driftfleet | make me make me impressed

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make me make me impressed

Who: CAPRINE CREW ASSEMBLE
Broadcast: None!
Action: Caprine & visitors!
When: After this shuffle!

[Well, all things considered, the Caprine isn't the biggest shitshow of a ship in the Fleet. Right now. At this particular moment. There are worse places to end up!]

[At least that's what the crew will tell you, Varric. Except possibly Nightingale, who tries to keep it real.]

[IT'S A MINGLE, EVERYBODY INSIDE.]

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[Mal can be found in the kitchens, with a cup of coffee or forcing Joseph to eat disgusting space food; on the bridge, making sure nobody crashes the ship into things; entertaining visitors in the cargo bay; or practicing in an out-of-the-way common space, either the very precise basics of ballet or hand-to-hand combat, if she's lucky enough to have found a partner for the day.]

[She also generally checks in with every member of the crew at least once a day, whether they like it or not. So, you know. Feel free to assume a nosy vampire is poking her head over your shoulder at any given point in time.]

[Varric doesn't get uprooted often, but when he does, you can be assured that he is going to settle in as soon as possible. As comfortably as possible. He's still working on that second part, but as for the first part, he's already claimed a corner of the cargo bay as his own. His makeshift desk (a couple cinder blocks and some plywood) is organized-- for the moment-- and only has a few pages of written manuscript stacked on the top, but by god he will finish this thing at some point. His fancy author's chair is an upturned bucket with a spare pillow on it.

Look, it's a work in progress.

This is where he spends his time when he's not poking around the ship. One may also find him wrestling the beverage machine for tea, calibrating the biggest laser rifle in the armory room, or reclined on the bridge in the shooty chair with his feet on the nearest counter-- reading something on his comm device, of course.]

[How are we not the biggest shitshow, guys. We are totally the shitshow of the fleet.

That said, Nightingale can either be found in the kitchen, figuring out new ways to try to make the damned place work, or in her room, playing around on her comm. Going to new places is for nerds.]

[Well, I was cooking, until a vampire got all up in my space.]

What are you doing?

[Wrestling the beverage machine will lead to a ball of wind smacking Varric upside the back of the head.]

Stop that.

[When not taking the shuttles out for unnecessary racing around, Joseph can be found in one of two places. The first is in the bunk, taking a nap. It is on good authority that I can tell you, it apparently sounds like he is murdering a small bear??? Which despite Joseph's size, he absolutely would not do. Especially if said small bear is a baby bear. C'mon. Who the fuck could do something that awful to a bear? Anyway, just like...kick his cot or something and he might wake up? Just don't kick him, okay. That's fucking rude.]

[The other place to check for him is on the bridge. Even when not piloting, Joseph occupies the seat and is sitting with his communicator. Blonde ninjas are probably threatening to scare the shit out of him again because they're assholes. Don't worry though; if he is piloting, he's not texting and driving. He is Responsible sometimes.]

[Some people are just minding their own business when they come into the cargo bay. Minding their own business only to immediately make someone else's business their business. This is exactly what happens when Joseph walks in on Mal practicing ballet.]

[...Ballet.]

[Joseph slaps a hand over his mouth almost immediately and looks like he's about to cry. His shoulders start shaking as he forces himself not to look. He lasts approximately five seconds like this before he starts snorting and simply collapses to his knees with muffled laughter. He's just going to try and crawl away before she kills him.]

[Now that Cassandra is no longer aboard the Red Fish, there's a little more equality in how often they're at one another's ships. (Mal's visits to Cassandra's ships are likewise far more relaxed.) But that doesn't mean Cassandra doesn't still have a mild preference for being aboard the Caprine. It's always been an unquestionable safe space for the both of them. So maybe she sometimes makes more visits to Mal than Mal does to her.]

[At any rate, she's here today. They've gone on with sparring with one another until Cassandra's hit her limit. (This is still a long time and certainly nothing to snuff at, but certainly far sooner than Mal by comparison.)]

You're getting better.

[Joseph frequents the cargo bay a lot sometimes just so he doesn't always feel like he's, you know, being squashed. He's tall and wide, these ships are definitely not all that designed for someone his size, but the cargo bay? That's a little roomier. So, he's wandered on in only to see Varric at his makeshift desk and chair. Joseph raises an eyebrow.]

Is that comfortable?

[Varric rubs at the back of his head and looks around. He's expecting something to have hit him, not... air?]

What the hell?

[He sees Nightingale and squints.]

Don't get all bent out of shape, kid. I'm not trying to hurt it, I'm just smacking it around a little until it gets unjammed. Right now it doesn't want to give out tea.

First of all, I'm not a kid, second of all, don't smack it around. If you break it, we might not get another one. Who are you, anyway?

[He flips a pen along his fingers.]

Not really, but it beats trying to write on a bed. I'll pick up a chair when we hit the next waystation.

[The pen does little loops as he looks over Joseph.]

Do the cots even fit you?

Whatever, all you humans look the same to me. [He sighs in exasperation and jams a knife up the spout.] I'm not going to break it, I know what I'm doing. Bet I've been here longer than you have.

[He holds the cup under the dispenser. This time, the tea trickles out all nice and hot like it ought to be.]

See? I'm a professional.

[That doesn't answer her question though, and he knows it. But he takes his sweet time, making his tea and all of that. He lost all his ale when he disappeared the first time around and it's the only thing that keeps him sane sometimes.]

I guess you missed the confetti. [Sip.] Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and retired adventurer.

[As much as she tries to make the kitchen work, she's actually spitefully mad when the beverage machine does work. She had wanted it to fail to prove her right.]

Oh, don't give me that shit. Whatever you are, you don't look so different from humans that you can't tell.

... "Retired", huh?

That's almost insulting. I'm easily identifiable as a dwarf, messere. Or did my lack of a forest-sized beard completely throw you off? I definitely have enough hair to make up for it in other places.

[He's cool as can be. Sorry he's not into tsunderes.]

That's right. Put up with enough shit for ten years and anyone will quit entirely.

Dwarves don't-

[She stops herself, catching herself as she's about to finish saying something stupid. (And that's okay, she's not into men at all.)]

... Okay, not used to being on this side of this conversation, wow.

I'm Nightingale. Adventurer on... I guess you could call it a temporary hiatus.

[Varric raises his eyebrows at that sentence. Lucky for her, she doesn't finish it.]

Nightingale. [He'd consider that name belonging to a redheaded bard lady, not... some smart-assed blonde girl.] Let me guess: it's some kind of code name?

... It's the name my team gave me. As far as I'm concerned, it's my real name. Gray Nightingale, of Takshaka.

[The full name doesn't make it sound any less fake, but it's important to her, and her tone makes it very plain that that is not up for discussion.]

[He doesn't push it. He's curious about what her story is-- he's a storyteller, after all-- but she's made it pretty clear from the start that she's a little prickly in places. He'll just have to needle her without getting needled himself.]

Huh. You look more yellow and purple to me.

Team color was purple. I never really asked why the color names, that tradition was in place when I got there.

[Joseph shrugs.]

I could sleep anywhere if I tried. [If trying was defined by just closing your eyes. Joseph's got talents, yo.] I don't know how the hell people put up with those tiny hatches though with individual rooms on other ships.

[It's the only thing he minds about hanging out with Caesar on the Tourist. At least the crew here share a room so it's not as bad as it could be. From his very tall perspective anyway.]

At least you look good in it.

[He sips his tea again, considering. He approaches this next bit very calmly.]

By the way... what did you hit me with? Some kind of spell?

Right? I can barely fit, myself. Tight spaces underground really aren't my thing. I'll pass. Forever. Though having a space of my own would be nice for privacy, I'm not sure I can sacrifice my waistline.

[He sets his pen down.]

I'm Varric, by the way. I don't think I caught your name.

[He doesn't laugh, but he does grin at the joke about Varric's waistline all the same.]

Joseph. But you can call me Jojo.

[Yep. This 6'5", muscular as hell guy sure does go by Jojo.]

Uh, thanks.

Yeah, Wind. I'm a mage.

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