stykera: (starkozu - wtf)
Stark awoke Saturday morning suddenly no longer Stark-shaped. There was a minimal amount of flailing this time and only one small yell of dismay, quickly muffled. He was almost used to this. Almost, not quite. He would never really be used to it. The flailing and yell gave way very shortly to nothing more than a long-suffering sigh.

He was at least resigned to it by now. It would go away. It had always gone away before and so it always had to go away. There was no other option that Stark was willing to consider and if he started considering other options things were sure to end badly. So he was going to continue believing that this too would pass by tomorrow. Or Monday. Definitely before Tuesday. He hoped. It would, wouldn't it?

At least here there would be others to commiserate with. He hoped. What if it was just him? He didn't want it to be just him. Not that he wanted others to have to deal with this too. He just didn't want to have to be the only one. The only way to find out was to go out, he supposed.

[Establishy. Though if you've got a reason or desire to stop by the alien's room I'm not gonna stop you. Mostly I just love the Starkozu icons.]
stykera: (starkozu looks upward)
When he woke yesterday, Stark had let out a few half-hearted "frell!"s, then sighed and gone about his usual routine. Not that he had much of a routine at this point, but there was always upkeep to be done on the transport pod and consulting of maps and starcharts, and the ever-important missing of cupcakes while unenthusiastically nibbling on the seemingly endless supply of food cubes he'd mistakenly purchased on the last commerce planet he'd stopped at.

When he woke on the second solar day to find he was still a girl and had not returned to his usual shape while he slept the "oh, frell" was far more heartfelt than the previous day's. The flailing was far more pronounced as well.

"It always went away after just one day before," he growled to the empty transport pod. The only answer was a soft echo of his currently higher pitched voice, which was growing annoyingly familiar by now.

"It will go away again, won't it? I don't like this." He was rather attached to his proper shape and found being the wrong shape very distressing. Especially when things did not go back to normal when they were supposed to.

Perhaps he could at least share the misery. Or find out if this was happening to anyone else. Still happening to anyone else. Shaking his head (which had too much hair!), he turned his attention to the comms system.

[Open for calls with a mildly flaily alien, should anyone so desire.]
stykera: (kick the stark!)
Time passed on Moya. A few solar days at most while they traveled back to the water planet. Stark was still distraught, not paying attention to the passage of time or to anything else. He didn't notice the comings and goings of anyone else on Moya. He wandered the corridors occasionally, ignoring his comms and the DRDs and most attempts at interaction and the reports of developments in the war between the Scarrans and the Peacekeepers. The war that might have been averted already if only he had better prepared Yondalao or if only he were able to do what it was everyone wanted him to do and deliver Yondalao's spiritual remains to the other Eidelons. "I'm not worthy. I'm not worthy. I'm not worthy. Can't do that, can't do that. I can't do it." Repetitions along those lines were all he said when he bothered to speak at all. Sometimes, even when he did speak, he was barely understandable. The others weren't sure if he was talking to himself or a voice in his head. It amounted to much the same thing as far as they were concerned, and Stark babbling was at least somewhat normal, even if the rest of his behavior wasn't.

He would have spoken to the others if he could have. He wanted to. If he were able to, he would have told them everything. He would have tried to explain what was going inside his head. He would have tried to tell them all that what was left of Yondalao was nearly unbearable to be carrying around inside of himself but that he was trying. And yes, he was occasionally carrying on conversations with the voices in his head but if they had half as many pieces of others inside of them as he did his shipmates would do the same thing. Some of the voices were helpful. Others, particularly those acquired when he had lived among Scarrans and Peacekeepers, were not. And some of them were just loud and distracting. And one, the one voice he wanted most of all, was nearly silent and that only made matters worse. If Zhaan were here, even just in his head, it would be easier. He knew that. If Zhaan were here the others would never have forced him into this situation in the first place. She wouldn't have allowed it. He knew that, too. Of course, the others knew nothing of all of this. All they knew was that something was wrong. Even if he had tried to explain, they wouldn't have understood. None of them were Stykera. None of them had had the the remains of a spiritual leader, and with them one of the last hopes for peace in this end of the galaxy, forced into their heads.

"I don't know how," was his last quietly desperate statement before he stopped speaking entirely.

[Poor wee Banik. We're almost at the end though. Hopefully.]
stykera: (starkozu looks upward)
Like many current and former residents of Fandom, Stark had woken up not himself today. The hair wasn't a surprise this time. It had been a long time since he'd bothered to cut his regular hair, much less shave it.

The being girl-shapped was a surprise, even if it had happened before. He'd hoped that was the one and only time that would happen.

"Oh, frell," he said to the empty transport pod. The pod didn't respond.

Stark, being Stark, then spent some time flailing and muttering to himself. And pacing, though there wasn't much room for that. The transport pod, being a transport pod, still didn't respond.

So Stark decided he'd try and contact someone who would at least be sympathetic to the fact that he wasn't Stark-shaped at the moment and was in fact girl-shaped. And by someone he meant anyone. That's why he was trying to place a call to...anyone.

[Would have got this up earlier but ended up being gone all day. But it's still Friday here! Barely! Want a call from an emo and currently girly alien? Have at it! He would enjoy having someone to flail at, even super long distance.]
stykera: (starkozu is glowy too)
Stark had been advised by Daisy not to just hide out in his room until this being a girl thing went away. So he'd left the door open. That wasn't hiding, right? And he might still go out into a common room if the mood struck. Maybe. Although last time he'd gone to a common room there had been brownies and then he'd woken up as a she so maybe there wouldn't be common rooms.

The flailing from earlier was mostly under control, though there were still sporadic bursts of flail. Of course, most of the flailing had been replaced by pacing around the room.

Contemplating the idea of being "goth" as Daisy had called it, Stark had looked through the closet to find that yes, his clothing was still his clothing and still mostly brown and black. It just didn't fit right currently. At least the mask had changed to fit. Leaking all over the place would really have just been too much to deal with. At that thought Stark sat down on his bed and realized he hadn't actually checked under the mask to make sure everything there, at least, was as it should be. Thankfully, he still glowed. At some point it might have occurred to Stark that the mask wouldn't have been there if he wasn't still glowy, but he was too busy freaking out to think that clearly.

And now, back to the pacing and occasional flailing while listening to the rain.

[Door? Open. Post? Open. Alien? Flaily. Player? Bored. And yes, I posted twice in one day. No fainting!]


stykera: (Default)

March 2012

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