msg15874326#msg15874326)<br/><strong>WEARING:</strong>plain breastband and shorts, then a simple coverall (https://i.pinimg.com/564x/01/61/b2/0161b2e9a0471c051e77a3b661eec5c2.jpg).<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong>in her tube, then out<br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong>no one, as yet<br/><hr/><br class="clear_left"/><br/><br/>"Oh, fock me." Was the headache worse than the dreams, she wondered. The chaotic images behind her eyes had been impersonal, at least, though the screaming had been bloody unpleasant. She might scream herself in a wink, though, if the drill-bit stabbing behind her eyes didn't leave off.<br/><br/>Squeezing her eyes shut and rolling her jaw to try to release whatever was causing the pain, she took stock. Not a bed, and not with company. Med creche? No, too quiet, not cold enough. Opening her eyes again, she saw the faceplate above her had lit up, showing her a face that was vaguely familiar in its hard outlines. It seemed, as she shifted, to be attached to a pretty hard body as well. Bit of brick shitter, in fact. Then the voice speared into her head, setting lights dancing under her eyelids again.<br/><br/><em>Well, isn't this luvly. Who the fock is Ciane Rendro, and what the fock did she- I- do to get me shipped off to Coventry-in-orbit?</em><br/><br/>Answers weren't going to be found in what she now dimly recognized as a suspension pod, so forcing the agony in her skull out of her immediate thoughts, she sat up and swung long legs over the edge of the tube. The room swam a bit, and seemed to be superimposed over another, similar space, right down to the lockers. Similar, but different in detail, still almost familiar. Then her vision cleared, and the room was one place again. Her stomach finally decided she could stand without spraypainting the floor, so she got up. Once sure her balance wouldn't betray her, she stretched her Amazonian frame, bounced a few times on her toes, then padded over to the locker clearly marked with Rendro's -- her- name.<br/><br/>Inside was a pair of soft slippers and a suit of worker's coveralls. Slightly too small, of course, and a garish orange. About what you'd expect from anyone's Government, she figured, still wondering exactly which one she'd pissed off. Dressing quickly, she went through a few more quick calisthenics, getting the blood pumping- whoever she had been, she was solid, at least. Her body felt good. Strong, dangerous. Blowing hard, she threw a few shadow punches, feeling the muscles in her arms bunch and flex, the tendons pop. Then she leaned against her locker to watch the other fairy-tale princesses slither out of their fake wombs. Salvage work was rough, from what she thought she remembered hearing. She hoped there weren't any weak sisters in the bunch.