Sam Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
collegedropout) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2015-12-02 05:47 pm
collegedropout) wrote in driftfleet2015-12-02 05:47 pm
Entry tags:
entry 001 | arrival
Who: Sam and [OPEN] to all!
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Marsiva
When: December 2nd
[When Sam wakes up, he expects to be laying in his bedroom in the bunker, tired from a particularly long case (clown, there was a clown, he's getting too old for this shit—) but nope. He opens his eyes to stare at a completely foreign ceiling, in a completely foreign bunk. He's of course in his nighttime clothes, to boot. No weapons, no phone, no nothing. Okay. He considers all kinds of possibilities, first. Djinn? Some sort of curse? Witchcraft? Maybe even some sort of dream-root-related snafu, or angels being dicks (somehow). There's also that little elephant in the room, in the back of his head: dude, you know exactly how this kind of thing plays out.
He rises up, easy to spot among a milling, small group with his six feet and four inches of [giraffe-necked] height. When he finally sees the high-tech machinery, the casual and potentially oh-so-different newbies wandering, the absurd amount of space out there — he says but one thing in front of the people around him, first and foremost, to break the ice:]
Well. Shit.
[Well shit indeed. He doesn't panic, but he does suddenly crave another vacation, somewhere without rips in space and time (if that's even the case here; maybe he's a captive to some higher power, because that wouldn't surprise him at all). When he's got the broadcasting thing down — thanks Adstringendum for the life lessons on what to do first — he begrudgingly addresses yet another audience, slipping on that polite and professional (and, okay, exasperated) aura that he's good at.]
So, show of hands. How many of you out there have fallen into other universes before? Because this sort of thing's getting kind of old.
... Did anyone from Adstringendum show up? Guys? Don't tell me the PCD's teleporting feature is going on the fritz or something. I know it was kind of too good to be true, but it was going well for a few months there. [Silly Sam, nothing stays good forever. But he hopes, y'know?] Let me know if I'm riding solo here, fellas.
And, uh. This isn't exactly my first rodeo, sure, but it's the first time I've ever... um... been in space. So I gotta ask, for my sanity: where exactly do us new spacemen go from here? Other than shooting jokes about Roswell, New Mexico.
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Marsiva
When: December 2nd
[When Sam wakes up, he expects to be laying in his bedroom in the bunker, tired from a particularly long case (clown, there was a clown, he's getting too old for this shit—) but nope. He opens his eyes to stare at a completely foreign ceiling, in a completely foreign bunk. He's of course in his nighttime clothes, to boot. No weapons, no phone, no nothing. Okay. He considers all kinds of possibilities, first. Djinn? Some sort of curse? Witchcraft? Maybe even some sort of dream-root-related snafu, or angels being dicks (somehow). There's also that little elephant in the room, in the back of his head: dude, you know exactly how this kind of thing plays out.
He rises up, easy to spot among a milling, small group with his six feet and four inches of [giraffe-necked] height. When he finally sees the high-tech machinery, the casual and potentially oh-so-different newbies wandering, the absurd amount of space out there — he says but one thing in front of the people around him, first and foremost, to break the ice:]
Well. Shit.
[Well shit indeed. He doesn't panic, but he does suddenly crave another vacation, somewhere without rips in space and time (if that's even the case here; maybe he's a captive to some higher power, because that wouldn't surprise him at all). When he's got the broadcasting thing down — thanks Adstringendum for the life lessons on what to do first — he begrudgingly addresses yet another audience, slipping on that polite and professional (and, okay, exasperated) aura that he's good at.]
So, show of hands. How many of you out there have fallen into other universes before? Because this sort of thing's getting kind of old.
... Did anyone from Adstringendum show up? Guys? Don't tell me the PCD's teleporting feature is going on the fritz or something. I know it was kind of too good to be true, but it was going well for a few months there. [Silly Sam, nothing stays good forever. But he hopes, y'know?] Let me know if I'm riding solo here, fellas.
And, uh. This isn't exactly my first rodeo, sure, but it's the first time I've ever... um... been in space. So I gotta ask, for my sanity: where exactly do us new spacemen go from here? Other than shooting jokes about Roswell, New Mexico.
no subject
What passes for food. You'll not find much better.
[Still, a man has to eat. But if there's one advantage to the state of the food here, Robert is probably going to be losing these extra pounds pretty quickly...]
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Dean would take one look at that abomination and weep fast food grease.]
Yeah. I think I can handle it.
[He's seen your Westeros place, pal, he has the DVD collection.
But let's not mention that. Sam's too used to this weird crap anyway to attempt it.]
How much do you know so far, about this place?
no subject
[... this is as close as anyone's got to making him understand the vacuum of space is not good for him.]
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Close enough, honestly. But it's more like there isn't air out there, period. You'd pass out from hypoxia before you'd get the chance, and that's if you're lungs aren't blown up from the decompression... Or die from freezing to death or burning up from the light from nearby stars like the sun...
[sam no don't go science
shut up]
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He puts his hands up in surrender.]
Right. Anyway. Poisonous air.
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We're not to stay on this ship for long. I've been told we'll be sent off to smaller ships first. [He strokes his beard at that.] I long to see them try it.
[He didn't see how they intended to send him off to another ship without a good fight. So he was counting down the hours.]
no subject
Then we're going to be put on a ship with people we've never met.
Sounds like a party.
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How about you?
[not that we have an idea that'd be crazy]
no subject
[Even with the whole concept of space starting to chisel through his nearly impenetrable concept of the universe, he had not yet to begun to incorporate the idea of other worlds. There was Earth and that was all.]
no subject
[He shrugs.]
It's hard to tell who's from where, when we're isolated in this place.
no subject
Seven hells, the world was plenty big enough already. Now there's all this as well.
[When it came to his own education, he dragged his feet learning as much as he does about Westeros and what little he knows about the world outside that. Now there's just too much more to worry about.]
no subject
And it's endless, on top of that.
[Just enjoy that thought.]
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Well, let's hope there's some battles to be won by us, eh? [Sam had the look of a warrior, after all.]
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Let's hope. It'd be disappointing to get as far as we are and get our asses royally kicked.
[Space adventures, ho.]