driftfleet | someone get a lady on this ship so I can't make that joke ever again

Arrival
George was barely on the Marsiva long enough to register what had happened to him before he found himself on the bridge of the Golden. He stands there, surrounded by the small sprinkling of confetti looking stunned, hands feeling at his wrists where his daggers aren't. He looks like the past, a tall man wearing a medieval-y shirt and vest over breeches and boots. He hasn't had the time to change into the jumpsuits provided by the program, after all.

"By the Crooked God..." he says finally, quietly, as if anyone is responsible for this...this setting he's been transported to, it's more likely to be a flight of whimsy from his patron than any other god. He brings a hand up, pinching at the bridge of his nose, and settles. There's a great deal he seems to suddenly know without any real basis for knowing it, the stars being more than just representative of the gods, the magic known as technology. Almost in a daze, he walks over to the screen of controls available to him, over to see what exactly he understands.

Around the Ship | This part is definitely broadcast everywhere because why not ruin his dignity
After feeling more settled with the place, George takes a tour around the ship, working out the rooms and area they have.

- He walks into the kitchen, dispenses a small amount of orange soda onto the floor, wipes that up, and heats a small piece of wheat-blob in the microwave. He isn't entirely sure what to do with it after that, forking off a small piece of it and making a face at the texture.

- In the bunking area, he unfolds one of the jumpers provided to him and eyes it up consideringly. It's not like any uniform he's seen before, and he's not certain how he feels about it. The pockets look useful enough but it looks difficult to hide knives on. He hasn't yet given up on finding new ones.

- He turns the shower on onto his arm. Well done, George Cooper. Your ma would be so proud.

- Every other place gets peered into and walked around. Drawers are opened in the sick bay. A sidearm is lifted, turned around, and placed back where it came from. He ends up, finally, sitting in one of the shuttles and considering taking it about, just to see if he can put the concept of it in his mind into practise.

"Do they have those? Crooked gods? You would think the whole godly thing would make them predisposed for, well, at least having good posture."

Anders has turned a corner, summoned (perhaps improbably) by the fanfare that comes alongside any new addition to their crew. For all that the situation itself is best summed up by the word kidnapping, Anders seems as friendly and as at ease as another guest at a hotel might be. His smile is as easy as anything, his body language relaxed.

"Hello there. Looks like I'm the welcoming committee." And he is the only one at this immediate moment. He rocks forward slightly on the balls of his feet. "Which isn't much of one, unfortunately. But there is pudding!"

George looks up from prodding at the screen immediately when Anders walks in, turning and looking him over. Alright, someone who properly lives here. That's what his demeanor seems to indicate, anyway.

"Crooked up here," George....sort of explains, tapping at his head with a finger. "I'll take a committee of one over an empty ship." He smiles, walks over, extends his hand. "George Cooper, and I've not seen any puddin'."

"Well that is what the welcoming committee is for." He shakes, firm for someone so flighty. "Anders. Some here might call me captain of our tin can of an abode, through no fault of my own."

He turns, scanning the interior of the bridge, and then steps away with a quick Aha! towards what is probably meant to be a table but looks more like a shelf. It's a small plate of chocolate dessert creams, which he extends towards George with all the aplomb of a waiter, one arm tucked behind his back.

"And I wouldn't be much of one if the pudding weren't delivered successfully. They're actually fairly good, all things considered."

"Captain." That's good, because his Sight's getting a good feeling off Anders. If he's the one in charge, that's a good sign. "An important one man committee, then. My luck is lookin' up." He reaches out and mock-gravely takes the chocolate cream. It's a pudding ceremony.

"It may as well be someone's job to find hidden desserts." This. It looks like....brown mess? He noticed it, but didn't think it was edible or for him, but a fingerful of it proves nice enough to keep eating. "Have you been on this ship long?"

"Two months. Three months? When everything is a black void outside your window, it can be so hard to keep track, sometimes."

If George doesn't eat them, Anders probably will. He ticks days off his fingers, or maybe weeks. Or maybe he's just counting his fingers for show.

"I would say things are comfortable, but that depends entirely on your frame of reference, doesn't it? If you like the sun, for instance." A vague hand gesture towards the nearest observation window. "Or pillows."

"Doubtless it would be. Do they do anythin' to be certain the fleet keeps a concept of day and night, or is a conventional way of livin' all thrown to the side, out here?" Sorry Anders. He is going to eat the cream. Chocolate is generally far too expensive for the likes of him.

"What, not even a pillow for the captain? That's a fine state of affairs for you."

"I know." He sets a hand against his chest. The sigh can only be called extravagant. "It's a fraught life I lead, but someone has to do it."

He knows the feeling; he can hardly blame George for wanting to take advantage. It's the same reason Anders would have taken advantage if he hadn't.

"They try to keep to days and nights. Turning lights off and on and such. The whole point is that we be entertaining— if we're all missing each other all hours of the day because our schedules have gone awry, that's hardly entertaining for anyone, is it?"

"It might be entertainin' for a little while," George grins, sets down the plate. He's finished it. "What captainin' are you truly called upon to do? Is it all in play?"

"I'm still figuring that part out, to be honest."

He shrugs, like it isn't important. It wasn't like he asked to be captain, after all.

"There was the part where some undisclosed assailants tried to blow us to smithereens a while back, and now there's the bit where the ship's a little more rickety in places than it strictly should be, but beyond that...." His mouth quirks in a grin. "Well, it isn't like they've given me a manual, or anything."

Well, at the very least, George won't have to suffer through the length of his kitchen adventures entirely by himself. The wheat-blob is out of the microwave and being prodded at by the time a boy in a helmet and an alarming amount of blue happens to absentmindedly wander into the kitchen himself, a toolbox in one hand at his side.

Evidently he wasn't expecting anyone to actually be in there, if the way he pauses in the doorway the moment he catches sight of George is anything to go by--but brief surprise switches over to a friendly smile easily enough.

"Oh, hello there!" Drifting further inside, he sets the toolbox onto the nearest table, and then pauses beside it, peering over with interest. "I don't think we've met before, are you a friend visiting? ...Ah--" and, finally, noticing the plate of mystery blob George is actually entertaining, "--wait, sorry, I hope I'm not uh...interrupting anything?"

Catching somebody in the middle of a meal could probably be considered as rude somewhere. ...Well, if wheat-blobs could be considered a meal in the first place, but--playing it safe here. Yes.

George looks up, smiling easily. "You're not interruptin' a thing, lad, save my wonderin' whether or not I've cooked food or somethin' merely left where food might be." He looks back down at the piece on his fork and, brows furrowing slightly, puts it into his mouth. It....is probably edible although it sets him no closer to really deciding. Setting the fork down beside the mostly intact blob, he looks up again.

"As for who I am, I'm to believe I'm your new Communications Officer, George Cooper. They sent me across today."

"Oh, okay. Good to know! Though--yeah, I think that is more or less what counts as food around here..." He eyes the plate a bit sympathetically, watching as George tentatively samples. Some days back home he almost envied Lan being able to eat some of Mom's cooking, but here? No, he can't say he really envies his crewmates with these kinds of meals. "I've heard it's not very great, sorry about that..."

But oh, now he's perking up a bit at the introduction for sure, friendly smile switching over to a surprised one instead.

"But--ah, so you've just arrived! A new crewmate then..." Right, manners, whoops--and he draws forward to offer a gloved hand for a handshake. "Communications, huh? It's nice to meet you, George! I'm Megaman. Engineering, for this ship--" He breaks off, gesturing over to the toolbox on the table with a slight laugh. "So uh, yeah, if you ever need anything fixed up I'm probably your guy! Though I'm still kind of getting used to it myself..."

someone get a lady on this ship so I can't make that joke ever again

GEORGE ARRIVES | and make the joke forever, do it

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I AM REALLY SORRY HOW LONG THIS TOOK

NP MAN NP