Eugene Woods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
survivalistcookbook) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2015-06-13 10:24 pm
survivalistcookbook) wrote in driftfleet2015-06-13 10:24 pm
(no subject)
Who: Eugene Woods, et al.
Broadcast: Fleetwide video
Action: HS Marsiva hospitality deck
When: 6/13
[Action]
[Eugene isn't necessarily a light sleeper. But he wakes quickly, when something is wrong. And something is definitely wrong, all at once, enough to have him pushing himself up and looking around, breaths coming fast and voiceless and silent.
He doesn't whisper for the name spinning through his head over and over, just pats to the edge of the cot in a haze of cold dread, feels nothing, curls his hand around the edge for balance as he scans the room. Other cots. Other people. The place is clean in a way nothing's been for years, sleek and shiny. Only the lack of overt scientific or medical purpose keeps at bay the worst of his fears, the darkest rumors and insinuations they'd scraped together over the years.
After several long minutes of staring out into the open room, he finds the communicator set down beside him and begins to browse transmissions and archives. Even then, he's tense and silent, eyes flitting up to track any movement or sound.]
[Transmission]
[Later - after a few hours of reading, and observing the goings-on around the deck, and a few several-minute stints of just trying to breathe slowly and not freak out - Eugene makes his first effort at hailing the network. He's set the device down on his pillow, and his expression is soundly unimpressed as he sits on the edge of the cot.]
Okay - this is the best open letter to our mysterious production staff that I can manage, but someone has to say it.
Seriously, guys? This is your ratings grab? This is your cool new hook for the week?
[He is not amused. He is so not amused.]
Don't tell me - is this supposed to be the inspirational overcoming adversity angle? Or is it just the kind of good old-fashioned entertainment where we can fly people through space, but we can't toss on a few robot limbs or whatever?
Guess I'll have to wait and see how it all comes out in post-production, huh. Great. Good job guys. Get those viewers.
[He reaches for the communicator and tips it, putting all of himself in the frame - down to left thigh that thins out and ends in a twisted line of scar tissue, several inches above where a knee would be. Eyes narrowed in resentment, he pats it emphatically a few times, then switches off the feed.]
Broadcast: Fleetwide video
Action: HS Marsiva hospitality deck
When: 6/13
[Action]
[Eugene isn't necessarily a light sleeper. But he wakes quickly, when something is wrong. And something is definitely wrong, all at once, enough to have him pushing himself up and looking around, breaths coming fast and voiceless and silent.
He doesn't whisper for the name spinning through his head over and over, just pats to the edge of the cot in a haze of cold dread, feels nothing, curls his hand around the edge for balance as he scans the room. Other cots. Other people. The place is clean in a way nothing's been for years, sleek and shiny. Only the lack of overt scientific or medical purpose keeps at bay the worst of his fears, the darkest rumors and insinuations they'd scraped together over the years.
After several long minutes of staring out into the open room, he finds the communicator set down beside him and begins to browse transmissions and archives. Even then, he's tense and silent, eyes flitting up to track any movement or sound.]
[Transmission]
[Later - after a few hours of reading, and observing the goings-on around the deck, and a few several-minute stints of just trying to breathe slowly and not freak out - Eugene makes his first effort at hailing the network. He's set the device down on his pillow, and his expression is soundly unimpressed as he sits on the edge of the cot.]
Okay - this is the best open letter to our mysterious production staff that I can manage, but someone has to say it.
Seriously, guys? This is your ratings grab? This is your cool new hook for the week?
[He is not amused. He is so not amused.]
Don't tell me - is this supposed to be the inspirational overcoming adversity angle? Or is it just the kind of good old-fashioned entertainment where we can fly people through space, but we can't toss on a few robot limbs or whatever?
Guess I'll have to wait and see how it all comes out in post-production, huh. Great. Good job guys. Get those viewers.
[He reaches for the communicator and tips it, putting all of himself in the frame - down to left thigh that thins out and ends in a twisted line of scar tissue, several inches above where a knee would be. Eyes narrowed in resentment, he pats it emphatically a few times, then switches off the feed.]
action;
He doesn't notice the guy's missing most of his left leg at first glance. Lots of Vikings are missing limbs. But he does notice his troubled expression, and besides-- it's someone else-- so he approaches, trying to be friendly and reassuring even though he doesn't know how.]
Uh, hey.
[People aren't dragons, Hiccup.]
I guess you're stuck here, too. I've been looking for a way out, but they took everything I had that looked even remotely dangerous.
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. . . yeah.
[He hesitates another moment before he remembers himself enough to lean forward, offering his hand.]
Sorry. Eugene Woods. I, uh. Haven't exactly gotten around to reconnaissance, yet.
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My name's Hiccup. Nice to meet you. [That's a pretty not-Viking surname, but eh.] The place is... well, it's certainly something. I've, ah, never quite seen anything like it. No visible way out, no way to cut ourselves out, and we're so high up you can't even see the ground.
Not to mention the-- the weird-looking ships out there. Or the fact I know things I shouldn't. It's a lot to take in, to be honest.
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[Eugene hadn't quite gotten around to exploring yet, and he grabs for his crutch, levering himself to his foot and arranging the much-abused pad under his arm. What Hiccup says sounds like it should be reasonable, but none of the edges quite line up - ships and high up jarring with how still everything feels around them.
But ships means that they're going somewhere, right? That they have a trajectory. And that alone, on a deep and instinctive level, feels so much better than being locked down in an unknown building by unknown parties.]
Show me what you're talking about.
action;
He steps aside to give Eugene plenty of room. Only then does he notice the man's missing most of his leg. He's distracted by that momentarily, but then he's guiding the man over to the big bay windows.
The stars are out tonight, like every night. Other ships can be seen flying near the Marsiva, though not too close. There's no sign of islands or sun or moon or even clouds... just the occasional waystation blinking in the distance, like a tiny candle floating on black water.]
Ships with no sails. Pretty weird. And yet there's... something telling me how it works, like I heard it in my sleep.
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Pardon me, but may I assume you are as recently arrived as I am here?
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His rational brain catches up a second or two later, of course. Informs him that that is his skin, dummy, and look, he seems perfectly in control of himself too. He releases a shaky breath regardless, rubbing a hand over his face and nodding.]
If you just got here, then yes. It looks like we're in the same boat. [Talk. Talk he can do. Talk, he knows, is something he can keep up in almost any circumstance.] Where did they grab you from?
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Upstate New York, as it happens, and since we appear to be rather far away at the moment I will qualify that the planet was Earth. [He gestures to the back of his neck where even now he can feel the augment implant.] I believe I was somewhat altered when I awoke.
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[Any questions about Earth or the man himself are forestalled with that detail, and Eugene reaches for his own neck on impulse, frowning as his fingers pump over a hard little lump a few inches behind his left ear, hidden in his hairline.]
The hell?
[He can't feel any cut, any stitches or glue, anything at all but that too-smooth lump where a lump should not be.]
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More than likely, Atroma wishes you to seek the aid of us other passengers for such things. I am sure if you appealed to anyone with an engineering augment, they could be of quite some aid to you.
[ He had healing magic himself, but it could not fix that unfortunately, else he would offer. ]
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[Only kind of good to know. Still tacky and exploitative in the extreme, but at least there's an implied precedent for cooperation.]
It's good to hear we're not working the competitive angle, I guess. Unless I missed something when I was looking around?
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I'm certainly not. And while I am sure "viewers" appreciate a little competition, there have not been attempts at dividing us so either.
In said interest of "team-building" - does your limb cause you pain? I have healing magics that might be of some aid, and I am sure that a young man who grows medicinal plants on our ship would not mind parting with some if I but ask. I cannot do anything about it at the moment, but once you are moved from the Marsiva I could arrange to meet you for such purposes.
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[Which is to say that the occasional pains and prickles and itching are bearable by now, and he can ignore them most of the time, or at least deal with it and not make a fuss.]
It's been years now. I guess I just expected someone with spaceships to be able to scrape together a leg. But I guess that's a lot less fun to watch than me figuring it out myself, eh?
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I am sure someone on one of the other ships could craft you such a thing, especially those with an engineering augment. It's beyond me, I am afraid, though I have a friend who has such an augment. I could make introductions, if you like.
But I think that would be Atroma's aim in not giving you one - forcing interaction with others.
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I don't think anyone who does this kind of stuff for the sake of entertainment is going to lose sleep because I sent in a strongly-worded complaint. If they're doing what I think they're doing, though, it's really tacky. To say the least.
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[The feed shifts as he leans back in his cot, trying to shift into a more comfortable position.]
Any other words of wisdom?
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I heard the people in charge are aliens, so maybe they like a different kind of story than humans do. It's kind of weird that they have TV at all, but...
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[Isn't that just great.]
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He eventually returns back to the room, hands in his pockets, and gives Eugene a nod of acknowledgment.]
Hey. [Stefan's eyes involuntarily glance down towards Eugene's leg as he approaches, though he quickly shifts his gaze back towards the guy's face. Staring's kinda rude.] Seems like they grabbed more than a few of us for the ride.
action;
Without even the chance to call shotgun. [He offers his hand to shake.] Eugene Woods.
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Doesn't look like there's anyone around besides us, either. [Given the circumstances, he'd half expected to see some aliens running around and assisting whoever ran the ship - but instead, silence was his only greeting. Silence, and unnaturally clean hallways.]
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[Weirder than anything else, maybe. He's been alone since the outbreak. He's been lost. But it's never been this quietly pristine. Not anywhere.]
Where did they grab you from?
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