Post by Roma on Jun 25, 2019 19:21:03 GMT -6
|Road Taken| - Roma's PL: 15,000
Attention caller, this number belongs to Kalabas Strongbone, Duke of Strongbone. At the present moment I am unable to answer your call. Do not leave a recorded message nor attempt to call me again unless you have a pressing matter. You have been warned.
There was a brief pause after the pre-recorded message ran its course, a long stream of silence that was far more deafening than any words could ever be. Without fail, the Duke of Strongbone always answered his phone within the first two rings. Then, Roma would say something that was the exact opposite of a pressing matter, like how she stubbed her toe, or saw a weird rock. Then he would hang up. That was how they kept in contact, and as much as Roma hated the world and herself, she still felt grateful for the fact that the Duke actually cared about her. Maybe not who she was now, but who she could become, if she really wished. Nonetheless, it was a sentiment she desperately needed to stop herself from spiraling further and further into her own self-pity. Even if she could never say it properly, she appreciated his company.
He hadn't picked up his phone in who knows how long.
How many times had Roma tried to contact him, now? She was scared to check. All she wished was to hear something from his voice, other than the same words, day in, day out. She didn't know what had happened to him- however, her pessimistic nature filled in the blanks accurately enough. He was well and truly dead, she was sure of it. Belle was missing. She hadn't seen Voccado in ages. The blue ogre wasn't anywhere to be seen- now, she was alone. She really had nobody left to cheer her on. She was sure that she didn't deserve it, but she needed it.
But it wouldn't come, since she had ensured that everyone she had ever met despised her, and wished nothing more than for her to leave.
So, she turned to the one thing that she was confident in, the one thing that she could take a smidgen of pride in- machines. The Tuffle Ruins were a lovely place to scavenge old tech, and while the Destron certainly wasn't pleasant, she had built up a bit of a tolerance for how much time she spent here. She sat on a heap of metal, inspecting some gadget that did something-or-another.
She let a pained breath. What was the point of scavenging for tech if there wasn't a soul who cared about her ship? It was large and grandiose, but the only passenger it had recently held was her. She dropped the gadget on the ground, instead opting to just put her head in her arms. Maybe, she thought, it was better to stay like this and let the gas do its work.