*As Elena switches the log on, the camera shows her figure sitting cross-legged on a wooden bench of quite old fashion. With one hand she is holding the PDA which is as usual recording the scenery, the other one is resting on the bench, supporting her. With vacant expressions does she stare into the camera, though it is transforming into a scowl every now and then, while her weary eyes are telling a story of great fatigue. Behind her, the camera is capturing a typical nature scene; trees and plants that are stretching their verdurous leaves up. Farther away in the background, there is a white wall visible that confining the gardens Elena is apparently residing in just now. One of the few gardens on board Glendalough Orbital, where she had decided to retire to for the moment. It however seems a little lifeless, just as she does, as ambient noises such as bird's twittering or occasional drafts are scarce, next to non-existant. Making a small hand gesture, resembling a wave of her hand to greet the camera, she starts talking.*
In case you wonder why I'm probably looking like an unwashed piece of trash, I can clear that out easily, just one word: hangover. And oh man, I tell you, I got one, a heavy one even. My head is throbbing like crazy, as if somebody madman was bashing against it with a sledgehammer again and again. And all that, only from one bloody bottle of Vodka. It's like - Jesus, I'm not used to anything anymore, no matter how much I'm persuading myself that I am again, I'm so not. Okay, granted, maybe, just maybe it were two bottles yesterday evening, but can you blame me for it? I'm just saying, you can blame me for a lot of sh- *She takes a sharp breath.* Okay, okay, full stop. No, Elena, I won't hear of it, not now. Stop self-pitying, for once, for fuck's sake. What I was about to say, can you blame me for it? It's some sort of self-help therapy after all. Like, you see, the alcohol really helps. It's not really helping now - Christ, no it really is not - but at least it helped yesterday. Whole lot better than medicaments certainly, at least in my opinion. *She gulps.* I've stood through a lot worse hangovers though, so I won't complain like a pussy now. I've probably done so already anyways, haven't I?
*She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second to soak the air of the garden in. It probably isn't much different to anywhere else on Glendalough, but maybe she just tries to imagine it being different.*
Okay, so where do I begin. *She scratches her head, looking around for a brief moment. Her posture in the meanwhile turns into a more bent one.* I think I should start where I left off the last time, which would be this invitation I got a week ago or so. You remember, from Maren - aristocratic - von Westefeld, the girlfriend of my kind-of-friend Ezrael. Before I actually begin to lose any word about this whole debacle, let me add that I went there to get distracted, alright? You know, I didn't really feel the wish to bake cake, not really enthusiastic I was you could say, but I thought, well, could be interesting, right? Blowing the cobwebs away and such, not to mention I knew Maren can be funny company. I stress the phrase "can be" on purpose, though! You'll soon see why. So now, I went there in the attempt to have a good time, not that I was sure it would be that way, but I had some hopes. What did I get served? Some of the stuff I really, really hate eating lately. Problems. A bunch of them. Not the kind of problems that I got now, you know what I mean, but instead, old ones got warmed up. Now they are back in my head as well, and I'm seriously in doubt what I'm supposed to believe.
I met Maren in her bungalow on Curacao, nice location, quite a comfy building, I could've definitely imagined spending some more time there. But hell, believe me, could I imagine that now? No way, I swear. I won't gonna make another step into that damn building anytime soon. You must be wondering, in what kind of shit did you get involved this time again? Well, you see, I told you about that thing between Ezrael and me. Not the cuddling on Corinth, not that. The stuff with Hussaini I mean. And its repercussions. I thought we were good, he and me, we won't meet each other again, and everything's fine, that's it. Not a bit of it. The repercussions gave me a sweet little kick in the arse again that evening.
*She sighs.* Maren behaved weirdly, once or twice over the course of the evening. Like, I told you, she can be funny, but she can be so much other stuff as well! Creepy, first and foremost. When we were done with baking that cake, which didn't take long, and wasn't either really thrilling or interesting, we went to the beach, swimming a little - although she couldn't swim, to my surprise - and chilling under a palm tree. That's when things got ugly for the first time. *She suddenly shudders.* She knew that I knew Operative Red, Ezrael's Guy Fawkes mask so to say, and asked me out about his adventures. Of course we had to end up talking about that Freeport Ten run-in with Hussaini. Thing is, she knew stuff, much stuff. And her behavior, creepy as fuck. She was ... actively! ... asking about Hussaini's eyes! As if she knew he was infected, and with that grin at the same time, I tell you I would have almost run away. What she told me afterwards was even worse, though. She knows that thing, Unschuld, pretty well as I can see it. Not like I was still calm at that point, no. I'd have loved to screamingly get the hell away from her, because I knew that something was absolutely not right. I was literally afraid of her.
*She shakes her head, scratching it again and lowering it to glance at the ground, as though she was to sort her thoughts. Her expressions had turned quite strained over the course of her narration.*
But that's not all, the worst part is still coming. So we went back, hopping on the couches and deciding to watch one of those movies I brought with me. A classic one, very old horror movie, probably even a unique copy or something. It's not exactly healthy for me to watch horror movies, because I know myself that I'm jumpy lately. Too jumpy, to be honest, but I can't help it. That's when it happened. I should've seen it coming, but Maren had told me he was away, apparently he had done some unfunny stuff on his battleship. But guess who stood in the door suddenly? The guy I'm not supposed to see. Because a certain infected swine controls him like a bloody pet. So, after I pointed my gun at him, and exchanged other similar pleasantries, it became apparent there was something not alright. He decided to hop onto the couch as well, but I tell you, the atmosphere was frosty. Understandably. But it signalized me we were in trouble all of a sudden. This bake meeting slowly turned into a debacle because of that, as those old problems came back knocking at the door, it seemed. Ezrael was acting extremely weirdly, stiff to say the least, calling me "Miss Voigt" at first even.
Wanna hear my opinion? I think Maren is some kind of bad, bitchy snitch and big friends with Unschuld. Or... or of course... you see, there is this one thought that crossed my mind at one point. With Maren acting so weirdly, what if ... if she is actually the real source of problem? Unschuld had told me they wanted to keep an eye on me. So. Do you think what I think? Why the hell would Maren want to bake cake with me, out of all people, anyways, if not to have a closer look at me? I had all kinds of bad thoughts at that point. Is she an agent for that infectee, is she one herself, is she in fact Unschuld? I know, that's like the most absurd bullshit, but that's what crossed my mind.
Later the evening, Ezrael and I had the opportunity to speak under four eyes about it. He was trying to comfort me, kind of, but at the same time it was quite obvious he wanted me to get the hell away before more troubles are being produced. Which I was just as inclined to do as you believe, yes. Honestly, he can go and sit on a tack for my sake. I'm so over this whole shit. I tried to have a good time there, and in what does it have to end? A discussion about problems I had managed to push to the back of mind. One way or another, I guess rather they got overshadowed by others, but that doesn't change the results in any way. I won't meet this guy anytime soon, and to be honest, I don't really care. As long as I just stay away from them and their problems and nomad crap, I'm fine. It's not like I'm not deep enough in doo-doo anyway. The last thing I'd wanna do is create more, and man, by going there, I created more. Sometimes I seriously begin to wonder whether that's some kind of instinct of mine. Oh, look, there's an opportunity to get into trouble, my brain must think subconsciously. Hey, why not take the opportunity and seize the day? Jeesh, I'm so over that I swear.
*Burying her face in her hands, she takes a few more sharp breaths, as though she was aware the topics of this log won't get better anytime soon. Then, a lenthy sigh, one that could speak more than a thousand words about reluctance. Finally she raises her head again, and with an uptight facial play stares into the camera.*
Let's get to the real bullshit, though. Because like, I can learn my lesson out of that, sort of. Never go to Maren and Ezrael again, it will only cause a bunch of unnecessary trouble which I'm in no need of at the moment. But believe me, there is so much more stuff that's making me awfully sick. And the problem! *Her tone becomes louder, verging on shouting.* And the problem is not even this goddamn death! Yes, I'm gonna speak it out loud, I killed my baby, there you got it, but that's nowhere near the whole crap that is befalling me currently. It's a majority, alright, I admit, it's a majority of why I feel like shit still, after three weeks of opportunities to get over with. But what does that help if you're just about to step right into the next turd? If I didn't know better - actually, I -do- know better, that's why I'm actually saying it, I'd say I just can't help it. A poor excuse, I know, and I don't believe it myself, but sometimes it makes the impression of such. That I'm doomed to walk from disaster to disaster. At the end of the day, I doom myself, you ain't gotta tell me. You can't anyways, yes, but I know you'd like to.
Now here I am, saying out loud that I know it's all my fault. Hell, it all wouldn't be such a massive problem if I didn't, but matter of fact, I do. The baby, the decision to go to Maren's on Curacao, and then ... oh God. Give me a moment.
*Her gaze wanders away from the camera while she is staring into the distance with blank eyes. They get a little wet which is clearly perceivable, but she manages to keep it under control. One snivel and she turns her attention back to the camera.*
Alright. Here we go again. Kiara. *She hesitates.* God why am I even torturing myself with recording those logs? It's as if I thought my life was so overly exciting and important to record all of it. Call it a habit I guess? Urgh, I don't even know. So, Kiara, back to her. You know, I thought I knew that she was safely on Nicole's Democritus, one of those expensive yachts. What could go wrong on one of those? Much can go wrong. Nicole didn't manage to keep her there, it seems, and last time I asked her she said Kiara had cleared off to God-knows-where. You see, I ... I can understand Kiara has her own independent existence and all, after she had scolded me some time ago that I was overprotective, I tried to reduce that. Trying to give one fuck less about it, knowing she'd be fine. Now, now guess what? No, she's not fine. Because of me, she's not fine. Remember how I pissed her off with my alcohol consumption back in the days when I was freshly out of that piece of concrete trash called hospital? She was completely furious, throwing so bad words at me, blaming me that I wouldn't take any care of my ... baby. She's right in any aspect, in any sense of the word, though with some delay, 'cause back then it already didn't make any difference anymore. It let her words roll of my shoulder, a product of my drunk state and my knowledge that literally made me completely indifferent about that matter. So she ran off. I guess she was disappointed of me, something like that, as I'm a close of friend of hers. *She breaths in heavily again.* If you just had any idea how hard it is to talk about this all...
I disappointed her. Fine, one of many faux-pas of mine as of late. But ... oh God, how do I say this? Yesterday we had got a hint from some filthy Junker scum that there was a wreckage floating around space in Tau-37, transponder saying it's called "Sea Nymph". It was Kiara's personal vessel, you know, the ones she had always done her dangerous journeys to Leeds ... or Malta ... with. You can imagine how fast I ran there as soon as I had the coordinates of her ship. The sight, I tell you, the sight ... it was horrible, terrifying, unbearable even. Somebody had shot the ship down. No energy, no life signs, nothing, just a lone wreckage floating in the lonely, vast space of the Taus. We towed the Nymph back to Glendalough for an inspection, Mason and I, in the hopes to find out what happened ... or, maybe to find her on board despite the lacking life signs.
The sights inside the ship wasn't any better. Alcohol, everywhere. Only that made me realize what I had actually done to her. I made her plunge into a binge-drinking, it seemed. There was blood, somewhere. But first and foremost, beer. Much of it. Won't hide I had an emotional breakdown in there. I hate myself for that, I really do. I wished I could contain myself better, but that was just ... just horrible. I don't know how to describe it, for me it just lacks any kind of fitting description. I recognized her dress while we were on board, the one I bought together with her to later go on a party with. When I only think about, I swear. Oh God. What have I done to her? To my friend..?
We're gonna search for her, as we believe she got captured. But even if that was the case, it wouldn't make anything better. I still feel guilty of all of that. Had I restrained myself and brought myself to tell her about what happened, she would still be there. This way, because I couldn't tell her point-blank what I had been upto, she might be dead... or a captive, being tortured ... or abused ... I ... *She ends the sentence with another, almost stranded-sounding sigh of helplessness.*
What pisses me off is, I had talked to people about my problems, even. Edith Toller and Nazawo Ayato to be exact, the first one a very old friend of mine. They didn't run off when they heard what I was trying to cope with. They didn't blame me, or at least they didn't voice it. They talked to me, even peptalked me. Telling me stuff's gonna be alright at one point, and that the coping process will find its end some time. I had hopes, even if small ones, that they might be right. Still hated myself for everything, but at least I might saw the light at the end of the tunnel for a short amount of time. What comes next? This. And this just reminds me again why I've been how I've been lately. I didn't only kill my baby. I might have just killed my best friend as well now.
God. If you listen to this. I never, ever, really believed in you, not in Christianity or anything, that's bull. But if you're out there, I could really, really use your help right now. I may not deserve it, but who does anyway?
I should end this, now. Before I get too much into all those thoughts again.
*Shaking her head, she briefly glances into the camera for a lost second with narrowed eyes, then with a pinched smile would she end the log.*
