2010-04-10 - Survival Sickness

ONCE UPON A TIME

...there was a spaceship. It flew through the stars, a void amongst voids, its GN Field reducing its space-radar status to 'conspicuous lacuna.' This spaceship was called the Ptolemaios II, mothership of the most prominent branch of Celestial Being, and home of that branch's Gundam Meisters.

There's an ancient saying that, in this day and age, is attributed by most academic and authoritative sources to have originally come from the Chinese philosopher Confucius:

'You don't have to be crazy to work here, but it helps.'

Ian Vashti used to have that on a sticker, stuck to one of the walls of his workspace aboard the ship. His daughter made him take it down, though, thinking it looked tacky. Still, the sentiment holds true. Amongst the legions of Katharon, Celestial Being have never really -- 'fit in,' or 'played nice,' or 'tried to conceal that they are basically a tangled mass of damaged individuals striving toward a goal that is not only impossible, but also secret, which is worse.' And the ringleader of this group is Sumeragi Lee Noriega.

Is, or was, maybe. No one's heard from the Ptolemaios II in months. It's been off -- somewhere. Obviously, the Meisters have been able to use it, but for the most part, out of sight, out of mind, or at least that's how the saying goes (generally chalked up to David Hume). But then Sumeragi was on the radio the other day, drunkenly blurting nonsense, confusing the Zanscare with the Zentradi, and, well.

Out of mind gives a lot of room for out of control.

On the one hand, Cagalli should really be getting prepped for David's Sling. She almost feels guilty for /not/ prepping -- Zero's got her very much convinced that that particular operation is one of the most important things Katharon has planned to engage in since its inception. However... right now, Sumeragi's condition draws special attention.

Cagalli's history with Sumeragi has been a rocky one, mostly because Cagalli cannot hold her liquor worth a shit and jumps to unfortunate conclusions at the drop of a hat. However, even she's worried, at this point -- Sumeragi's biggest asset had been her keen mind, and right now, she doesn't even have that.

Flying from the Argama to the Ptolemaios II in the Strike Rouge, Cagalli requests permission to dock. A moment later, she adds that she would like to talk to the captain once she's onboard, in private.

Permission is granted in short order. It's not like they have any reason to doubt Cagalli's intentions. Still, when the Strike Rouge docks, it's not Sumeragi Lee Noriega that meets the Princess of Orb -- it's a young woman with lavender hair that kind of sticks out to one side, dressed in the uniform that Celestial Being have adopted since their return to action.

"Ah... Cagalli Yula Athha?" the woman says, smiling, a bit nervously. Her voice is soft, her tone respectful, but instead of wilting, she walks forward to offer a handshake. "I'm Anew Returner. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm sorry, but Feldt couldn't be here right this second, she's taking care of something -- but she'll be down, oh, quickly, I think. Sorry!" Anew's smile takes on a bit of a blush.

That's funny. Cagalli asked to speak to the /captain/, and here's this strange woman talking about /Feldt/ coming down.

Feldt, who when Cagalli last saw her, was a frowning teenager who may or may not have been involved in some kind of illicit homosexual menage a trois with her bridgemates.

Cagalli gives Anew a firm yet not quite gorilla-gripping handshake; it's very professional. "It's good to meet you too, Anew -- wait a minute, though. Is, uh..." Cagalli is not sure how to breach this particular topic, but in the end decides to go with her characteristic directness.

"Is Feldt the captain of the ship now? Is Sumeragi too drunk to command?"

She is not entirely sure how exactly Sumeragi got /that/ drunk without dying -- it might just be her tolerance, one supposes, but even then... Confusing the Zentradi and the Zanscare? Really? "... it's OK, though. I'll wait for Feldt -- I do kinda want to check up on Sumeragi, though, since, uh..." She gestures vaguely, as if trying to convey 'I fear she may die of alcohol poisoning in the next 24 hours' without saying a single word

Anew Returner was probably not prepared for Cagalli's brute-force approach to fact-finding. This is probably why her response, rather than an elaborate cover story or a firm denial, is to make a face like suddenly her lips lost all muscle control and went helplessly slack, followed by the brief but telling statement:

"Uh."

Just then, though, a savior arrives: Feldt Grace, pushing in through the doorway, looking... older. Well, not that older. She's definitely not even twenty yet. But there's that indefinable quality to her that definitely makes it look like she's made the transition to season two, beyond even just her hair. Her eyes are marked with the telltale signs of too many long nights. "Hello, Cagalli," Feldt says, her voice flat as it ever was -- which is weird, having the word 'flat' anywhere near Celestial Being. But that's another story entirely.

"Sumeragi-sama is unavailable. She's sorting through some very important data and can't be distracted." Feldt says this with a perfect poker face, but the way Anew rolls her lips while looking sidelong at Feldt sort of undermines the effect. "But if there's anything that /I/ can help you with... feel free to ask."

"... Hi, Feldt," Cagalli says, feeling a little worn out already herself; this was not what she was expecting when she went to the Ptolemaios. It was always a weird ship, but at least it usually ran on time in a manner that made some sense.

"Unavailable, huh," the Princess remarks, definitely not believing /that/ after last night. "Well... OK, that's OK, I guess." She starts to try to think of questions she can ask of the Ptolemaios crew that /aren't/ what she just asked Anew -- somehow, she feels like she's coming up a little on the short side.

Eventually, she asks, "Why's the Ptolemaios been on complete radio silence, more or less, for so long? I mean -- there's a lot of stuff that I think we could've used a really good tactical forecaster for, and some close field support maybe, but that just... hasn't been there. I'm OK at it, but even I can't manage what you guys can."

With Feldt having stepped up, Anew basically defers to her, which is sort of funny, because Feldt is like at least a head shorter and looks a good few years younger. Then again, Anew looks like she slept well last night, so it evens out.

The dour teenager sticks her hands into her pockets, leaving the thumbs out and pressing them against her belt, body language going on the defensive, apparently. "We've been engaged in a mission," Feldt says, as if the answer was such a foregone conclusion that saying it aloud was difficult. "I can't... really discuss it. I mean, no one on /here/ even knows the details but me, and Sumeragi-sama, and Chris."

Anew does pipe up helpfully, if quietly: "It's true," as if this were objective outside verification.

"But it's... we're working on something really big, and we can't risk tipping our hand before we're ready," Feldt continues. She sounds almost apologetic, since she really only has two modes, 'unenthused' and 'sad.' "But I'm sorry we haven't been helping Katharon. It's just -- for what we were planning... too many cooks, you know?"

The Princess isn't sure she buys this; she /really/ wants to talk to Sumeragi about this, and definitely doesn't buy the 'analyzing data' excuse. "I understand," Cagalli says to Feldt, as the young woman tries to cover for how completely irresponsibly the entire ship is run. "Don't worry too much about it -- I'm not mad at you or anything, just... we could really use the help."

After a second, she latches onto something Feldt said; tapping her chin, she inquires, "When are Sumeragi and Chris going to be available?" She wants to get some other perspectives on the ship -- /ideally/ Sumeragi's, but not necessarily.

"I mean," she adds, "As long as I can get back to Earth before David's Sling, I can wait."

Feldt frowns -- well, her neutral expression becomes slightly less neutral. Her hands stay in her pockets and she visibly resists the temptation to bounce on her heels. The pink-haired teen glances over at Anew, who shrugs helplessly.

When Feldt turns her head back toward Cagalli, it's with the cold, weary, businesslike demeanor of a career Mafia boss. "Okay... Anew... get Sumeragi-sama." Another meaningful look is exchanged between the two Ptolemaios crew members. Clearly, there are additional orders tacked onto that. Most likely 'get Sumeragi-sama and run her face under a cold shower for a minute first.' Or 'get Sumeragi-sama and fill her full of coffee on the way up.' Or 'get Sumeragi-sama and let's just all kiss our asses goodbye.'

Anew nods, and dutifully disappears. As she does so, Feldt once more looks to Cagalli.

"Well, Chris kind of... isn't here," Feldt replies, that frown persisting. "I mentioned that we're in the middle of a secret mission. Chris is... the one on the mission."

Emotionally-fragile Chris isn't here, Sumeragi is 'busy' until Cagalli makes it clear she's not going to leave without at least checking up on her... yeah, this smells pretty fishy. "... Thanks," Cagalli says, nodding firmly to Feldt as Anew disappears. "I was worried about you guys after last night -- Sumeragi seemed pretty... out of it."

Isn't that the understatement of the century.

Cutting a little closer to the bone, she continues, "I'm worried about your ability to actually conduct missions at all, if things are this scattered." Thinking back to her own dealings with Alex Rosewater and with Morgenroete, however, her expression softens -- if only for Feldt.

"I know it's not your fault," she says, shaking her head. "You've definitely grown up a little since the last time I saw you."

"Her... radio was acting up," Feldt says quietly while not making eye contact. For someone with such a good poker face, Feldt is not actually a great liar. She just seems too uncomfortable to sound believable, like someone failing a job interview and knowing it. Feldt's hand comes out of her pocket and grips her other bicep, arm bending across her body, the language of her stance still insular, shutting Cagalli out.

And then comes the compliment, which makes Feldt look Cagalli right in the eyes. It's a bit like having the neighbor you've met once or twice compliment you on the decor of your bedroom when you know you've never invited them into the house. There's a moment where the pink-haired youth seems to struggle with what to say, before finally settling on a terse "Thank you."

A long, awkward silence ensues, until it's broken up by:

"Cagalli!"

Sumeragi Lee Noriega emerges from a doorway. She's not in uniform. A button-up blouse isn't tucked into her slacks, which are from an entirely different suit than her jacket, apparently. She is barefoot. The tactical forecaster looks red-eyed and dopey, as if she'd just been woken up from a deep sleep. "Hey, kiddo, long time no see!" She's at least not slurring her words, but she's... awfully friendly.

It's not hard to tell that Feldt has grown and actually takes her job seriously; the fact that she's trying to cover for Sumeragi and keep the ship going is sign enough of /that/. Nevertheless, the resultant awkwardness settles over the room for a few minutes -- Cagalli not really sure what to say, and evidently, Feldt having much the same problem.

Thank God for Sumeragi.

"... Hey," comes Cagalli's first reply to Sumeragi, still tainted by the awkwardness of the last few minutes; eventually, she forces out a, "Hey, uh -- can we talk one on one? I mean... it's been a long time, and there's a lot to go over, and I think a lot of these guys already know what's up since it sounds like they've been..." A pause, before she settles on, "Less tied up with the mission data you've got." She glances down to Sumeragi's bare feet, and frowns. /This/ is Celestial Being's legendary forecaster?

Silently, Feldt nearly has a heart attack when the first words out of Sumeragi's mouth are:

"...'mission data?'"

Then, after a second, Sumeragi blinks, and laughs, loudly. "Oh, right, /mission data/. Yeah, I've been occupying myself with plenty of missions lately." The tactical forecaster -- or the woman who used to be one, anyway -- slings an arm around Feldt. "Anything you can say in front of me, you can say in front of Feldt. She's a big girl. What's on your mind, Cagalli?"

Feldt looks at the floor when Sumeragi drapes an arm around her, visibly embarassed. Sumeragi just seems... teetering, like she's leaning on Feldt for support (in a lot of ways).

Holy /shit/, Cagalli thinks, this sloppier than Sahib Ashman after a bottle of anything stronger than beer. Goddamn.

"I really think you might want to, uh, talk one on one about this," the Princess says, "but if you're sure..." A probably-inappropriate urge to assert herself bubbles inside her; she suppresses it for a few seconds, but it's stronger than it probably should be.

Naturally, she comes out swinging after all. "I want to know what the /Hell/ was up with you last night on the tactical band," Cagalli says, eyes locking dead-on with Sumeragi's. "I may not have any actual authority over you, Sumeragi, but right now /we're/ getting our shit smeared across every battlefield we touch by stuff from Celestial Being's design lineages and /you're/ making mistakes a five year old wouldn't make."

She almost feels bad about this one -- or more accurately, about saying it in front of Feldt. She /really/ doesn't like dressing people down, especially in front of their subordinates, but... she /did/ insist.

If the pause before was awkward, this one is doubly so. And it's made even worse when, once more, Sumeragi opens her mouth, saying the absolute last thing Cagalli probably wants to hear.

With a look of absolute and crushing noncomprehension, Sumeragi asks: "...what are you even /talking/ about? Tactical band? .../what/?"

Feldt's cheeks pinken to nearly the same color as her hair. Sumeragi keeps hanging onto her for a moment, before easing up, mostly so she can reach into her jacket and take out a flask.

Which is probably the /other/ last thing Cagalli wanted to happen.

"Cagalli," Sumeragi says as she unscrews the thing, "I really and honestly have no clue what you're talking about." The sentence is punctuate with a long, long swig.

Swallowing hard, Cagalli decides that now would be a /very/ good time to make a second attempt to move this conversation away from where Feldt can see it. There's awkward and then there's just embarassing.

"Sumeragi -- I'd, uh, I'd be happy to go over this one with you, but again, I really don't want to bore Feldt, and I know /she/ was listening to the tactical band last night and remembers what happened," she says, a little awkwardly. "So, really -- if you've got, like, a ready room, or even just, like, your quarters..."

And then she just keeps on drinking. This is going to go /great/, Cagalli thinks. After last night with Tessa, and then last night with Leo, she really doesn't want to handle this one.

When Cagalli makes her comment about Feldt 'remembering what happened,' Sumeragi and her little buddy have a moment that can really only be described as 'eerily close to psychic.' It's the sort of thing that happens when you're stuck together on a spaceship in the middle of nowhere (aka everywhere in outer space) and you can't have friends or a social life or anything because you're a fugitive terrorist operating under a fake name until the day galactic peace breaks out and you volunteer yourself for prison. The two women seem to understand each other on some primal, fundamental level, and that's what lets their exchange take place.

Neither says a word. Sumeragi simply looks toward Feldt, giving her a quizzical expression as she closes her flask. Feldt responds with furtive, embarassed eye contact and a deepening of her blush. This in turn makes Sumeragi frown while Feldt looks away, until Sumeragi puts her gravely frowning face right in Feldt's line of sight. Feldt turns her head to make proper eye contact, her own expression rather dismal and grim. Sumeragi's begins to match it.

The two nod to one another, and then Feldt turns and begins walking away, leaving Sumeragi alone with Cagalli.

Sumeragi slowly turns to face Cagalli. The tactical forecaster doesn't really seem jolly or happily tipsy anymore. She seems beaten down, as if she'd just been dragged behind a moving Maganac Rollerblader for a couple miles and then told to walk it off. "So what now?" Sumeragi asks, her tone resigned, dark.

This is not the conversation Cagalli wanted to have, in some ways -- and yet, it's exactly the conversation she asked for, really. As Feldt leaves, she half wants to apologize... but at the same time -- this is serious, and she needs to actually talk to Sumeragi about this.

"Last night, you came on the tactical band -- the Katharon tactical band, I mean, and you were pretty obviously just..." The Princess pauses, feeling like she's just running out of nerve. She opened her heart up to Leo Stenbuck last night and got verbally bitchslapped for it. She's been trying to summon up all the love in her heart for someone who killed three hundred of her comrades.

Slumping forward a little, she says, "Is there somewhere we could, like, sit down?"

Sumeragi frowns -- well, she was frowning before, but the frown deepens that much more. The flask remains in hand, not quite ready to be put away yet. She doesn't regain any of that energy she seemed to have when the conversation started -- or when she was blabbing like a maniac on the tactical band.

"Yeah," the forecaster mutters after a moment. "C'mon."

From there it's a rather quick float -- the Ptolemaios II is, if nothing else, efficiently designed, with lots of shortcuts from Point A to Point Anywhere. A door whisks open, and Sumeragi pushes herself in: "Mi casa es su casa."

Sumeragi's 'casa' is pretty much a shithole, though. It looks like she hasn't picked up in months. Dirty clothes lie on the floor in haphazard piles, as does paperwork and electronic mission briefs loaded into e-readers. The bed is not only unmade, the mattress is on the floor, separate from the frame for some reason. Every flat surface and some non-flat surfaces are covered in bottles. The place is just full of them, as if she were singlehandedly trying to drink 'all of space' under the table. Most are beer, but there are a fair number of other things if one were play committed booze archaeologist.

Sumeragi flops into her office chair with its wheelie legs and gestures to a seat that would look pretty comfortable if its stuffing weren't all leaking out. "Okay," Sumeragi says, opening the flask again and grabbing a half-full whiskey bottle. She sloppily pours whiskey into the flask, spilling it everywhere, including onto herself. "So I was on the radio, and...?"

When she's done pouring, Sumeragi licks the spilled whiskey off of her hand, as if this was just a normal thing to do.

Cagalli is not a booze archaeologist, but even she can see that this is not healthy behaviour. She frowns a little as she sits down on the damaged seat, looking at the whiskey for a moment. "... Could I get a little of that?" she asks Sumeragi, not sure if she's got any containers /other/ than the flask but worn out enough at this point not to be too fussed about it. She's had cheaper liquor out of dirtier containers in the desert.

"You were drunk," she says, not waiting for an answer. "Like, sloppy throwing up drunk. And you were advising our guys out there how to fight the Jupiterians as if they were, you know, /Zentradi/." She waits a moment, hoping this one sinks in. "Feldt had to shut down your radio access."

She shifts a little on the seat, trying to get comfortable on the stuffingless chair (and keep herself above the haphazard piles of shit), saying, "Now, I mean -- I just... wanted to make sure you were OK. Is there, like -- is there something you need to talk about?"

Sumeragi keeps the flask and hands Cagalli over the bottle, now maybe a quarter full. It's cheap whiskey, the kind that you get at space truck stops, the kind that goes down about as smooth as trying to choke down steel wool without chewing. Sumeragi has a sip of hers, and it goes down like water. Which is maybe encouraging, if one doesn't think too hard about how much the smell of the stuff is stinging to the human nose.

"Ah," is Sumeragi's laid-back response to Cagalli's concerns about the radio. She sounds dulled, as if sitting down triggered some sort of internal off-switch. "Won't happen again," the forecaster mumbles, sounding as genuine as a designer watch purchased on a Neo New York street.

Then comes the question. Sumeragi closes her eyes through most of it -- actually, she looks like she might crash out and fall asleep. It's as if the room were sucking her back into its morass. "Well, sometimes I don't feel so great, like right now," Sumeragi says after opening her eyes. "So I..."

The brunette woman takes her flask and drinks the whole just-refilled thing in one go without stopping for breath. Afterward, she lets out a large 'Aaah!' and wipes her mouth. "...and see, now I feel much better."

Cagalli finds herself in an awkward position in which to get any of the whiskey at all she has to drink straight from the bottle. She purses her lips a little, trying to figure out the right way to approach this... and ends up just going 'the hell with it' and taking a long drink.

Her eyes water a little; after seeing Sumeragi knock it back so casually she wasn't expecting it to be quite that agonizing to drink. "... I hope it doesn't," is all Cagalli can really say on that one -- there's not much else to say there, at least until the next time she comes and throws up on Katharon's radio.

Watching Sumeragi drink herself into what might be a stupor is a little depressing... but then again -- if she's that far gone, can Cagalli actually reach out meaningfully? "... Are you sure you feel better?" is the only question she can think to ask. Without really thinking about it, she takes another drink to match Sumeragi's -- albeit not nearly as deep of one.

Sumeragi casually tosses the empty flask away after verifying that it is indeed no longer of any use to her. It lands amidst a pile of bottles with a loud clank and the sound of things scattering and rolling. The woman rubs her lips with the back of her hand, and then stretches, lazily preparing to answer Cagalli's question.

"Kid," Sumeragi says with her eyes closed, looking relaxed, if not happy, "there's really only one direction you can go in from here."

Sumeragi puts her bare feet up on her desk, knocking over some empty cans in the process, and rests her arms behind her head. She looks like she may or may not drop into a siesta at a moment's notice. When the cans fall, they hit some other stuff, which hits some other stuff, which causes some empties to topple at Cagalli's feet. Of course, looking down then, Cagalli might see some of the paperwork that's strewn about. Right on top: patterns for sewing. Costume blueprints.

For A-LAWS uniforms.

"... fair enough," Cagalli says to Sumeragi, taking a last pull from the bottle of whiskey before passing it back to Sumeragi; the high alcohol content has left her a little dizzy even already. Glancing down at the resultant tumble of bottles, cans, and other containers, the Princess sees the patterns: she's not surprised at this particular plan -- if indeed she's drawing the correct conclusion.

"... A-LAWS uniforms? Infiltration?" she decides to ask, before adding, "Have you already inserted som --"

Oh Haumea, she thinks a second later. Is /that/... no, that's ridiculous. You don't send someone who, last you remember, was severely injured and probably depressed besides on a mission like that.

After a second, she just shakes her head, not even bothering to finish the question.

Sumeragi doesn't look -- she's just so good that she can hear a bottle being passed to her at fifty paces, and reaches out to take it without putting her feet down or lifting her head. She drains the rest of the bottle and, like the flask, casually throws it. It lands on the mattress with a boomp sound and rolls to the floor. At least it didn't hit a wall and shatter.

Still, Sumeragi hears Cagalli's half-a-question, and remaining in her 'sleeping drunk-ass Buddha with feet up' position, slowly brings her finger to her lips and whispers: "Shhhh."

Top secret, apparently.

The A-LAWS seal is easy to find when one looks -- a lot of the stuff related to this gig, apparently, is what's at the top of the pile. Sumeragi's room is actually the perfect place to stash sensitive documents -- normal human beings could only find anything in here by complete accident. Still, what's there is there -- details on A-LAWS regulations and policy, sketchy profiles of various persons of interest (including the GNX and GNZ teams), and a what appear to be partial schematics of the Shirogane. Many of these papers are brittle and stained and rippled from, presumably, spilled liquor.

Sumeragi's response to Cagalli feels almost ridiculous; does she really expect there to be someone listening? If she really meant 'top secret,' then she'd ... no she wouldn't say as much, Cagalli reflects a second later. She probably can't manage much more in her current state.

Her eyes turning down toward the dossiers on the GNX and GNZ team, her mind drifts yet again to her abortive attempt to repair her friendship with Leo. She glances at Sumeragi, then down to the flask... then back to Sumeragi again.

Desperation is contagious.

"Hey, uh," she starts. "Can I ... talk to you for a minute? And -- could I get something else to drink? The whiskey is, uh... a little strong." And a little gone.

"Yeah, what's up?" Sumeragi still doesn't open her eyes -- at least, not immediately. Welcome to how a tactical forecaster unwinds -- spend all day soaking up data, spend all night trying to purge your mind into the bliss of perfect nothing. Granted, Sumeragi has likely spent day and night soaking in something entirely different, but.

The woman's tone is lazy but friendly, as if she's evened out from the boisterousness of her radio outburst and the lethargic depression of when the conversation in here began. She finally and slowly opens her eyes, as if she was awakening from a nap. She yawns without opening her mouth, stretching her jaw a bit, before looking over her shoulder. "Six-pack on the pile of underwear over there if you want beer. Sink in the bathroom if you want water. I'd go with the beer, though. Probably better for you than recycled space water in the long run."

Sumeragi doesn't close her eyes again, but she stays reclined, apparently content to just lay back and exert no real demand on her body. No wonder her Celestial Being uniform was always a little ill-fitting.

Cagalli steps gingerly toward the pile of underwear, frowning a little as she reaches for the first beer; she definitely isn't going to drink recycled space water, after her experiences on every ship except the Archangel with recycled space water. Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and tips the can back.

AN HOUR LATER

"God, what a bunch of bullshit," Cagalli says, having gone through most of the six-pack; there is still one there, hanging onto all six rings. "I'm so... so goddamn tired of all the sssshhhhhit that that kid gives me." She slumps forward, tipping her current can toward Sumeragi, saying, "Ffffuck. We sshhhh... shouldn'a even let him go, that one time." She has jumped onto this topic at complete random; lord only knows what they were talking about before.

She already looks like she's trying to think of a new topic /on top/ of that; she cannot even pretend to focus. Unfortunately, nothing comes, and she sticks to the topic at hand. "I jush... I jush wann' be friends wish'm again..."

Sumeragi spent thirty minutes of the last hour sleeping. Neither woman in the room apparently noticed. She's been playing catch-up as best she can while doing important work -- that is, taking random sheets of paper off of the floor, skimming them, and either taping them to the wall or throwing them back on the floor. She listens to Cagalli fairly intently -- apparently, some heavy drinking and a light nap is what it takes to get Sumeragi going for a planning session. It's just that usually this encore screening of 'A Beautiful Mind' doesn't have an audience.

"Sucks," Sumeragi says succinctly but sympathetically. "But I understand where you're coming from. He makes me crazy too, sometimes. Although I think we're still friends. And he's a damned fine Gundam Meister." Sumeragi is taping up a picture of Zero on the wall, with some question marks helpfully drawn on it amidst some completely unreadable scrawl.

Sumeragi looks over her shoulder, toward Cagalli. "...wait, we /are/ talking about Setsuna F. Seiei, right?"

"N... no, Leo," Cagalli says, stumbling through her words. "Leo muhhhfuckin' Stenbuck." Her eyes half-track across the progressively more sprawling set of words and documents moving across the wall, but she rapidly loses interest. "I open up my Goddamn /heart/ and he just... bluugghhhh, what a doushhh." She sounds, for an instant, like she is going to veer directly into 'soppy drunk' territory.

Mercifully, she decides on a new topic this time. "Sssso... you meet my sisss'r yet?" If she were lucid, she would realize Sumeragi has been back around for about two days and has been out of her ship zero times, but it sounds like a great question right now. "An' -- hey, Zero. You think he's cute'r somethin'?"

This is of course the only reason anyone would tape anyone's picture on the wall.

Zero sits on the wall next to Sumeragi's other crush, an aerial photograph of the Zaftran Wall region that looks suspiciously like an extreme close-up of balls.

"Huh? Uh, no and no, in that order," Sumeragi distractedly replies, her brain clearly trying to function in two places at once. "Maybe later. To your sister, I mean. Zero just looks like some sort of weirdo. I'm glad CB doesn't make us wear masks."

Then Sumeragi backtracks a bit. "Wait, Leo Stenbuck? Why are you trying to open your heart up to a ranking A-LAWS captain?" Sumeragi makes a face, as if to suggest that the woman who probably drinks grain alcohol for breakfast is of sounder mind than Cagalli. "Well, just gonna take a shot in the dark, but unless one of you really likes the idea of defecting, I don't see it working out."

"He's... he was my frien' onsh," Cagalli says, with a frown, as she leans forward. "We ush' be real close -- 'n then I took the Archangel back 'n he hatesh me 'n I keep try'na apol... ap... say 'm sorry and he jush won't..." /Now/ she reaches soppy drunk territory, letting out a long, awkward half-sob before finishing the fifth can. Finally snapping the sixth off of its plastic rings, she looks down at the top for a long time.

"... I'nno what to say," she stammers, finishing off number six. "-- waita -- 'sh not like that! I don't... I don't wanna /fuck/ 'm. I'm dating Pash... Pasc..." Fuck, she thinks to herself, why does his name have to be hard!! "... Pascal," she finally manages, with effort. "I jush... I wanna be friends'gain," she stammers, eventually.

Sumeragi gestures vaguely at her bed. "Sleep it off, kid," she says, before amending her waving around to 'the mattress on the floor which is not on the bed frame for no adequately explained reason.' "Things'll still be fucked up in the morning and you'll be more prepared for it with a hangover, I think. But I agree, it's good to try and be friends with the person you're dating."

Sumeragi Lee Noriega: listening and not listening. No wonder Celestial Being is a fucking shambles.