Robert Baratheon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stagstorm) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2015-11-26 06:04 pm
stagstorm) wrote in driftfleet2015-11-26 06:04 pm
Bobby B - One
Who: Robert Baratheon
Broadcast: Fleetwide video.
Action: The Marsiva
When: Soon.
[The camera catches view of a man who is as thick as he is tall standing in front of the massive windows that separate the safety of the Marsiva from the inhospitable void of space on the other side of it. For many, this would be a breathtaking view of the cosmos. The King saw it only as a nuisance. Dressed in rich silk and velvet with a antlered crown on his head, Robert Baratheon was no man to be toyed with and he was eager to be free, even if he could not fully comprehend what he was seeing. He had never been a learned man and the concept of space itself was so far beyond his sphere of experience. He saw nothing but a night sky and though he could not see the ground, that only posed a problem to be solved later.
Later meaning after he had broken through the glass with a chair that he had caused significant damage to by beating it repeatedly against the window. With each thrust he roared in something between fury and excitement.]
That's right! Try and cage me, you bastards! Do you think this metal prison can hold me? Come now! Have at me!
[Yet for all his bravado and effort, the window did not even crack. Besides that, he was not so fit as he was in his youth. Winded and exhausted, he eventually righted the dented chair so he could sit on it instead. Only then did he turn his attention back to the communicator. He could not say why or how, but he understood that it was meant for communicating. He twisted in his hands a few times before deciding to play the fool and speak into it.]
...well? Does this damned bloody thing work or not?
Broadcast: Fleetwide video.
Action: The Marsiva
When: Soon.
[The camera catches view of a man who is as thick as he is tall standing in front of the massive windows that separate the safety of the Marsiva from the inhospitable void of space on the other side of it. For many, this would be a breathtaking view of the cosmos. The King saw it only as a nuisance. Dressed in rich silk and velvet with a antlered crown on his head, Robert Baratheon was no man to be toyed with and he was eager to be free, even if he could not fully comprehend what he was seeing. He had never been a learned man and the concept of space itself was so far beyond his sphere of experience. He saw nothing but a night sky and though he could not see the ground, that only posed a problem to be solved later.
Later meaning after he had broken through the glass with a chair that he had caused significant damage to by beating it repeatedly against the window. With each thrust he roared in something between fury and excitement.]
That's right! Try and cage me, you bastards! Do you think this metal prison can hold me? Come now! Have at me!
[Yet for all his bravado and effort, the window did not even crack. Besides that, he was not so fit as he was in his youth. Winded and exhausted, he eventually righted the dented chair so he could sit on it instead. Only then did he turn his attention back to the communicator. He could not say why or how, but he understood that it was meant for communicating. He twisted in his hands a few times before deciding to play the fool and speak into it.]
...well? Does this damned bloody thing work or not?
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It wasn't fear in his voice, though, despite just how loud he roared, how furiously he dented the chair and turned to the screen. More worry for his well-being, and a faintly awkward frankness, really.]
... It works. And it's better if you don't break that glass - there's no air outside the windows.
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The glass is strong, I'll grant it that. But no air? Nonsense.
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You're outside of any world, which you can see plainly out that very window. I know how ridiculous it sounds, but it's the reality. You aren't confined to the single ship you're on, though - there are shuttles to travel between them.
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[He was no dreamer. Robert never spent much time looking in the night sky and imagining what lay beyond. The world was always what he could see and touch.
He could touch nothing beyond the glass.]
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The easiest way to think of it would be... mm... if one of the seven hells has a world where the very air is harmful, and the ships are a vessel to travel through it without risking yourself.
... Or if you've something like a River of the Dead, it would be like the ferryman's ship, keeping you safe from losing yourself so long as you're on it.
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The air is poison, then. Is that what you mean to say? [There's an edge of sharp impatience there. All this talk of rivers and hells and sailing meant nothing to him. He certainly was in no mood to talk theology.]
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Simple works too. Simple words for simple men, then.]
Yes, essentially. The air inside is clean, filtered like you would filter drinking water, and outside is poison.
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If that is true, how did I come to be here?
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... That, I don't have a satisfactory answer to. Everyone I've spoken to says they just woke up here, like myself. The people running these ships are called... Atroma, I think, and they don't like to give answers.
Perhaps we've all died, and now our way of living is being tested, but I can't really say. [There's no sense in giving him the "you're on a TV show" speech right now. Let someone else tackle that alligator.]
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[He doesn't need answers anyway. Just a general direction to start swinging. He might not have his warhammer, but he could kill just as well... even if only with a chair.]
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[Please do not start swinging at your shipmates, Bobby.]
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[He did not understand any of that. It was the kind of mindless twittering that reminded him more of Maester Pycelle than anything sensible. This was the reason why he didn't attend small council meetings.]
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While you're here, your world doesn't exist. Yes, I know it sounds impossible.
[... That sounds a lot more grim and morbid than not. OH WELL.]
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We're in a completely different space, remember?
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[All this existentialism is giving him a headache. Come back when he's less sober and he might be more willing to listen.]
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As you wish, {fool king}. [The last words will sound like nothing he's heard, no doubt, as Qing slips into his native Cantonese before tapping the off button on the video one last time.]
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