[ THISAVROU: INBOX ] MID messages & IC mail

[forwardmomentum]

I N B O X

IC Voice Mail "Personnel Officer Miles here. If this is a personal matter, leave a message; if it's ship business-related, may I direct you to the Personnel Office's suggestion box. Sending me a barrage of texts will not make me respond to you any faster, so don't, Ivan." Mun Contact PLURK:   runawayballista

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[forwardmomentum]

[ miles goes absolutely still, and that flat look on his face goes entirely cold, closed off. there's nothing he could say to that that would convince her otherwise, that wouldn't come off as defensive or petty or ashamed. he's been here before, he knows that. he ought to just drop it and leave it be. ought to.

when he finally does speak, moments later, his voice is low and quiet and just as cold as his face, betraying none of the hurt. he's too angry to raise his voice. ]

You'd be astonished to discover that there are people out there who don't judge based purely on the shape of your body. And I wouldn't lower myself to sleep with a woman who only targeted me because she thought I'd beg for any scraps I could get.

[ he remembers that night on beta colony when he was fifteen, the girl who had taken him aside to a room at that party, who had seen his body as a curiosity and nothing more, who had abruptly left him there, shirt pushed up and trousers tugged down over his hips when she saw that his genitals were about the only normal-looking thing about him. he remembers how he'd felt that night and the nights after, the crushing panic and the weight of his own self-loathing sufficating, the grip on the knife in his hand before bothari wrested it away from him, before he could do anything truly stupid. ten years ago now, and it still leaves a bitter taste like bile in the back of his throat.

miles' gray eyes are still like ice chips, but he smiles acidly. ]

So I guess you'll never know, will you?

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

[Impotent or not, it seems that she still managed to hit the sore spot with her comment. Of course, there was no denying the fact that J had though that seducing Miles would be peace of cake mostly because the way he looked. But honestly, she didn't care about his looks at all and she would've done it to anyone.

First, she doesn't react to his bar in any way. Really, she's been called much worse in her life that a small snarl like that doesn't phase her a bit. But oh, he really wants to make her be the only villain in the room, like he's not being one himself.

Fine, then. Let's have it that way.]

Or are you sure it's not the opposite? [She leans in closer again and for a moment it looks like she's going to kiss him again.]

That they aren't only interested because of that weird looking body? I've heard that some people have really weird kinks, hmm?

[Which is actually something she's rather familiar with. She's more than sure that those men who came to see her in New York didn't do it purely out of adoration as they claimed, but more out of curiosity or mockery.]

[forwardmomentum]

[ that layer of ice shatters at those words, and miles looks stricken -- she might as well have just struck him across the face, or maybe kicked him in the stomach, because he looks suddenly sick, anger and hurt flashing over his face before he can stop them. miles' breath catches in his throat and he feels panic cloud his chest. the woman leaning across the desk at him isn't like the girl who'd spurned him all those years ago, she doesn't look like her at all -- but J isn't all that much older than that girl had been, and miles sees her face in J's, calm and cruel and ruthless.

whatever layers of collected confidence, bordering on arrogance, had been there are stripped away now, leaving miles bare and exposed. miles drops his hands to his lap to curl them into fists, refusing to let her see that they're shaking. ]

Get out. [ the words come out half-whispered and hoarse, miles trying to swallow around them, but they almost get stuck in his throat. the panic from the unbidden flashback is making him dizzy, the faint din of that ten-years-past party somehow still reaching his ears, however distantly. he doesn't just look exposed, he looks upset, but god dammit, he's a grown man and he won't cry in front of this woman. ] Get out, you --

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

[Seeing Miles' reaction really shocks her. No, she's gone too far, this isn't what she wanted. Not what she meant to do.

She's never been known for being kind exactly but really, that's what you learn from living in a world where nearly everyone is against you. But still, no matter how mean and nasty she got towards others she had never in her life gained pleasure from it. And same was here. Just what the hell she's doing bere?!. This isn't her. It hasn't even been two weeks since the last time she had been in same situation as Miles here.

A pimple that broke out on Mr. America's face, that's what they called her. And now, for the first time ever, she really feels like it.]

M-- [She opens her mouth to say something, expression on her face softening-- but not from pity, but rather from regret. She really should say something but what? There's nothing she could say or do to make this better. To fix what she's broken. So, instead she just takes a deep breath and slowly gets off from the desk.]

I'm sorry. [Her voice is just as quiet as his had been at the first. She walks to the other side of the desk, picks up her jacket from the chair and makes her way towards the door.]

Goodbye, Mr. Miles. [She says before shutting the door behind her.]

gently throws a closing tag on this

[forwardmomentum]

[ the apology is too little, too late. way too late. miles doesn't look any less hurt or angry after that apology, doesn't move from where he's pressed back against his chair as if in an attempt to escape until she's finally hurried out of the room. even then, he sits at his desk trying to control his breathing before he finally gets up and staggers over to the door to lock it -- the lock wouldn't respond to anyone's fingerprint but his own or one of the captains'. he leans against the door for a long time, breathing hard, but even when the panic subsides, nothing else does. feeling sick, miles staggers back toward his desk but veers instead for the couch, slumping onto it, and buries his face in his hands. ]