driftfleet | 01 - Action/Video

Who: Dracule Mihawk and Anyone else.
Broadcast: Video - Fleetwide.
Action: Marsiva.
When: Now.

[It's the annoying chill that stirs the swordsman from sleep, already frowning as he pulls back the sheets and cracks his neck once. Chill tends to stiffen one's body and bones. Now, as her rubs his face with a long yawn, Mihawk peers around at the unfamiliar space, the even more unfamiliar clothes, and his scowl only seems to set in place. He's not unfamiliar with being dragged from his home, his world and thrust into a whole other one on the whims of whatever nonsense that sees fit to haven him there, but there is one thing that is lacking the confined space he finds himself in.

One very large and exceptionally important thing.

At the very least his clothes and his cross necklace (doubling as a small, concealed knife) are inside the chest. After dressing, he sweeps up his communicator and easily flicks it on. He's had previous experience with gadgets like this, after all. He doesn't care where he is, how he got here, what his purpose for being here is. Mihawk has not a care about that frivolous bullshit, he just wants to know--]

Where is my sword?

[Later, after Mihawk has heard enough, he's gone to explore and to look for his sword. Regardless of what he's been told, he's not parting with Yoru so easily. One way or another he's getting it back. He doesn't look any angrier than usual as he prowls through the halls like a stalking wildcat, but the sheer presence of him, the sharpness that hides in the edges of his golden eyes...it's obvious Mihawk's not at all pleased with this so-called fine print. Not in the least.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[She isn't trying to go unnoticed. Time for that's passed, hasn't it? Instead, she's fallen into a holding pattern, and if that pattern includes poking at the newbies, well. They'll adjust.]

Nowhere you haven't seen already. Bathrooms at one end, bedrooms along the hall, this room at the other end.

[She looks up, finally, jerking her head back and to her left.]

Kitchen's over there, if you want a change in scenery.

[Mihawk lifts his head and peers down each of the halls she indicates. He can see the entire distance, even tiny details one would miss - a scratch on the door frame from where someone must have dragged something against it by mistake, a spill from overhead...maybe a leaky pipe somewhere, and then specks of food trailing from where the kitchen starts. Nothing that interests Mihawk in any way.

He closes his eyes, crossing into the open space to lean again the opposite wall. If anything, he looks a little resigned, but still unhappy.]

What is this ship's purpose?

[To keep them here? That's stupid - he's been without a crew for years and years, prefers it that way - he's not about to sail under anyone's flag soon. Does the damn ship even have a heading? What's their destination; why are they even sailing? And why not have the passengers armed? Afraid someone might kill the other passengers? Ugh, he needs a stiff drink...]

You're just chock full of questions, aren't you? I take it Nightingale hasn't gotten to you with her manifesto yet.

[Still, relevant concerns, and definitely a question she wishes she had an answer to. Instead of saying what she's thinking, which is something like 'hell if I know,' she shrugs.]

Supposedly, to keep us out of the way while they renovate the fleet and run "calibrations" on our implants. You'll probably have noticed the chunk of metal and plastic they shoved into your skull.

[She gestures towards the back of her own neck, just behind her left ear, looking far more blase about it than she feels.]

If you need a drink, should still be a couple bottles of something in the kitchen, if no one's gotten to them.

[He tilts his head to one side, lips turning up faintly at the corners. Chock full of questions, hm? Haha, you just caught Mr. Stoic at a rare point in time - he needs information, and the easiest way is to, ugh...ask. He doesn't like to mingle, but necessity dictates as much. And Mihawk's come to find, since his last stay in another world, there are some things one even as strong as he cannot do single-handed. Things he cannot acquire without help, despite how loathe he is to say openly.]

...Not until you mentioned, no. [Though now he can't help but inspect the very spot gingerly, feeling where the implant was placed.] I suppose there is a reasoning for this as well?

[Hold onto that answer, lady, because you just went and said the magic word. Drink. Please, sweet, merciful powers above...wine. Whiskey, he'll even take beer at this point! There's no goddamn way he's going dry again. That was hell in Adstring, and he feels almost sorry when he forced that on Zoro. Almost. Lifting his head up, he strides toward the kitchen quickly, coming back with not one, but two bottles of beer - one of which he offers silently.]

[The drink she'll accept. They haven't tried poison yet, and somehow she gets the feeling if they do, it won't exactly be the end of this. More and more it's seeming like there's some sort of ultimate endgame waiting for all of them, and they're pretty eager to hold onto her so far, so...cheers. She lifts the bottle towards him in a toast before drinking.]

Lots of theories on their reasoning. Nothing concrete from the folks that put us here, really, aside from giving everyone basic survival knowledge and keeping those from less advanced worlds from panicking. Notice how you don't seem to be thinking twice about being in space.

[Mihawk does much the same, tipping the open end of his bottle her way before taking a swig. It's no where near his preferred drink, but it definitely does help him to at least settle in. Alcohol makes for a good gateway to conversation.]

Frankly, that is not because of some implant. This is the second time I have been removed from my world and put into another, thus the novelty has long since worn off... Aside, my home harbors oddities to which are a daily occurrence - this is just above average of the usual nonsense. [He leans back and takes another gulp. Home sweet home, crazy though it may be, Mihawk isn't easily ruffled.]

[Another one who's a stop or two away from home. Interesting. She's started making notes of who's here fresh from their world and who's coming from another alternate. Not sure if it'll lead anywhere, but some data's better than none. She wishes Atroma had sent her books from her office on the Windrose along, but not much point in hoping now. Instead, she shrugs, drinks.]

You aren't the only one here with that story. Seems like there's a lot of powers out there that like playing Barbies with people just trying to live their lives.

The implants tell you how to take care of basic necessities up here. How to use your comms, how to carry out your duties once you're stationed on a ship--assuming we ever get back to our ships again--but they can also screw with your head. Affect your emotions and responses, your memories. Might want to watch for that.

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