driftfleet | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who: Cole
Broadcast: No
Action: EVERY SHIP EXCEPT THE MARSIVA
When: The first half of the month

[See, the problem is, now Cole's augment is a pilot one.

He's lost the room he wasn't aware as his, but he's gained a whole new lot of knowledge. Such as how to move the ship, how to dock it to other ships and that makes his constant wandering from ship to ship much easier.

And it means he can park the Pathstone with the Three Twins and Tourist without ever going on board either of them. He can bring the Pathstone to them, and still give Fenris his safe space and people form those ships and visit the Pathstone without having to take a shuttle!

So, Cole's doing his rounds again. Visiting. Parking. Shoving the Pathstone wherever he feels like going.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Being the cook of the Vanquish - and, admittedly, being kind of fascinated with his sudden Matrix-style knowledge dump of the handling of formed and flavored protein - Eugene's been distracting himself by experimenting with the food staples available to them in an effort to make something resembling actual appealing meals. The nature of the beast makes that a tricky thing, and he's already pining for the resources to upgrade them into range of an actual spice rack, but for now he's making progress.

Today he thinks he's figured out something that's basically croquettes, which are currently sizzing in a carefully thin layer of vegetable oil on the range. He's left them to brown while he rests his leg, seated at the galley table and jotting down recipe notes.]

[As is so often the case, Cole doesn't warn that he's come in, or that he's there at all, he just glides up quietly and then-]

The dead should stay still. But they don't always in Thedas, either.

[Thankfully, the voice catching his attention is what blunts Eugene's startle down to not much more than an instinctive jolt. Irritation follows on fear's heels, and his face twists into a what the hell kind of expression as he shifts in his seat and settles his crutch to rest against his truncated left thigh.

It's kind of an intimate detail to start a conversation with. Some weird attempt at sympathy, maybe? Eugene realizes he hasn't exactly made his circumstances back home a secret. And that second half, that hook - it works.]

Is that so. [He cants his head, corner of his mouth curling mirthlessly.] Hopefully they're at least not trying to chew you apart, there.

[Cole promptly sits himself up on the counter.]

No. The Darkspawn want to eat you. They not dead, but they're not alive either. The dead are animated by demons. They want different things. Death, desire, quiescence, quiet...

Man. One kind of monster just wanting one thing is plenty for me.

[He didn't count the human kind, ultimately. Every world had those.

He turns in his seat, keeping an eye on the newcomer. The guy doesn't scare him, there's just something off about him, something he can't quite put his finger on. Demon-and-death talk notwithstanding.]

So what brings you aboard the Vanquish?

People call me a monster. Well, demon. I am a demon, spirit, they're the same, but not, but they are.

I'm here visiting! How do you outrun them with one leg?

[Oooookay, well. It sounds like there's some supernatural baggage and/or linguistic disambiguation to unpack there. Which Eugene would ordinarily leap right into, if it weren't for the pointed question about being an amputee among the ravening undead.]

With a crutch. And a sword, for when crutching briskly stops being an option. [He looks down at his notes, the thought of home inevitably bringing up the thought of Jack, alongside him every step of the way with a grin and a quip and a scuffed-up cricket bat.] And my partner. So I guess in a way it's been more three legs than one.

I'm not very good with a sword.

[He reaches behind his head and draws a pair of sharpened knives. They're well cared for and very obviously used for combat.]

They're not proper combat daggers, but they're... enough.

Jack would want you to know he loves you, wherever you are.

[Eugene hasn't mentioned Jack to anyone. He hasn't even alluded to being taken more than a handful of times, and it's never been with so much as a pronoun. Never with a name.

There's nothing in the delivery to make the statement sound like a threat. And on paper, it might even be sweet. Considerate. But whoever this is knows things about him that he has no right to know, and it sends his heart jumping with an alarm he can't even name the source of, one that shines white in the flash of eyes and teeth.]

What the hell-?

[Maybe being afraid and affronted is just easier than facing down the terrible ache of that Jack being a galaxy and unknowable time away - being all but dead.]]

His absence hurts you, so I know about it.

[He doesn't move, doesn't change how he sits or even look to Eugene, just quiet and calm.]

[Any kind of opposition, Eugene could have pushed back against in turn. Almost anything, probably, except that fantastic matter-of-factness, that stillness. It's eerie, prickling through his nerves on sharp little insect legs, and he chafes his arm as that sinks in, trying to smooth down the goosepimples .]

So . . . you mindread what's making people upset. And then what.

[There has to be a step two. Or else that's one of the worst supernatural powers he's ever heard of.]

I'm Compassion. I know what hurts people. Then I try and make it better. I don't always succeed, but I try.

[Abilities don't have reason. They just are. He is Compassion, therefore, he feels and suffers with people.]

. . . spirit. Got it.

[Kind of? Maybe? Enough that he feels himself calm enough to settle back. Just a bit.]

This must be a situation you run into a lot, huh? People missing people who aren't here with them.

Spirit.

Yes, it is. But that's true in any world, not just here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only