driftfleet | (no subject)

Who: Wrath
Broadcast: Fleetwide Video
Action: HS Marsiva hospitality deck
When: 6/13

[It's... probably a sad statement about Wrath's life that waking up in a strange place with something plugged into her neck? Not actually that weird. Not remembering how she got to said place? Also not that weird. Not remembering signing up for some kind of reality show?

At this point she just assumes that she's been subjected to another recode.

...okay, maybe a recode that went a little wrong. Who knows how much time she's lost, but it's an accomplishment that she's immediately aware of those things, she knows that. And she also knows better than to think about it too hard. Just have to roll with the punches.

Focus on what she can do. Which would be figuring out the communicator thing (hey, that's all pretty familiar!), try to read some stuff to get oriented, give up on reading, and just go for it.

So there you go. Tiny woman, bright pink hair, surprisingly deep voice.]

Maine? Orion? You around anywhere? Delta? North? Christine? Foxtrot? Whiskey?

[That basically covers everyone immediately important.]

Also, if anyone's seen my cane, I'd really like to have it back. It's about... uh. This big. [Holds hands apart.] And it's a cane. But don't press the button on it, there's a sword inside and the spring is kind of touchy.

And my chems. Those are kind of important.

And my kitten. This big. [Teeny.] Calico tabby with little pink jellybean toes.

That will be all, thank you.

[Very authoritative nod, sign off.]

[And after this, she's limping off to find a window and lose her damn mind with delight that she's in space. She can't wait to tell Maine! ...at some point.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I don't know zombies," she says. The word sounds familiar though. Hm. "Dystrophe is a... I don't know, we think it's a bioplague? Anyway, if you get infected, you like start having all this uncontrolled muscle and bone growth and then go crazy and try to eat your friends. So your friends have to blow your head off first. It kind of sucks."

Oh, Jesus. Space zombies.

Eugene nods, rubbing his hand across his face.

"In that case? We have dystrophes. Minus the growth and plus a certain amount of decomposing."

"Oh," Wrath says, nodding wisely. "That really sucks."

Because it does. Not much more to be said about it. "So did they take your AR leg when you got here or something?" She'd rather just be blunt about it. "Cause they left mine alone, which is kind of weird."

"Yeah." There's really not much more to say when you're stuck with zombies. Or something damn close. He looks back out at the stars in the following quiet, only glancing back at her as she says something his brain can't exactly parse. Eyar-leg?

"What are you talking about?" His brain clumsily thunks that unknown term against known categories, guessing at some kind of expletive, maybe. "They didn't chop my leg off, if that's what you're asking."

"Shit, I sure would hope not!" She shakes her head. "AR." She pushes her sleeve up on her left arm, since that's a lot easier than her pantleg. She gets it high enough to reveal the ring of metal that circles her upper arm, where artificial joins with flesh. "Left arm and right leg for me. And my right eye. So like... did you lose yours before you got here or something?"

Eugene stares, without an ounce of shame. He's actually really tempted to crutch over and touch-test, except for how incredibly rude that is. Even if, in the space of a few seconds, he goes from awed to incredibly jealous, then back again.

"Uh . . . no. We haven't invented those yet." He covers it up with a half-smile, an artful ain't-even-mad shoulder before he reaches down to lift his battered wooden crutch. "Since society collapsed, this is pretty much the cutting-edge technology right here."

Yep. So cool. Cool and calm and fuck this whole stupid armada. "You'd think people with spaceships could hook a guy up, but I guess they're stuck with the low-tech stuff. Like dragging people out of totally different universes."

"Wow, that really sucks." So he hadn't had any kind of replacement limb at all? She can't even imagine. Then again, it's not like anyone had managed to fix her fucking back.

"There's got to be something, though," she says, grimacing. "And they took my cane. I'm glad they didn't take your crutch at least. What the hell."

"Yeah, I saw your transmission! I can't believe those guys took your cane. I mean, seriously?" Not bringing a kitten along on a spaceship, fine. That probably makes sense. But something someone uses to walk?

There's nothing to be done for the fact that space-Santa didn't give him a shiny new robot leg. But there's plenty to be outraged over in the fact that people are being dropped here without pretty important things they already had.

"Even if no one's getting on board armed, they could have just. I don't know. Disabled the sword part?"

"They probably could have pulled the blade out and it would have still been fine." She grimaces. "And I'm more concerned about my chems, but hopefully one of the medics can help me with that."

She considers for a minute. "I wonder if Vision could make you an awesome AR leg. He's an awesome...uh. Android person. If there's money, then there has to be a way to buy parts and stuff..." Probably wouldn't be as good as a custom build from back home, but who knew, Vision seemed really smart. And that kind of thing had to be better than nothing at all.

He screws up his face at that added detail and gives a noise of agreement, though as soon as she suggests pestering someone to hack together a robot leg he shakes his head. "Nah, that's fine. I'm not going to die without it or anything, it's just . . . annoying."

The kind of annoying there's no real way out of, though. It would have seemed like basic courtesy to use some of your amazing technology to set up the people you were kidnapping. But when it comes to his fellow kidnappees, he's not in the mood to be anyone's charity case or ratings grab.

"It's also dumb to not ask your crew mates for help," she points out. "That's what crew mates are supposed to do." Since she might be smelling a little hurfdurf in there.

Crew mates, hah. Eugene guesses that he . . . sort of has experience with that, at least. With the radio crew. In the van, on the ship, in the house, finally . . .

Yeah, stuffing that one back down the old memory hole before his stomach can ache more than it is already.

"Maybe it just takes me awhile to settle into the whole crew mates groove." That's been true enough too. He can be a team player without any especial problems, but it's never been his strong suit.

"Just don't pull the brooding loner bullshit," she advises. "That's only sexy on vids. It's fucking annoying in even non-combat situations."

"Ah," he retorts, with a knowing look at, he's been told, is either endearing or punchable. Or some mixture of the two. "But how will our dear viewers feel about it?"

(no subject)

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