Rogue (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
touchofrogue) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2015-08-09 09:58 pm
touchofrogue) wrote in driftfleet2015-08-09 09:58 pm
Entry tags:
[ action, video ] three of diamonds
[August 9th. Rogue’s birthday. This year, like practically every other year since her powers had awoken, Rogue had the same plan: Tell no one. She will celebrate - or she would try to - without any reason given. It was so much easier that way.
She applies the dark red lipstick that traveled with her, and does her best to dress up as well as she could with what she has bartered for, and spends an inordinate amount of time on her hair.]
Okay, Drift Fleet. Talk to me. Who’s got some spare coffee they’re willin’ to barter for?
[After - hopefully, oh please, yes - attaining her birthday wish, Rogue sets about to basically make the rest of the day as enjoyable for herself as she can. She borrows a shuttle and goes flying for the joy of it. Sure, it can’t go very fast or very far, but she is in space. There’s some joy to be found just in being there. And hey, she heard shuttles can even go under water. That’s got to be amazing, Today’s as good a day as any to check that out.
She’s not necessarily looking for company here, but she might not say no? Later on in the day, though, she will be looking for company. Usually she spends at least part of the day working, but not today. Today is all about browsing, eating, and oh man, if she finds a place that plays music she might not move from there until dark. Feel free to accost!]
Later that night
[Late that night, Rogue can’t sleep. The echos aren’t in her mind right now, they aren’t psyches, they’re memories. They’re the people that she misses so much her bones ache. She decides to follow up on her own advice and goes for a run by the beach. It's not enough, so she starts a more rigorous exercise routine, dropping down to begin with push-ups and carrying through to shadowboxing. Will she manage to complete her routine all alone?
Whether or not she gets through that uninterrupted, when she’s finished she goes to the journals… no. journals were in Luceti. In Drift Fleet, she goes to the comms. This transition was harder than she thought, but she hoped one thing would hold true: that she wouldn't be the only one up and zero dark thirty.]
So. Augments. Upgrades. What are the ones ya feel are most worthwhile? Where do ya pour your resources into on your ship? Are ya happy bein' a pilot, an engineer, or whatever? [A security officer. Just say what you're thinking, Rogue, gosh.] If you could pick any one of them, what would you pick?
She applies the dark red lipstick that traveled with her, and does her best to dress up as well as she could with what she has bartered for, and spends an inordinate amount of time on her hair.]
Okay, Drift Fleet. Talk to me. Who’s got some spare coffee they’re willin’ to barter for?
[After - hopefully, oh please, yes - attaining her birthday wish, Rogue sets about to basically make the rest of the day as enjoyable for herself as she can. She borrows a shuttle and goes flying for the joy of it. Sure, it can’t go very fast or very far, but she is in space. There’s some joy to be found just in being there. And hey, she heard shuttles can even go under water. That’s got to be amazing, Today’s as good a day as any to check that out.
She’s not necessarily looking for company here, but she might not say no? Later on in the day, though, she will be looking for company. Usually she spends at least part of the day working, but not today. Today is all about browsing, eating, and oh man, if she finds a place that plays music she might not move from there until dark. Feel free to accost!]
Later that night
[Late that night, Rogue can’t sleep. The echos aren’t in her mind right now, they aren’t psyches, they’re memories. They’re the people that she misses so much her bones ache. She decides to follow up on her own advice and goes for a run by the beach. It's not enough, so she starts a more rigorous exercise routine, dropping down to begin with push-ups and carrying through to shadowboxing. Will she manage to complete her routine all alone?
Whether or not she gets through that uninterrupted, when she’s finished she goes to the journals… no. journals were in Luceti. In Drift Fleet, she goes to the comms. This transition was harder than she thought, but she hoped one thing would hold true: that she wouldn't be the only one up and zero dark thirty.]
So. Augments. Upgrades. What are the ones ya feel are most worthwhile? Where do ya pour your resources into on your ship? Are ya happy bein' a pilot, an engineer, or whatever? [A security officer. Just say what you're thinking, Rogue, gosh.] If you could pick any one of them, what would you pick?
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[Thankfully, Rogue is starting to get a little bit warmer now, so she finally drops her hands from her arms.] But maybe you're right. Maybe they've started a club an' all sit around playin' Old Maid and drinkin' bad whiskey ta demonstrate their lack of taste an' sound judgement.
[There's an amused quirk to her mouth.] Like that old Dogs Playin' Poker picture. Except with Old Maid.
[That it's Old Maid is very important.]
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[She does grin at the idea of a bunch of theatrical-looking villains sitting around playing Old Maid, though.]
You're really not a fan of Old Maid, are you?
[If it's the game of choice for villains and all...]
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Just figure it fits, considerin' how desperate they are for certain kinds of entertainment.
[You do not even want to know how many times the Malnosso had made people fall in love for their kicks and giggles, Nat. You really don't.]
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We probably shouldn't give them any ideas. I think we've got our hands full enough, or we will once this "vacation" is over. Even with the augment glitches, things have been a little too quiet. Makes me wonder what they've got coming.
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She's sure Natasha knows that too, sure she's just making conversation, so she responds in kind, casually and not really thinking about her words - in part the effect of the wind, the wet, and the cold, and in part just because she doesn't mind talking about what she's saying.]
Don't let it drive ya crazy. It'll probably be somethin' casually cruel or that they've convinced themselves is for their greater good. At least there's no war here I can see - wouldn't really fit in the genre, I guess.
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We've had strange ships attack the fleet before. Few months ago, before my time. But a few attacks aren't a war. I guess that could change. There was a war, the place you were before this?
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[Grumble, grumble. Not that Rogue isn't concerned about the attacks - don't get her wrong, but the whole thing just seems a little too neat to her. A mysterious fleet that appears out of no where, shoots up the fleet, and then runs off? Come on.]
...an' yeah. You could say that.
[It was strange. Luceti - the war there - didn't really feel personal in the same way other things did. It had been the facts of the place, it had... simply been her world, something all of them had to deal with together. It had afforded very little privacy with the horrors it had inflicted with the same casual malice as a hurricane. She almost wouldn't mind explaining it here - some of it anyway, the world, the war, not the specifics, but the... general nature of that mad planet.
It felt strange, because that was the sort of thing that she... should mind. She wouldn't like explaining about home, for example. But... she didn't. That particular lack of tension was evident in the way she didn't close off her posture at all. It was fortunate that Rogue didn't lie often - really, she'd be terrible at it.]
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[Because really, what wouldn't an audience like about a little surprise attack? The thrill of violence, ships in combat, not knowing if your favorite character or crew will make it through. She's seen how bloodthirsty people get over Survivor. How much more will a company, a thing like Atroma do for those ratings?]
[The other answer, as short as it is, is weighted enough for entire paragraphs. She's lived her own battles. She knows the sound of them. This isn't her place to ask, or at the very least not the time. So she nods. Huffs a little unamused laughter. Motions at the gale beyond the table.]
At least they gave us the tropical island paradise to enjoy first, here.
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Yeah. Shame they forgot about addin' in the fine accommodations [a gesture with her gloved hand to the table currently blocking the majority of the wind and rain] in their brochure. They're really missin' on a golden opportunity.
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Oh, obviously. It's absolutely rustic. People would pay extra for the authentic experience. [She snorts softly, then rests her chin on her knees again, looking out.]
At least it's weather, though. Four months of nothing but climate-controlled metal was starting to get boring. [She's always hated cages. What are ships and stations but another kind of cage? What is any of this, if not that?]
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Guess if you're especially unlucky, you'll get your chance to see.
[Not that they're really all that unlucky. Staying here, it could be worse. Then again, it might be worse. Someday soon. And she's got no idea what happens when people leave. Do they go back to where they were pulled from, or do they go somewhere more sinister? She doesn't know, yet.]
You get claustrophobic?
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There was a slight pause as Rogue sorted truths, trying to find both the best and the least complicated answer.]
Let's just say I'm not lookin' forward ta findin' out. Rattlin' around in a tin can with a bunch of strangers in the middle of the black ain't my idea of a good time.
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[It can be a complicated question even for people who don't have to deal with a second psyche in their heads. Sometimes people who don't mind tight spaces do mind close quarters. It's a different sort of claustrophobia, knowing you can't get away from other people, at least not for long. But Rogue's answer makes plenty of sense regardless, and Natasha can't quite help a little huff of laughter.]
Makes two of us. At least my crew's got separate bunks now. May as well be closets, but it's something almost like privacy. I can't hear Ray snoring anymore. And there's my office, if I need it. Which isn't that often, I guess. People don't seem too keen on talking it out, here.
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And people don't seem keen on talking it out, huh? She cast Natasha an amused, wry glance in the near dark.] People seem keen on talkin' about things anywhere?
[Okay, no. That wasn't fair. Sometimes people really, really wanted to share. Even here. She wasn't sure if she envied them or wondered at it.]
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[Natasha hardly sleeps, as it is. Sleeping in a room full of four or five other people, with their own unique sleeping sounds and habits? Nearly impossible. That's why before they'd saved up for individual rooms, she'd been sleeping in her office. Not the best thing ever, but better than nothing.]
Oh, every now and then. If you ask them the right way.
[She's always been good at getting people to talk, a subtle joke in the words. But Rogue has a point. No one ever wants to talk about what matters. Honestly, she's probably one of the least inclined among them. But you learn how to talk without saying anything, after a while. Which can make it hard when you have something you actually do want to say.]
Or if you're new here. Fleet cast really, really loves to share with newcomers.
[A less subtle joke. Seriously, everyone seems to trip over themselves to give new castmates the low-down on life in space.]
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[Shaking her head at it, because she doesn't get it. But after a moment of reflection, and strictly to be fair... she tries to.] Ta be fair, guess... it feels like somethin' ya can actually do, even if it's just makin' other people's way a little easier. Heck, I'm crap at explain' things, an' even I've tried a time or two.
[Pause a beat, and then deflecting a little from that insight. She doesn't really think Natasha will get the mistaken impression that she would 'share' in the way they're discussing, all the same she shifts a little uncomfortably because of... well, the helplessness the whole damn thing implies. Only loss of control exceeds Rogue's hatred of feeling helpless, and perhaps in the end they were the same thing after all.] 'course, I was really bored. An' sometimes they're kinda cute.
[Another joke, a bit more open than she would normally be -- but Natasha does have that way about her.]
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[She isn't alone in the sentiment. And to an extent, Natasha gets it, too. You talk because it's all you can do. You explain because maybe this time when you say it aloud it'll make more sense. Maybe you'll be able to connect the dots, maybe your words will make perfect sense to someone new and they'll tell you, oh yeah, Atroma! Drift Fleet! Last season was great, Contestant X got a full recording contract and Y and Z are having their first child this month! Some confirmation you aren't going insane, that things really are as absurd as they seem. Talking is for your benefit more than it is theirs.]
[But then there's the fact that the talking has always made her feel like she's just rattling the bars of a cage. She hates the feeling that someone else is in control of her life, and every time she accepts the situation, voices it, she's accepting their control. And she just can't do that. So she doesn't join the welcome wagons, not really--only the occasional comment. And Rogue's, surprisingly, gets Natasha's eyes on her and a little quirk of her lips. A slightly knowing smirk. She may be frustrated, trapped, but that doesn't make her blind.]
Well, it would be rude to not make them feel welcome. [Ever-so-slight emphasis. Practically imaginary. But there.]
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Wouldn't ever wanna be rude.
[Oh no. Certainly not that.]
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Of course not.
[There's a moment of understanding, a shared joke, and it does make Natasha feel slightly better about being stuck in here. As...abrupt as their first meeting may have been, she finds she doesn't really mind the other woman's presence. Might even enjoy her company, under less forced circumstances, and at the very least she's curious. Rogue has demonstrated too many talents to not make her curious. But she's also been respectful enough, understanding enough that for now, Natasha is willing to let things fall as they will and not pry her way into answers. Instead, she smiles at the other woman, then turns her gaze back to the outside.]
Looks like the rain might be letting up.
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And a flicker of a smile.]
Mmm. [Rogue glances out the tiny open space the table has left them and sighs with relief.] At least these storms don't ever seem ta last too long. 'Course, there could be another one five minutes from now...
[Mutter, mutter.]
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Then I guess we'd better hope we can run fast enough to beat it.
[A spark of challenge in her voice, a flicker in her eyes as she looks over to Rogue. She's had enough of sitting still and letting the weather happen. Now...well, now it's just a little water. And a run sounds better than good. Maybe even a run with company.]
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[Grumble, grumble, cold wet bleck boo.
Rogue shifts forward and puts her boots on the table in preparation to use her legs as pressure to shift it away from them.
Do not let the grumble fool you, Nat. Rogue's always up for a challenge. She tilts her head, invites Nat to put her own feet on the table.]
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[Natasha's feet are only a second behind Rogue's in hitting the wood. She hardly needs the invitation--hadn't she offered her own a moment earlier? The reciprocation is pleasant, though, even if she's fairly sure Rogue doesn't really need the help. Not with how she'd gotten the table here in the first place. That doesn't mean Natasha isn't going to at least try to help. Bracing her back against the stone, she meets the other woman's eyes and raises her eyebrows.]
On three?
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