Lady in the water - There's a lady floating in the center of the pool.
She drifts underneath the surface of the water, eyes closed, buoyant, the long ribbons of her clothing undulating slowly in the current.
Whether or not she's breathing is anyone's guess.
Skin, hair, clothing . . . all are a deep blue of varying shades. She doesn't move. Doesn't open her eyes.
Just floats, suspended beneath the surface, cut off from the world.
Downtime - On Homeworld, there had always been something to do. She'd always fulfilled a purpose -- attended to what she was made to do. When one order was completed, there was another to take its place. It filled the days, gave purpose.
Where she'd been before this, there'd been a sense of purpose too. She'd been there to save Steven, to help the others save the ones they cared about. There had been a lot of downtime, but there was always that purpose, waiting for the next move of the labels, watching, planning. She'd worked -- dancing at one of the labels, practices and performances filling her time, then at the spa, stocking towels and essential oils and leading customers to treatment rooms.
Here . . . nothing. Supposedly there are missions to follow, but in between there are long stretches of nothingness. Waiting. Downtime.
What is she supposed to do with that?
She drifts between rooms like a wraith. Sometimes she'll watch others, lingering at the edges of activity -- there, but not there, a puzzle piece that doesn't quite snap into the proper groove.
Let Slip the Hot Dogs of War - What are they doing?
She'd thought humans -- anyone who had to eat, really -- liked their food. Why are they hurling it at one another??
Lapis crouches behind an overturned table, trying to determine a best escape route. A full head of cabbage ricochets off the table rim, flying into the air, leaping in several moist, crunchy bounces before it rolls to a stop, bruised and inert. There's a cackle, and a mass of something dark red squirts over her head and into the fray, followed by the shriek of a hapless victim.
Clearly the world has gone mad. She needs to plan an exit. Now.
Lapis Lazuli | Steven Universe CRAU/AU? - Interstellar
She drifts underneath the surface of the water, eyes closed, buoyant, the long ribbons of her clothing undulating slowly in the current.
Whether or not she's breathing is anyone's guess.
Skin, hair, clothing . . . all are a deep blue of varying shades. She doesn't move. Doesn't open her eyes.
Just floats, suspended beneath the surface, cut off from the world.
Downtime - On Homeworld, there had always been something to do. She'd always fulfilled a purpose -- attended to what she was made to do. When one order was completed, there was another to take its place. It filled the days, gave purpose.
Where she'd been before this, there'd been a sense of purpose too. She'd been there to save Steven, to help the others save the ones they cared about. There had been a lot of downtime, but there was always that purpose, waiting for the next move of the labels, watching, planning. She'd worked -- dancing at one of the labels, practices and performances filling her time, then at the spa, stocking towels and essential oils and leading customers to treatment rooms.
Here . . . nothing. Supposedly there are missions to follow, but in between there are long stretches of nothingness. Waiting. Downtime.
What is she supposed to do with that?
She drifts between rooms like a wraith. Sometimes she'll watch others, lingering at the edges of activity -- there, but not there, a puzzle piece that doesn't quite snap into the proper groove.
Let Slip the Hot Dogs of War - What are they doing?
She'd thought humans -- anyone who had to eat, really -- liked their food. Why are they hurling it at one another??
Lapis crouches behind an overturned table, trying to determine a best escape route. A full head of cabbage ricochets off the table rim, flying into the air, leaping in several moist, crunchy bounces before it rolls to a stop, bruised and inert. There's a cackle, and a mass of something dark red squirts over her head and into the fray, followed by the shriek of a hapless victim.
Clearly the world has gone mad. She needs to plan an exit. Now.