five ☀ video

[deshabille]

Who: Mal and you
Broadcast: Fleetwide!
Action: The Marsiva
When: Right meow (November 8)

Is everyone having fun?

[You know . . . if her expression were any different, that would sound absolutely sarcastic and pretty condescending. But she's positively beaming. Gleeful. Mal is having a great few weeks.]

It's more fun on the ships, I have to admit, but everyone's minds are so interesting. People can look almost exactly the same on the outside and be absolutely distinctive on the inside. [And she thinks that's beautiful.]

Also, a question - most of these videos and things are from Earth, yes? Well, I'm not, so someone ought to tell me where to start. My requirements thus far are: no folk music, no Taylor Swift.

[A beat. She frowns.]

No romance unless there's also a lot of punching. [Or you're Cassandra. The only exception.]

Comments

[deshabille]

What the hell is a clash? See, this is why I don't know where to start. None of these names make any godsdamned sense.

[Mal you sound approximately 5000 years old right now. Also it's probably for the best that she can't smell you right now, Remus, werewolves smell just awful. #rudebuttrue]

[In a slightly more calm tone, though:]

Swing what? Music? [Listening, right?] Is that a band too?

[theshabbiestofmen]

A band and a type of music, respectively. Perhaps this might be easier if you told me what you liked first, and I could work from there.

[deshabille]

I like . . .

[She pauses. Music-wise, she actually isn't sure what she likes. She knows what she doesn't like, that's easy, but the rest . . .]

I like music that doesn't take itself too godsdamned seriously, [is what she comes up with in the end.]

[theshabbiestofmen]

That's alarmingly unspecific, you know. Surely you must have a band name, something more specific?

[deshabille]

[Sir, you are getting the flattest of looks.]

Where I come from, in zhe old country, we have two types of music. Folk songs and funeral dirges.

[theshabbiestofmen]

[His mouth twitches.]

Shall I look more towards the maypole style of things?

[deshabille]

Only if you really want a sound thrashing. Give me something . . .

[Hm. What had Elecman said.]

With a heartbeat.

[theshabbiestofmen]

Ahhh. That is far more useful. I assume you're here on the Marvista-- may I visit you and fiddle with the sound systems instead of trying to recommend things off the top of my head?

[deshabille]

'S'fine, sure. I'm by the clock. Although.

[Ugh.]

I hate this clock, so meet me in the kitchen instead.

[theshabbiestofmen]

The kitchen it is.

[Another excuse to search for chocolate, anyway, he's dying for chocolate. Remus heads towards it without a second thought, pleased to meet someone new. Although he hopes this person-- Maladicta, hadn't the communicator said?-- is a little less ornery than they'd been before.]

Hallo?

[deshabille]

[Don't worry too much, Remus, she's usually not this cranky. The only things that really bug her are having to, you know, talk about folk music.]

[. . . Also werewolves. She's at the kitchen table with a cup of black coffee in her hands, breathing it in, but when he enters she lifts her head and fixes him with a distant look, wrinkling her nose. What is that--]

[Oh. It's him. Well. Be polite, probably.]

You're here about The Clash, I assume. Sit, then. Coffee?

[theshabbiestofmen]

Please.

[Tea is his preference, but coffee is always welcome. That little wrinkle of her nose is odd, though, and he raises an eyebrow to it.]

Not just the Clash. Is everything all right?

[deshabille]

Oh, everything's fine. Just one of those tension headaches that you get sometimes when you're undead.

[Look, she's not going to call you out or anything, but like. Werewolves have a smell. Coffee is more important, though, so she sets to pouring another cup and is about to bring it over to him as-is when - oh, yes. Other people have preferences about things.]

Do you take cream or something?

[theshabbiestofmen]

Black is perfectly fine.

[It takes him a few seconds longer than, perhaps, it should, but undead makes it click. Remus sits at the counter and stares at her back for a few seconds, curious despite himself. He's never met a vampire before.]

Do you keep it a secret, then? Your-- [He gestures. You know.]

[deshabille]

Good taste.

[Which, all things considered, isn't the thing to say when you are literally capable of pretty much eating a person, but tact isn't her schtick, really. So. She crosses over and slides the cup in front of him, then takes a seat herself.]

Not in the least. I run into some trouble with it here and there, but overall people tend to get angrier when you try to keep it a secret and they find out later. Surprise, I'm your actual vampire. Not fun on either side. There are a couple absolute bastards here about it, though.

[theshabbiestofmen]

Oh? Anyone in particular?

[Does she know? Can she smell him? Reports on vampires are vague; it's werewolves who have the heightened sense of smell, but that's only during the full moon. Instinct suggests yes, but he isn't about to blurt it out on a hunch.]

I think I'd disagree about the secret bit-- although you know your business best.

[deshabille]

Zhas and Coil primarily. They're on the Red Fish. Honest bastards, they are, not to tell tales but kick them in the shins if you get the opportunity.

[There's also Joseph, but - he's hers, and anyway, she's pretty sure his personal vendetta leans distinctly bat-ward. So she won't tell tales about him, at the very least.]

Things are different from world to world. Where I come from, everyone knows what we look like - quite distinctive, in a certain way, but I blend in here because people just aren't used to it. So there wasn't any point keeping it a secret at home, and here I'd rather at least know when people are coming for me.

Different from species to species, too. Incidentally. I wouldn't presume to know your business.

[theshabbiestofmen]

[He makes note of the names, though he hasn't run into them yet-- but he has his wand here, and he's quick with it when he has to be. He can take on a few muggles if they start getting rowdy. If they find out, which Remus doesn't intend to allow.

Mm. There's another little clue, though. Remus hesitates, then exhales softly.]

Is it that obvious to you?

[deshabille]

Extremely. Immediately. Nothing visible, obviously, or you'd be caught out by other people. But I can smell it.

[Somewhat more polite than I can smell you. Both are equally true. She cocks her head at Remus, and her expression is - not gentle, because that isn't how she operates, but it's not as sharp as it could be, either.]

I am actually quite good at keeping secrets, you know. I realize you have no reason to believe this, given that you don't actually know my name yet - Mal - but it's true anyway.

[theshabbiestofmen]

Well. Fortunate for me, then.

[The thinness of his smile isn't for her-- she's been quite good to him so far, actually, and he appreciates it. He just doesn't like not having control. It's one thing to tell someone your secret; another to have them know it without your consent. But what's done is done.]

Remus Lupin. And I appreciate your discretion. Werewolves are never particularly well received, and not especially in small enclosed spaces.

[deshabille]

[This is, of course, fair, and if she were a different sort of person she wouldn't need to have it spelled out to her so explicitly. But she's not. She's just herself, and herself is one of those people who, all good intentions to the contrary, really does enjoy picking at the soft places in people's minds.]

[Vampires. What's to be done, really. She purses her lips and gives him a curious look, then shrugs one shoulder.]

Well. It's good to meet you, exciting supernatural additions entirely aside, and if you would like to discuss further the various growing pains that come with being shunted onto a spaceship while going through perpetual growing pains, I am, of course, available.

On the other hand, if you'd like to shut the fuck up about it instead, that's also fine. Up to you. Drink up, your coffee's going cold.

[theshabbiestofmen]

[Well. What is he to do but obey? Remus drinks up, and god, but that's good-- a good shock to his system, which helps. He swallows down two mouthfuls before setting his cup down. Right.]

Go on. Tell us what it's like, then, being a Dark creature on a spaceship. Presumably you've found a way around it.

[deshabille]

[She puts her chin on her hand and smiles, a real smile instead of a smirk, which, he may notice soon enough, is very rare. As to the question - she wobbles her other hand. Kinda-sorta.]

The urge never goes away, obviously. And it never will and that's fine. It might be different where you're from, but with us, we can substitute something else, a different kind of urge. For a while I chose coffee. Here . . .

[Wait, no, that's not right. She drums her fingers against her cheek.]

Well, it wasn't a good idea anywhere, put it that way. Had some accidents - not fatal ones, not for anyone involved, but avoidable. So I thought something more abstract, and I have the engineering augment, so I thought - maybe that. I subsist on engine work now, more or less. Bit of a struggle being stuck on the Marsiva for this long, but I've been taking apart the clock and putting it back together and that seems to be fine for now.

[theshabbiestofmen]

If you need help . . .

[What the hell is he going to offer? Nothing mechanical-- but, well, if it comes to that, if it comes to the worst . . . werewolves are built sturdier than humans. He can take a bite or two. And if Mal is anything like him, she'll want to attack a dark creature before a human.

He meets her eyes, for a long few seconds, before returning to his coffee. The offer is made, no sense in lingering on it.]

How strong are you?

[deshabille]

[Oh. That's - she wasn't expecting that. It's silly, maybe, but she latched onto him immediately as a subordinate, one of the lads in the same way Joseph is. It seems as though he is not quite as invested in that particular dynamic.]

[So much the better, maybe. Now she's smirking, because the offer is made and there really isn't any sense lingering on it, but she nods just a little bit all the same. If she needs help, she'll ask.]

Very. Although I'm not sure how to put it in comprehensible terms, since all I know about your world is that you're in it . . . let's see. Faster than any animal I can think of offhand, senses that as far as I know are roughly equivalent to at least the werewolves in my world, strength - I could rip someone's head off if I wanted to in about a second. Sorry, that's not a savory mental image but it's what I've got.

You?